#got ideas on how we can spice up his resume | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insomniac-astronomer · 2 years

Note

4,12 with natasha and if possible can it be kind of enemies to lovers

Natasha Romanoff x Reader: I Didn't Mean It

I also got a request with 4 & 26, so I'm going to combine these two requests! P.S. you don't have to use my prompt list to make a request! I just made it for extra encouragement. Also, I write for more than just Natasha!

Anyway. I love enemies to lovers and honestly have no clue why I haven't written if yet. Like bruh. Also might go heat up my mall chinese food but I'm so indecisive that I haven't done that yet either.

Description: Reader and Natasha got off to a rocky start, which leads to their worst argument to date and a lot of regrets. (that vine of that guy holding the two cats and saying "love each other" and they fight) happy ending!

Prompts: "No. Absolutely not.", "Watch where you're going.", and "Everything will be alright." (*stretches hands* time to get creative)

Gender: neutral! No pronouns used!

WARNINGS: fighting (verbal), yelling, self-esteem issues, crying/breakdown/depressive episode

*not my gif*

"Watch where you're going." Natasha Romanoff spits at you as you almost run into her.

"Sorry," you roll your eyes. You're not a spiteful person. You've never really hated anyone. But that woman gets under your skin like nothing else.

Her demeanor is always negative and, from the moment she met you, she disliked you. You have no idea why. You literally just said 'hi I'm Y/N, nice to meet you' and she just walked away. Whatever. Let her deal with her own problems alone just like she wants to be.

You head to the kitchen for dinner, sitting next to Wanda.

"I made paprikash!" She tells you excitedly. "Try some?"

"Sure," you give her a smile as she puts some on your plate.

You hesitantly try it, immediately squinting at the heat. You try not to make a sudden move, but a little cough forces its way out of your throat.

"What? You don't like it?" Wanda looks so sad.

"No, no, it's just, really spicy," you sputter.

She gives you a look. "That's only mild paprika in there."

"I'm an American with no spice tolerance, which means I really can't handle anything spicy." You smile at her apologetically. "I'm sure I would love it if I could, though."

"Alright, thanks for trying." Wanda gives you a little side-hug.

Then, your most favorite person in the world walks in. The light tone of conversation around the table fades just slightly as everyone looks between the two of you.

Best part? The only open seat is right in front of you.

Tony hastily stands up. "I can sit there, Widow."

"No, that's alright." Natasha shakes her head and takes the seat. You roll your eyes and look away from her.

Very slowly, conversation resumes. You share a look with Wanda, who is clearly trying to encourage the two of you to get along.

Unlikely.

You would make an effort. But she hated you first and literally has never tried to be nice. So why would you waste your time?

"So Nat," Wanda grabs her attention. You let out an audible 'ugh'. "You like the Hunger Games movies, right?"

"Yeah," Natasha shrugs.

"Y/N likes them, too! See-"

"No, actually, I hate them. I think they're stupid and childish." She lands her gaze on you.

"Oh so whatever I like, you have to hate, right? Because you hate me so much?" Your anger is grabbing a hold of your heart.

"Only because you hate me," she rolls her eyes, which makes your blood boil.

"I literally never did anything to you! You were the one who brushed off my introduction! The first time I ever spoke to you, you walked away!"

"I had more important places to be," Natasha sneers.

"Oh, sure." You fold your arms.

"Okay, okay, let's all just settle down here for a moment." Tony stands up.

"No," you immediately retort. "I actually think she should explain what I ever did to her."

"You're annoying as-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Tony tries again.

"I literally said hi to you. That's it? How am I the bitch?!" Your voice is raising.

"Y/N, calm down." Wanda puts a hand on your shoulder. "We can talk this out, just not right now."

"No, I want to know." You are yelling. "When you give me a good reason as to why you hate me, I'll never talk to you again. You owe it to me."

"Maybe we should move," Sam suggests, already standing and pulling Bucky with him.

"Yeah," Tony follows. "Try not to break anything, but feel free to fight it out."

You stand in complete silence with your arms crossed. You made your point. Now it's her move.

"I don't owe you anything, actually." Natasha's voice raises.

"Just tell me what your deal is!"

"You're an annoying screw up! You're not worth anything to this team!"

You blink. She purses her lips. Surprisingly, you feel tears come to your eyes just slightly. You nod and walk out of the kitchen.

Wow.

It shouldn't affect you. You know she's just saying it to make you angry. Obviously. But you already feel like just a shadow compared to her. They could honestly drop you at any moment and be totally fine. As much as you hate to say it, she's right.

Why do you add to the team?

Nothing. You have the same skillset as Natasha. No special powers, no crazy family asset, not anywhere near as much eloquence in your movements as her.

Comments on social media agree with that. They've called you 'The Black Widow from Wish.com' which made you feel just great. And you screw up a lot of missions because you loose concentration. You're not totally comfortable working in front of a crowd. The alien bad guys scare you just with the way you look, like in a horror movie.

You slam your bedroom door shut, locking it with the manual chain so Tony can't tell FRIDAY to open it. You flop onto your bed, tears already streaming down your face.

As if you couldn't have any worse ideas, you pull out your phone and open Instagram, scrolling through all of your comments, reading each of the nasty ones. It's awful and you don't know why you can't stop. Each new insult makes your stomach drop.

The tears come faster until you can't see the screen anymore and you're audibly sobbing.

At this point, you couldn't care less about what Natasha thinks. The whole world hates you. You have absolutely zero fanbase. Anyone else makes an appearance, people cheer. You show up and they completely stop. Widow from wish. The Walmart-brand superhero of the group. And at first you laughed at it until you realized they were serious.

You just lay there for hours. The sun sets, the moon comes up. The sky is too cloudy for stars. The TV is playing some 1am crap. Sadness is tugging at your chest so hard that every time you try to doze off, you just start crying again.

At 2:30am, there is a knock. Then silence as you just wait for them to go away. Then the door squeaks as it cracks open, but is stopped by the chain.

"Y/N?" Someone whispers.

"Not present." You say is a dead voice.

"Y/N," the voice is clear now. It's Natasha.

You groan. "Please go away."

"I came to apologize." She sighs.

"Yeah sure," you roll your eyes.

"No, I'm serious."

You think for a moment. "I'm not getting up to take that lock off."

Natasha is silent. "Okay."

And you think that's the end of it. But nope, you hear the chain starting to rattle. Is she seriously trying to unlock it? That's the most effort she's ever put in with you before. Unfortunately, you hear the chain fall only a second later.

You will be adding a new manual lock in the morning.

You see Natasha's figure in the dark. She very hesitantly comes over.

"I'm really sorry."

You just stare at the ceiling.

"I didn't mean anything I said."

"Really?" You roll your eyes again.

Natasha inhales sharply. "Yeah."

"You didn't mean any of it? Not even the part where you said you don't owe me anything?" You're just pulling at her now. You know she won't say no to that.

"No. Absolutely not."

Oh. Hm.

"I actually do owe you an explanation."

Hm. She's being serious. You move your eyes to look at her. She is a mess. Her hair is falling out of her pony tail and it is frizzed all over. She's still in her clothes from dinner, but her makeup is gone.

Natasha clears her throat and slowly sits down on the edge of the bed. You sit up because you actually do believe she's going to tell you the truth.

"When Tony brought you in," she starts shakily and takes a moment to recompose. "I thought I was going to be kicked out. You're a carbon copy of me, only without the enemies and the bloody history."

You laugh lightly and you see her relax.

"So, I was worried. And then I met you and you were so nice and pretty and I just-" she pauses, "I just thought it would be easier to hate you than make you my weak spot."

"Oh," you whisper. She nods. "That's actually crazy because I always feel like I'm in your shadow and I'm going to be kicked out."

Natasha laughs tensely.

You sigh. "I'm just you but not as good or strong or confident."

"That's not true," she whispers. "You're one of the most confident people I know."

"No way. I never feel good about myself." You confess.

"You don't show it at all."

You shrug. "Just always trying to convince Tony to let me stay, I guess. Always trying to look really put-together and intelligent."

"I'm so sorry." She repeats.

You nod. "I'm sorry for yelling, too."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I was being an ass."

You shake your head. "Still. I didn't help."

The both of you don't say anything and there's an anxious pause.

"I forgive you," you say quietly.

"You do?" Natasha looks shocked.

You nod. "I understand what you were thinking. I was thinking the exact same thing, just backwards. And it hasn't been easy holding all of that in."

Natasha breathes in relief. "Yeah."

Then, you decide to just mend the bond. You lean in and wrap your arms tightly around her. For a moment, she doesn't move. And then, she turns and puts her arms around you, too.

You start crying again, though you're not sure why. You try to hold the tears in but one escapes and your breath catches.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asks without moving.

"Everyone online hates me." You whimper.

"What do you mean?" She holds you tighter.

"They say I'm the knock-off version of you." And, honestly, you feel that a weight has lifted off your chest as you finally admit that out loud.

"They're very wrong." She says. "You're all the good parts of me. Plus, you're a badass on your own. You can run so much faster than me and you aren't weighed down so much by the past. They don't know what they're talking about. You're amazing."

"Really?" You say through your sobs.

"Yes." She makes eye contact with you to make you listen. "Really. I've wasted all this time being mad at you when I could've been-"

The end of her sentence hangs in the air and she gently starts to sway you back and forth as she keeps holding you tight.

"Everything will be alright," she whispers into your ear.

You feel yourself starting to calm down enough to take a few deep breaths.

"You wanna watch something? Would that help take your mind off it?" Natasha suggests.

You nod.

"Okay. I'm going to get you some water. You find a movie, I'll be right back."

You nod again.

You search for the Hunger Games and she returns a minute later with a glass of water. She smiles when she sees the TV.

"I actually do like this movie, too. I was lying about that."

"I know," you giggle.

She hands you the water and helps steady your shaking hands. The warmth of her hands on your's makes your heart beat just a little bit faster.

You take a few sips of water and place the glass on your nightstand. Then you lay back into your pillows, gesturing for Natasha to lay next to you. She is slightly hesitant but follows suit regardless.

A few minutes into the movie and a twinge of sadness sparks in your heart again. You curl up to Natasha's side to help ease the pain. She puts her arm around you, and you let the warmth flood any emotion away.

The Reaping isn't even over before you fall asleep.

💫

"Well, that's a dramatic turn-of-events," Tony's voice wakes you up.

"Fuck off," Natasha tells him. You hear him mutter something and walk away. You giggle into her chest. "Morning."

"Good morning!" You smile bright squeezing your tired eyes shut against the slits of sun on your face.

"Feeling better?" She kisses the top of your head, making you blush.

"Yeah, thank you." You wrap your arm around her and give her a hug. She brings her other arm up and hugs you back.

"Of course."

And you had the best morning just laying there for an hour.

Thanks for reading! Don't steal, I'll come for u :p

Buy me a coffee?

#natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel fanfiction #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #black widow fic #black widow fanfiction #black widow x y/n #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel fic

310 notes · View notes

visionthefox · 11 months

Note

I want to read your long theory about Eclipse :3

-🍍-

well, I'll make it quick, since Im sleepy and I been forgetting over time

(note-this is not quick not short sooooo)

in resume, I believe he stared as a one side villain to have pop put every now an then for the show to spice things up, eventually ppl love Eclipse so much, I mean, the dude acted all joker-Jeff - being edgy and all

and I believe the moment he turned into anime villain may be when he and Sun chatted, just take notice how simple his way of thinkin is, yet he acts all evil and cool.. that's when he had a change in personality, for the show

now.. in lore, I think he stared as a angry copy of Moon, idk why he and Moon are separated, but my idea is that , after a first try of trying to Kill Sun or forcing Sun's AI to crash, Moon made a failed copy of himself, keep in mind, in the early days Moon was a bit smart, BUT! not a genious Rick-wanna-be

so when he fails, he made a copy, but is a line of codes he ignores- like he said- he left "a part of him" and I dont believe he and Eclipse actual meet in Sun's head, no, I think Moon only talked on himself most of the time.. and that is what Eclipse remembers- and is pretty Much Moon2.0 -he is bound to follow Moon, then Moon left him, of course, Eclipse's AI is confused, why is Moon0.1 out? and why not himself?

Eclipse is now trapped in a moving vassel , with the negative ideas of Sun, he watches as Moon gets a change to Kill but doesnt, this angers Eclipse, who didnt even had a name for himself yet, and when he finally gets the energy to overpower Sun AI, he starts to look for Moon's aproval, or at least feel superior to him, and what he gets? nothing, Moon pretty much looks down on him.. and even if Eclipse acted like he didnt care.. he totally did..

also, just.. when looking at early Eclipse, you can see he is like Sun, hell not only on the voice but the sassyness Sun then showed to have.. Eclipse got feed all the negative side of Sun so he ends up like "the worse of the two"

now, the more Moon and him fight, the more angry Eclipse gets, as he is following the orders he was given, but with the twisted idea that he is right! after all! humans are cruel! we dont know better! he can make it right because he has the childish idea of Sun of a "better place" and the desire to dominate of Moon..

then we get to october, the reason why Eclipse is both mean to Lunar but also clearly want him close is not because he views Lunar as a tool. but because he wants what Moon has, he saw the two brothers lift each other, he wants that, but of couse, he doesnt get it, the love, the care, he thinks that's what made Sun weak, so instead he takes a more violent aproach, as that what he knows better..

of course, there is still a side of him, that left over part of Moon that cares, Eclipse show it. rememeber, what is Moon love lenguaje. gifts and time- what Eclipse do? gives Lunar control over the daycare at day, and a computer to play, and then, plays games, he totally didnt had to but no only the show needs two hots, but in lore, makes sense-

then again.. Eclipse doesnt know how to be good , so of course he hurts Lunar, Moon did that and Sun never left his side! so why Lunar would? also, BloodMoon, he is clearly afraid of him, so he also wants to control Lunar so he doesnt "act up" , because he cant stand another fail

when Lunar back stab him, that clearly hurted him, and left him desperate of revenge.. see how everything made sense?

is after he is trapped in the computer that things suddently are odd,, he sounds tired.. and kinda makes sense- he got beat up, he got locked down again.. he is no longer in control.. for me, Eclipse right there , had to step out, or give one last battle -but not like he did, no, he had to leave Lunar like last, for me, he had to go for Moon. the real reason he made everything, go for him.. then seeying Moon is gathering more power, try and use Lunar to hurt -again - Moon..

but the show right here lacked sense.. and for what I know, Eclipse is slowly dying from the star , because why not, and he just now getting to be dumb villain again.. this is not what I would do with him

I would make him be beat up one last time before he finally see is just running in circles, he keeping being Moon's shadow.. for me he had to step out- walk away not only in defeat -but with a change of views, maybe finally feeling like he needs to know who he even is.. after all, he follows Moon's steps, he follows a code on his head.. no though of him is original.. he is complex, he is a ruined AI forced to play a bad guy by everyone around ,he should see he doesnt have to keep playing along everyone's view of him..

but idk, I dont know what I would do for him, I know the show needs a bad guy- for me, BloodMoon had to stay and be just that.. but alas..

this was my TEDtalk about why Eclipse is complex and desrved a better arc - thanks for reading!

#sams #sams eclipse #so sorry long post #idk what even is going on with him anymore #all i know he is dying and he is patehtic now and mmhhh #he could have been save by nice eclipse tho #the dude could have give him a reality check #even golden cold -as a neutral force- also give eclipse a reality check hahaah

6 notes · View notes

jellyfishbeansontoast · 3 years

Text

blindly in love

this again is not any of the requests i actually have in my inbox but i randomly got this idea so here you go. i don’t even like the way i wrote the main bit of the fic but im sure there’s someone out there who will so this is for whoever that is.

The italics are just like memory things but they’re badly done sorry 👅

Natasha had been flirting with you for weeks. Or so she thought she had been but you seemed oblivious to every single comment she made.

“I’m freezing” you’d complained, standing outside the coffee shop you and Nat regularly went to. She hurriedly pulled off her coat and draped it over your shoulders, wrapping her hands around yours in an attempt to warm you up.

“One honey spiced latte and a plain black coffee!”.

Her hands slowly and unwillingly left yours, grabbing the cups of coffee and passing one to you. You smiled a thank you and passed Natasha’s coat back to her, the warmth of the drink already helping.

You thought Natasha was just affectionate towards you because she trusted you. It was only when you noticed just how affectionate she was towards you and not to other people that you began to notice a difference.

During movie night she’d lay her head in your lap, the rest of the avengers looking on confused.

“Natty can you pass me the bread”

Bruce and Steve stopped in the kitchen, their breaths held.

“Sure” she smiled warmly, passing you what you’d asked for and then resuming her task.

“You broke my nose when I called you that!” Complained Bruce.

Now your head was in Natasha’s lap as she quietly braided your hair. She took her time gently picking out the strands being careful not to tug too hard. She’s was helping you get ready for one of Tony’s party’s she’d forced you to come to. You didn’t usually go, preferring the company of your cosy bed and a good book.

“Done!” She moved you from her lap and pulled you over to the mirror, standing behind you admiring her handiwork.

“I love it Natty” you said turning round and flinging your arms around her. If anyone else had been in the room at that moment they would’ve seen her cheeks turn a violent shade of red.

“Go get dressed” shoving you into the conjoined bathroom and handing you your clothes.

You returned a few minutes later tugging at the short black dress. You wore your black converse to match and multiple silver rings, some of which you’d stolen from Nat.

“It’s a bit short, don’t you think?” You asked worriedly.

She was quick to respond, shaking her head violently, perhaps a bit too violently as you raised your eyebrow questioningly. She cleared her throat “No uh you look good in it, come on the party will be finished by the time we arrive.”

You entered the party holding tightly onto Natasha as she led you through the crowd to the rest of the avengers.

“Y/n! My favourite midgardian!” Thor boomed. You sat down in the space next to him, requesting a drink from Natasha before she left to the bar.

“So what’s the deal between you two.” Said Tony, leaning forwards his elbows resting on his knees.

You opened your mouth to respond but Natasha had returned, handing you your drink and sitting in the empty space beside you, reaching over to hand Thor another. The smell of lavender overtook your senses as she leant over.

A few drinks later and you were ready to call it a night. Natasha hadn’t had nearly as much to drink as you and so took it upon herself to make sure you made it back to your room safely. Thor had offered you some asgardian alcohol a few drinks before.

“I’m hammered, like Thor’s hammer, what’s it called” you slurred.

“I don’t know but you can ask him tomorrow” the redhead responded, pulling your arm over her shoulder so she could help you walk. You mumbled in protest but had no strength to resist properly.

It took her longer than usual to get to your room. At one point you’d refused to walk, to which Natasha scooped up your legs and carried you the rest of the way.

She placed you on your bed, rummaging around in your drawers for pyjamas. You’d quickly fallen asleep in the short time it had taken her to find them, a pair of Spider-Man pyjamas Peter had given you for Christmas.

“Y/n” she called, gently shaking your shoulder.

Your eyelids fluttered open, mumbling incoherent sentences.

“Let’s get you ready” she said before helping you into the pyjamas and tucking you into bed.

“Natty” you grinned, “ I like someone.”

“ I like someone too” she paused “you know her very well”

You frowned, thinking of every woman you could possibly know.

“It’s you dumbass” she laughed, pushing your hair back behind your ear and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh” the smile had returned to your face and you grabbed her hand. “Can I kiss you?” You mumbled, your eyes beginning to shut from tiredness.

“Maybe when you don’t reek of alcohol, I honestly need to find out what Thor puts in that stuff”

#Natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #marvel #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff

266 notes · View notes

velvetmel0n · 4 years

Text

Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin @rzrcrst @okay-hotshot @beskars @acomplicatedprofession @huliabitch @pascalplease @darksideofclarke @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams @generaldamneron @criminal-cookies @someplace-darker @amarvelousmandalorian @roxypeanut @leahsafae @bunnyart-blog @duamuteffe @themandjalorian @hopelikethesun @dindjarindiaries @paniclana @winters-buck @pedropascalito @agentpike @hiscyarika @lesqui @mandadoration @the-huttslayer @poeticandors @tintinwrites @mserynlarsen @hystericalmedicine @queenofheavenandhell @himbopoes @qveenbvtch @bookshelvesandteacups @yougottakeeponkeepinon

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better.

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop.

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again.

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him.

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you.

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him.

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well.

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside.

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress.

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere.

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs.

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you.

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver.

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge.

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious. The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat.

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate. And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet. Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better. Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat.

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again—

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm. The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it— it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #mandalorian smut #star wars fic #star wars smut #first time writing mando and first time writing sex pollen we've got a double whammy folks

4K notes · View notes

raibebe · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice

Genre: smut Words: 2.175 Prompt: sugar baby Jeno x older female reader Warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected sex, dominant reader, slightly subby Jeno

A/N: No, I am still not over Lee Jeno, thank you for checking in. This is dedicated to all the anons who said they liked the last Jeno thing...

The last thing you had thought that would happen at your boring company dinner with too many middle aged men making terrible sexist jokes was your boyfriend walking into the same restaurant with his friends. Jeno’s hair was neatly parted and styled away from his forehead and with a smile on your lips you noticed that he was wearing the dark button up you had gifted him the other week. It looked good on him, hugging his arms and shoulders in all the right places. He didn’t seem like he had noticed you, laughing with his friends as they sat down on a table not far from yours, Jeno’s back to you.

An idea began to form in your head on how this evening could take a nice turn and you excused yourself from your coworkers, claiming that a client had called you which only made the drunk men cheer excitedly. Rolling your eyes, you quickly located the bathrooms of the restaurant to slip inside. The stalls weren’t particularly spacious but they had to do. Pulling out your phone, you quickly called Jeno’s number, waiting for him to pick up. “Yes?” He answered and you couldn’t help but smile. “You look good tonight,” you chose to say in lieu of a greeting, “The shirt fits you well.” “Noona?” You hummed lowly as an answer, checking your appearance in the big mirror. “How do you know?” He sounded so confused, god he was cute. You could vividly imagine him looking around the restaurant with big eyes. “Woman’s bathroom around the corner of your table, last stall,” you cryptically said before ending the call and slipping into said stall. The thought alone of Jeno struggling to come up with an excuse for his friends made excitement bubble up inside you.

It hadn’t even been more than a couple of minutes when you heard to door to the bathroom open, hurried steps echoing against the tiles before someone knocked on the door to your stall that you quickly opened, letting a surprised Jeno slip inside, his cheeks tinted an adorable shade of red. “Hey my puppy,” you fondly said, circling your arms around his neck to pull him close to you, his hands quickly finding your waist. “If someone saw me, I will die of embarrassment,” he whined, making you giggle. “I just couldn’t resist seeing you all dolled up like this.” “What are you doing here?” He asked curiously, shivering when you pressed kisses along his sharp jaw. “Hopefully you,” you breathed into his skin. Jeno’s grip around your waist tightened. “We’re in a restaurant, we can’t.” “No one will notice if you can stay quiet.” “My friends will miss me in a bit,” he argued but titled his neck back so you had more pale skin to run your teeth along. “We’ll be quick,” you promised, letting your hands run down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. “I- I can meet you at your apartment after our dinner,” Jeno stuttered, his breath catching in his throat when your fingers had ghosted over his sensitive pecs. “But why wait when you can have me now?” You whispered, gently palming him over the fabric of his slacks, causing him to softly moan. “No teasing, I’ll let you fuck me,” you promised. “Ri- Right here?” “Right here puppy,” you chuckled and quickly unbuckled his belt. “Someone could walk in.” “Doesn’t that make it even more exciting?”

The whimper that left Jeno’s lips was enough of an answer for you and you quickly pressed your lips together in a filthy kiss to swallow his moans as you worked his pants open to pull out his already half hard cock. “You’re into this,” you chuckled against his swollen lips while working him to full hardness. “You promised you wouldn’t tease,” Jeno whined, biting down on his plush lower lip to stop himself from moaning. “You’re just too cute, I can’t help myself.”

“I’m not cute,” he pouted. “Sure, puppy,” you grinned, giving his by now fully hard cock a firm squeeze that had him hiss. “How,” he gulped when his voice broke, “How are we gonna do this?” “You got any condoms with you?” “Why would I bring condoms to a dinner with my friends?” Jeno asked, his eyes wide. “Always be prepared, puppy,” you just winked before pressing a last kiss to his lips. “Just don’t cum inside me, I can’t have your cum leaking out of me for the rest of this dinner,” you breathed against his lips, the image making Jeno groan deep in his chest. “What if I can’t control myself?” He asked lowly while his hands were already raking up your skirt. “I know you can. You are my good puppy after all,” you growled, grabbing a fistful of the hair at his nape to force his head back, letting your teeth scrape over his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Turn... Turn around,” Jeno said, his voice shaking.

“Come on, puppy,” you sighed, doing as he had suggested and leaned against the opposite wall, the stone cold against your arms as you arched your back for him. Considerate as always, he quickly rubbed your clit through the flimsy fabric of your lacy underwear before he unceremoniously hooked it to the side to expose your glistening core to him.

“I’m not the only one who’s into this,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t,” you chuckled but were cut off when he chose that moment to nudge your entrance with the head of his cock, turning your chuckle into a content purr as he slid home on one smooth thrust, filling you up just right. “Fuck me, puppy,” you whispered and swayed your hips, slowly grinding back against Jeno who cursed lowly before his hands found their home on your hips to grip them tightly. He slowly pulled his hips back to harshly snap them forward again, the sound of your skin slapping together resonating loud in the empty bathroom. Humming contently you let him fuck you with hard but deep strokes, biting your lower lip to keep your voice down.

Jeno himself was panting lowly into your ear, the speed of his thrusts getting faster and faster and his grip on your hips turning bruising. You could tell he was getting close to his orgasm with how close he was pressing his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your middle to press your bodies flush together, changing the angle of his thrusts that had turned almost erratic which made you see stars. You let your head fall back against his shoulder to see his blissed out expression: His eyes blown wide and pink lips parted. “Feels so good,” he mewled, hooking one of your legs over his arm so he could get more leverage. Moans were starting to spill past his lips and he screwed his eyes shut with effort to be quiet.

Just when you were about to reach down to rub your clit so you could join Jeno, you heard the door of the bathroom open, heels of whoever entered clicking on the stone floor. You quickly grabbed Jeno’s biceps, burying your fingernails into the hard flesh to get his attention. “Quiet now, puppy,” you hissed and he immediately froze, his eyes wide in panic. A mischievous grin spread on your lips when you watched his expression change into one of a mixture of anger and concentration when you started to grind back against him. “No one told you to stop though,” you whispered and clenched down around his cock. “She’ll hear us,” he hissed but didn’t stop you from using what little leverage you had to fuck yourself on his cock, the squelching of your sex sounding way too loud in his ears. “Not when you’re quiet. We’re on a time limit here,” you breathed. “Let me kiss you.”

Twisting your neck in an almost painful angle, you let Jeno press your lips together in a messy tangle of tongues before he started thrusting his hips again in fast and short snaps that had your eyes rolling back in your head. Clinging to each other, you muffled your moans and mewls of pleasure against his lips. “I’m close,” you mumbled when you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, quickly swallowing the mewl Jeno let out with another kiss. The sound of the woman’s heel against the tiled floor let Jeno freeze again for a moment and you couldn’t help the little chuckle that left your lips at his startled expression that only relaxed when the door fell back into its lock. “Forgot that she was still here?” You giggled.

“Shut up,” he whined and resumed with his punishing pace, punching all air from your lungs with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping on skin now resonating loud in the room. “So close,” you mewled, screwing your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm creep up on you again, “Don’t stop, Jeno.” “I’m gonna cum,” he whined, his thrusts loosing any sort of rhythm. “Just a little more,” you moaned, losing yourself in the pleasure that he brought you until it spilled over and your vision went white as your orgasm crashed over you, making you twitch and shiver in Jeno’s strong hold.

When you came back to, pleasure still lowly thrumming beneath your skin, you heard Jeno whimper behind you, his face buried in your neck. “Oh puppy,” you sighed, reaching behind to stroke his slightly damp hair. “-m sorry,” he mumbled, letting his softening cock slip from your core. You instinctively clenched around nothing when you felt his cum seep from your entrance. “Hmmm, baby,” you cooed, turning around to tenderly cup his face before pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s okay. I know you’re going to make it up to me next time. Right?” “Yes,” Jeno hiccupped, catching your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Let’s get you to look presentable again,” you giggled, running your hands through Jeno’s hair to tame the strands while he quickly tucked his cock away and buttoned his pants back up. “I’m sorry,” he spoke lowly, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it made your stomach flip. You playfully bit his lower lip before the feeling was becoming too overwhelming. “Friday evening at my place?” You rasped. “I’ll be there,” he promised, kissing you a last time before quickly slipping from the stall and out of the bathroom.

You giggled and shook your head before leaning against the cold wall of the stall. This kid... Jeno was really growing on you but you were sure no one was able to resist his cute smile and bubbly persona once you broke through his shell. Sighing, you quickly cleaned up most of the mess you two had made and put your clothes back in order, only slightly cringing at the thought of ruining your lace panties with his cum. After quickly checking your appearance in the mirror and deeming it presentable enough for your already drunk coworkers, you took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

Instead of going straight back to the table your colleges still sat at, you went over to the little bar area to wave over one of the waiters. “Would you be so kind and bring the boys over there a bottle of that nice red wine of yours?” You asked kindly, motioning to the bottle that was on display. “And charge it to my card please.” “Of course ma’am,” the server smiled politely. “Thank you,” you smiled back and went back over to your own table, watching intently where Jeno’s friends were obviously mocking him for whatever excuse me had come up with.

Their banter was only interrupted when the waiter you had talked to before went over to their table with the bottle of wine, explaining that a lady had asked him to bring it over. The boys hollered loudly and clapped Jeno on his back as the waiter filled their glasses while you could see Jeno’s whole neck turning a bright red shade. He hadn’t turned around to look at you as to not rise any suspicions. You weren’t sure how much his friends knew about the little arrangement between you but when his blue haired friend looked around the restaurant and caught your eyes, you couldn’t help but lift your own glass of red wine to toast before taking a sip. The boy’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his bangs for a second before his expression turned smug and he toasted back with his own wine glass.

From: Jen-baby I want that new Balenciaga hoodie I showed you the other day to compensate for the amount of embarrassment you put me through tonight They wouldn’t stop mocking me all night

To: Jen-baby Everything for my baby. It should arrive on your doorstep by tomorrow.

From: Jen-baby No I was joking! Take it back

To: Jen-baby Too late, let me spoil you a little, my puppy.

#jeno #nct #lee jeno #kafenetwork #neosmutcollective #jeno smut #nct smut #nct dream #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut

682 notes · View notes

nataliedanovelist · 3 years

Text

GF - Stars Aren’t the Only Things That Glitter

A Drifting Stars AU short, collaborating with @clownwry.

2nd, 3rd, 4th.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grunkle Ford, look out!”

“Mabel, stay back!”

BANG!

“Mabel… MABEL! HOLD ON! I’M COMING! MABEL!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel looked at the blazing fire, trying to pretend to ignore her great-uncles muttering so she might pick up a swear word, be it alien or English was perfectly fine by her. Mabel didn’t pick up any swears, but she did hear the words “reckless” and “irresponsible” and “inconceivable”. The Listening Game did a fair job of distracting her from the pain on her arm and shoulder. Except when Grunkle Ford’s bandages were a little too tight and she would wince at the friction on her burn.

Still muttering through his teeth, his eye glued to the injury through his single-cracked glasses, he did it again, pulling on the bandage a little too hard, this time making Mabel accidentally let am “ouch!” slip past her lips. Ford looked up at her and his expression grew softer and more nurturing. “I’m sorry, my dear, but really, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“They were gonna shoot you…”

“I don’t care.” Ford said firmly. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to save yourself and leave me behind, you do so.”

“No.”

The nomadic scientist blinked, slightly surprised by her stubbornness. Only slightly surprised, because she is a Pines, after all. But she is a good kid and in the month they had been traveling the Multiverse, she had never outright defied him like this. “Excuse me?” He wasn’t even stern or angry; he was too surprised (and maybe even a little proud) to properly scold her anymore.

“No. That’s stupid.” Mabel answered, her little cheeks puffed up in determination, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the fire, a flame of her own in the windows to her soul. “I’ll never leave you behind. We’re a family, we gotta stick together if we’re gonna survive and get home. We need each other. Besides, if the tables were turned, would you leave me behind?”

“That’s an entirely different matter.” Ford said with a small smile on his ruffed-up face; he resumed his work on the burn more gently now and finished wrapping it up, securing the bandage. “I’m old, I’ve lived my life. You take priority.”

“I don’t care.” Mabel said, copying Ford’s exact tone and voice from earlier. The grown man snorted with amusement.

Ford decided to put this little argument on hold, seeing how there was no changing Mabel’s mind right now. And he didn’t want to spend the entire evening rebuking her. “You did do a very good job disarming those hunters. I’m very proud of you.”

Mabel sat up a little straighter and smiled up at Ford. “Thank you.”

Ford smiled at her and stood, moving to his large backpack to fish out the things for tea and dinner, though it would probably only be dried meat and oats. “I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as her world was put on pause. She felt like she was being sucked into a time vortex, transported into a memory.

Grunkle Stan was dusting some zombie parts off of his armchair when Mabel was walking by, leaving the kitchen after giving Soos his cure for zombification. Stan noticed that Mabel looked very tired. He smiled at her from her seat, and Mabel ran up to him and climbed into his lap for a big hug.

“Hey, you alright?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.” And he gave her a secure squeeze and Mabel happily hugged him back.

Mabel was shoved back into reality, accompanied by a sinking feeling of loss. She missed Grunkle Stan. She missed Dipper. She missed Waddles, and Soos, and Wendy, and the Shack, and Oregon, and California, and Mom and Dad…

Ford turned back to the fire with a kettle and wire-spider in hand, ready to ask Mabel to fetch some water (she always enjoyed being of assistance), but he stopped when he saw her crying with her eyes shut and wiping her cheeks dry with her wrists. Ford was immediately halted and his priorities shifted drastically. Nothing mattered at this moment but making her feel better.

He was swift. Ford scooped up some water from the clean stream into the kettle, then used the wire-spider to hold the kettle over the fire. Giving the water plenty of time to heat up and steam, Ford gently picked Mabel up from her seat on the log, only to hold her close and let her wrap her arms around his neck. He didn’t say a word, being a social-cripple and having no idea what he could say that would make her feel better, so he stayed silent and was simply there for her.

And really, that was all Mabel needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the two humans were lucky to come across a small rustic town in the woods, reminding Ford of the small Tennessee-town Fiddleford grew up in. Except of course there were no humans, but blue-skinned elves with pointy years and the occasional centaur.

Ford had stolen a bit of money from a hunter yesterday, which meant they got to restock on supplies and even buy a cheap breakfast at an outside cafe. Sitting at a table under an umbrella, Ford was going over his plan with Mabel while she munched on her sweetly-cooked purple apples tossed in spices and sugar.

“... so once we reach this cavern here, we’ll reach a very interesting town called Flush Valley. I’ve heard it specializes in building mechanical limbs and prosthetics, but it’s surrounded by rich minerals perfect for building, so we can find what we need easily here. There may even be a day-by-day job I can get to earn a bit of money for food and shelter.”

“I can work, too! Daddy always said I was like a French horse!” Mabel added in excitedly.

Ford chuckled. “We’ll see. I would feel more comfortable if you were working so I could keep an eye on you. Moving on,” The old scientist sipped his strange alien coffee, but it contained caffeine and somewhat resembled his home dimension’s coffee taste, so he drank it. “The way there could be crawling with scavengers. A lot of people come to Flush Valley just barely hanging on by a thread, easy targets for hunting and stealing food and supplies. So we need to keep our guard up for the next two days.”

“Okay.” Mabel said, as nonchalantly as if Ford told her to remember to add milk to a grocery list.

Ford gave her a firmer look and added, “So, if we think we’re being followed, what do we do?”

“We pretend we don’t know and we keep walking calmly.” Mabel replied. “We keep our eyes open for a way to lose them, and where the sneaky-peaky spies are.”

“Very good.” Ford smiled at her. “If we decide to try to lose them, what do we do?”

“Run as fast as we can. If I can’t catch up I get on your shoulders and focus on making them go away, while you get us away.”

“Yes, excellent. What do we do if we decide to confront them?”

“I grab by sling-shot and exploding rocks and hit as many guys as I can. I aim for the knees or feet so they fall and can’t shoot us. Oh, and we stand with our backs to each other so we see everything, together.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, if we are surrounded and I find a way to escape, what do you do?”

“Make sure you go in so you can lead the way!” Mabel answered with a grin.

“N-No, honey.” Ford said gently with a smile, as if informing a kindergartner that 1+1=2, not 11. “If I find a way to escape, you go first…”

“No,” Mabel said, still smiling as she shook her head. “You go first so I can make sure you’re coming.”

Ford sighed and took another sip of his drink. “Okay, if I tell you to run, you…”

“I grab your hand and run with you, making sure no one gets lost.”

“Mabel, no.”

“Mabel YES!” The girl grinned with determination. “You’re stuck with me, old man! You can’t get rid of me!”

Ford was getting annoyed at this point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up slightly, and growled, “I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m trying to save you!”

Mabel gave him a very serious look and questioned, “By leaving me alone out here?”

“No! I-...” But Ford stopped and bit his lip. His niece did have an excellent point. As much as Ford was willing to do anything to keep her safe, as much as Ford was willing to sacrifice his own life for her’s, that really wasn’t a good idea.

There was a good chance Mabel could survive without him, at least until she found a nice family to take her in (or, somehow, miraculously, Stanley opened the portal and brought her home, but Ford didn’t dare to hope for that). But she was so young and inexperienced in the Multiverse. At least when Ford was first thrown into the chaos he was an adult and was accustomed to weirdness thanks to his six years of researching Gravity Falls. Mabel was extremely resourceful, imaginative, intelligent, and clever. She was also stronger and faster than many would assume. But she was too trusting. Too innocent. So, not to belittle Mabel or underestimate her, but she was right; she needed Ford, and as noble as it would be to exchange his life for her’s if it came down to it, that would also be incredibly stupid and only buy Mabel a little more time until she was captured or enslaved or killed or even worse.

And of course, only someone as people-smart and clever as Mabel could make Ford see that.

He sighed tiredly. “O-... Okay.” Mabel smiled proudly at him. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try to be more careful.” Ford promised. “I… I just need you to be safe.”

“Don’t worry, I think we do a pretty good job of keeping each other safe.” Mabel complimented, holding out a bite of her fruit on a fork for Ford.

The old man held up a polite hand and declined, but his stomach turned against him and growled, and Mabel frowned at him, giving Ford a deja vu feeling of his mother forcing him and his brothers to eat their vegetables. So Ford smiled and accepted the sweetly cooked fruit. “Yes, I think so, too.”

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #fanfiction #drifting stars au #collab #ford and mabel bonding #ford pines #mabel pines #ANGST AND FLUFF #more to come!

94 notes · View notes

sorryimanon · 4 years

Text

Character: Shouto Todoroki

Long distance isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Your boyfriend, Shouto, goes overseas on a special mission in America. Back home, you try to take advantage of the distance with a couple of pictures.

Warnings: 18+, phone sex

Word count: 4k

Shouto watched with somber eyes as you packed the last remaining suitcase into the trunk of the car, back still turned against him so he couldn't see your tears. Bakugou and Izuku insisted on driving to the airport together, taking into consideration that they were all traveling overseas to the same destination. The night before, you were being a stubborn brat, not liking the idea of sending Shouto off at the crack of dawn. He showered you with affection afterward, his body never leaving your touch. Making love didn't cross both of your minds. It would've hurt in the after glow knowing the distance that'll be between you for the months to come. The two of you decided to just lay lifelessly in each other's arms, limbs interlocking, fingers carefully tracing skin, and hearts beating in unison. Moments like that is what truly captured the relationship as a whole.

With your back still turned, Shouto saunters over and wraps his arms around your torso, along with his head resting on top of yours. You hummed at his subtle touch. Eyes drawn to a close, you ruffled his split colored hair, already imagining the smile forming on his stern face. It was always a miracle when you manage to witness Shouto genuinely smile without forcing it.

You turned on your heel and reposition Shouto's hands on your hips. "Call me as soon as you touch down in America. Okay?" you didn't care at how needy you sounded, anything involving Shouto and hero work gave you anxiety.

The arm holding onto your hip soon reached the bottom of your chin, tilting it slightly so your eyes can formally meet. His dark irises became glossy as you stared harder, trying to capture every feature before he leaves in case within those months you forgot what he looks like. Even though you had a separate album on your phone filled to the brim with selfies and funny pictures of him, mostly taking up your storage space.

"I promise sweetheart. Remember, this will be the shortest 6 months you'll endure. I'll be home quicker than you can say All Might," he said, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. The action made you blush and giddy, referring back to the ways he'd make you feel during U.A.

Subconsciously, you both lean in against each other, waiting patiently for who's making the next move. Your lips hovered over his, unsure if he wants to kiss goodbye or stay wrapped in your arms. A minute has gone by and you two stayed cemented in the same position. Fuck it, you thought. Who cares if it'll make you miss each other more. You harshly grabbed his face and leaned forward, preparing your lips to come into contact. But the loud beep emitting from the car made you both jump out of each other's grasp, knocking you backwards onto the cold surface.

Bakugou's head popped out comically from one of the windows, eyes gleaming with rage.

"Oi! Hurry up you dumbasses! We were supposed to leave 5 minutes ago!" he hollered, spit spraying out from this mouth.

You overheard Izuku, who was in the passengers seat, trying to calm down the explosive blonde. A pair of calloused hands slipped behind the back of your neck, crashing your lips to mount another. There's no hunger in the kiss. No teeth or tongue battling it out. Just pure passion burning within the languish kiss. Feeling satisfied, Shouto released himself from your mouth, leaving you breathlessly staring back at him in awe. With one last romantic gesture, your boyfriend rubbed the outer part of your cheek and pinched it between his fingers, smiling at your reddened reaction and shuffled towards the side door of the car.

"I love you y/n," was all he said before sliding the door shut.

You mumbled the exact sentiment as the car revved up and maneuvered out of your driveway. Shortly after wiping away some dried up tears, the car soon disappears from your line of vision, leaving you all alone on the driveway.

“All Might...” you whisper to no one in particular.

About 3 months into the trial of long distance, you were already experiencing the symptoms of postpartum-boyfriend-syndrome. Constantly crying yourself to sleep? Check. Going through his Instagram to make sure he didn’t delete any of your pictures together? Check. Texting him every hour on any given day to see how fast he’d respond? Check. Also, the inevitable weight gain from stress eating? Double check.

A couple of your friends noticed the sudden mood change when Shouto arrived in America that first initial month of separation. Momo for example, confronted you in the locker room at the agency one day, spewing about how you almost got yourself decapitated by a villain when your guard was down.

“I’m sorry Momo. My mind has been in the gutter lately. Shouto hasn’t texted me all day since this morning. I’m just worried this whole long distance thing is going to ruin our relationship,” you admitted , wincing at how incredibly clingy you sounded.

Momo began undressing herself, her lips caught between her teeth, clearly taking in what you said. Once she shimmied our from her hero costume, a devilish smirk rested upon her face.

“If you feel like your relationship is going grey, maybe try to spice things up a little. Ya know? Use the distance to your advantage.”

Your hands stopped themselves from unzipping your tight suit. “Hah? What do you mean by that?”

Momo chuckled, amused by how innocent you were acting.

“Come on, you know what I mean y/n,” she slipped on her everyday attire and closed the locker. “You know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.” With that she gave you a wink and left the room.

A picture huh?

Across from you was a massive mirror. Each end reaching the edge of the room, everything being showcased, including you. Sometimes you’d walk in catching a few of the prohero girls taking selfies. They all had one thing in common, confidence. Something you had before Shouto’s departure. It felt as if someone used an ice pick to cut away the very little self esteem you had left, leaving you with barely anything to offer anymore. You couldn’t help to compare yourself to the proheros Shouto has been working alongside with since being in America. American girls were a different breed. Everyone over there looks exactly the same but different somehow. You tried not to think too much as you resumed on unzipping your hero costume. Today you wore a plain black bra set underneath. You hardly put on anything skimpy or sexy since you’re practically on patrol everyday, resorting to your trusty sport bras.

You caught a quick glimpse of yourself in the horizontal mirror, gaping at the added fat in your chest area. All thanks to the weight gain, your boobs looked delicious in the bra. The lower half of your body was nothing to ignore either. Your ass filled up the small undergarments, cheeks teasingly spilling out.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Momo’s words enticed you enough to grab your cellphone from the pocket of your duffel bag. Work hours was over for everyone in the building, so you weren’t worried about someone walking in on this compromising state.

You tried to mimic the poses you witnessed from the times you watched the girls do it. One hand on the hip, the other behind your head, along with angling your ass to the side. The pose was uncomfortable. How did they manage to hold this stance for longer than ten seconds? You took some pictures anyway, ignoring how awkward you presented yourself in the mirror.

Each picture you swiped through didn’t meet the criteria. Were these even good enough to send off to Shouto? He loves you no matter what, he reminded you everyday in fact, but your stomach dropped of the thought of him being revolted at these images. You quickly deleted all of the them and sighed in defeat. One more try.

Dropping down to your knees, you held the camera above your head, showing off every part of your body. You spread your legs a couple of inches, your cloth slit on full display. To add even more, you leaned forward a little bit to have your boobs almost spilling out from your tight bra. Through the camera lens, the top part of your nipples were visible. Surly Shouto wasn’t dense to not notice.

Your mouth was agape as you stared at the pictures you recently took. This person in the frame didn’t look anything like you. If you were to show this to Momo she’d be a proud mother.

Without hesitation, you sent a couple of the pictures to Shouto, leaving a cute little message at the bottom once they finally delivered.

Missing you extra today :) xoxo

You didn’t wait for his reply and started packing up everything in your area. Hopefully Shouto won’t be angry at your sudden bluntness, but he left you no choice. An acute noise came from your duffle bag. The blood rushing through your veins suddenly became very cold. It must be a message from Shoto, it has to be. You waited till you arrived safely home to check what he responded with. To your dismay, it was a reminder for next weeks meeting. You shuffled out from your car and headed straight to your shared apartment, a pout currently prominent on your face due to the failed mission.

On the other side, Shouto sat stoic in a plush chair listening attentively to one of the leaders reporting about the current mission. Next to him was a grouchy looking Bakugou, who was currently falling in and out of sleep in his seat. By no surprise Izuku was the only one in the group wide awake and full of energy. The trio has been traveling across the nation helping out with smaller hero agencies in hopes for there to be a stronger allegiance between the USA and Japan. So far it’s been excruciatingly draining on not just their bodies but minds as well. All Shoto wants is to feel the familiar warmth of your body pressed against his. His touch starving tendencies wandered into his personal life when Bakugou caught him snuggling the hotel pillows one night, mumbling your name over and over again. Pathetic as it is, he misses you so much. Although, he wouldn’t admit that out loud, he tried to keep you updated on everything that’s been happening. He has a hard time expressing his feelings, especially when it comes to you. So when he felt his bottom pocket vibrate, he half expected it to be a goodnight message from you, since you’re a couple of hours ahead of him. Nothing prepared him for the promiscuous photo you shared of yourself plastered on his screen, looking back at him with dilated eyes and flushed cheeks.

Blood rushed to the lower region of his pants as he pinched the screen to get a better inspection of you. He thought you looked absolutely beautiful in this vulnerable state, not to mention how your body perfectly clings to his favorite pair of underwear, every curve and beauty mark showcasing before him. Below the plethora of lewdness, a short message from you was attached.

Missing you a extra today :) xoxo

Stifling a groan, he began to type out a reply, stumbling on his words even in text. Before he could press send, someone slapped Shouto’s shoulder and dragged him to his feet.

“Come on half cold bastard the meeting is over. We’re free to go,” Bakugou grumbled as he pushes Shouto out of the cramped room, having Midoriya to follow suit. Bakugou shifted his gaze to Shouto’s phone, gazing at the gross nickname for you on the screen. Shouto angles his phone away from Bakugou’s peripheral vision, praying that he didn’t see your half naked body.

Shouto stuffed his cellular device into his back pocket again, awaiting for the right moment to text you back. Knowing the dynamic of the relationship, his silence is nothing out of the ordinary, so maybe you weren’t thinking too much into this.

Hours later and still no reply from Shouto. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you figured he probably hasn’t seen it yet, but the “read at ___” has your heart twisting in a knot. You knew he was a couple of hours behind, but would it take for him to at least send a well thought out compliment. Maybe he’s in the midst of an intense battle? Or worse, hooking up with one of the American colleagues. No, Shoto isn’t like that. Being unfaithful is uncharacteristically unlike Shouto. You mentally slap yourself for painting your loyal boyfriend in a different light, all because of some stupid pictures.

Clearing your mind from anymore self sabotage, you did your nightly routine to get ready for bed. As you tucked yourself in, the bright light from your phone flashed, indicating a notification. Everyone in your contact list has already gone to sleep. Everyone excluding Shouto. Frantically, you reached over to grab the phone, swiping across the screen to view his message. The following text shot daggers through your chest.

Call me now

No mention of the photos you sent hours ago. It took him this long just to conjure up a cryptic message. Although, you were curious to see what he'll say to you once he picks up. You pressed the phone icon on his profile and waited, the ringing making you sweat with anticipation. He answered on the third ring.

There was an uncommon silence hanging in the air. On the other end of the call, you can hear the faint acute breathing coming from your boyfriend. You laid frozen in bed, cowardly holding in your breath to prevent any noise.

Shouto broke the silence and said, "I'm sorry for not texting you all day. There was an immediate emergency that lasted longer than we expected."

You nodded your head, but then caught yourself after realizing he can't see your movement over the phone, and let out a grunt instead.

"So..."

"So?" It came out more aggressive than you wanted it to be, but the constant cat and mouse game of today set you over.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked.

No. Not in a million years could you ever be angry at him. Yes, sometimes there's things he did that you wish he'd do better, like expressing himself instead of sheltering back in his shell. Or the way how you envied the relationships your coworkers had, their partners showing them off like it was second nature. Not once did Shouto verbally express his sexual desires. As selfish as it is, you wanted to explore more with him than just regular mundane vanilla sex. Sadly you knew his response was probably going to be lackluster. But no, you weren't mad, just jealous.

"I'm not mad Shouto. Just...very disappointed in you."

In the background, the definite click of a lock from a door rattled your ears. He's in his hotel room, you thought.

"Is this about what happened earlier today?" he started, dragging his tired feet to the hotel bed. "You know, the pictures-"

"Right, the only pictures I put any effort into just for them to be completely ignored by my own boyfriend."

The line went silent again. Even though he isn't here, if he was, he'd be glaring at you with his intense stare, those bi-colored eyes never wavering away from yours.

"You really want to know how I truly felt about those pictures you sent?" His voice dropped a lower octave, sounding as though he dipped himself in pure molasses. Rich as it is, his sudden change of tone aroused you, sending an involuntary wave of pleasure through your body, tipping to the peak of your sex. The only time you heard him sound like this was either when he's livid to the core or about to completely wreck your shit. Both would coincide with each other on special occasions.

He didn't give you enough time to answer, figuring you were too stubborn to reply, and voiced his inner thoughts.

"The fact that you even think I didn't appreciate the photo's is quite silly sweetheart. In fact," you can hear the clanking of metal on the other end. "It makes me sad that I'm not there to worship every inch of that body. Was that your plan all along? To get me worked up by how much I miss your touch?" Shouto struggled removing his pants, the tent forming beneath them restricting him to smoothly slip them off.

You tried to keep your excitement down by squeezing your legs together, almost to the point where they crossed. Soon your breathing became sporadic. Just picturing Shouto touching himself while you both were on call gave you an adrenaline rush. Knowing you couldn't touch him but just yourself intensified your arousal even more. Slowly, you dragged a lazy finger from your sternum to the area around your belly button, tracing small circles on the skin.

"What would you have done to me if you caught me in that moment? Taking those pictures," your sultry tone boomed through his speakers, almost taken back by your approach.

Shouto raised his hips and shimmed out from his tight work pants and started palming himself through his briefs. "Sweetheart, id do nothing but ravish you. Taking my sweet time with you....fuck...I miss you so much," he couldn't hold back the whine he trapped in his throat as soon as his finger swiped over his clothed slit. The sound alone triggered a warm sensation spreading down below, already feeling the wetness coating your panties. By now, Shouto’s fingers would be disappearing inside of you, scissoring and messaging your velvety walls till you broke out screaming, but you had to make do and resort to playfully teasing yourself.

"Ngh...I miss you too...S-Shoto."

"Are you touching yourself love?"

Both of you were far too gone in arousal, there was no point in holding back your sexual pleas.

"Y-Yes, but I wish it was your fingers instead."

Hearing those words coming from your lips encouraged him to shove his entire hand down his boxers, gripping the base of his cock with ease. A small gasp left his lips feeling the crisp, cold air of the hotel room hit his exposed member. He shifted his hand vertically, giving light tugs to it before pumping it vigorously. The sensation strained him to close his eyes, seeing nothing but you doing the work for him. Late nights in the various hotel rooms consisted of him getting off to memories of all the intimate moments you two shared together. Of course it was lonely, but he never resorted to surfing the internet of lewd videos of random girls. They just weren't you. But tonight, he could finally relieve himself to the sweet ambiance of your moans. And he definitely wasn't going to regret it in the morning like usual.

"Listen to me, go faster for me baby," Shouto instructed, "Imagine it's me touching you."

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, fully coaxing your face in heat. You followed through and dipped your fingers into your sex, feeling the warm texture of your walls petting them. All those months without any sexual relief built up so much tension that the tightness within you restricted from anymore movements. After a few strokes, you loosen and manage to reach in far enough to the peak of your knuckles.

Meanwhile, Shouto's hand never grew tired at the tedious strokes, pre cum dripping till it reached his inner thighs. Your name kept spewing out from his throat like a mantra, like you were the only thing he prayed for at night. Despite his lack of moaning, he grunted with each pump, the built up causing him to breathe heavy as well. Generously, he held the phone close enough for you to hear the continuous slapping of skin, along with the combination of wetness. You didn't restrain yourself from moaning though. Every whimper, moan, and groan reverberated across his empty hotel room.

"You wanna know something?" He tried to keep his breathing at a normal pace, but he hastily kept pumping at quick speed. "Everytime I go to one of those dull meetings, I can't help but to imagine you riding me in front of everyone...ngh!"

The confession elicited a moan from you, along with your legs shaking due to the stimulation. Your head flew back and hit the pile of pillows, mouth agape as you added in another finger.

"I miss the feeling of being inside you. So...fucking...bad,” he was beginning to lose his voice , sounding as though he was in constant pain. Poor boy.

"I never took you as being so up front Shouto, what happened?" You challenged him through the phone.

"I guess you really don't know me baby," Shouto shot up from the bed and bent over, not once removing his hand from his member. "Fuck fuck fuck...I can't wait till I come home, so I can finally taste you."

The coil within you was beginning to snap. Snaking your fingers underneath your shirt, you started flicking your thumb over one of your perked nipples, still immersed into the idea that he's actually the one touching you instead. Toes curling and arms bunching up the sheets, you knew you were about to climax. Just by hearing his speech pattern, you can conclude he was close as well.

"I'm about- I'm about to cum S-Shouto!" You pathetically whine.

"Cum with me baby. I've been holding off for you."

Even during intense moments like this, Shouto's gentleman persona didn't fade away over the course the relationship. With the knowledge you have now, knowing he's been on the verge of relief, you pumped your fingers in sheer brutality, never once missing the g-stop. Throwing his head back, Shouto was now on his knees pleading for mercy from the pleasurable pain shooting up through his member. He let out an exasperated whine.

"Now baby, cum for me."

Then you felt it, the knotted tension within you disappearing. Everything around you looked white, like someone snuck in and painted your room a different color. You can faintly hear Shouto orgasming on the other end of the phone as you calm down from yours. He's heard you climax many times before, but hearing your angelic screams over the speaker made him cum harder.

A few minutes later and you two were now recuperating from the intoxicating session, harsh breathing overlapping each other. It felt like years later when he detached his hand, now coated in his own fluids and cramped up. You loosened yourself and removed the two fingers finally. They glistened with your fluid as well, giving off the impression it was just sweat.

"Y/N? Are you still there?" Shouto's voice alerted you awake, almost forgetting you didn't manifest him to finish you off. You grab the phone after cleaning your drenched fingers and propped it on the pillow next to your shoulder.

"Wow that was-."

"Amazing?" He finishes.

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

He mischievously chuckled, "I know. I heard it loud and clear a minute ago."

You audibly groan loud enough for him to hear while snatching the nearest pillow to smother yourself with.

"So, are you planning on sending any more pictures like that during these last 3 months?"

His innocent inquiry made you break out into a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Those pictures sprouted a future of appraisal from your boyfriend, who you thought would never voice his inner thoughts till the day he dies. You two also found a secretive kink to phone sex as you continue to explore with him during these periods of loneliness. Once he arrives home, he assures none of that is just a “phase” as you two kept venturing beyond to sext each other during important events.

A picture really is worth a thousand words.

(Truthfully, honestly, this is possibly the worst thing I wrote but someone asked for a cute little passionate session with Shoto specifically. I hope you enjoyed (?)

529 notes · View notes

tytach · 3 years

Text

Phantom of The Office - The Specter Delfecter™

Dwight walked into the office, swaying his hips in a way that was definitely very manly. He paraded to his desk clump, confidently propping a leg on his chair with all the confidence of a peacock in heat, proudly showing off his latest acquisition.

"Aaahhhhhh, I feel so good today," he said loudly, pushing his pelvic forwards. "There’s nothing like a wardrobe change to lighten up a man’s mood."

Jim finally looked up from his paperwork, eyeing Dwight’s new belt doubtfully. The accessory was made entirely of metal, slightly glowing and overall very futuristic looking; a sharp contrast with Dwight’s austere 80’s office worker attire.

"I’m not going to ask you what this is," Jim said flatly.

Dwight chose to hear what he wanted.

"Very good question, thank you Jim. This is a Specter Deflector™," he explained with a very haughty tone, grasping the belt in both of his hands. "It’s specifically conceived to protect its wearer from a ghost’s touch in a very painful way."

"Hold on. Is it supposed to hurt you, or the ghost?"

"The ghost, you dumbass. Try to follow a bit, will you?"

"Are you sure? Because the way you put it, it sounds like you would be the one getting hurt."

"Pfff, of course not, why would it hurt me?" Dwight looked at the camera and shook his head, displaying an almost confident smile. "Idiot."

Discreetly, he turned the button at the center of the buckle, dampening the glow of the belt. Jim smirked at the camera.

Danny emerged from the lunch room not long after, sipping at a steaming cup of coffee. Despite his exhausted state, he caught Dwight’s pointed look rather quickly. Noticing the Specter Deflector™, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hey Dwight, what’s up?" He greeted awkwardly.

"Nothing," the salesman feigned nonchalance, giving a small shake to the device to make it catch the light. "Nothing at all."

Danny shrugged and resumed walking to his desk, his pace a bit stiff.

"Nice belt by the way. Where’d you find it? Etsy?" He asked conversationally.

"Fenton Works Online," Dwight gloated.

"Obviously," the temp grumbled, plumping down on his chair.

— — —

"Of course I’m not scared of Dwight and his stupid belt," Danny told the camera, his annoyance poorly contained. "This thing is a scam. In fact, everything from that shop is a scam, because ghosts don’t exist."

— — —

It took a few seconds for Danny to register Dwight’s shadow looming over his desk. He let out an involuntary scream as he jumped to his feet, quickly getting away from the salesman.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He stammered.

“Just making sure you’re crunching those numbers correctly. Why, is there a problem with me being right here, so close to you?” Dwight asked with an obnoxious smirk.

Danny backed off as far as he could, oblivious to Meredith’s pleasure to his bumping into her.

“No, all good," Danny gulped. "Why don’t you go over what I just worked on while I go grab a snack?” He suggested, slowly edging away, bending in awkward ways to get out of the narrow space without so much as brushing against Dwight.

His efforts were painful to watch, and Dwight seemed to enjoy every second of it. When the door closed after the temp, Dwight shot an ominous smile at Jim.

— — —

“Wow. I’m really, really impressed,” Jim confided to the camera. “I didn’t think Danny would get so invested in the prank. Where did he learn to act that well?”

— — —

Jim found Danny busy fixing himself a peanut butter sandwich in the lunchroom. He looked through the window, making sure that Dwight was busy with a phone call before addressing the temp.

“I didn’t know you were that good of an actor,” Jim complimented as he reached for the cupboard above Danny to grab a mug.

Danny scooted a bit to the side to get out of the way. He didn’t look up, too busy applying a good, thick coat of paste on his bread.

"What do you mean?”

“What you did just now, with Dwight,” Jim clarified as he headed towards the coffee pot.

The younger man looked at him quizzically before realization hit him.

“Oh, that?”

“You’re good, you’re really good," Jim complimented, oblivious to Danny’s confusion. "And the FentonWorks Online idea? It’s genius. I didn’t think you would get as far as making a fake website to sell him fake ghost hunting equipment,” he went on as he filled his mug.

“Yeah well… I didn’t expect him to find it that fast,” Danny muttered.

If Jim heard him, he didn’t show any sign of it.

“Where did you get the idea for the ‘Specter Deflector™’?" He kept on praising, swirling his freshly served coffee. "When I asked you to join me to prank Dwight I thought we’d use ouija boards and cheap tricks. But that much initiative? Astounding.”

Danny laughed awkwardly.

“Er… We’re a step ahead in Amity Park on all the ghost stuff, you know? Gotta cash in on the tourist trap and all. My folks got a lot of crazy ideas like that,” he explained, rubbing his neck.

“So pranking is a family trade? Amazing. I’m so glad the temp agency sent you to spice up life in here. Can’t wait to see what he’ll get next from your website!”

Jim taped Danny on the shoulder before returning to the open space area.

“Well I can,” Danny grumbled once the door had closed after him. "I could wait until way after that contract is over."

— — —

Danny looked very bored at his desk. Staring up in space, he was absentmindedly balancing a pencil on the back of his index finger when a wisp of condensation escaped his lips. The pencil clattered on the wooden surface as a shiver made him go rigid with alarm. Danny looked around, surveying his surroundings, before swiftly getting to his feet. Hands in his pockets, he crossed the open space at a brisk pace, heading for the door.

Dwight immediately caught on his strange behavior. Evidently delighted at the opportunity he was just offered, he ran to the entrance and managed to cut Danny’s path right before he reached the door.

"Where’re you going?" He asked smugly.

"I got a phone call," Danny answered matter of factly.

"Why don't you take it here? You’re allowed to take private calls," Dwight argued, very well aware it was just an excuse.

Danny’s tone became very serious, the underlying threat evident.

"Dwight."

"I’m not letting you go anywhere on office time without a valid reason," Dwight ignored him, unfazed. "Unless you’re ready to admit to everyone that you’re a ghost?" He continued louder, making sure to catch everyone’s attention.

"I really don’t have time for this," Danny frowned, reaching forward to shove him aside.

However, he wasn’t accounting for Dwight’s years of martial art practice and lightning fast reflexes. While Danny’s hand was still on his upper arm, Dwight turned back on the Specter Deflector™.

Danny jerked back with a cry.

"What the fuck Dwight?!"

The salesman ignored him. Instead, he turned to Jim:

"Told you it hurts the ghost and not the wearer!" Dwight gloated, pointing a finger at his colleague, before addressing Danny. "And you— Hey, where are you going?"

Evidently not ready to try to bypass Dwight a second time, Danny was already half way trough the open space when Dwight gave chase.

"Wait!"

He pursued Danny all the way to the bathroom. The camera stayed fixated on the closed door, not allowed to follow inside. Beyond it, clatter could be heard as stalls after stalls were violently opened. Dwight finally emerged after half a minute, stomping back to the open space.

"It’s empty," he proclaimed, victoriously. "Again."

— — —

"I knew it! This was the very proof I needed! You recorded it all, right?" Dwight bragged excitedly to the camera. "Have you seen how he jumped? And how he vanished? No one can say he’s not a ghost now. No one!"

— — —

"Why are you all so fixated on wether or not Danny is ghost? He said it himself, those ghost stories from Amity are all fake," Angela brushed the question aside. "Why don’t we talk about more important subjects? Did you know that there’s an estimated 70 million feral cats in the US? Huh? 70 million homeless balls of love who deserve all the petting in the world? Why does no one talk about that?"

— — —

"Which one is Danny again?" Creed blinked at the camera.

— — —

Jim shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, a bemused smile lighting up his features.

"Gotta say the kid’s good. He’s really good."

#Phantom of the Office #Danny Phantom #The Office #dp fanfic #dp x the office au #ficlet #unbeta-ed we die like Danny #<- saw that tag once on a post and I find it not only hilarious but also accurate #but don't hesitate to tell me if you catch mistakes I can easily correct #I've got many more ideas for snipets like that #Also Danny is in Scranton for a reason it was just his eternal luck that he ended up at Dunder Mifflin #my fics

65 notes · View notes

dirty-urie · 3 years

Text

McBrendon

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

Unspecified Era

Smut Oneshot

NC-17

3.2k Words

Warnings in order of appearance: RPF, language throughout, not pre-discussed roleplay scene, medical roleplay and language, sex

Author's Notes:

So, basically, I was re-watching Grey's Anatomy, and I was like, "What if Brendon was here?" and then this was born. I have no idea if someone who's never watched Grey's Anatomy would understand or appreciate this, but basically what I think you need to know is that Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan are sexy manwhores (in the earier seasons), and a common recurring joke in the earlier seasons of the show is putting "Mc" in front of adjectives to describe love interests. The fic is supposed to be more silly than sexy, but maybe it's sexy too, I don't really know.

"Wait, what about those two?" He asks, and you sigh exasperatedly.

"Brendon, just assume that all of the doctors on the Doctor Sex Show have slept together. That's the whole point."

He groans and slumps back in his chair, "Remind me why we have to watch this overdramatic doctor smut in the theater? The theater should be a sacred space for Disney movies or action movies with boobies and explosions, not 'ohhhh does McCreamy only like Natalie because she hooked up with Appendectomy?.'"

"It's my week on laundry duty, and whoever's folding laundry gets to watch whatever they want wherever they want. That's the rules, but you can go watch something in the living room or on your computer or on your phone if you don't like it," you offer, trying to get rid of him. You love Brendon, you love him so much, but sometimes you need to sit in the dark and fold laundry with no other noises except your soapy little doctor show.

"Fine. The men of the house are going to go watch something manly, don't bother us. Come on, Bogart!"

Brendon's little Jack Russell turns to look at you as if asking to stay, but you pat his back and send him off to go snuggle with his dad. You don't think you could handle Brendon's betrayed gasps if you let Bogart finish the episode with you. You and Penny will be fine ogling at Patrick Dempsey while file-folding Brendon's 68 pairs of gray and black sweatpants alone. Brendon kisses your cheek before he leaves. "Have fun with the boobs and explosions, babe," you tell him on his way out of the room.

"Oh, you know I will!"

•••

Two weeks later, it's your turn to fold laundry again, and you're back to watching Grey's, this time in the living room. The dogs are sitting next to you, eyes glued to the screen. Brendon's also in the room, bitching about "introducing this drivel into our home," but you're ignoring him because you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.

He finally quiets down, and you appreciate the five minutes of peace. Until… "Are you unsatisfied with our sex life?" He asks out of the blue.

You're taken completely aback for a second before you scramble to pause the tv. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what? Where did this come from?" you ask him. What the fuck? Is he unsatisfied with your sex life?

"Well, we haven't had sex in weeks practically." Three days actually. It's been three days, but you don't interrupt him. "And you keep watching this sexy doctor show, so I don't know, maybe you're feeling like a bored housewife," Brendon explains.

You laugh at him, and he looks offended. "You're overthinking it, baby boy. It's just a show! Sure, the sexual tension between the entire hospital and Mark Sloan is spicy and exciting, but I'm not trying to compensate for anything lacking in my life. If anything, all that spice just translates into better sex for both of us. Okay?"

He looks very skeptical. "Hm, sure. I totally believe you."

You don't necessarily think you properly got your point across to him, but Meredith just made another bad decision, and you need to see how it pans out. "Okay, great, now go watch a manly show with Bogs in our room if you're going to keep whining."

Brendon does not, in fact, go into your room to watch a manly show on his laptop. Instead, he and Bogart start watching season 1 of Grey's Anatomy, immediately getting highly invested in the lives of the ambitious-yet-messy surgical interns. He's trying to figure out what exactly appeals to you about the show.

•••

It's his turn to fold the clothes, and he's doing it wrong, but you're resisting the urge to do it for him because you're a feminist, damnit. He's still letting you watch Grey's Anatomy because he's a doll (and you don't know this, but he's also become a bit of a fan.)

"Do you think I'm more a Mark Sloan or a Derek Shepherd?" He asks.

You scoff, "You're a George."

"I am not! I'm way sexier than George!"

"You're just jealous because I'm an Addison."

"Pshh, you're a Bailey. You wanna know how I know?" He asks.

"Fine. Tell me." You give in.

"You desperately want to correct my laundry technique."

•••

"Meet me in the on-call room in five," Brendon whispers against the back of your neck while you're drying the dishes from dinner. What is this man doing? "Meet you where?" You ask, but he's already walked away. You're not sure whether to actually wait the five minutes or just try to go find him.

You give him three minutes before going to the bedroom. You honestly don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't Brendon laying on his side in the middle of your bed, shirtless under a white coat. He has on a pair of navy blue scrub pants that aren't particularly flattering, but they still look nice on him.

"Explain to me what's happening here, homie," you tell him.

"I'm being sexy for you! So sexy! I'm Dr. Brendon "McKinky" Urie, I'm a general surgery attending, but my real specialty is pleasure."

You visibly cringe for him. "You're a McDoofus, and your real specialty is probably malpractice."

He pouts. "Play along. Come on. Please? Be Dr. Y/N Sexy."

You roll your eyes. "Why do you get your real last name, but I'm Dr. Sexy?"

"Because we're not married in this fantasy! We're both cheating on our spouses but not in a tragic way, in a sexy way! Come on! Let yourself have fun," he pleads.

You feel yourself start to cave. "Fine, I'll play along, but I'm stopping this the minute I feel weird, okay?"

"Of course. And, babe, if you don't want to do this, you absolutely do not have to," he says, serious now.

"No, no, Brendon. I'm down for this. I think you're a total goof for doing it, but I trust you."

He brightens, "Great! Now it's time for your examination." He waggles his eyebrows, climbing off the bed and gesturing for you to take his place.

"Exam? Am I a patient? Why am I in the on-call room if I'm a patient?" You ask.

"Doctors need exams too, y'know. We're both doctors, but I don't know, you need a routine exam for like moles or something. Take your clothes off." He says, and you take a split-second to be grateful that Brendon got discovered for his musical talents and will therefore never be an actual doctor.

You stifle back your laughter and strip down to your underwear, lying on your back on top of the white sheet he put over the comforter to protect the bed from any potential messes. He stands over you next to the bed, and you're happy that you at least get to stare at his body during this little experiment. The whole "doctor" thing may not be driving you wild on its own, but your half-naked husband always will.

"Thank you for coming to this appointment, Dr. Y/N Sexy," he says. Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, you chant in your head. "First," he says, making his voice husky, "I need to test your reflexes." Something tells you he won't be using one of those little hammers. He bends down and breathes against your neck. You shiver, and goosebumps appear on your arms. You're glad you wore your front clasp bra when he unclips it and has immediate access to your breasts. He circles around your nipple with his finger, and they harden quickly. "Mmm, good reflexes indeed. Very responsive," he purrs. "I don't think your test results are conclusive yet. You should keep going," you encourage. He rubs your scalp, and your head rolls back. You're worried that you'll start drooling.

Brendon smirks at you a little, and his smugness is slightly infuriating. Yes, you like him touching you, but that hardly proves that his weird roleplaying was a good idea. "Just like I observed, fantastic reflexes. But I now must move on to the chest exam." He rests his head on your chest, and you're beginning to suspect that this whole thing was just a ploy to touch your boobs a lot. "Is your heart rate always this fast or just when your hot coworker is touching you?"

"Normally only my husband, also named Brendon… for some reason, can get me so worked up, but now I'm thinking of leaving him for you, McCrinkly."

"It's McKinky, and your husband sounds gorgeous and super smart. You should keep him around," he says, climbing onto you and groping your breasts. "In my professional opinion, these are nice tits."

You have to bite your lip to resist the urge to laugh again. You wouldn't quite say you're aroused, but you are having fun at least. "Okay, okay, doc. Enough of the preliminary exam; I need five and a half inches, stat."

"You couldn't round up to six while we're playing!?"

"Oh, come on, you're lucky I rounded up to five and a half!"

"Rude! So rude!"

You kiss him to shut him up. "Sorry, baby, I won't bully you anymore. Now, how about a cervical exam?" You suggest, craving his thickness inside you.

That cheers him up. Brendon resumes his doctor roleplay. "First, let me complete the dermatological examination. If you could remove your undergarments, please."

You throw your bra on the floor and take off your underwear.

He admires the small amount of newly-exposed skin. "So many marks on your breasts and pubic region. Did your hot husband leave these too, or should I investigate for a skin condition?" He asks, ducking between your thighs to add some more.

"Yeah, he left them there. My sexy husband is kind of the best, but enough about him," you say.

New dark spots pop up after he finally moves his mouth from the sensitive skin of your thighs. "Oops, I think I just burst a couple of capillaries."

Well, someone did some light googling. "Do you think I'll make it?" You ask, faking drama.

"Yes, but you'll need someone to pay lots of attention to the area between your thighs."

He never mastered the art of subtly, did he? "I don't think that will be an issue. My husband will be thrilled."

"Great, that's taken care of. Shall we commence with the cervical exam then?" He asks, rolling off you to tug off his scrubs and underwear. He keeps his dumb coat on, which is more goofy than sexy without clothes underneath, but you don't tell him that. "And we can test your motor skills at the same time. Hands and knees, please."

You obey, and he moves behind you to enter you. He pushes into you quickly and hard, just like you like it. "God, there's so much blood in my, hm, um corpus cavernosum… I think," he says.

"Your what? Are you trying to cast a Harry Potter spell? because that's a whole different roleplay," You crane your neck back to see him, and your eyes widen. "Brendon, are you," you need to pause to choke back your laughter, "are you reading from a flashcard? While inside me?"

He's on his knees behind you, squinting at a white notecard. He flips the card over and reads from it, "the corpus cavernosum is, um, the main erectile tissue in the genitals. So, uh, I was trying to say that I'm hard for you."

That's it, you can't contain your laughter. You can't even bear to look at Brendon without cracking up. Tears are streaming down your face. He hisses, and you think it's because you've upset him, but you turn back to look at him, and he's biting his lip, his head tilted back.

"Are you good, B?" You ask, a little worried.

He's breathing hard. "Yeah, just your laughing caused contractions around my cock, and I was not prepared. Felt good, just unexpected." He pulls almost all the way out and then jerks back in, not quite slamming but gearing up to it.

"Faster, please. Careful still, but faster," you request.

He speeds up perfectly, finally filling you up and relieving the ache inside you. You relish each time his hips meet your body, feeling close to him, even if the position isn't as intimate as he usually likes. You suppose successful Dr. Kinky, notorious womanizer, wouldn't necessarily want to make loving, passionate eye contact with all of his conquests.

"So, Dr. Kinky-"

"No, it's doctor Urie, McKinky."

Jesus, you need a script. "So, Dr. Urie, do you have enough energy after all those lobotomies or whatever to rub a girl's clit? I bet my husband, the other Brendon, would touch me."

"Well, I would never even bother to compete with such a stellar man, but I can still try to get you off." His hands move between your thighs to touch your cunt. "Oh no, so much excess fluid here. I hope nothing's wrong." He puts a finger on your throbbing clit and feigns a sigh of relief, "Good, I've found a pulse." His touch is feather-light as he slowly strokes you. The contrast between his fast, hard thrusts and delicate strokes somehow enhances both of his actions.

"Oh, that's nice," you moan.

"You mind if I have you roll over? I still have to test your flexibility, and I'd love to do that with your legs on my shoulders."

"Fuck yeah."

He pulls out, and you get on your back; he gets you ready by situating the pillows underneath you. You rest a leg on either shoulder, and he thrusts in again. You don't want to admit it to him, but you feel like you'll need to come soon. The spikes of pleasure pulsing between your legs have been getting stronger and closer together, and now that you can see what you do to him, rather than just hearing his occasional grunts, you feel even closer to crossing that finish line.

"I'm observing some rapid contractions, Sexy. Should I note in your chart how close you are to coming all over me? Because it seems to me that you're failing your stamina and endurance evaluation," Dr. Urie teases.

You close your eyes to try to eliminate a source of the arousal, but you still feel painfully close to the edge.

Brendon inadvertently shifts a bit, and that does it. Your arousal peaks intensely, and you try to restrain your reactions on the off chance he doesn't notice. However, you're pretty sure he does notice your orgasm when his movements slow to a stop, and that's confirmed when he outright says it. "You just came," he states. It's not a question.

You nod, not bothering to deny it.

He pulls out, and you finally get to see his still-hard cock soaked with your wetness. "Well I suppose, we can run… further tests to reach a full diagnosis," he practically croons, pulling his scrub pants back on, and a wave of lust spreads from your stomach. Fine, the doctor thing is a little hot. "It's up to you though, I defer to your professional opinion."

"I think my exam is complete, actually, but I know you've been complaining of some pain in this region," you give his crotch a quick squeeze. "Do you mind stripping so I can investigate?"

He immediately takes off his coat, obviously excited, and gives it to you, so you put it on. "So, can you describe the pain?" You ask, putting a hand on his thigh.

"Kind of an ache, I guess?"

You squeeze his thigh, "And you'd say the pain is mainly here?"

"No, uh, um, to the right."

You squeeze his other thigh, "Oh, I see, right here?"

"No, not, um, my thigh."

"Sorry, I understand." You lay your hand flat on his stomach, still carefully avoiding his cock. "Your stomach must be hurting."

"Still not quite."

You clench your jaw in fake frustration. "Well, could you just show me where you need my attention, Doctor Urie?"

He shoves down his pants and grasps his leaking cock, groaning in relief when he starts to tentatively touch himself.

"Yes, very good, thank you. Would you say the ache subsides with stimulation?" You ask professionally.

Brendon nods and smirks a bit, "Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, I think you just need to achieve ejaculation," you diagnose.

"Is that, ah, covered under my insurance?" He asks cheekily, still jerking himself.

You laugh, going to dig the lubricant out, "Okay," you nudge his hand away, "leave this to the professionals." You pour the clear lube into your hand. "This may be a bit cold," you warn. He doesn't really need the lube, he's both leaking profusely and still slick from being inside you, but you want to keep up the "doctor vibes." You grasp him firmly and stroke quickly, trying to get him off as soon as you can. You kind of want to use your mouth, but you can't think of a good reason to within the roleplay. That's mostly fine, though, because you can tell he's about to come.

He comes all over your hand without warning a minute or so later. He shudders and groans, spurting twice more. You didn’t realize how worked up he was. Of course, you saw how hard he was, but to come this much from just jerking him off means he was really turned on. "Outstanding sperm production, sir," you say, crudely wiping him up with a tissue.

"Okay, no more doctor talk. My brain is too mushy," he groans.

You take off the coat and get into bed, cuddling against him. "If your brain is mushy, you probably should see a doctor."

He giggles. "So, would you do this again?"

You think for a second. "Well, I'd roleplay with you again, but you have to warn me next time. And probably not the doctor thing again. It was hot playing with you, but thinking about actual medical procedures is not my thing."

He yawns, "Noted about the warning you next time, and that's too bad. I was really looking forward to the oral exam. How big is your mouth? How's your swallow technique?" He says, half-jokingly.

"Hey, don't push it, or we're doing a prostate exam, and due to budget cuts to the hospital, we're going to be low on lubricant."

He cringes, "Point taken. I don't need a doctor roleplay; the next time I want a blowjob, I'll just ask."

You get out of bed and put on your pajamas. "Well, if it's in the next 45 minutes, your request is getting denied because Penny Lane, Bogart, and I are watching the real Grey's Anatomy in the theater while you're still too weak to complain about it. And this is a good time to tell you that my character is not actually a medical doctor. I have a PHD in film studies. I’m a fraud.”

His mouth drops open, "You're telling me that wasn't an official medical handjob?!"

"I trust that you'll get over this. Love you, babe."

He scowls but still mutters a quiet, “I love you too.”

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #my work

21 notes · View notes

shawn-mendes-post · 3 years

Text

Late Late with Harry Styles

A/N: Hello! I have been inactive for a while. I think I am going to split this into two parts depending on what I want to write. Hope you like this chapter. I used Olivia Rodrigo’s deja vu lyrics in this chapter. I am almost at the end of the first album, which means the Shawn Mendes chapter is coming to a close for a while. I think it is time for her to focus on the relationship with Sebastian and the trauma with Tristan.

Hello again! It has been a while, and I hope you missed me. I know I missed every one of my readers.

So much has happened that I need to catch everyone up. In October, (Y/n) comes out with her new boyfriend, Sebastian Stan. There has been controversy due to their age difference, but who cares? I mean, if in her position, I would date him too. He is hot for his age and acted in Marvel movies. He has amazing eyes and hair that I want to know if soft.

No Shawn. And I mean at all. When asked, he did not comment and moved on to the next question. Harsh. Is there trouble in paradise between the two friends? If so, when did this start? I have a theory but must wait till next time; loves.

Then in November, Shawn Mendes and girlfriend Camila Cabello sang Senorita at the AMA's, where (Y/n) would perform as well. During the couple's performance, the camera was on (Y/n) face, which seemed a little grim. It is a good thing her man was next to her, dancing along to the beat. I wish I had someone.

She would perform, and Shawn was under the magnifying glass next. A lot is written across his face, and we can't wait to dig deeper into next time. (Y/n)'s performance consists of her songs that were already released and added her new single, Starving. Wonder who the muse is?

(Y/n) has a lot of projects coming up that will lead to her being busy. What to expect? She will appear in a Netflix original series, The Umbrella Academy, season two; not much is known about her character. She is also resuming her role in Stranger Things. However, we do know she is not in this season of American Horror Story. Hopefully, next season if she has the time. Also, she was in The Devil All the Time. Starring with Tom Holand, Robert Patterson, and current boo, Sebastian Stan (rumor where they met). She also hinted at a full album realize in the coming days.

I am excited and can not wait! I hope the album comes out before Christmas. There are rumors the album will be about Sebastian, while there are rumors it is about her dearest friend, Shawn Mendes. Wonder what Shawn will think about the album. Get it? Oh, well, Shawn Mendes is also dropping his album soon called Wonder. So much is happening in December, and I am ready for it. I do have questions on what (Y/N) will do for Christmas? She has not been close to her family or Shawn. Will this be the first Christmas for Sebastian and (Y/N) to celebrate as a couple?

Time will tell. XOXO Dawnn S.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was December now. Shawn was becoming more intimate with Camila and becoming open about the relationship. He seemed happy. Was he? A part of him was okay, but there was a part of him sad. He still hasn't contacted his best friend (Y/N). He never went five days without any contact, and this is something new that he did not like. He always told her everything because of their strong bond, but he ruined things.

She has been busy writing and producing new music. Shawn knew because he would get recommendations to watch new videos of her songs on YouTube. Shawn wanted to deny that he did not listen to every song, trying to decode any messages. He would deny that he spent countless sleepless nights watching her videos, trying to see if she was affected by their loss as he felt. She also was a part of numerous movies and TV shows that haunted Shawn. He would make sure to go to the theaters alone, without being seen to get a glimpse of her.

Shawn forgot how busy she likes to keep herself. She would starve herself due to not having time, but he would always bring her food. Shawn would take her out for her to have fun and relax. Shawn could see how much she was working due to the various works and the album she is about to release. Her mind was always thinking whether an idea for a song or a Christmas gift for someone. Shawn fiddles with his phone, debating on if he should call her.

"Hello?" Her voice said, having a calming effect on Shawn. He felt this made him stronger to speak up. He realizes he wanted to reach out before he lost the courage.

"(Nickname)?" He asked, hesitantly, thinking she would hang upon him. He silently prayed she would talk to him and not hang up.

"Shawny, good to hear from you. " She admitted, glancing at her boyfriend, smiling brightly at him. Sebastian shoots her a look, curious about the fact she answered. Sebastian smirks, moving closer to her, placing a hand on her knee.

"How have you been?" He asked, really enjoying hearing her voice. He missed smelling the scent of pumpkin spice and cinnamon when he hugged her.

" I've been well...you?" (Y/N) asked, raising an eyebrow at her boyfriend, knowing he is up to something. She is trying to pay attention to the phone call, trying to hide how much she missed hearing Shawn's voice.

" G-good," he stuttered out, blushing at how lame he must have sounded. Shawn felt like an idiot. He should be apologizing to her, but all he could say is," I miss you," breathless, waiting for her response.

Silence.

He started to panic, thinking he made a mistake in telling her. He starts to run a hand through his hair. Shawn bites his lower lip nervously as his eyes shift around the room. Silently, he was glad that he was alone and did not have to worry about being embarrassed in front of his friends.

" I miss you too, Shawny," she finally replied, hating how weak she gave in to her feelings. Her boyfriend moves his hand higher up her thigh, fingers moving closer to her panties. She closes her eyes, knowing she should stop Sebastian, but loved how crazy he makes her; yearning for him to touch her, she spreads her legs. She silently thanked that she picked a skirt to wear as she bites back a moan when he teases her with his finger.

There is so much she has to tell Shawn. Tell him how much she loves him. How much he broke her heart when she found out he was dating Camila Cabello. However, nothing comes out as she lets out a soft gasp, watching Sebastian getting on his knees, pulling down her panties. She could only watch the smirk on his face as he lifts her skirt, seeing how wet she became from his touch.

" I would like that very much," Shawn replied happily, not having a clue about what is happening on the other side. Shawn felt like he was on his way to get his best friend back. Shawn couldn't believe how simple it was for him to talk to her. Yeah, he still had feelings for her, but that didn't matter. He was with Camila, and that is who he loves.

(Y/N)'s eyes shut as she tilts her head back, enjoying the sensation of Sebastian's tongue not being able to hide her moans anymore; she says a rush goodbye to Shawn, a promise to call him another time before hanging up. Quickly, she pushes Sebastian off her, grabbing his arm and leading him to the bedroom.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Y/N) lets out a snicker, reading the text messages between Sebastian and her. He loved to tease her about her crush on Harry Styles and the fact she told him if she had the chance, she would get with Harry. Sebastian was surprised to find out he was not her celeb crush, but he did become close. She did not count Shawn as a celeb crush because he liked him before he got famous. She thought he was the one for her, and they would get married when they were 20. However, things did not turn out as planned, and she is `moving on. Currently, she is in the blue room, watching from the screen as it plays the show.

"Hi, mate. I am just by your place, and I was wondering if you could help me get to work," Harry says on the phone, "great, thanks." Hanging up the phone, James appears, smiling and saying, "hey."

Harry starts to drive as the two converse with each other. "How are you feeling about hosting?"

"It will be fine," Harry said, smiling as he nods his head. He then asks for advice, listening to every single word James says, finding it amusing. After faking laughing practice and clothing advice, Harry turns on the radio. Watermelon Sugar comes on, they both begin to sing to the song, jamming out as drive.

Harry's phone begins to ring, which makes them stop for a moment. Harry picks up the phone, "ello?" James shoots a confused look at Harry, wondering who is on the phone. "Yeah, I am close near you. I would not mind, yes. No worries, love," Harry said before hanging up. He turns to James, "I need to make a quick stop."

The next thing James can see is (Y/N) outside, with multiple shopping bags, smiling apologetically. "No way!" James exclaimed, not having to know the two had this planned for the segment. The two men get out of the car, grabbing some of the bags and placing them in the trunk.

"Sorry about this. I was Christmas shopping, but my car broke down. I did not need my manager to know I left the studio to shop. I also knew Harry was going to the studio soon, and it was fate that he was close."

The three make their way into the car as the car drives off towards the studio. "I thought you were busy?" James said in a questioning tone, not understanding what is going on.

" I was, but I knew I just had to appear. I just made sure to finish getting everything ready for the album to drop in a couple of days."

Harry looks in the review mirror, meeting (Y/N)'s eyes, "should we listen to music?" Laughing, (Y/N) nods her head, watching Harry turns on the radio once again, the sound of Starving. The three sing-alongs, jamming to the song before there is a new song that comes on. James and Harry stay silent, not knowing the words to the song. (Y/N) smiles, hearing her newest song that dropped out a few hours ago.

Car rides to Malibu Strawberry ice cream, one spoon for two And trading jackets Laughing 'bout how small it looks on you (Ah-ha-ha-ha) Watching reruns of Glee Bein’ annoying, singing in harmony I bet she's braggin' to all her friends, saying you’re so unique (Hm)

(Y/n) sings, stoping to let the pre-chorus play, feeling proud she is almost done with her album. She can move on to the next chapter of her life soon and begin to forget about Shawn.

So when you gonna tell her that we did that too? She thinks it's special, but it's all re-used That was our place, I found it first I made the jokes you tell to her when she's with you

(Y/N) resumes singing, feeling she is giving a major hint on who the album is about. She initially did not want to drop the song because of the hints of heartbreak and the concept of him moving on. There are already people trying to connect each song to her friendship with Shawn.

Do you get déjà vu when she's with you? Do you get déjà vu, hmm? (Ha) Do you get déjà vu, huh?

Do you call her, almost say my name? 'Cause let's be honest, we kinda do sound the same Another actress I hate to think that I was just your type And I bet that she knows Billy Joel 'Cause you played her "Uptown Girl" You’re singing it together Now I bet you even tell her how you love her In between the chorus and the verse

(Y/N) stops, as she only wanted to perform a snippet of the new song. James raises his hands, not believing what happened. "Is that a new song of yours?" He asked, turning to look at (Y/N), not stopping from smiling. (Y/N) nods, a flush on her cheeks as she ducks down a little. "Yes, I want people to hear more of my new songs. My album is dropping tomorrow, and it seems like a good time. I need to move on with my life, and releasing my music is the change I need." The next thing the three know is that they arrived at the studio.

(Need to let me know if you want to be tagged.)

@hxneybee-uwu

@shawn-youth

@sspidermanss

@turtoix

@unpredictabledinosaur

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn paul #reader insert #(y/n)#Late Late Show #harry styles #Sebastian Stan #shawn x y/n #shawn x reader #shawn x you #shawn #friendship #love #heartbreak #olivia rodrigo #deja vú

52 notes · View notes

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

“It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

“Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

“It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

“Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

“Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

“Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

“Martin, what—?”

One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

“I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

“Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

“Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

“I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #you know i realized that i forgot to post this on tumblr since it was anonymous for a week #better late than never i guess lol

105 notes · View notes

thelazyhermits · 3 years

Text

Touching Hearts

As I mentioned in this post, I’ve finally started watching season 4 of the anime, and because of that, I’m remembering things I had forgotten about since it’s been a while since I last read about those arcs in the manga.

One such thing I forgot about was how beat up Todoroki and Bakugou get from their provisional license training, which is mentioned at the beginning of the Overhaul arc, so I decided to write a scene focused on that which takes place directly after chapter 38 of TABF.

I hope y’all enjoy it! ^-^

After you convince Yagi to meet with Nighteye, the retired hero nervously calls his former sidekick in hopes to arrange a meeting with him. Much to his surprise, Nighteye quickly agrees and says you both can come by tomorrow afternoon.

Of course, you aren’t nearly as surprised as Yagi is. After all, there’s no way a diehard All Might fan like Nighteye could ever turn down a request from the former number one hero himself. Plus, you’re sure that he was happy to hear that Yagi wanted to speak with him, even though you bet he’s wondering what the reason behind the visit is since Yagi didn’t go into details.

Once that meeting has been set up and you’ve properly cleaned your tear-stained face, you and Yagi make arrangements to set up a meeting with Nedzu and Aizawa to let them know about the current situation at hand.

As expected, neither Nedzu or Aizawa are thrilled when they hear the news of Nighteye’s impending death, and the latter especially dislikes the thought of you trying to prevent it because of your drawback.

Thankfully, in the end, you and Yagi manage to convince him to allow you both to meet with Nighteye tomorrow since you can’t just ignore your vision. You have to do something.

However, it takes a while to do that, so by the time you finally start heading back to the dorm, you’re completely exhausted, emotionally because of that horrific vision you had about Nighteye, mentally because of that meeting with Aizawa, and physically since you had training with Shinsou after that meeting finally concluded.

That’s why you have every intention to go to bed early tonight, so you’ll be well-rested for tomorrow’s meeting with Nighteye. And you’re honestly just too tired to do anything besides cook dinner at this point, well anything except for giving Midoriya a big hug, of course, since you know he had an equally rough day and you will never be too tired to shower him with the affection and support he deserves. Plus, hugging him always makes you feel better, so it’s only natural that you take every opportunity to do so, especially on a day like today.

While you follow through with your plan to hug Midoriya once you return to the dorm, your plans to turn in early tonight end up changing when dinner comes and goes without you seeing Bakugou or Todoroki. Apparently, since it’s Sunday, today’s provisional license training is an all day affair.

Aizawa had told you as much earlier today, but you didn’t think he literally meant all day, considering how early the boys left this morning. Naturally, that just makes you wonder what kind of training they are going through that lasts from sunrise to sunset, obviously the really intense kind.

No doubt Todoroki and Bakugou will be exhausted by the time they return to the dorm. You just hope they won’t be too battered and beaten since you heard from the other UA teachers that Ganga Orca is a tough instructor.

Since you’re worried about your students, you can’t bring yourself to go to bed until they safely return to the dorm. That’s why, when everyone else turns in for the night, you remain in the living room and wait for the boys.

Fortunately, you don’t have to wait long since Bakugou and Todoroki both arrive shortly after their classmates turn in for the night. When they do, you discover that your wish for them to not be too battered and beaten was in vain.

With a gasp, you hurry over to the surprised boys, so you can get a better look at their injuries. “Are you two alright?! I heard Ganga Orca was a tough instructor, but I didn’t think you two would come back looking this beat up!”

Todoroki blinks, “We’re alright. None of our injuries are serious.”

He tilts his head. “What are you doing still up, Sensei? I thought everyone would be asleep by now.”

Frowning, you gently cup his injured cheek as you examine the damage done to his handsome face. “I didn’t want to go to bed before you two got home, and I’m glad I didn’t since you both need to get these injuries treated before you go to bed.”

Bakugou huffs, “You’re overreacting. These are just scratches. They’re nothing to make a big deal about.”

“Even so, we can’t ignore them.” You reply as you pull your hand away from Todoroki’s face. “So, after you two have eaten dinner, I’ll help you take care of them.”

Just as you turn to head for the kitchen, a question comes to mind, making you pause. “Or do you guys need to take a shower first?”

Todoroki shakes his head. “They had shower stalls at the building where our training was held, so we took showers after we changed out of our hero costumes.”

“Good.” You resume heading toward the kitchen. “In that case, just take a seat at the dining table, and I’ll bring out the food I set aside for you two.”

Rather than oblige, Bakugou drops the briefcase carrying his hero costume and follows after you. “I can carry my own fucking food. You don’t need to bring it to me.”

After Todoroki copies his classmate’s actions, he adds, “I can carry mine too. You don’t have to go out of your way for our sake, Sensei.”

Obviously, these two aren’t as exhausted as you first thought if they have enough energy to argue with you. You suppose you should take that as a good sign.

“Alright.” You huff, “I’ll show you what all I set aside for you in the fridge, and then, I’ll take care of getting some drinks for us.”

Not long after that, the three of you find yourselves at the dining table. While your students eat their food, you just drink from the water bottle you grabbed for yourself.

Rather than try talking to your students, you just watch them devour the food you prepared for them since they’re obviously more interesting in eating than chatting. You had expected they would have strong appetites after the long day they had, and you were right. It’s a good thing you made sure to prepare ample portions for them.

Once he has gotten through half of his meal, Shouto finally takes notice of what Bakugou is eating and tilts his head curiously. “I didn’t notice this earlier, but Bakugou and I are eating completely different meals. Why is that? Shouldn’t these just be leftovers from tonight’s dinner?”

Apparently, Bakugou didn’t notice that either, judging from the way he pauses his eating to examine his and his classmate’s dinner. When the blond later turns to raise an eyebrow at you, you chuckle, “Those aren’t leftovers from tonight’s dinner. Those are dishes I made after dinner.”

A grin forms on your lips. “I wanted to make you each your favorite foods once I realized what a long day you would be having since I wanted to make sure your day ended on a good note. After all, nothing’s better than eating food that you love after a long day, right?”

The corners of Todoroki’s lips tilt slightly upwards. “That’s true. My day definitely improved thanks to your delicious soba. Thank you, Sensei.”

As you return the ice user’s smile, Bakugou returns his attention to his food. “Your spicy food still isn’t anywhere near the level of spiciness my cooking has, but it’s not bad.”

An amused huff escapes you. “Thanks, and I’ll be sure to keep the spice level in mind the next time I make something spicy for you.”

Once that conversion concludes, the boys resume eating. Since it shouldn’t be long until they finish, you leave the table to collect the first aid kit that’s kept in the kitchen, so you can be ready to treat their injuries once they finish eating.

Fortunately, even though you know Bakugou finds your mothering to be annoying, he doesn’t try to make a break for it as soon as he and Todoroki finish eating. Instead, the blond takes care of cleaning his dishes and throws away his trash like his classmate does before returning to the dining table.

When you give him an approving smile after he takes a seat at the table, Bakugou scowls at you in return, but thankfully, he doesn’t do anything else. Still, you know he’ll be far from a model patient, so you decide to save him for last since you know Todoroki won’t give you any trouble.

Just as you expected, Todoroki just quietly sits at the table as you begin treating all of his injuries, only speaking whenever you ask him if he’s in any pain. Each time you ask him if your actions are hurting him, he assures you that he’s fine much to your relief.

That relief quickly turns tino frustration when you begin treating the scrapes on Todoroki’s face. “Honestly, what was Ganga Orca thinking, allowing such a handsome face to get injured like this? If the ladies of Japan saw you looking like this, they would all cry!”

Todoroki’s eyes widen slightly. “Really? How come?”

While Bakugou rolls his eyes, you answer, “Because nothing is sadder to a girl than seeing a handsome guy’s face get ruined! Looks like yours should be treasured, not treated like this! Doesn’t Ganga Orca realize a face like yours will eventually become one of Japan’s greatest treasures?!”

He continues to stare at you in amazement. “I didn’t realize my face was so important.”

Bakugou scoffs, “It’s not. Sensei’s just exaggerating. The only thing that stands out about your face is how fucking annoying it is.”

Just as you’re about to scold the hothead for his words, an idea comes to mind, making you grin. “Aw, Bakugou, is that jealousy I hear? Are you upset that I'm complimenting Todoroki’s face and not yours?”

His face reddens. “Hah?! Don’t be stupid! Like I give a fuck about that!”

Your grin grows. “I dunno. You sure sounded jealous to me.”

“There’s no need to be jealous, Bakugou.” Todoroki calmly says, “You have a nice face too.”

While you snort at Todoroki’s innocent compliment, Bakugou glowers at him. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me, Half-and-Half?! I’ll kill you!”

Confused, Todoroki tilts his head. “No? Why would you think that?”

Before Bakugou can retort, you intervene. “Todoroki is right, though. You do have a handsome face just like he does, Bakugou.”

With a grin, you add, “Although, I’m worried about it going to waste, considering how much you’re always scowling. You know, if you keep making faces like that, your face might get stuck like that forever.”

Todoroki frowns, “That wouldn’t be good. You should be careful, Bakugou, so that won’t happen.”

As you fight the urge to laugh at the stoic boy’s show of genuine concern, Bakugou’s scowl deepens. “It won’t! So, fuck off! Nobody asked for either of your opinions!”

Chuckling, you finish up bandaging the rest of Todoroki’s injuries. “Just giving you a friendly warning. After all, you want to surpass All Might, don’t you?”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow at you. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

Once you’ve taken care of Todoroki, you begin tending to the blond’s injuries, taking full advantage of his distraction caused by your earlier comment. “In order to fully surpass All Might, you have to beat him in all aspects, right? Well, that obviously means you’ll have to have a smile that can outshine his, don’t you think?”

“That makes sense.” Todoroki agrees, “After all, when anyone thinks of All Might, one of the first things that come to mind is his smile since it’s so iconic.”

You give him a wink. “Exactly! If anyone ever hopes to beat All Might, then they better have a smile that can rival his. Otherwise, he’ll always remain number one in that category.”

When you return your focus to Bakugou, you see him frowning, wearing a contemplative expression. Obviously, he’s taking your words into serious consideration.

Smiling, you finish bandaging one of his scrapes before ruffling his hair, making him scowl. “You’re amazing, Bakugou. There’s no question about that. You’re strong, smart, and talented among many other things.”

“However,” You raise a finger. “there is one important ability you and Todoroki both need to master before either of you can become the kind of pro hero who can surpass All Might.”

While Bakugou raises an eyebrow at you, Todoroki curiously asks, “And what ability is that?”

Your earlier smile returns as you turn to point at his and Bakugou’s chests. “The ability to capture people’s hearts by touching their hearts and making your own hearts more apparent to the people you’re trying to protect.”

Noticing their twin looks of confusion, you elaborate, “The reason All Might was such an amazing hero wasn’t just because he was strong and talented. It was because he was amazing at touching people’s hearts by showing them his own.”

You rest a hand over your heart. “All Might gave people hope because they knew that no matter what he would always protect them, not just because he was the strongest but because he genuinely cared about everyone. Everyone could tell that he would always go beyond Plus Ultra to protect them because he considered them all equally important.”

Your expression softens. “That’s how I felt whenever I watched him on TV and in my visions. I could see how much he cared about others and how nothing was more important to him than maintaining the peace and giving others hope.”

When you lift your gaze to look at your students, you see them watching you intently, wearing contemplative expressions, proving that they’re deeply considering your words.

“Real heroes have the ability to not only save people’s lives but also their hearts,” You softly say, “and to some people, the latter is the most important ability a hero can have.”

“And that includes you?” Bakugou solemnly asks as he holds your gaze.

The corners of your lips curve upwards. “It does, because I wouldn’t have made it this far if it weren’t for heroes that could save people’s hearts. That’s why I hope that you promising heroes-to-be will one day master that ability too.”

“I use the term ‘master’ because I’ve already experienced firsthand you both using such an ability. Although, I’m sure it wasn’t really intentional on either of your parts.” You add, earning some surprised looks from your students.

As you’re speaking, you think back to the I-Island incident and how Todoroki refused to leave your side and was determined to get you the medical attention you needed. Then, your memories drift toward the villain attack at the summer camp and how Bakugou refused to abandon you, even though it meant putting himself at risk.

Your smile softens. “One day, you both will able to intentionally touch people’s hearts in the same way you did mine. I have complete confidence in both of you since I know there’s nothing you two can’t do if you put your minds to it, so I have no doubt that you’ll both become amazing heroes that can outshine even All Might.”

For several seconds, your students just stare at you with slightly widened eyes, and then, Bakugou smirks, “Of course, I fucking will! I’m the guy who’s gonna be the next number one hero who surpasses All Might in every shape and form! I’ll master every fucking aspect of being a hero there is, so I’ll be the unequivocal number one!”

Todoroki nods, “I’ll work hard too, Sensei, to become a hero who can save lives and hearts. I won’t let you down.”

Grinning, you reach over to ruffle their hair. “I know. You two are always meeting and surpassing my expectations. This time won’t be any different.”

Both boys’ eyes gain a pleased gleam at your words, but Bakugou tries to hide it by averting his gaze. Rather than tease him about it, you just resume taking care of the rest of his injuries.

As you’re doing this, Todoroki asks, “Do you think our training for our provisional licenses will help us get a better understanding of touching people’s hearts, or is that something we’re supposed to learn during our lessons here at UA?”

You hum thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what all the training for your provisional licenses entails, so I can’t say for sure about that. But as far as your school lessons are concerned, I’m sure you’ll eventually get lessons focused on that aspect of heroics. Although, I would think heroes-in-training would mostly get those kinds of lessons when they’re out in the field.”

Bakugou tilts his head. “Because it means interacting with actual civilians?”

Nodding, you give him an approving smile. “Exactly. The best way for heroes to touch people’s hearts is by learning how to understand the people they’re protecting, which happens by getting closer to them. Doing this helps both parties come to learn more about each other, which leads to trust building between them.”

After you finish tending to the last of Bakugou’s injuries, you begin putting up everything that you took out of the first aid kit. “Trust is key to touching people’s hearts. It’s important that you both become the kind of hero that people know they can trust and rely on no matter what happens.”

Once everything has been put away, you turn to face your students and smile, “You both have already proven to me that you’re strong and capable heroes that I can rely on and trust. Now, you just have to figure out how to do that with everyone else. It won’t be easy since social interactions aren’t really either of your forte, but I know you both can do it.”

While Todoroki gives you a determined nod, Bakugou just averts his gaze with a huff. “Obviously.”

Getting an idea, you cheerfully clap your hands together. “However, as your teacher, I shouldn’t make you do all that hard work without, at least, first imparting a little helpful advice.”

Once you have their undivided attention, you continue, “Obviously, as I mentioned before, one of the main things you both need to do is develop your own hero smile, so by the time you guys graduate, you must have a smile that can put everyone’s hearts at ease.”

As expected, Bakugou makes a face at your words while Todoroki just gives you another nod. Obviously, that one task in itself is going to be difficult for them due their personalities and typical demeanors, but you know smiling isn’t impossible for them. It’s just not something they choose to often do.

There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, as far as their daily lives are concerned. It’s only when they’re on the field, working as pro heroes, that they need to be able to implement what you consider to be one of a hero’s most important assets.

Once you’ve reaffirmed the importance of that ability, you decide to share the idea you came up with earlier. “Another important thing you two should work on is communicating with the people you’re supposed to protect in a way that will assure them that everything will be alright now that you’re there for them.”

With a grin, you wink, “And you should also make good use of those good looks you both have while you’re at it to win their hearts over even more.”

While Bakugou raises an eyebrow at you, Todoroki gives you a curious look. “How do we do that?”

Your grin grows. “I’ll show you! Just pretend you’re a civilian who got caught up in a villain attack, alright?”

Once you get a nod from him, you grab Todoroki’s hands and hold them in between yours. As he stares at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion, you hold his gaze and give him the most reassuring smile you can muster. “It’ll be alright. You’re safe now. I’m here, so you don’t need to worry anymore. I’ll protect you no matter what. I won’t let anyone lay a single finger on you.”’

You give his hands a reassuring squeeze as your smile softens. “So, don’t be scared. A look like that doesn’t suit your handsome face. The world would be much better off if you were smiling instead since a smile like yours can make even the darkest of days seem bright. That’s why I’ll fight with everything I have to protect that precious smile; I won’t let anyone ever take it away, I promise.”

While Bakugou gapes at you, Todoroki stares at you with slightly widened eyes. Obviously, you caught them both completely off guard with your performance.

When a few seconds pass without a response, you release Todoroki’s hands and grin, “So, what do you think, Todoroki? Did I make your heart skip a beat just now?”

He rests a hand over his heart. “There weren’t any irregularities with my heartbeat, but…”

“But?” You parrot, tilting your head curiously.

“My chest feels very warm now, all of a sudden.” Todoroki replies, “How strange.”

Giggling, you ruffle his hair. “That’s what it means to touch people’s hearts, Todoroki. That’s the kind of reaction you should be aiming for when you interact with the people you’re trying to protect.”

His expression appears thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I remember feeling similarly whenever I watched All Might on TV when I was a child. So, this is what it means to touch people’s hearts.”

Todoroki lifts his gaze to meet yours and gives you a small smile. “Thank you for showing me that, Sensei. I promise I’ll make good use of your example and your advice.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” You pat his head. “I have high hopes for you, Todoroki.”

When you later pull your hand away from his head, Todoroki adds, “I promise I’ll also take better care of my face in the future since I don’t want you or any of the other ladies of Japan to cry.”

A laugh escapes you. “Good to hear! You gotta take good care of that face of yours since it’s gonna be one of your greatest assets when you’re a pro hero.”

Bakugou, who has been quiet all this time, finally breaks his silence with a scoff. “Only if he ever learns how to stop being so fucking annoying all the time.”

While you give him an exasperated look, Bakugou rises to his feet and asks, “Are we done here, Sensei?”

With a sigh, you nod, “Yeah, I’m done treating both of your injuries, so you two are free to go. Sorry for keeping you both up when I’m sure you’re both beyond exhausted.”

Todoroki shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize. If anything, we should be thanking you for staying up late for our sake. Right, Bakugou?”

The blond clicks his tongue. “Whatever.”

While the boys move to collect their briefcases containing their hero costumes, you quickly return the first aid kit to the kitchen before rejoining them in the living room. As you all begin heading for the elevators, you ask, “So, what did you think of the example I provided for Todoroki, Bakugou? Do you think that’s something you can do?”

“Of course, I can!” Bakugou huffs, “There’s nothing I can’t do, so I won’t have any issue doing something like that.”

Even though he says that, you have a feeling accomplishing such a task will be more difficult than he thinks once he finally tries it out, considering his less than ideal social skills. While you have full faith in him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll struggle with this aspect of heroics for at least a little while since it’s completely foreign territory to him.

“I’m not as confident as Bakuguou since I’m not used to doing something like that, but I’m going to work hard.” Todoroki comments, “Hopefully, by the time we get our provisional licenses, I’ll be ready to try touching people’s hearts.”

“It might take you a little while, but you’ll definitely get there, Todoroki.” You assure him. “Until then, just keep working hard and doing your best like you always do.”

Around that time, the three of you come to a stop in front of the elevators. Just as you’re about to hit the button for the elevator you’ll be taking, you suddenly realize you had almost forgotten something very important. “I almost forgot!”

Both Todoroki and Bakugou, who were about to enter the elevator which will take them to the boys’ side of the dorm, pause at your exclamation.

Before either of them can question you, you reach over to pat their heads, smiling all the while. “Welcome home, Bakugou, Todoroki. Good work today. I’m proud of you both.”

The two stare at you with surprise for a brief moment, and then, their features relax.

A slight smile rises to Todoroki’s lips. “I’m home, Sensei. Also, thank you for dinner and for taking care of my injuries.”

Bakugou averts his gaze. “I’m home.”

After a brief pause, he then mutters, “And thanks.”

Immediately, after those two words passes his lips, Bakugou hurries into the elevator before you can say anything else. Not wanting to be left behind, Todoroki quickly follows after him.

Chuckling, you give them a parting wave. “Good night, you two. See you in the morning.”

Just before the elevator door closes, Todoroki returns the parting. You don’t hear anything from Bakugou, but you figure that’s to be expected.

With a smile, you turn to enter the elevator that will take you to the girls’ side of the dorm. As you’re riding the elevator, you think back to the discussion you had with Todoroki and Bakugou.

Those two definitely both have the potential to become the kinds of heroes that can save people’s hearts. It won’t be easy, but I have full faith that they can overcome any obstacles that come their way.

Just as you think that, your Quirk activates, showing you a vision of your students in the midst of their provisional license training.

Feeling a mixture of amused and surprised, you watch as Ganga Orca declares that Bakugou, Todoroki, Inasa, and the girl Toga impersonated, Utsushimi Camie, all have to participate in a special training where they have to win the hearts of a bunch of primary schoolers since he says what the heroes-in-training need is “heart”.

Seems like Ganga Orca and I were on the same page. What are the chances?

Looks like Todoroki will be getting a lesson on touching people’s hearts during his provisional license training after all. Unfortunately for him, it won’t be an easy lesson, considering how those primary schoolers have no interest in listening to anyone, not even the teacher they came with.

Of course, you still believe that your students can accomplish such a lofty task. You just have no idea how since you hadn’t considered giving them lessons on how to talk to small children.

That’s why you’re very eager to see what happens next in this vision since you want to see what your students will do. Just how will they win these children’s hearts?

Unfortunately, you don’t get all the details you were hoping for since a time skip occurs in your vision, preventing you from seeing how Todoroki and Bakugou will react to the crazy situation Ganga Orca has put them in.

Your disappointment doesn’t last long, however, when, after the time skip, you see all the children happily playing with the four students in charge of winning them over.

All you can do is smile when you see all the smiling primary schoolers playing on large ice slides that were obviously made by Todoroki. Those are some great smiles you put on their faces, Todoroki. Good job. I knew you could do it.

Your smile grows when you see Bakugou telling a kid that he won’t be able to recognize his own weaknesses if he’s always looking down on others. Well said, Bakugou. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.

Around that time, your vision comes to an end, just as the elevator doors open. As you move to exit the elevator, an immense rush of pride washes over you, making you beam.

You’re amazing, Todoroki, Bakugou. You two really can do anything when you set your minds to it. Looks like you’re gonna soon be one step closer to becoming the heroes you’re both striving to become.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

43 notes · View notes

dcforts · 4 years

Text

[help]

ao3

the laundry room -

Dean simply cannot sit around all day, not since Michael, not since they’ve turned the bunker into a shelter for hunters from another world, not since his brother is working his ass off day and night. He is not into the whole hunter network thing, but he knows that it’s a good thing, it’s the right thing.

Only, he can’t sit around all day, so he keeps busy, trying at the same time to stay as much as possible away from all the others. He doesn’t need their eyes on him. They are respectful and kind, but Dean knows. Dean knows that deep down they are asking themselves how could he, after seeing what Michael did to their world – how could he, and since he could, what is wrong with him, what is he hiding, can he really be trusted?

Dean doesn’t want to think about that, so he stays away. He puts himself in charge of all the things that need to run smoothly in the background to make sure the hunters don’t need anything. He fixes pipes in some bathrooms, air vents in some bedrooms, opens up some more rooms to accommodate researchers and nappers alike.

He runs into Cas in the hallway one afternoon as he’s going to the laundry room. They almost crash into each other, but they both take a step back just in time. Cas says “Dean” as if he was looking for him, and studies his face for a long moment as if he’s able to check the history of his facial expressions of the last few days, those he wasn’t around to see, as Sam had sent him to meet Claire somewhere to take down a nest of vamps.

“Hey, you’re back. How did it go with Claire?”

Cas’ face immediately softens at her name. “Surprisingly well. As you know she -”

Dean interrupts him and motions to follow him “Talk and walk, there’s something I need to do.”

So Cas trails after him to the laundry room and keeps talking as Dean reaches the first dryer on their left, takes out the fresh load to dump it in a pile over a counter and checks the other cycle that’s still going in the second dryer. He keeps talking as Dean grabs an empty basket form a corner and puts it in front of him on a stool and one after the other, starts neatly folding towels and kitchen rags. Pinch the corners, fold once in a rectangle, turn to the side, fold again in a square, done, into the basket.

Dean likes doing laundry. Not exactly the time he spends collecting dirty clothes from dirty hunters that understandably - after years of living in an apocalypse and in a constant fight and flight mode - didn’t prioritize washing their clothes regularly; and not really the part when he has to grab handfuls of wet, blood smeared, smelly towels to dump them in the washing machine, but he likes this part a lot. When everything comes out new, neat, clean. Whatever goes in, no matter how bad it is, comes out reborn.

And he likes how the smell of the softener fills the room, likes the warmth fabrics under his fingertips and how quiet his head gets as he does the same movements over and over again, once, twice, three times. In there, he can’t get it wrong. He never gets it wrong.

Cas takes in the surroundings, as he does when he enters every place and then he gets closer. He is still talking.

“…I think she’s grown a lot. She misses Jody and Alex, I can tell, but I think she found her balance. I may be worried about her but I’m happy that -”

As soon as he approaches the basket Dean unceremoniously throws a kitchen rag at him. Cas catches it but stops talking and looks at him confused.

Dean shurgs. “You could help.”

Cas is dumbfounded for a moment. He looks down at the striped rag in his hands like he has never held one before.

He seems about to talk then he settles for a: “Um -”

Finally he looks at Dean intently and replicates his moves. Fold, rectangle, side, fold, square, done, basket.

“As I was saying” he starts again, as he dubiously picks up another kitchen rag from the unfolded pile, this one with white daisies embroidered on the hem, “now that Sam is mostly the one who passes hunts onto her, I’m glad that we can direct her towards things that are not as dangerous as they could be. I know that when you were her age you were thrown in all sorts of situations, but you had your father, and then you had Sam. She is alone and -”

He picks it up pretty easily and soon enough a rhythm has settled between them. Their hands don’t reach for the same piece of laundry anymore and Cas interrupts himself and loses his thread of thought more than once as he focuses on his task. Then he moves to fetch another basket, takes the kitchen rags pile away from the bathroom towels and keeps going.

“Have you asked her if she wants to come here? Be part of the Lebanon squad?”

Cas shakes his head, “She values greatly her independence. I suggested the idea of a hunting partner but she is not interested in that either.”

The kitchen rags are all gone and there’s a moment of silence. Castiel rests his hands on the edge of the basket and looks up as Dean folds the last of the bathroom towels.

“She is still thinking about Kaia” he adds with a tinge of a sadness in his tone.

Dean catches his eyes and nods in understanding. “Yeah, I figured.”

Then the dryer at his right beeps and Dean moves to take out the new load and drop it where the first one just disappeared. Castiel looks at it with a frown like it personally offended him.

This time Dean doesn’t need to say anything before he moves to resume his task. Silence falls upon them. Dean sneaks looks at Castiel as he works. He looks at his hands, strong and efficient but careful, as gentle as they can be as they hold something that is not lethal, pointy or dangerous in any way.

Dean has to admit that it’s an endearing sight. He looks at his sturdy frame, his messy hair, what he can see of his features from this angle, as he keeps his head low and his actions meticulous. It’s just – nice to share that space with him doing such a mundane task. It’s like seeing him under a different light.

Dean catches himself smiling dumbly right when Sam passes by the door. He instinctively raises a hand towards Dean as a greeting, then does a double take when his eyes register Castiel. He makes a disbelieving face at Dean behind Cas’ back and Dean just shrugs in response. They share a smile as Sam walks away.

Then the second pile is also done and they carry their baskets down the hallway; stop at the linen closet where Dean stuffs in the bathroom towels, and then they go towards the kitchen where Cas dumps the content of the kitchen rags basket.

He turns to face Dean “What else?” he asks matter-of-factly.

Dean huffs a laugh and slaps his back. “We’re done, Cinderella. Good job though. Did you have fun?”

“It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Yeah? This was the easy stuff. I’ll have you fold sheets and sofa covers, we’ll see what you think then.”

the kitchen -

Dean dumps the groceries on the kitchen table with a sigh right when Castiel pokes his head in.

“Hey, where’s Jack?” asks Dean. “He was supposed to help me with this” he says gesturing towards the overflowing bags.

It took him three hours to get everything from the store. Even when they had enough money, he and Sam never really were the kind of people that bought a lot of food. They had no place to store it first of all, and even when they first got to the bunker, they never knew for how long they would stay away, hunt after hunt.

But time had changed a few things and Jack had changed a lot of other things. Packing long shelf life items, experimenting with flavours to teach him and show him, working through their supply at the speed of light were just a few of these things. They spend a lot more time at home and Dean for the first time in his life is not in a rush anymore when he goes to buy something. He takes his time, does his maths, ponders his choices, has favourite things now – not just chips and beef jerky, but things like favourite kind of pasta sauce - and he likes it.

“Still training with Bobby. Can I help you?” Cas asks taking a step forward.

Dean shrugs “If you want”, he says, but he looks more cheerful as he grabs the yogurt from the top of the closest bag and goes over one of the mini fridges. He looks back. “Pass me the things that go in here first”.

So Castiel goes from bag to bag for items that need to be refrigerated looking like a bee flying from flower to flower.

“This is a lot of food.” He says as he selects and passes on.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure we had enough for a while.” Dean says as they meet in the middle of the room and Castiel hands him a pile of trays of different kinds of meat.

They keep going, settling into their roles. Castiel takes out the items from the bags and arranges them neatly for types on the table and Dean moves through the kitchen to put them back in their designated places.

The kitchen has plenty of storing space. Sam has organized everything in a way that he thinks is the most practical, so now they have things like a spice cupboard and a candy and chocolate drawer. Dean likes that.

Castiel on the other hand has not really familiarized with the space yet. He knows only where the basic stuff is: the coffee, the cups, the glasses, the beers. He knows where they keep their cutlery. So when there’s nothing more to take out of the bags and he tries to be helpful, he ends up opening cupboard after cupboard and then looking at Dean to ask “Where do these go?”

Dean snatches the instant noodles from his hands. “Away from Sam,” he says holding the little plastic cups against his chest like they are puppies. “He won’t ever make me hear the end of it.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “I have seen nothing then,” he promises as he goes back to the last items on the table.

“Where’s Krunch Cookie Crunch?” he asks then and Dean stops in his track in the middle of the room to turn on his heels and look at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“The cereals. For Jack” he explains.

Dean feels a smile growing on his lips. “Oh, right.” He shakes his head. “It must be in there somewhere. It was the blue box, right?”

Castiel holds up the only blue box of cereals on the table. It has a cartoon version of a white haired official of some kind on the front. “You mean this? This is Cotton Candy Crunch. It’s different” he says affronted, as seriously as if they were talking about matters of life and death.

Dean cannot believe this is a conversation that he’s actually having with an angel of the lord. He tries very hard not to laugh and not sound like he’s making fun of him when he says “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, my bad.” It doesn’t really work.

Castiel is still wearing a frown as he turns the box in his hands and looks at the ingredients. “I suppose Jack will like them anyway. There is a dangerous amount of sugar and chemicals in these as well.”

Dean goes over to him and stops right behind his back to look over his shoulder. Maybe he takes a step or two more than it is necessary because when Cas turns his face on the side to catch his eyes he find himself a little too close “Perhaps is best if we hide this from Sam as well,” he suggests conspiratorially and his breath brushes over Dean’s cheek.

Dean laughs then, puts a hand on his shoulder and says “Yeah, good idea.”

Cas looks at him expectantly for a moment, then frowns slightly and drops his gaze and it takes Dean a beat or two to follow it and realize that Cas is holding out the box for him to take. He was too focused on his face to notice it and when Cas says “Dean?” his eyes go to his lips and it makes things even worse.

Dean clears his throat and takes a step back, snatching away the box and turning his back. He hurries to the designated breakfast cupboard to strategically place it on the far back, behind other bottles and boxes.

“Next time you can tag along and show me the right kind” he says to break the silence, throwing a strained smile over his shoulder.

the garage -

It’s the middle of the night.

Sam is yawning in the passenger seat and Castiel, who Dean can see form the rear view mirror, seems lost in thought. They decided to skip the stop to the motel and go back to the bunker right after the hunt and although it’s been a long and mostly quiet journey, Dean doesn’t feel tired. He is still fuelled by the adrenaline that has washed over him when he’s found himself way too close for comfort to a set of werewolf’s teeth. It had taken him all he had to shove the werewolf away enough to swing his machete and cut her head off.

He brings the car to a stop and Sam is the first to get out and go towards the trunk to take out the duffels with their clothes and weapons.

He hands one to Dean as he comes out from his side but Dean doesn’t take it.

“Can you bring it in? I’m gonna stay here and wash the blood off the car.”

Sam blinks a few times as if it’s taking some time for him to register what he’s heard. “What? But it’s late. You just drove seven hours straight. Aren’t you tired?”

Dean shrugs and takes off his jacket to shove that in his arms as well. “It’s not gonna take long. I just want to take the worst out of it.”

Sam shifts his gaze towards the blotches of blood on the windshield and the doors, on the windows and the headlights. They had been surprised by the pack during their stake out when they thought they were well hidden in the woods. That was also the reason why they opted out for an extra night in town. The police would have knocked at their door in the morning for sure if they’d parked that bloodied thing out in the open.

“You go” adds Dean reassuringly, knowing that Sam is probably considering staying behind to help him.

“Alright” Sam concedes “I’m gonna grab a shower and get something to eat. I’ll leave you a sandwich in the kitchen, then I’ll head straight to bed.” He yawns again. “I’m exhausted.”

Before he turns around to go his eyes stop somewhere behind Dean. “Cas?” he asks, and Dean remembers then that Cas is there too, just a few steps behind them.

“I’m staying with Dean.”

Sam nods and disappears through the door, leaving the garage in silence.

Dean gets to work, grabs his usual tools, his bucket, his brush, his towel and the car-wash soap. He turns around and Cas is right behind him.

“What should I do?” he asks.

“What?”

“I wanna help.”

“Oh.” Dean considers for a moment the idea of telling him that he doesn’t need help. This is the thing that comes so easily to him he could do it with his eyes closed. But he doesn’t want to turn Cas away.

There was a moment during the hunt when Cas had reached towards him - as he sometimes does - to step in front of him, to face the danger himself and shield Dean from it, but he was intercepted and thrown against the car and before Dean could do anything, that werewolf had jumped him, almost killing him – so it’s like that moment they had, suspended, never completed, left him with a sense of loss and now he wants Cas close. He wants Cas to always be able to reach him.

So he looks down at the items he is holding and he hands him the bucket that Cas promptly steps forward to take and without another word goes to fill in the sink in the corner. Dean walks around the car trying to decide where it would be best to start.

A little soap in the water, an extra brush for Cas and soon enough they are going after the blood smeared on the roof.

Dean hovers around Cas to make sure he’s being gentle with that brush and doesn’t forget any spot.

Castiel feels his eyes on him. “I’ve washed a car before, you know.” He says, and there’s a playful tone hidden underneath his low voice.

“Have you? When?”

Castiel shrugs, “Cars were around a long time before you were born, Dean. I was there to see it.”

“Well, I still need to make sure. Cause no car is this car. My car.”

Cas rolls his eyes. The water washes away the pinkish suds and Dean towels her off like he himself is a well-oiled machine, making always the same movements, always in the same shapes, with the same kind of towel in his hand, and underneath it, always the same solid, black and silver surface.

Dean looks up to see Castiel focused on doing the same on the other side. The hems of his sleeves are wet and he can see splashes of suds on his tie and trenchcoat.

The sight makes him smile and as he keeps towelling the hood, he walks around the car to get closer to Cas. When he’s within reach he holds out a hand to grab his tie and tug a little at it, forcing him to stop and turn towards him.

Dean uses his thumb to rub the suds on the blue fabric. “You’re gonna need a wash too.” he says.

Castiel looks down at his clothes. “Oh”.

Dean huffs a laugh and lets go of the tie but his hand refuses to retreat and it goes and pokes at the wet spots on Cas’ white shirt, right above his right pec, and all down to his side.

As he does so he looks up at Cas, who is standing like a pillar of salt now, and if Dean didn’t know that he didn’t need to breathe he would have been worried.

He smiles fondly. “You’re a mess.” he says, and the same bold, brave, uncontrolled hand goes to pinch the wet hem of the trenchcoat collar.

It stays there as Cas says, “You are in no better condition” and reaches up, unsure, to brush his fingers in his hair, right above his ear.

Dean follows his eyes, he feels them travelling down his neck and on the front of his tshirt, soaked and sticky on his chest. Cas doesn’t touch though.

Instead, he steps back and looks away. Dean’s hand has to let go of the hem, and he feels a pang of disappointment that surprises him. He hadn’t even realized that he was expecting something.

“About earlier -” starts Cas and from his tone nothing good is coming “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you with that werewolf.”

Dean sighs and gets his legs moving, picks up the bucket and goes over to the sink to empty it and wash out the dirt. He says “Cas, come on, it’s nothing.”

Behind him, he hears Cas say “It’s not nothing. I wish I was -” he sighs. “I wish I could do more. I never seem to be able to help you when it matters.”

Dean closes the tap and turns around. “This must be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” he says firmly, “You help me all the time.”

Cas smiles ruefully and his tone drips sarcasm when he says “In the laundry room and the kitchen. Does that matter?”

“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “Look, hunting is our job. Sometimes we can control what goes down, sometimes not. It’s not our fault. But then the curtain falls or whatever you wanna call it and - it’s what’s behind that matters.” He gestures towards the car “This -” he says “you chose to spend your time helping me. This – matters to me.” He takes a breath as if he’s trying to say something that just won’t come out. “Cas y- You’re always talking about -” he struggles. He closes his eyes for a moment and Cas is unsure if he should say something. But then Dean starts again, “You want to give me what I need” he says, and it sounds like a question so Cas nods. Dean drops his head and his voice, “and that’s just us.” he manages to say in the end “It’s all I need.”

As soon as he says it, he turns around again.

He doesn’t even wait for a reply, and Cas is too taken aback to give one anyway, and he adds hastly, a little embarrased: “Now, get over here and help me wring out these towels so I can go to bed before dawn, will you.”

Cas steps foward then, covering the distance in a few strides and stopping right next to him by the sink. Dean hands him one of the towel, their fingers brushing, their eyes meeting. Dean’s smile is a little strained after his little speech but it’s there, cause this - them, like this, side by side - it feels right. Dean looks back down shaking his head a little, as if he’s regretting something he has done or something he can’t still bring himself to do.

He feels Cas’s gaze studying his profile and tries to relax his face as much as possible. Then he can’t resist and sneaks a look his way that Cas intercepts. They both open their mouths at the same time but nothing comes out.

The case, the hunt, the long drive; the things he can’t say, do, want they all catch up to Dean at once, in that moment. He dumps his towel in the sink and takes a step to the side, crowding Cas’ space. Against him, Cas feels as solid as a statue and Dean wants nothing more than to rest his whole body against his. He feels worn out, he longs for closeness. He searches Cas’ eyes for some kind of warning, a stop sign, an I’m-about-to-flee sign, but there’s none of that. It’s just Cas. Maybe, if he had a breath, Dean thinks he would be holding it, but it’s just Cas.

Part of him knows that there’s something that he should be saying, that one of them should be saying at least, but nothing is said. Maybe it’s their bodies that do the talk for them somehow. Cause one moment Dean wishes very hard to be wrapped in Cas’ arms and the next, there he is. Everything else disappears as he sighs and melts completely in his embrace, his face in the crook of Cas’ neck. He smells like blood and car wash-soap. Cas’ arms hold him as he sinks.

His own hands cling at the back of the trenchcoat, and when he moves his head a little so that his lips brush against Cas’ neck he says “Dean” in a breath. It makes him smile.

It doesn’t feel like an event or anything new, really. It feels like letting go. It feels like there was something that they’ve restrained and held back for a long time and now it’s free. Their bodies can naturally crash into each other, right where they were always supposed to be.

Cas slips his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and presses his cheek against his.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” he asks after a while.

“I need you to help me stay on the couch all day, how does that sound?”

“It sounds good,” whispers Cas, his hand in his hair.

Dean keeps his eyes closed.

#deancas #deancas ficlet #destiel #destiel ficlet #deancas fanfic #4.1k #domesticity is my vocation #i wrote this the day before my exam when i was actually supposed to study #but deancas folding laundry together was too important to postpone #i dont regret anything #this is set in s14 FYI #but just backgroung info - there's nothing of the heavy stuff in here #i hate writing endings cause everything always gets much more intense than i wantedd at first #destiel fanfiction #deancas ficlets #my writing

322 notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Text

You’re a marked man, brother, part 3 / also on AO3

Lan Xichen and his companions make their way through the Magpie King's domain, guided by their new ghost friend

warning for some mild violence and animal death (insects)

As they first advanced into the realm of the Magpie King, everyone was quiet, fearing an attack. Sangcan in particular was highly nervous, jumping and trembling at every noise he heard. A few times he made them get off the apparently empty road and walk into the surrounding woods for a little while before returning to the path. When asked, he would just explain in a pitiful voice that there were traps there.

At first, Sangcan didn't really speak much if he could help it, awed and terrified by these powerful people. He just walked near Lan Xichen, having apparently decided he was the one in charge. Or perhaps it was that since Lan Xichen had promised to try to free him, he thought it best to stay close.

Remembering that promise as well, Lan Xichen tried to make polite conversation. Asking about Sangcan's days as a living person seemed a little indelicate, especially since his life had been dark enough he'd turned to the Magpie King to hide some parts of it. So instead, Lan Xichen asked about Sangcan's current existence, and tried to get more details about his master's domain.

On that subject, Sangcan admitted his knowledge was a little spotty.

"I've not worked in the palace, see?" he explained. "Nobody does, really, it's just him. The rest of us, we patrol around or take care of the little ones." Sangcan shivered. "I like mine well enough, but there's some I wouldn't want to be in charge of, eh?"

"Little ones?" Lan Xichen asked.

Sangcan nodded and glanced around before discreetly pointing first at the canopy above them, then at the ground under them.

"They're everywhere," he explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's how he makes his business, right? My little ones aren't so bad, but some others are really… wait, stop !"

Lan Xichen immediately obeyed and stopped walking, but it was too late.

While they were chatting, Wei Wuxian had come near them, curious to learn more about his fellow Devastation and perhaps wanting to steal some ideas for his own domain. When Sangcan suddenly ordered them to stop, Wei Wuxian was caught by surprise and accidentally stumbled forward, taking two more steps. Sangcan cried out, before pressing both hands against his mouth to silence himself.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Wei Wuxian turned to look at Sangcan, tilting his head curiously. Just as he was about to ask what the matter was, he suddenly cried in pain and brutally slapped his own arm. He rose his hand to the level of his face to inspect it, and grimaced. Again he seemed about to ask Sangcan about that, but before he could speak he had to slap away something else, on his shoulder this time, then his hip, his arm again, while something dark started covering his body. The darkness only receded when Lan Wangji threw a few talismans at his husband, causing a mass of little black dots to fall to the ground.

“Mosquitoes?” Wei Wuxian asked, stomping on them.

“Some are escaping, don’t let them!” Sangcan cried. “They’ll report to the king!”

Indeed, now that they knew what to look for, there was a whole swarm of mosquitoes on the path. A huge number of them lunged at Sangcan, as if guessing that he was a traitor and might lead these intruders to the Magpie King if he wasn’t stopped. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji threw more talismans at them, though ultimately it was Wei Wuxian who took them down. After the initial surprise, he bit his thumb to draw blood and did something which made all the bugs drop to the floor, even those that were trying to leave and against which Jin Guangyao was using his fan.

They all stared at Wei Wuxian, shocked by the ease with which he’d done this. Sangcan was perhaps the most impressed of them all, having been so afraid he’d be denounced to his master.

“So I guess that’s how the Magpie King learns so many secrets?” Wei Wuxian guessed, stomping again on the piles of dead bugs. “I’d assumed he used birds, with his nickname and all.”

“It started with magpies,” Sangcan confirmed. “And that’s what my little ones are. But bugs get into all sorts of places, right? So the King branched out into all sorts of vermines as his power grew.”

“But he kept the old title anyway,” Wei Wuxian mocked. “I guess the Mosquito King doesn’t sound as good, and he’s a little vain, isn’t he?” Before Sangcan could reply, Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, his expression quickly going from haughty to pitiful as he showed his bloody thumb to his husband. “Lan Zhan, I’m hurt! Look how hurt I am! And they bit me too!”

Much to his brother’s embarrassment, Lan Wangji let out a small noise of concern and started fussing over Wei Wuxian as earnestly as if he weren’t a very powerful and likely dangerous ghost king capable of surviving nearly anything. Unwilling to look any longer, Lan Xichen went to check on his own husband, in a more calm and composed manner.

“I think I’m getting the hang of those,” Jin Guangyao said, inspecting the fan in his hand. “But I wish I’d gotten one with fire power, it might have been more useful than wind after all.” He glanced toward Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, still lost in the world, and grimaced. “That Yiling Patriarch is something, isn’t he? If he decides to side with the Magpie King…”

“He won’t,” Lan Xichen said firmly. “Not unless he decides Nie Mingjue has done some evil to deserve the Magpie King’s ire, and of course he hasn’t, so there’s nothing to fear.”

Jin Guangyao looked rather unconvinced. In truth, Lan Xichen wasn’t too sure either what Wei Wuxian would do, but it was a risk he had to take. Nie Mingjue had done no wrong, and Wei Wuxian seemed like a man of his word, if nothing else.

Having made sure his husband was fine, Lan Xichen decided to check on the last member of their party. Poor Sangcan was a rather weak ghost by the look of things, and those mosquitoes had attacked him quite viciously. His already plain face was now covered in huge bite marks, and he seemed quite miserable as he watched Lan Wangji rub a soothing balm on Wei Wuxian’s skin.

“I have some as well,” Lan Xichen offered, taking a pot out of his sleeve. “Please help yourself. Are you much hurt?”

Sangcan gratefully took the balm, and started applying it on himself until his whole face was shiny with it.

“I’m quite fine, my lord. I don’t deal much with the bugs usually, but sometimes they escape their handlers and bother everyone, so I’ve been bitten before. The mosquitoes are fine anyway. It’s the flies you’ve got to look for, there’s some very vicious ones. The ones here are carnivores, you know!”

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Lan Xichen promised. “Between the four of us, I think we can handle some flies.”

Sangcan shrugged, and handed him back his pot of balm. With this taken care of they resumed walking, though Sangcan warned them they would soon have to completely leave the road, since it didn’t actually lead anywhere. Past a certain point it just went in circle, and anyone who didn’t know about it would be trapped on that portion until they died. Sangcan, again, walked next to Lan Xichen, but was far quieter than before. Lan Xichen thought it was because he didn’t want to miss the sign that they ought to leave the road and remained quiet as well, but suddenly Sangcan grabbed his sleeve between two fingers and pulled lightly to get his attention, a very serious look on his face.

“My lord, if that’s not too bold… you’re very nice and kind of not bad looking,” Sangcan said, giving Lan Xichen an appraising look. “And I’ve been thinking. Well, my mother always used to say I was the prettiest man she’d ever seen. And you know, looking at those two…” he gestured at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, walking too close and chatting in hushed voices. “I’m thinking if I get a powerful lover, then it doesn’t matter if I can break that contract or not, because I’ll have someone to protect me, right?”

“I’m already married,” Lan Xichen replied.

“I won’t tell your husband if you don’t either!” Sangcan insisted with a wink.

“His husband is right here,” Jin Guangyao remarked, looking very calm in that way which Lan Xichen knew to mean he was quite aggravated.

Sangcan startled at the news, his eyes jumping between the two of them.

“You two sure don’t look married,” he commented. “But in that case, I guess I don’t mind having you both? Or if you’ve been married a while and think of going your separate ways…”

He winked again, and Lan Xichen had to suppress a laugh. It was hardly the first time someone tried to hit on either of them, though this was definitely the worst attempt he’d ever witnessed… and Sangcan’s face, still bumpy with bite marks and shiny from the balm, really didn’t help.

“We’re not ever going to separate,” he announced, “and neither are we interested in spicing things up, before you try that. A-Yao and I are fated.”

To prove it, he cast a small spell which revealed the thin, bright red thread running from his hand to Jin Guangyao's. It was a useful trick to deal with unwanted flirting, one he’d learned shortly after ascending. At the time, he had hoped the thread might lead him to A-Sang’s spirit. Instead, he’d discovered that the person fated to share his life was actually Jin Guangyao, who Nie Mingjue had just brought to the Middle Court.

To his mild shame, he’d originally been disappointed by that discovery, though of course he’d gotten over that with a little time, and now would not have changed what he had for anything in the world. Jin Guangyao and him weren't as obnoxious or open about their feelings as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but they had a good, steady companionship.

“Oh, that’s a fun trick!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, jumping closer to look at the thread. “Can you check other people too?”

Lan Xichen hesitated, but nodded and cast the spell on Wei Wuxian. To his consternation, this made it appear that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were, in fact, linked by a thread of their own. If Lan Xichen had had any hopes that his brother might return to his senses, this killed them. Nothing could come between a pair of soulmates.

Wei Wuxian grinned and threw himself at Lan Wangji’s neck who smiled at him, the pair of them looking happy beyond words. Lan Xichen sighed. He’d have to reconcile himself with this, especially if it really made Lan Wangji so happy.

“Can you do me too?” Sangcan asked in a high voice as he presented his hand to Lan Xichen. “I've got to know… "

There was something almost desperate to his expression, so Lan Xichen promptly complied. They all gasped at the result.

“Because he’s dead?” Lan Wangji asked, turning a little pale at the sight.

“But I’m dead too and it’s not like this,” Wei Wuxian remarked, glancing at the thread that linked them.

Lan Xichen said nothing, fascinated and horrified at once by the torn off thread hanging from Sangcan’s hand, its extremity frayed and ugly. In the centuries during which he’d used that little spell, Lan Xichen had never once seen a thread like that one. Either there was a link, or there wasn’t.

Sangcan looked pitifully at the thread, lifting his hand to better look at the torn end, but out of all of them he was the least surprised one.

“Is this something the Magpie King did to you?” Lan Xichen asked. “Or is this the secret you sold him? Did you do something to your soulmate?”

Sangcan opened his mouth, looking utterly scandalised at the suggestion, but no sound came out. He tried again a few times, only to end up looking like a miserable fish.

"Fine, it wasn't you," Wei Wuxian guessed, and immediately Sangcan calmed down. "But something happened. Someone did this to you, and your curse is linked to that."

This time, Sangcan did not even try to speak. He just looked at Wei Wuxian, his eyes shining as if he might start crying. Feeling sorry for him, Lan Xichen lifted the spell on all of them so at least Sangcan wouldn't have to see this proof of what he had lost. He wanted to offer some words of comfort to the ghost, while Wei Wuxian looked ready to interrogate him.

Neither of them had the chance to say anything.

Just as Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to ask more questions, a loud humming sound started coming from above them, and Sangcan cried out in fear before hiding behind Lan Xichen. With the mosquitoes still in mind, they all braced themselves for another attack. As the noise grew closer though, Lan Xichen wondered what sort of insect might make a buzzing sound so loud he could nearly feel the vibrations reverberating inside his body.

“Zewu-Jun, behind you!” Wei Wuxian cried out.

Lan Xichen twirled around, Shuoyue in hand, and sliced in half a creature flying toward him at great speed. Before he could get a good look at it, another had launched itself at Sangcan, landing heavily on his shoulder and biting down on his neck. Without losing a moment, Lan Xichen dispatched that creature as well. He shivered in disgust when he realised the things attacking them with time were huge flies, nearly as large as cats.

That certainly explained why Sangcan had seemed so terrified when he’d explained the flies in Xinglu Ridge were carnivores.

Still, no matter the size, no matter the diet, those fifty or so flies that attacked them just couldn’t measure up to two martial gods and a ghost king. In fact, they were weak enough that even Jin Guangyao managed to take down a few of them without trouble. Aside from Sangcan, no one at all was hurt.

But of course it was concerning that the weakest member of their group was the one who suffered the most once again. Lan Xichen felt again that Sangcan had to have been targeted, and he decided it would not happen again. He had promised the ghost that he would be protected, and he intended to keep his word.

For now though, Sangcan’s wound had to be looked at. Lan Xichen was the closest one to him, but the pot of balm he’d brought had been almost entirely depleted earlier, so Lan Wangji came to offer his own.

“It hurts so bad!” Sangcan wailed while Lan Xichen applied some balm on the ugly bite. “Ow! My lord, please be more gentle! Ah, it hurts so bad, it’s awful! Ow, Ow!”

Lan Xichen, already as gentle as he could be, half smiled at those complaints and continued working, trying to make his movements lighter still. Lan Wangji looked at the proceedings, with a bored expression. It surprised Lan Xichen at first that his brother wasn’t with that husband of his, but a glance to the side informed him that Wei Wuxian was currently studying the giant flies' insides, something that would definitely upset Lan Wangji’s sensibilities.

“There is a mark,” Lan Wangji suddenly said, coming closer.

Lan Xichen didn’t understand at first, until his brother pointed at Sangcan’s throat. It was very faint, but there was a thin, clean white line going all around the ghost’s neck. Without thinking Lan Xichen brushed his thumb against that mark. Sangcan shivered and let out a low moan, one that sounded far more sincere than all of his earlier whining.

“You were beheaded?” Lan Wangji asked.

Sangcan, so vocal a moment ago, fell silent and looked down at his feet. In this case, the absence of an answer was an answer of its own. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji exchanged a glance.

“Were you executed?” Lan Xichen asked.

Although he didn’t manage to speak, Sangcan was able to shake his head.

“Murdered then?” Lan Xichen insisted.

Sangcan didn’t react in any way, and Lan Xichen again looked at his brother. The mark was very clean, meaning there had been only one blow, from a very sharp weapon. Being both martial gods, they knew beheading were rarely so clean, especially among mortals. It took a very strong blade to cut through bone and muscles that way.

Formal executions were rarely performed in a single blow, unless the executioner was particularly skilled. In the course of war, beheading just wasn’t a very efficient move when there were quicker ways to kill a person, so Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered asking about that possibility.

The last possibility then was murder, and even more than the other two, it would justify a soul turning into a ghost. Sangcan was, by the look of it, a bit of a fool and a coward, but even he might have been enraged after being murdered.

Wei Wuxian, still poking at the corpse of a giant fly nearby, spoke up.

"Maybe he sold the secret of his murder so he could be avenged," he suggested. "Is that what you wanted? Revenge?"

Sangcan appeared conflicted. He didn't say anything, which hinted Wei Wuxian wasn't wrong, but he also pinched his lips and crossed his arms, as if the conclusion that had been reached didn't please him.

"Let's drop this matter," Sangcan grumbled at last, finding his voice again. "My lords, I think it's time to leave the road. It's more dangerous from this point on. If you get lost… well, it's bad. Some people say the Magpie King turned this place in a maze so twisted even he could get trapped!"

"Is that so?" Wei Wuxian sneered, abandoning his study of the giant fly. "Sounds like he's not so smart as people say then."

"If he were, would he need to hire others to take care of his business?" Sangcan retorted. "I'm just saying, some people have a great reputation, but if you dig a little then you find it's all shit under the surface. I mean, it's like that among ghosts for sure. And among gods?"

He asked that question to Jin Guangyao who appeared startled.

"You're one of those paperwork gods, right?" Sangcan insisted. "I've seen your temples once or twice. And paperwork gods, well, they're just like the Magpie King but on the other side of things, right? So I bet you know plenty of secrets too, and you'd be the right person to know if all heavenly reputations are deserved!"

Lan Xichen looked at his husband in concern, only to find Jin Guangyao smiling his most empty smile.

Aside from his normal duties of answering his followers' prayers, Jin Guangyao had risen to a certain fame in the heavenly court as a spymaster of sorts. He was the one in charge of keeping track of gossip, checking if there was any truth to them, and making sure the Jade Emperor knew what he needed to know. As far as jobs went it wasn't a very respectable one, and Jin Guangyao wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in that position in the first place. In fact he'd asked a few times to be relieved of his duties, especially since Nie Mingjue disapproved of such things, but the emperor had kept him where he was. After all, his efficiency couldn't be denied.

Still the comparison to the Magpie King had to hit a little too close to home, even if Sangcan couldn't have known that.

"There will always be people who aren't what they seem," Jin Guangyao said at last, his voice hitting that specific tone he only used when upset. "But in the heavenly court, such things are rare. Secrets never last very long, and anyone who tries to cheat their way up will be caught and put in their place."

Wei Wuxian snickered upon hearing this, but Jin Guangyao paid him no mind. They were all getting used to him finding amusement in things that weren't funny in the least. As for Sangcan, he nodded eagerly.

"You're right my lord, you've got to be right! Justice must prevail, and secrets must be uncovered!"

Just like this, the sad mood that had come from discussing his manner of death was lifted, and Sangcan returned to normal. He insisted again on the need to leave the road behind, and took them into the forest where they all followed closely, heeding his warnings about getting lost.

"He's really quite the character, that guide of ours," Jin Guangyao remarked to his husband, careful to keep his voice low.

"I think he likes you. You might have gained another follower, A-Yao."

"I prefer my followers smarter than that. Though enthusiasm has its merits as well, I suppose."

"He seems a decent enough person," Lan Xichen protested. "He has good taste in men, surely a point in his favour."

Jin Guangyao wrinkled his nose. "If you must betray me, please at least do it with someone prettier."

A little ahead of them, a branch creaked, the sound resonating in the quiet of the night. Sangcan, who had stepped on it, nearly lost his balance out of surprise. He turned around and glared at the others, especially at Lan Xichen.

"My lords, please don't talk too much," Sangcan asked in a stern tone. "It is not safe here. Even if they don't attack, the King's little friends hear everything."

Lan Xichen flushed, wondering if Sangcan had heard the details of their banter. He didn't look upset, but his steps were less light than before. In fact, up until then, Sangcan hadn't made any sound while walking, and though he was still less noisy than the rest of them, that there was noise at all showed some temper on his part. Lan Xichen worried his husband and him might have accidentally antagonised their guide just when they needed him the most.

After a while though, Sangcan appeared to regain control of himself. His steps turned light and silent once more, making it a little hard to follow him in the darkness of the forest. It hadn’t been a problem on the road, but now Lan Xichen was truly concerned about losing sight of the ghost. To avoid that, he abandoned Jin Guangyao and caught up to Sangcan, silently walking by his side. No matter how well trained he was in martial arts, Lan Xichen couldn’t make himself entirely silent the way Sangcan seemed capable of, so even without seeing anything the other three would still be able to follow them. Sangcan didn't appear to mind his proximity, but didn't particularly acknowledge him either.

They walked for many hours, until the sky above them started turning lighter with the first hints of a dawn soon to come. Once or twice, Sangcan stopped in his tracks, motioning for them to be silent, and they heard loud buzzing noises passing by. More giant insects by the sound of it. Even though they weren’t attacked again, Sangcan seemed more and more worried as time passed, as if fearing the confrontation with his master now that they were getting closer. Lan Xichen wanted to comfort him again, and to remind him that they wouldn’t let any harm come to him if they could help it, but since Sangcan had ordered silence, he obeyed. He could not take the risk of ruining their rescue of Nie Mingjue.

At last, the sun rose, colouring the forest around them. Although it must have been a beautiful place, especially bathed this way in golden light, Lan Xichen only felt growing anxiety at this proof that too much time had passed without them seeing any trace of Nie Mingjue. If he had been captured, or worse…

Just as he thought this, Lan Xichen tensed and glanced at his brother, only to find Lan Wangji also looking at him. Without a word, they both stepped closer to their husband, Lan Xichen dragging Sangcan as well behind him before unsheathing his sword. Lan Wangji did the same, waiting for something to come.

At first it was nothing but a presence, the vague sensation of something dark and powerful coming their way. Then, somewhere above the canopy, a faint fluttering of wings. Wei Wuxian appeared more intrigued than anything, but Jin Gyangyao nervously took out his fan and prepared to defend himself if need be.

The flapping sound came closer. Catching a glimpse of dark wings, Jin Guangyao moved to attack and send a powerful gust of wind against whatever was above them. Before he could though, Sangcan cried out loudly, giving the things a warning, and grabbed both of Jin Guangyao’s wrist with great strength. Jin Guangyao, startled, made a wrong movement and his fan was pushed against the edge of Lan Xichen’s sword, splitting it in two.

“What have you done?” Jin Guangyao hissed. “That was a present from da-ge, he’ll be furious!”

“Don’t you dare hurt them!” Sangcan snarled in response, rushing forward to meet a pair of birds, offering them his arms to land on.

“Aren’t they going to report to the Magpie King?” Jin Guangyao asked. Sangcan didn’t grace him with an answer. All his attention was on that pair of magpies who had hopped on his shoulders to play with his hair, while he scratched their necks.

“Hello, hello, I missed you too,” Sangcan cooed to the birds, his voice soft and warm. “Are you fine? Do you have enough to eat? Good, I’m glad. Do you bring news?”

The pair of birds started cackling excitedly at him, appearing to speak over one another. A few times they let out more strident sounds, while Sangcan nodded seriously to all of it.

“Good boys, good boys, let me see if I have something for you,” the ghost said when they were done, digging into his sleeve until he found a small pouch. From there he took a handful of various bugs, some of which seemed alive. The pair of birds eagerly ate from his hand, while Sangcan smiled tenderly at them.

Lan Xichen stared.

Something about this felt familiar. It was something he hadn’t thought of in many years, because he’d been too busy, because he hadn’t wanted to think about it, but his friend A-Sang used to love birds. He’d feed wild ones until they became used to him, and had an entire aviary even though his family didn’t approve. He often handfed them, no matter the diet, just because he wanted to take care of his little friends.

He always looked so happy with them, enough so that Lan Xichen would joke about being jealous. He could nearly remember A-Sang’s delighted face, could almost recall his smile that shone like the sun, the same way Sangcan’s did as he fed those magpies, and for a second Lan Xichen wondered…

But it was impossible. A-Sang had been young when he’d died, not quite twenty, and he’d been a very handsome man, even if Lan Xichen could hardly remember his exact features after so long. There was no way that Sangcan, plain and middle aged, could be the same person. A more powerful ghost might have managed to change shape, but Sangcan was a very weak one, barely strong enough to have a physical shape at all.

The only reason Lan Xichen could find any resemblance between the two was because Sangcan had been on his mind since his visit to the Burial Mounds. It annoyed him mildly, especially since Jin Guangyao was right there.

Wanting to distract himself from unnecessary nostalgia, Lan Xichen walked closer to Sangcan and his birds.

“Those are beautiful,” he said. “Are you their handler then?”

Sangcan jumped slightly at being approached, to which the birds complained. He threw Lan Xichen a suspicious side look before nodding slowly.

“They're my little ones,” he confirmed. “I haven’t seen them since being sent to guard the entrance, and they were missing me. So they escaped, and brought me news as a gift. That martial god, the one who broke in yesterday, your rude friend… He’s made it to the Unclean Realm. That’s the Magpie King’s palace,” Sangcan added as an explanation.

“Your boss sucks at names,” Wei Wuxian said, joining them. “Who’d want to live in a place like that?”

Sangcan shrugged slightly, careful not to jolt his little feathery friends around.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know! I’m not close to him, am I? I’ve heard some people say it’s just the old name of a place where he used to live, but I don’t know. Even we don’t know much about him, and we work for him. Maybe he just thought it was funny. Hey, do you know why it’s called that?” Sangcan asked one of the birds, which cackled in answer. Whatever it said, Sangcan didn't find it worth translating.

Lan Xichen had to close his eyes for a second. He felt a little faint because that name was…

Just as A-Sang had loved birds, he’d had a taste for history as well. He liked to read about it, curious as a cat on topics he enjoyed, and loved sharing what he learned with those few people close to him. And so Lan Xichen could just remember A-Sang explaining one day that once upon a time, the place he lived in used to be called the Unclean Realm, though the name had fallen in disuse over time. It had so pleased him to have discovered this useless little bit of trivia, and so Lan Xichen too had been happy, as he so often was in his company.

But A-Sang couldn’t be the Magpie King. The idea was even more ridiculous than being Sangcan. A-Sang had been sweet and innocent, a little mischievous certainly but never cruel the way the Magpie King could be, and certainly not resentful enough to turn into a ghost king. It would have taken more than a murder, however randomly violent, to turn such a lovely young man into a creature like the Magpie King, so Lan Xichen refused to even consider it. He just had A-Sang on his mind too much, and it was getting ridiculous.

Wanting to distract himself, yet also still plagued by memories of a boy long dead, Lan Xichen thoughtlessly tried to pet the birds, remembering how A-Sang always encouraged him to do so with his own pets.

The tip of Lan Xichen's fingers barely brushed against those feathers, yet it was enough to make him flinch away. The dark presence Lan Xichen had felt earlier had truly come from those birds, and it turned out they were so steeped in resentful energy it could harm even a god. From where they stood Lan Wangji and Jin Guangyao couldn't see it happen, but Wei Wuxian noticed, as did Sangcan who chuckled uncomfortably while scratching under the bird's chin.

"Did that lord scare you, my friend?" he asked the bird, getting a grumpy sounding high sound in return. Sangcan turned to Lan Xichen with an apologetic smile. "My lord, please don't be mad at them! But of course, those aren't ordinary birds. They are the Magpie King's oldest allies, you know. Even before he became a ghost king, these two were with him, so you'll understand they are picky with who can touch them."

As if agreeing, the two magpies cackled in unison and threw Lan Xichen a disdainful glare.

"Well, it's time for you to leave anyway," Sangcan told the birds. "We don't want your absence to be noticed, eh? I'll see you later maybe, if this doesn’t kill me. Go on! Shoo!" he ordered the unimpressed birds. "Ah, I'm always saying you're such good boys, and now you're making me lie!"

Since he sounded so miserable, the magpies pecked a last time at his hair and took flight. They all watched them go, all feeling different emotions about that encounter.

“Should we be letting them go this easily?” Jin Guangyao asked. “Aren’t you worried they might reveal our presence to their king?”

“Oh, no, they like me too much to betray me,” Sangcan proudly replied. “I always sneak them treats, so they’re good boys to me.”

“Boys… so they’re not a bonded pair?” Jin Guangyao asked, still staring in the direction where the birds had disappeared.

“Birds can have the same tastes as humans, my lord,” Sangcan informed him. “There’s some males that won’t ever touch a female. Aren’t all of you lords like that as well, all married to one anothers and the like? But anyway… you’re right actually, they’re not a bonded pair. They’re brothers, as it happens, which is even neater than just mates, isn’t it?”

Jin Guangyao looked unimpressed by that reveal, while the Lan brothers both nodded in agreement. As for Wei Wuxian, some complicated emotions flashed on his face, as if the topic of siblings were an unpleasant one for him.

“Can’t imagine being stuck with a relative of mine for centuries and having to work with him,” Wei Wuxian muttered, before grinning at his husband. “No offence, Lan Zhan. At least, your brother seems easy to get along with. More than I could have said of…” He stopped with a sigh, and turned again to Sangcan. “And do you have relatives? Hm? A brother of your own, perhaps?”

Sangcan didn’t reply, his lips pinched tight. He stared at Wei Wuxian with surprising intensity, as if trying to figure out something about the ghost king. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, Sangcan suddenly started walking again.

“Let’s go, my lords,” he ordered. “Your friend might need help if he’s reached the Unclean Realm. It’s not a good place, not in the least, so let’s not lose any more time, hm? Not that it’s very far by now...”

Because his steps were making noise again, Lan Xichen guessed that either the question about his family or the encounter with those magpies had gotten Sangcan upset again. At some other time he might have asked, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that ultimately, it was nothing to be concerned about. He couldn’t have explained it. Lan Xichen just knew that Sangcan had no malicious intentions, that he just wanted to do what he’d promised, get his curse lifted, and then just go on with his non-life in peace. It made little sense, but Lan Xichen had been alive long enough that he felt he’d gotten at least somewhat good at guessing if people were dangerous or not.

Sangcan was no threat to himself, just as Wei Wuxian, however odd and possibly dangerous to others, just didn’t strike him as a person who would ever purposefully try to harm Lan Wangji.

So Lan Xichen left Sangcan to his emotions, and tried to calm his own unquiet heart. If Nie Mingjue had already arrived to that Unclean Realm, if he had already confronted the Magpie King… there was a very real chance that things would go badly. In fact, it was almost certain at that point that they wouldn’t be able to avoid a fight.

Lan Xichen couldn’t refrain a sigh. It was exactly what he didn’t want to see happen. Still, he hoped that the Magpie King, like Wei Wuxian, wasn’t all that his reputation made him to be, that there would be a way to negotiate with him.

While Lan Xichen mused on every option that might be available to them, the Unclean Realm appeared before them quite suddenly.

One moment they were walking in the dense forest covering Xinglu Ridge, the next they were in a vast clearing in the middle of which stood an ancient looking home, which had the air of an antique temple reconverted into a habitation. Lan Xichen gasped as he recognised it, while Jin Guangyao let out a weak cry of fear and grabbed his husband’s hand so tight it Lan Xichen thought he might break a bone.

“Is something wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Xichen silently nodded, staring at that building he’d never thought he’d see again. Next to him, Jin Guangyao was trying to pull him away from the Unclean Realm, growing more obviously worried with each passing moment. Not without reason, of course. Last time Jin Guangyao had been in there, he’d become the sole survivor of a terrible slaughter, an event so traumatic he refused to talk about it to that day. Because this place was…

“This is Nie Mingjue’s house when he was mortal,” Lan Xichen whispered. “And it was destroyed centuries ago.”

#xisang #wangxian #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #marked man au

29 notes · View notes