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writingbyshiloh · 1 year

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Part 4. Cooper

Series Masterlist

CW: domestic red I think? (possibly) OOC Cooper, FBI!Reader

AN: I pictured the show to be Euphoria, but no specific details so it can be any show with a drug dealer character. IDK Cooper's official rank and I am scared of spoilers so we just went with the assistant director. Just realized that if you read all the parts back 2 back then they are very similar but also ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. No beta

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Reddington in the post office is a scene that never fails to surprise you. In the early days of the task force, he seems to be there frequently. As the years went, he saw less and less of the walls inside. He never goes to the post office if he can help it, and you don’t blame him.

You see Dembe nudge Reddington, a silent indicator for him to start talking about what he needs the team to do this week.

As Reddington lectures, Liz interrupts and Aram pulls up the supporting documents and photos. Red usually tells Liz the details, and she tells the rest of the team.

You knew a tiny bit. He left shipping documents on his kitchen table a few nights ago while he went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t just leave documents lying around if he didn’t have a reason for you to see them.

To keep yourself sane you set boundaries. If you're not working, or if someone isn't in immediate danger it is not your problem what Reddington is doing. This came after a series of him dropping clues and waiting for you to put the details together.

You still listen, minus a few instances where you zone out thinking about Reddington's suit, waiting for the shipping documents to make some sense to you, but nothing yet.

“Liz, you go with Reddington to the shipping docks. You two” Cooper points at you and Ressler “see what you can find with -”

“I’ll go Ressler” Elizabeth cut in.

Everyone turns to look at Liz.

“I’ll go with Reddington” you suggest, pronunciation wobbly. You’re so used to Red, the “ington” feels off.

“That was fast on the jump” Red notes, once you were out of the earshot of the group, preparing to go to the docks.

You shrug. “It's so nice out. And I can not get caught in a fight between you two.”

Red and Liz fighting always makes you feel like you’re in the middle. Liz would sometimes rant to you about Reddington, which never fails to make you feel like a bad friend. On the other hand, Red keeps his thoughts about Elizabeth to himself in times like these.

---

“Do you understand it yet?” Reddington asks.

You frown. You both have been walking around the docks for an hour, trying to find something on this week's blacklist. Technically, you’re looking for clues, Reddington is watching you, trying to see the exact moment you put the pieces together.

You admire how he pushes you to do your best, to get better at both your job and thinking like him, but now it’s on your nerves. Having elected to ignore him, you exaggerate checking the number on the shipping container.

“My god, you agents are so meticulous. You don’t need every number from every crate.” Red observes.

“I’m not taking every number, just what I think is important.”

“That seems to be the majority, dear.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder due to the use of the pet name in the field.

He puts his hands up in surrender, but he is smiling.

You’re saved from a reply by your phone, Aram calling with no doubt some important information.

---

That night, Reddington visits you. He says he can't spend the entire night but has a few free hours. You don't know what he has to do before or after your time together, but it's not your problem.

“Do you watch this every week?” Reddington asks, glancing at your television.

“Yeah. We talk about it at work,” you respond, placing your water on the table, and settling onto your couch next to him.

“Who’s everyone?”

“It started as me ‘nd Aram but then Samar started watching with him. I think Liz is in season one. Dembe too maybe?”

You tip your head against his shoulder, feet propped up on your coffee table as the show started playing the introduction. He had one of your pens (technically a pen you took from work) in his hand while he mulls over one of his crossword puzzles? Sudoku? Sudoku with words? Red showed you once how it works and once was enough.

---

“That's no way to run a drug business!”

You turned your head to the side to look at him, now sitting on the edge of your seat watching the show.

“I thought you weren't watching.”

“I wasn’t, but this is ridiculous!” he huffs. “He's not even marking up the price at all? And his storage? I mean it is ridiculous! No wonder the police were called.”

“He's just a minor character”

“For running a business like that he should be!”

“Just watch the show.”

---

You were happy to go into the post office today, if only for a chance to talk to Aram about the show.

“Did you see the new episode?” Aram’s words hit you before you even left the elevator.

“Of course! I didn't see the big arrest coming. And that fight?!”

Aram walks with you to the central part of the floor, the rest of the team waiting, both you and Aram dying to talk about yesterday's episode. You catch Reddington in the office out of the corner of your eye and can’t resist winding him up.

“I can’t believe the arrest! Forgot the rest of the prom, I thought he was going to keep dealing drugs for the whole show,” you exclaim, slightly too loud to make sure Red can hear.

‘My god, he was the worst drug dealer I've ever seen. Ressler would do better!” Reddington jokes. Aram's head snaps to him.

“Mr. Reddington, I didn’t know you watched the show!”

“How far along are you?” you chime in.

“My beloved watches it. I caught a few minutes.” Red smoothly deflects.

You freeze, never hearing him call you that before, but you like it.

“Do you want to join our text chain?” Aram eagerly asks.

Cooper saves Reddington from telling the task force that he doesn’t know how to use a cell phone.

The assistant director launches into some of the information that the team rounded up yesterday. Numbers you took note of pop up and you make a mental note to tell Red “I told you so”, no doubt knowing that he wants to tell you the same, for taking too many numbers.

Once everyone is back up to speed and assignments are dolled out, Cooper catches you at your desk. “I need to speak to you in my office.”

You nod and follow him while you feel anxiety roll in your stomach. It could be good news but you can’t think of anything good. More bad news flashes through your mind as you climb the stairs. You could be suspended, fired, or anything else due to Reddington. And there was that one time you made a questionable decision in the field which could be coming back to bite you.

“Close the door, please,” Cooper asks quietly.

You nod, the door firmly shut as you sit, forcing body language to act neutral and calm.

“I wanted to talk to you about fieldwork.” Cooper starts. You force yourself to make eye contact and not start fiddling with anything on his desk.

“You’ve been going into the field with Reddington more. Any reason?”

“Can I be honest?” you ask, trying to come up with something to say.

“Please.” Cooper leans forward in his chair, awaiting your response.

“It makes me uncomfortable when Agent Keen and Reddington fight. I felt that if I go with him yesterday, then they could cool off.”

“Uncomfortable how?”

You sigh.

“Like, he killed Sam, and then she faked her death to get away from him, and no one knows how or if they’re related…” You train off, not enjoying thinking of reasons Red and Liz fight, but more than happy to if you can keep your job.

Cooper nods, understanding. There's an unspoken feeling in the post office when they fight.

“And do you mind? Going into the field with Reddington.”

“Not as much as the fighting.”

Cooper nods again, posture more relaxed before he continues. “I noticed you’ve been working less.”

Your face reacts before you could try to stay neutral. Of course, Cooper would notice. You’ve lost track of the number of times he turned off the lights at the post office before he leaves late at night and you had to scramble in the dark to turn them back on again.

“I’m sorry, I can start staying later again.” You say, trying to fumble your way through apologizing.

Assistant Director Cooper holds up his palms for you to slow down.

“Your hours are fine. Is everything okay with you?”

The question shouldn’t take you by surprise. Things are more fun with Reddington as part of your life, but there's more stress. The stress of hiding the relationship mostly, especially from Liz.

“I, uh, started seeing a guy recently? So I have a reason to spend time outside the post office?” you want to speak in sentences but you’re nervous in case this is a leadup to something else.

He nods like he understands.

“I’m happy for you. Now we just need to get Ressler a girl.”

You both share a smile, while you silently thank your lucky stars.

“Is there anything else, sir?” you ask, arms ready to push you up and out of your chair.

“No, that's all. Thank you.”

You nod and get up. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”

“You can close it. Thanks.”

You pull the door shut behind you and glance down at the post office. Does Red also get hit with this stuff? You wonder. You’ll have to tell him later, once the case concludes.

---

Tag list: @soraya-daydreams, @horrorqueen22, @wild-rose-35, @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek, @zombieskullxz, @rhepworth, @fanficismydrug, @btsjiminsthings, @emilynissangtr, @navs-bhat, @thatonerandomsimpinthecorner

#We r at the bottom on the red gifs #however I do like a white dress shirt with a dark vest #raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #raymond reddington x reader #the blacklist x reader #the blacklist fanfic #the blacklist fanfiction

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

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F reader and Samar?

"Samar...I uh...I don't feel.....so well....I think im.....gonna take a seat-" reader sinks into Samars arms in the breakroom at work, passing out cold.

---

Your whole body screamed in pain and frustration; if you had your way, you´d wanted to curl up on the floor in a fetal position. But that wasn´t possible for you. You couldn´t afford that at work, couldn´t show that you were breaking down in this heat while everyone else around you seemed to be fine with it.

So you sat restlessly at your desk, trying to focus on the various digits on the screen as they gradually blurred into each other, your sweaty palm wrapping around the mouse.

The tingling in your neck that rose into the back of your head, the heat that spread in waves in your chest, the strange headache and not to forget the dizziness you felt became more uncomfortable, annoying and stronger with each passing hour. You blamed it on the exertion, the stress and the constant sitting in the car or at the desk. Occasionally, you would force yourself to take deep breaths, which would make the feeling fade, but didn´t really improve your situation. This oppressive warmth on and around you didn´t let you go. A film of sweat formed on your skin and your body longed to cool down. The air was almost stuffy and left the room with almost no air to breathe for you. "You wanna get something to drink?"

Your gaze wandered to your colleague, Samar, which was standing in front of you. Her arms braced under her chest and her legs planted firmly on the floor. She gave you that stern and unique look that never allowed you to say no.

You wrestled with your answer for a moment; her face doubling and tripling in your vision. Actually, you didn´t want to get up and stay seated, but you nodded anyway, knowing that you didn´t stand a chance against her. "..yeah."

You stifled the effort of a groan as you pushed yourself off your work desk and followed Samar into the break room. You felt bruised, but no wonder in the heat. You couldn´t sleep properly for days and confused heat dreams chased the next.

When you closed the door to the room behind you, you dragged yourself to the next wall you were near and leaned against it for a moment. You found it difficult to move reasonably fast, it felt like heavy weights were hanging from your arms and legs, making every movement infinitely tedious. "Here, take this. You look awful." Samar stated the obvious and bit her inner lip as she held a cool water bottle in front of you- the dizziness, as you know, showing up again and leaving your vision blurry. "..thanks."

"When was the last time you closed your eyes for a healthy amount of sleep?" she asked inquisitively and raised one of her eyebrows questioningly. She had noticed a change in your appearance and demeanor days ago- much quieter and more tense. You were wearing the wrong clothes for this time of year and she recognized the faint beads of sweat under the bright light of the lamp.

"Not for days. The heat.. It´s killing me." you explained and had to realized that even speaking began to be difficult. With one hand you pulled the collar of your shirt and waved it to let more air onto your skin. "Now let´s get back to work, killers don´t catch themselves." you spoke softly, trying to squeeze your way out of the health questions. She was your best friend, no question. But still you didn´t want anyone to know how you were doing at the moment.

After all, it was just a heat way that eventually will pass.

"Y/n." A hand in front of you stopped you from walking towards the door and opening it, her fingers pressed against your abdomen and let you fall back against the grey and cold wall. "Samar, please."

"Y/n." the FBI agent´s voice sounded oddly weird, making you stop in your movement and look up. Her other hand grabbed yours and you wondered why Samar felt so cool. "Heatwave?"

"Yes, exactly." you turned around, now standing with your side to her and inwardly cursed your mental failure for forgetting the dizziness that was catching up to you immediately. "The last days of summer are over and it has cooled down significantly. What are you talking-"

And then it hit you full force. The heat had become unbearably strong, your heart was pounding in your chest and you had to swallow loudly when your condition suddenly deteriorated. You had to sit down immediately just to keep from fainting.

"Samar…I uh…I don't feel…..so well….I think im…..gonna take a seat again-" you interrupted and slumped against her as she tightened her grip on you with a surprised sound from deep in her throat. But it was too late, you blacked out and fell. You fell until the world stopped spinning and you found yourself on the floor, at least half on the floor and half in her arms as she caught and fell down with you.

Why was Samar so incredibly cold?

Her cool hand touched your forehead and you leaned into it, drowning out the aching pounding behind your temples. "Sweets, come on." she sounded concerned. Now you could place the tone of her voice that you had been wondering about all along. There was huge concern written in her voice.

You tried to answer her, tried to explain that it was just the heat that completely wrecked your circulation and got you into this position; into a collapse. There was no need to worry and no reason to hold you in your arms on the tiled floor, which was so cold. But your voice failed and no sound came out of you.

The sudden dryness of your throat and the darkness that had managed to take away a bigger part of your vision intensified, taking you into yet another heat-ridden dream.

#samar navabi x reader #samar navabi x you #samarnavabi #samar navabi #samarnavabi x you #samarnavabi x reader #x reader #the blacklist #theblacklist #the blacklist fanfiction #the blacklist fanfic #the blacklist imagines #the blacklist imagine #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #imagines

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ldflow3r · 2 years

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so I wrote a new fic...

Title: There's No Place Like Home

Relation(ships): Elizabeth Keen & Raymond Reddington, Elizabeth Keen & Donald Ressler & Samar Navabi & Aram Mojtabai, Elizabeth Keen/ Tom Keen

Rating: Teen +

Summary: She had been in the system her entire life and expected to remain there until she aged out. That's why she was sent to the Coopers' foster home for troubled children. So you can imagine her surprise when she is randomly adopted one day by a mysterious man who has answers so questions Liz didn't even know she had. Oh, and she still has high school bullshit to deal with.

aka, the task force is a foster family and liz gets adopted by red

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gender-trash · 1 year

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incredibly funny how a bunch of people interpreted “ao3 was almost certainly scraped as part of the gpt training dataset because it’s a big easily accessible body of english language text, so you can prompt gpt with surprisingly vague stuff and it will autocomplete with snarry underage or wangxian a/b/o” as “elon musk Personally is Currently scraping ao3 and training an ai to plagiarize fic, going to go lock ALL my works on ao3 IMMEDIATELY”

its. its already in the dataset. how do you think these things work. “locking my works to registered users only until after the scraping stops!” my dude the ao3 team just needs to like add a robots.txt and check the useragent and stuff to prevent this from happening in the future*, and theyre already on it, but not only is the existing body of work presumably In the Dataset, the model has ALREADY BEEN TRAINED. that omelet isnt going to get unscrambled

(*im assuming that everyone gathering datasets for large language models is being reasonably Polite about it bc these are both very simple to circumvent — if this assumption is false then ao3 might need to graduate to Offensive Measures but also we would definitely need to bully the culprits off of hacker news)

anyway im not taking any Stance one way or the other on the “ai art debate” (other than maybe “none of you know what the hell you’re talking about”) but we’re definitely going to see a whole new world of copyright claims against the big art models and ml researchers developing new tools for “removing” stuff from a trained model, and i for one think that it will be SO entertaining to watch

#i cant believe how many fucking. layers of stupid misinformation are in this rumor #ELON MUSK COFOUNDED OPENAI BUT HE LEFT THE BOARD IN 2018 #the trashcan speaks #currently i think the main ‘anti plagiarism’ tool is blacklisting prompt keywords which is…………. just SO hacky #(wrt ai art. i think for gpt you would need to blacklist popular fandoms from the output at the very least)#(which they probably wont unless they get copyright claimed.)#(IMAGINE. hottest legal battle of 2025 is google vs. disney litigating whether ai generated fanfiction is fair use……….)

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gravitywonagain · 4 months

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Sympathy for the Devil; part 2

discord got me to finally write a connecting scene, so here! have some more of this nonsense au now based only vaguely on the blacklist! [part 1]

“Alright. What do we know about him?”

Luo Qingyang stands at the back of the small conference room facing the large projector screen on the opposite wall. Her uniform jacket is draped over the back of the chair in front of her, and her fingers curl and uncurl of their own volition, kneading the dark blue fabric into the cushion beneath it. This is not what she expected her morning to look like.

Her team -- her and Lan Wangji’s team, now -- is gathered at the table in front of her.

Nie Zonghui has several stacks of photocopied notes spilling out of an open manilla folder, two highlighters, four sizes of sticky notes, and a legal pad in front of him. He has blue ink on his neck where the tip of the pen resting behind his ear rubs whenever he turns his head to the left. Frustration rolls off of him in waves.

Lan Jingyi is typing rapidly on his CBC-issued laptop which is angled toward Luo Qingyang just enough that she can see he has six different windows open and is in desperate need of at least two external monitors. The overworked fan is almost louder than his heavy-handed, caffeine-fuelled typing. He’s twisting back and forth in the swivel chair, dragging his toes across the carpet, but swivels to a stop at her question.

Qin Su stands off to Luo Qingyang’s right, placing photos -- mostly grainy or blurred -- in an ever expanding evidence map. At the top, with a dozen or so threads leading away from its pin, is a crisp, clean, photo of a man wearing an approximation of the CBC Academy uniform, smiling brilliantly at the camera. Beneath him, the title card reads: Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian.

“Yiling Laozu?” asks Lan Jingyi, one foot tapping out a vague rhythm against the leg of the conference table.

Luo Qingyang restrains her eyeroll, only because she can see that at least four of the open windows on his laptop are chasing down information regarding Yiling Laozu’s associates, rather than the demonic kingpin himself.

“Yeah,” she says. “Break it down for me.”

“Well,” says Qin Su, moving from the board to the open folio near her, “he’s a bit of a recluse, so we don’t actually know a lot.”

Her folio is much better organized than Nie Zonghui’s.

“Start with the basics.”

Qin Su nods, “Right. Yiling Laozu. Wanted for-- basically every kind of spiritual crime known to the CBC. He invented the Ghost Path in his late teens or early twenties, we think. It’s unclear, what with all of the rumor and suspicion and superstition around even saying his name--”

“Yeah, he really looks like a boogeyman…” says Nie Zonghui. He’s stressed. They should never have sent him into the room with Wei Wuxian.

Lan Jingyi says, “Hot boogeyman. If you ask me--”

Luo Qingyang clears her throat pointedly. “Nobody did. Moving on?”

“Yup!”

Qin Su points to Lan Jingyi who taps a few keys on his -- very abused -- keyboard and takes over the projector. He throws several pages up on the wall, photos with short but damning rap sheets.

“Known associates include Gui Jiangjun and Mo Daifu,” she says, indicating the sheets labeled Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing respectively.

She points to Lan Jingyi again and a very low-light black and white shot comes up center-screen. It shows a man who could potentially be Wei Wuxian entering a building that is definitely Two Fans. The brilliant green of the sign is lost, but it is plenty readable. “He has been seen entering the Headshaker’s club on several occasions, but any actual association remains speculative at best.”

Nie Zonghui shrugs in the corner of Luo Qingyang’s eye. “He might just have good taste in venues.”

All three other agents in the room turn to look at him, brows quirked or furrowed or raised to different degrees.

Nie Zonghui shrugs again, “What? It’s a nice club.”

Wei Wuxian rubs at the zip tie dent around the outside of his wrists. He plays it up a little, wincing and groaning just enough to be heard.

Still, Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him.

It’s fine.

He follows the CBC Director and field agents out of the interrogation room and down a long, boring hallway. Lan Qiren and the other cultivator break off through one of the nondescript doors -- room 129-9, Wei Wuxian notes out of habit -- and then it’s just Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian following Lan Wangji. Down a long, boring hallway.

It feels like old times. Especially as Wei Wuxian finds his eyes… wandering.

The Bureau slacks look unfairly good on Lan Wangji, blue wool hugging tight to the curves of his legs and ass in a way no law enforcement uniform should ever be allowed to do. It’s rude. He must get them tailored.

Lan Wangji leads him through another nondescript door -- room 157-3 -- which opens up into a large bullpen. Heads swivel in their direction, eyes snagging on Wei Wuxian and his casual state of dress. Everybody else in here is wearing uniforms in one state of undress or another, while Wei Wuxian is wearing ripped black jeans and a heather red v-neck. Hopefully he’ll get his jacket back soon. He spent a good amount of time stitching talismans into it; he’d like not to have wasted the effort.

Eyes un-snag; heads swivel back toward screens. Wei Wuxian remembers the strength of Lan Wangji’s glare and he imagines it’s only become more powerful with age and seniority. He can practically feel the shiver up his own spine.

Or maybe that is a shiver up his spine.

It’s strangely nostalgic, being here, even though Wei Wuxian is fairly certain he has never been in this particular room before. But that doesn’t really matter. The layout is the same, the furniture is the same, even the smell is the same. The computers have been updated, at least, but not within this decade.

Lan Wangji’s office is nice. Clean and minimalist, as expected. Stark white walls, a meticulously curated bookcase, and a matching walnut and glass-top desk. No pictures, no wall art, not even a particularly fancy name plate. The closest thing to a personal touch anywhere in the room is the tea set Lan Wangji’s mother made for him before she died. Wei Wuxian’s fingertips still remember the soft, inexpert curves of the cups.

The door clicks closed behind him and the silence that settles is almost crushing.

Tension pulls the lines of Lan Wangji’s shoulder blades toward the middle of his back, which is still turned to Wei Wuxian. His hands slowly curl into fists by his side.

A familiar ache twists in Wei Wuxian’s gut -- has been twisting in his gut for almost an hour now. The ache for Lan Wangji’s eyes to be on him. The ache for his attention, for his reaction. Anything, really. Since the day he met Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian has always just wanted to break through that barrier Lan Wangji puts around himself, and to really touch him.

Metaphorically.

And literally, but that’s something else.

Probably.

Now, Lan Wangji’s long braid shifts across the navy fabric of his uniform coat as he turns his head to the side, the shining plait slipping like snake scales through water. Wei Wuxian holds his breath, waiting for the bite. He watches the tension held in Lan Wangji’s jaw forcibly release, and then, finally:

“Wei Ying.”

#wei wuxian #lan wangji #luo qingyang #lan jingyi #nie zonghui #qin su #mdzs #the untamed #cql #fanfiction #the blacklist au #i still probably won't finish this #but it's very fun to play with #it is entirely crack #so have fun with it!#my writing #also for anyone who really likes the actual show this was inspired by #sorry #we're deviating pretty heavily away from that concept and rolling with something that's more loosely inspired

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absolutelyanidiot · 8 months

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The Blacklist AU where cop-recently-turned-FBI agent Dick Grayson is called in by the assistant director after the infamous crime lord known as the Red Hood surrenders, offering himself as a criminal informant, but he'll only speak to Grayson. Instead of bringing up points about Elizabeth's father's criminal past, he reveals that he knows the Bats' identities. On Jason's side, everything happens like in canon until a little past the incident at Titans Tower, because then he feels bad for what's going on with the family, so he decides to put himself in the picture, without them knowing, of course. In addition, it's not Tom that's on the ventilator, it's Tim. And it's all because of the Red Hood, so Dick hates him for it. He's injured worse than in canon, but Jason does actually feel bad about it.

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minp1072 · 6 months

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Peeps just LOOK at this graphic that my bestie @peace-love-on-planet-earth made for my birthday tomorrow! 😍😍😍 It’s so perfect and lovely and my heart is so happy! ❤️💛💙💚

#blacklist #the blacklist #lizzington #raymond reddington #elizabeth keen #the pact #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #lizzingtonfic

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jessfromouterspace · 8 months

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kinktober/flufftober mashup - all bg3 vibes

round one goes to love confessions/hand jobs with gale (ao3 link)

His frustration pours from his fingertips as he flips the pages of yet another tome, silently pleading with the books to bring him something, anything, regarding their current predicament.

"You're not going to intimidate the information from the pages, dear." Tav quips, reaching across and pulling the book from his hands, gently tossing it aside. "Call it a night, would you?" She takes the opportunity found in his exasperation to take the books place in his lap, the privacy of his tent allowing them closeness without any prying eyes.

Her legs wrap around his waist, his own opening up to allow her to settle to the floor with little space between them. With a deep sigh he accepts that his frustration isn't getting them any closer to solving the whole tadpole, cult, end of the world thing.

"You do make a compelling argument, despite how much I despise having a book taken out of my hands." His attempt to be stern is ruined by the warmth in his eyes and up turn of his lips. He leans into her touch as she takes his face in her hands, fingers grazing his jaw, thumb swiping over his bottom lip. Her only reply comes in a soft kiss, his chin held firmly as her lips press to his.

His own hands begin to wander, one pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, the other wrapped with his arm firmly around her hips. He's using what strength he has to pull her flush to him, letting her feel his heart thump through his chest and the gentle roll of her hips tells him she also felt him harden against her.

She lets out the softest moan as she moves against him, causing his breath and hips to stutter. Her hand reaches between them, undoing the laces of his trousers, but not yet reaching inside, but instead using her knuckles to caress him through the soft cotton.

"Gale..." Her voice is on the edge of breaking. "I, you - this -" She struggles to get her words out, opting to kiss him deeply, his lips parting immediately for her. "I want to tell you something." Her lips ghost over his, her eyes closed as if she's ashamed of the emotions threatening to spill from her.

His hips move of their own accord, bucking against her hand while he places soft kisses to her lips, cheek, forehead, while he gives her time to find her words, not wanting to rush her.

"May I?" He asks after her silence drags on too long for his liking. She nods, finally slipping her hand inside his trousers, taking his length into a firm but soft grip. His throat betrays him, a groan escaping as she begins to stroke him, her thumb rubbing over the tip with each stroke.

"I love you, too." He nearly whimpers as she pumps him harder, both reward and punishment for his thievery of her confession.

"You just have to know everything, don't you?" She feigns offense as he threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a crushing kiss. "I love you." Her voice is but a whisper as she breaks the kiss, her hand working over him quickly, the shudder escaping him letting her know he's close.

"I love you." She repeats, her grip tightening with each stroke, her forehead pressed to his so she can watch him come undone. She feels him still as he finishes in her hand, making a mess of both of their clothes.

"Oh dear." He laughs as he takes in the scene before him. "This isn't quite how I'd planned on making a mess of you this evening." He reaches to pull her shirt over her head. "Good thing it's still early, love." His lips find her throat, a contented hum the only promise of what's yet to come.

#i figured it was super on brand to combine the two lists #also please understand i just like quickly write things in my phone browser and post it #like its all vibes none proper writing #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #kinktober #flufftober #idk what else people might have blacklisted so just yell at me if you want me to use a certain tag #also i happily take character requests for prompt lists

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sundry-whovengerslocked · 5 months

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"love the art, hate the artist"

okay y'all. y'all. so like, I say this regularly. I made it up. but I think it should be used by everyone.

like, this is a hot take, but it's okay to enjoy something made by a shitty person.

this isn't to say boycotting and cancel culture should be stopped! like, if someone is a shitty person, they should not be paid to be able to continue to be shitty. so yeah, go ahead and pirate shit. wait until media is free and enjoy it then.

but like, I feel like people go so hard when it comes to shitty people that they're essentially killing the arts, and the people who find peace with them. it's just not fair.

examples under the cut

I mean the first and most obvious example would be j.k. rowling. there's SO MUCH discourse surrounding her. but there shouldn't need to be. she's an awful person and a transphobe, and she should be avoided and boycotted. she doesn't deserve any more money. that being said, we can support things in the franchise she's not a part of. we should support fanart and fanfiction involving these beloved characters. we should encourage trans headcanons and embrace the fact that a lot of what makes the Harry Potter universe so great is the fans, not her.

another one is Michael Jackson. he was a pervert and shouldn't be celebrated the way he was and still is. that being said, he made music inspired by black culture and in turn inspired new types of music. so his music, things like the moonwalk, they should be appreciated.

John Barrowman is another good one. he was inappropriate and people have every right to blacklist him. but Jack Harkness? Jack Harkness is a PHENOMENAL character. he stands for omni rep, embracing queerness, and is a well constructed character that parallels and bounces off The Doctor beautifully. and? he can easily be recast. it's literally sci-fi dude, it's not that big a deal. yes Barrowman made a huge impact on the character, but he's not all he is. the writers contributed, too.

Jonathan Majors is a hot topic right now. yes, he should absolutely be blacklisted and removed from the mcu. but that doesn't meant they have to get rid of Kang. he was going to be (and still can be) a widely used character - characters, really - within the marvel universe. they can just recast him. they did it with Bruce Banner, they did it with Rhodey, two major characters in the mcu. they've done it with more I can't think of at the moment. and again, it's technically sci-fi. not to mention that with No Way Home and the Loki variants, they clearly showed that the same character can have different faces/actors.

notable mention: Tom Cruise. Knight and Day was awesome.

so yeah. hate the artist, love the art. it's really not as big a deal as people make it out to be.

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oneshotnewbie · 2 years

Note

Samar Navabi and f reader? Reader and Samar are trying to keep their relationship secret from the task force, but after a dangerous situation they can't anymore?

A/n: Sorry for the long ass post but I got carried away a tiny little bit because I liked this request way too much & I hope I get more requests for her!

I hope you like the outcome of this! ♥

---

"Do you think what we´re doing here is right?" you murmured and let yourself fall deeper into the embrace of Samar. She cradled you lovingly in the bed while throwing a blanket over you both for warmth in this chilly time of year.

She took a deep breath and carefully tried to calm you down; you both were aware of the consequences of a secret love affair that could cost your job. It was especially dangerous for Samar to enter into a relationship with a much younger partner, but neither wanted to let the other go- you loved each other too much for that. "You know, if it feels right to you, then it´s not a mistake. You are a person with feelings and you cannot control them; you can not control who you fall in love with."

You only nodded in agreement and snuggled up against her chest before you felt her index finger under your chin. She slowly craned your head up and you saw her mouth form in a smile before her soft lips laid on yours and all your worries were gone in an instant.

A cold breeze came through the tilted window and you started to shiver. You quickly pulled the covers up under your nose so as not to cool down and earned a giggle from the older woman behind you. "Let´s go to sleep or I´ll be too tired to concentrate tomorrow and Keen will have to drag you away from the coffee machine."

You giggled quietly as you reminisced about how Ressler had discussions with you about when you finally will learn to find a suitable sleeping pattern instead of pouring yourself liters of coffee to stay awake or how Aram teased you about calling the disgusting brew your elixir of life.

"I love you." The brunette snuggled even closer to you, wrapping her arm around her waist to cross the last few millimeters between you. Blowing a kiss on your cheek, you both closed your eyes. "I love you too, Y/n."

---

"I got hit!" you screamed through the coms, clutching your lower abdomen in pain. The wound on your side bled constantly, yet you couldn´t take care of it now. You had to get out of this factory; had to escape the masked men and get to safety. "Y/l/n, hold on. Ressler and Keen are trying to get through to you; Navabi and Aram are on the way too." dictated your boss´s voice, that was muffled by your body´s loud heartbeat beaming in your ear.

With your back pressed against the rough and cold brick, you carefully slink along the wall to peek around the corner- a fatal mistake, as it turned out.

A bullet passed so close to your face that you could feel the draft of the small caliber against your skin. You pulled your head back quickly and sucked in the air violently; you only needed a second to collect yourself.

-Think of Samar. If you want to find yourself in her arms tonight again, you had to come out of her alive. Now move!- you thought to yourself and closed your eyes for a moment. You tried to remember Samar´s scent, the taste of her lips and the feel of her skin under your fingers. It all seemed way too far away; all you smelled was the unpleasant smell of burning coals and all you felt was pain seeping through your side.

You were shaking from the pain and from the loss of blood. You quickly wiped the sweat from your forehead before you entered the corridor with your gun raised.

Through the smoke that occupied the hallway, you saw two tall man running out of it; the assault riffle already aimed at you. The enemies didn´t even have time to blink and to reorient before you fired three bullets and both sank down lifelessly to the dusty ground. Two less on the way to freedom.

Gun drawn in front of your body, you crouched ininhibited, yet cautious, down the long hallway. It wasn´t easy to find the exit through the thickness of grey dust and it took effort but you had to get out of here.

Suddenly and unnoticed, as you pushed yourself forward, a hard grip wrapped around your upper arm and pulled you roughly into a corner. It wasn´t until your back felt another cool wall beneath and your eyes widened in pain that you saw Donald standing in front of you, covering your mouth with his hand so you wouldn´t scream in shock and announce their hiding position.

As Liz looked at your wound and tried as best she could to bandage your hip with a pressure bandage made from her jacket, the young man slowly pulled away from you. The hair, that was stuck to your face, was pulled behind your ear and he started to examine the bloody graze on your face. "No time to look at this now. We have to get out of here. Hurry!" the brunette screamed into your faces and dragged you with her. She heard your screams and an grunts throw her pulling; as much as it hurt her to only cause you more suffering, she couldn´t take it into account at the moment.

Some shots flew in your direction and you ducked- you were too slow. It briefly occurred to you to just give up, but you quickly reminded yourself that it wasn´t just about you.

Time passed painfully slowly. Soon pain and exhaustion began to take their toll on you and you had trouble controlling your own trembling lips and shallow but hard breathing. Your two partners noticed that too. The blonde agent cursed loudly enough and managed to drown out the noises for a moment. With the strength of a man, who had possibly nothing left to loose in life, he covered you and Liz the last few meters; pushing you almost violently to the door and outside.

You escaped this damn hell, that´s all that mattered.

With a groan of pain, you lowered your arms to your knees and watched out of the corner of your eye as more special forces stormed into the building. "Y/n!" The bright voice drowned out everything else around you and you looked up from the ground.

Without further ado, the brunette ran towards you and threw her arms around your neck. "Are you okay?" she asked as you laid your head on her shoulder and buried your face in the side of her neck; taking a deep breath of the scent you needed so badly at the factory when everything erupted in chaos.

You didn´t answer, just held onto her tightly, wanting nothing more than her warmth and comfort. She didn´t needed any words either; she understood that you were doing well- according to the circumstances and that you were here in her arms in the first place.

In that moment, that perfect moment of intimacy, Samar pulled away from you and you jerked your head up to look at her.

She smiled happily and took your face in her hands, her thumbs caressing both of your cheeks carefully. There was so much love around you both at that moment, that she just leaped over her shadow and kissed you- completely ignoring the assembled crew.

"Samar.." you whispered as you looked into her eyes in shook and fear. "I do not care, baby." she answered briefly and kissed you again- this time longer and more intense.

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ldflow3r · 2 years

Text

sneak preview of the next chapter in my blacklist fic

""He's so fucking hot" was Liz's first thought when-"

link to my ao3 is pinned on my blog! the fic is there. the new chapter will be up soon!

#the blacklist #the blacklist fanfic #the blacklist fanfiction #elizabeth keen #liz keen #elizabeth keen fanfic #fanfic teaser #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #archive of our own fanfiction #the blacklist ao3

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angel-inrealtime · 1 year

Text

November F1c Prompts Day 25

Day 25 - Tactile (Sharp)

A/N: hefty TWs for this chapter including - parental death (offscreen, discussed), resulting trauma, bad family relationships, mental health issues (think CPTSD/adjacent), mild (??) toxicity in relationships as a result of the above (I am not a good judge lmao).

Let me know if there's anything specific you think I should tag, happy to do so.

A/N 2: Despite all that ^ I feel like this is more comfort than hurt. It's still a nice little sunshine universe - just a passing (or already passed) storm.

Sometimes you feel like you’re made of sharp sides and spikes. And that’s fine – great, actually - when that’s what you need. It helped you get through the hard things (even though it was other hard things that made you so...prickly, in the first place).

The problem is…it’s difficult to know how not to be sharp. How to turn it off when you don’t want to be.

(When you don’t need to be)

You look at Daniel and you desperately don’t want to cut him on all of your sharp edges – privately think you’d rather die than hurt him; on purpose, by accident, or otherwise. You can’t say it like that, of course. That would seem insane.

The first time a therapist said to you “you’re very self-aware” you wanted to scream ‘yes, that’s the problem’. You came armed with bulleted lists, traumas laid out neat on journal pages and organised by connection.

(You don’t mention that you have a psychology degree, because that would mean explaining why you turned down a first class honours position when it all got too close to home, as if that somehow hadn’t been the point all along and you’d just avoided thinking about it until you couldn’t anymore, and then…well, turning it into a commodity via organisational psychology and human resources had just been a pivot, or whatever buzzword is most fitting)

You remember the lists though, of all the things that made you sharp, all the spindly lines between cause and effect and outcome but it’s like Daniel set off a pebble sized snowball at the top of a very large hill and it grows and grows until it’s a boulder and it seems unstoppable.

“You really are obsessed with the moon hey?”

He’s delighted by it if anything, but what almost slips out is the clumsiest self-deprecation in the urge to turn it into a bit. What you almost say is ‘yeah, me and Sylvia Plath really grabbed the mummy issues with both hands on that one’. He won’t get it, which means you’ll have to explain, (which means you’ll have to examine it), when all you can muster is disjointed bits of verse;

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

I have fallen a long way.

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

“You didn’t tell me. About your dad.”

He’s so handsome, sitting across the table at dinner, which is new. If you eat together, it’s usually with friends; your time alone is usually confined to a hotel room (maybe one of your apartments or his place in LA if it’s not a race weekend). But it’s just the two of you in the Montreal dive-bar, a couple of share plates and wine you can feel staining your mouth red on the dark wood between you. It’s all candles in artfully grubby mason jars and dim, filament light-globes which send shadows across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones (bring out the gold flecks in his honey brown eyes and when you’re honest with yourself you could spend an eternity trying to find them all and you’d be content for that to be your life’s work).

It falls out of his mouth softly, like an accident, but also the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

You pick up your wine and take a huge mouthful to steel yourself before you meet those eyes (he looks sad). “I don’t…really talk about it. Him.”

(‘you’re not special’ the panicked, hysterical part of you wants to scream. ‘I don’t talk about it with anyone’)

“Would you…” He pauses, still looking at you softly. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but…if you want to.” There’s a little aborted movement in his long fingers, but not so stilted that he doesn’t brush the back of your hand with them. “The offer’s there. I know…or…it seems like it was a long time ago? So if you don’t that’s cool. But…”

He’s tying himself in knots trying to give you something that’s so at odds to the rest of your relationship – easy, flirty, no strings – that the smile on your mouth when you muster it feels like it doesn’t quite fit.

“I’m all good, Daniel. Thank you, though. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.” Reassure, express gratitude, make it genuine, compliment.

So why, when you meet his eyes again, does he look so crestfallen?

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

It’s that he just stares at you, once you finally force the words out past the barbed-wire lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for…well. You don’t even know. It probably pre-dates him. “What, Daniel, what are you looking at?”

It almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you. You hate it.

“I don’t wanna fuck it up either, that’s…” He looks at you like you’re fascinating, or something.

It’s grating.

“I’m not a fucking…puzzle, to solve, Daniel. Like, I get it, I’m several circles deep in the ‘fucked up parent issues, don’t stick your dick in crazy’ scale, but I-”

His expression changes immediately, full mouth twisted in a frown that still looks foreign on his face. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth. I wouldn’t say that.”

You can tell from the careful way he sits, how his fingers twist together, that he wants to reach out for you. Touch is how he orients himself in the world, but he’s trying to give you the space you asked for (it takes everything in you not to give in, to stay standing near the picture window, because you could give him what he needs to feel safer and you’re withholding it for what feel like selfish reasons).

The lump isn’t made of barbed wire anymore, it’s acid spilling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“You can think it though, it’s okay to just…get out now.”

His fingers are so twisted around each other that his knuckles are white, and he looks heartbroken when you chance a blurry glance down at where he’s sitting on the coffee table. “Is that what you want?” He asks quietly.

“Danny, I…”

“Is that what you want?” He asks again, with a steadier voice and a crackle of defiance in his eyes that you weren’t expecting. “I’m asking you what you want. Not fucking…” He breathes harshly through his nose, and his voice is quieter when he starts again. “Not what you think you deserve, or what you feel like you haven’t earned or whatever…bullshit the shitty parts of your head are telling you. But what you want.”

“You.” It comes out no louder than a whisper. “I want…”

He can’t seem to bear it any longer, opens his arms from where he’s still sitting and looks at you like he’s cracked wide open and exposed. “C’mere. Please, love, I…” He swallows loud enough that you hear it. “You’ve got me. You’ve already got me.”

Maybe you don’t need the space anymore, maybe it’s enough to wrap your arms around his head and let his arms be like a vice around your waist, and to see him look up at you so raw and so fucking sincere.

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay. You can be scared. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea, just because it’s scary.”

It sounds so fucking simple when he says it but… “What if I can’t…”

“Babe.”

“No, please can you just…listen?” You sniff hugely and try to keep the rise and fall of your chest steady. Wind your fingers into the curls of his hair just in case it’s the last time you get to. “There is a not insignificant part of me that’s fucking…terrified, of ever making a kid feel the way I did. Or do. Or whatever. I need…” You shut your eyes and let the drying tears stick your eyelashes together, so you don’t have to see his face as it happens (‘if it happens’ the traitorous, hopeful part of you contributes). “If you want to…if this is serious then I need you to know that’s my one card on the table. I will do my best, to keep working through it and…communicating, and stuff, even though that’s hard and scary but…I can’t promise that bit. And it’s only fair that like…you know that, at least.”

Daniel is quiet for what feels like an age, and then one of his hands finds the soft skin of your lower back under your jumper. “That’s okay, babe. It’s okay. That’s not a thing to rush, anyway.”

“But you…”

“You’ve got me.” He says again. “I want us. And if what ‘us’ looks like is just…the coolest fucking aunt and uncle in the world then…” He shrugs, you can feel it under your hands. “That’s fine by me.” His fingers press into your skin until you blink open your eyes and look at him. “But we can just…check in, about things. As often as we need to. It’s okay.” He repeats, presses a soft kiss to your chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah! Ah Ah Ah!” His arms go tight like a vice around you and there’s warning in his eyes around the joking tone of voice. “No. No apologising. Unnecessary.”

“But-”

“For fuck sakes babe.” He stands up so suddenly it’s embarrassingly easy for him to tilt you over his shoulder so you’re hanging there, secured with an arm around your legs and a hand very firmly on the denim covering your ass. “Clearly I need to employ alternative methods, here.”

“Fucking put me down, you cunt.” The kick of your legs is half-hearted – he isn’t letting you go until he’s throwing you down on the bed with an exaggerated shrug like he’s a professional wrestler rather than a race car driver. You know how this bit goes.

“The mouth on you!” Somehow he manages to stay deadpan to deliver the sentence, but he devolves into giggles immediately after.

Unscathed, against all odds.

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ectoplasmic-entity · 10 months

Note

Yooooo, I just wanna ask if I can get a Dan x Reader! But add some smut on the side 😎 (it can be any scenario lmao)

Here ya go, anon! I decided to try out a scenario involving quick sex.

I hope you don't mind that I decided to write a male reader, I haven't written that yet .3.

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: Short but heavy kissing sequence, a bit of foreplay, semi-public sex, semi-clothed sex, quick sex

Words: 3k+

Time moves too slowly for you. Stiff, wooden chairs, you decide, aren’t good for you. To the point you’d rather sit on someone’s lap than feel your butt go numb. You shift around anxiously in your seat. It’s not that you have any physical or medical ailments. Frustration boils in your gut and impatience sways your mindset.

The meeting was supposed to have begun by now. It seems, though, that the other members are taking their sweet time to arrive.

Genuinely, you wish you aren’t here right now. You’d rather be back home with your partner and get up in whatever shenanigans he causes. Or just have some time to yourselves without interruption.

Your arms fold down on the table, you lean forward. The empty, dim lit room looms over you. A sense of isolation washes over you. Antique furniture sits all around you, their creeping silence deafens you. The longer you stare at them, the more you almost expect the furniture to spring to life just to take away the emptiness.

Your insides twist with the discomfort of longing. Your heart drums in your chest, and you feel goosebumps tingle on your skin. You press your legs together, and your skin continues to tingle with phantom touches that you are familiar with, yet it seems so far away.

A sharp inhale and a slow exhalation. You shiver with a much deeper sense of longing.

You rest your head on your arms, try to relax. Likewise, you close your eyes to stave off the crushing isolation. Focus on calming yourself on the inside. Another deep inhale.

The empty conference room’s bare, dull colours seem persistent on making sure you know you’re alone. The walls stand above you, it stretches up and up. The ceiling at one point seems far away, and you get dizzy looking at it. Then it suddenly appears closer, and you can’t help feel the nauseating claustrophobia it brings.

Without realizing it, you stand straight up, the chair clatters behind you. Your mind wanders far away, the thrum of your heart leads you to what you desire the most. Right into the arms of your partner, whose presence is as ominous as it is powerful.

Your skin tingles.

His name on the tip of your tongue. “Dan…”

You look right up ahead, your eyes glance around in suspicion. You’re almost certain you can feel the walls watching.

If no one’s coming, not even a single one of them…then you don’t need to be here. You’re just wasting your time.

A grin appears on your face, it tightly pulls your facial muscles with internal excitement. You scoot past the elongated table and make a brisk walk for the doors. There is a small skip in your step as you get closer.

Footsteps echo off, getting quieter and quieter. As though it affirms that you’re free to go. Hand around the brass knob, an antiquated squeak emits as you turn it.

You jolt in shock when a pair of arms wrap around your waist. A deep, low voice speaks in your ear.

“What’s my favourite human doing?”

Your heart races. You involuntarily shiver and exhale slowly.

Tentatively, you guide your hand behind you. It feels something of a curve and how it feels particularly muscular. The drum of your heart gradually thunders in anticipation. A warmth swells in your chest.

The name balances on your tongue, though you don’t say it because you already know who it is.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in exasperation.

There is a deep sigh of contention. The arms unwrap and pull away from you, allowing you to turn on the spot. You press yourself against the doors once you're face to face with him.

Muscular arms in a fold and a neutral expression on Dan’s face. You suck in your cheeks on the inside of your mouth. You honestly do consider yourself a lucky man to have someone like Dan, it’s not often a guy has a handsome ghost standing over him.

“Dan, how did you get in?” You ask again, with not as much exasperation.

“Isn’t it obvious? The door was open,” Dan says, he points past you.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment before you close it. A huff of amusement and resignation emits from your throat. You shake your head playfully.

A mischievous grin spread across Dan’s face. Dan leans in close to you, your faces only inches apart. There is a quiet thump as one of his hands presses against the door to hold it shut. Your body jitters and a tingle touches down your spine that causes you to arch your back a bit.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask quietly.

“You,” Dan responds.

His other hand comes up to your face and gently takes hold of it. Your lips twitch, but you don’t say anything, your focus fixates on the sudden surge of emotions bursting from your nerves. Your heart accelerates in return.

Two sturdy fingers strokes and caress your cheekbone and jawline. Dan watches with a certain kind of affection as your expression relaxes and close your eyes at the gentle touches.

Seeing your vulnerability has exhilaration course through Dan. Like fire in his ectoblood. He leans in closer and before either of you know it, your lips meet. It’s an intoxicating mix of passion and frustration.

“Mm…” you twist your body and warmth rushes up your face. You lean deeper into the kiss.

Dan breathes heavily, tasting every bit of you he can get. His ghost core picks up the pace, a surge of energy shoots through him. A lustful haze fills his mind, your soft and warm skin feels like an acid that slowly eats away at him.

How Dan wishes he could sweep you right off your feet and ravish you.

You pant softly and your body quivers. Adrenaline fills you with every kiss from Dan. It’s like a lightning rod that touches every part of you, your heart works harder and harder. The blood pounds in your ears and waves of heat wash over you.

You tense up. A hand slowly slides down between your legs, making you quiver violently. Your heart races and your mind is suddenly crystal clear.

“Dan,” you say softly between the kisses, “Dan, please, not here.”

The kiss breaks when Dan pulls away with a confused expression. He takes his hand away as well, fingers flexing.

“I thought you missed me?” He retorts with a smug smile.

“This isn’t the place,” you say a little snappily. “Let’s go-”

“Why not?” Dan stops you, his face softens a bit. “It’s just the two of us.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought.

“Someone could walk in on us!”

“Then it’ll be a quick one, alright?” Dan leans toward you again. Both of his hands are flat on the doors. “When we get home, I’ll ravish you all you like.”

While your mind protests against the notion, the overwhelming desire and emotion in your heart overrides the rationale. You steady your breathing. To be frank, Dan has been on your mind all day. Your heart thumps loudly, as though it agrees.

You look up at Dan and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’d better be quick.”

“If you grabbing my ass is anything to go by, I’d say you were waiting to fuck me.” Dan wraps one arm around you and pulls you close to his body.

You feel the stinging prick of his nails digging into you.

Your breath shudders, you lower one of your hands and place it on Dan’s chest. Elation churns inside you, a hot urging sensation floods every inch of your body.

“M-maybe…” You utter out, your eyes cast downward. A single finger traces the outline of the DP emblem. Dan’s tone chest rises up and down with your motions.

“Just focus on me, love,” Dan says in a low voice. “I’ll make you feel good in no time.”

Your hands reflexively tighten, and you press closer to Dan. His ghostly aura flares with emotion and his body radiates warmth which you bask in as much as possible. You push yourself against him some more.

You jump a little when you feel pressure on your groin. One glance down, a gentle squeeze from Dan forces a small gasp out of you. Your heart beats violently in your chest and your legs quiver.

Another, tighter squeeze.

Blood rushing through you brings forth yet another wave of warmth. Your face blazes with desire, and it works its way down. Your muscles twitch in anticipation, and you press your legs together shyly, a tight and warm sensation swells up.

“Mmm…” Dan hums softly. “Aren’t you excited.”

He loosens his grip and presses his palm against your groin. You tense and squirm around under his touch. Grinning, Dan slowly moves his hand up and down. Almost immediately, a lurch of pleasure from you greets him.

You press your back against Dan’s arm and the door, your body twists with the tingles of pleasure. Your limbs twitch as if a switch inside you turns on. A tight, warm, and straining sensation forms in your pants. You thrust your pelvis forward with shaky gasps.

Dan continues to rub you, relishing in the soft, moaning sounds you make. Every so often, Dan digs his fingers in deeper between your legs. He feels you gradually harden in stimulus, to a point there is a visible bulge.

Smiling slyly, Dan rubs faster. The fabric of his glove creates friction with the fabric of your pants.

You arch your body; a sweltering buzz numbs your lower body. You shove yourself into Dan’s hand, your knees buckle with an intense feeling that goes through them.

You cling onto his muscular body with the silent plea to keep going.

Dan’s hand rubs and presses harder and harder on your crotch. His fingers methodically stroke the curve of your member, oh so lovingly hitting all the right spots. Zaps of pleasure causes you to heave your body, you feel your throat is full of emotion and yet you can’t expel it all at once.

The tightness in your pants goes from a mild discomfort to your member wanting to escape the confines. The bulge is more visible than ever, hard and erect. Dan lets you go and presses his lower body against yours.

You whimper quietly and shiver. “P-please…hurry…”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.” Dan lightly teases.

He places his hands on your sides – you quiver in response – and slowly slides them down. They touch down the curves of your body, feeling you up through your clothes. Sharp nails lightly trail along, leaving a stinging, nerve busting sensation in their wake.

The hands stop at your pants. You shift around in uncertainty.

You become still as the tightness in your pants loosens, a blush makes its way across your face as your member twitches up. You feel the sharp nails trailing on your sensitive skin. Cool air hits you as the fabric falls down to your feet.

You shiver violently, one because of relief that your length is free, and throbs for the attention you desire so. The second is that you’re now half naked in front of Dan, in a semi-public space no less. Your body seems to go weak with ecstasy, your muscles rapidly clench and unclench, and you expel quick, shaky breaths.

You jerk back in surprise when Dan pushes his groin against your bare half. You can’t help shudder in delight with Dan’s bulge rubbing the underside of your shaft. All your ‘pressure’ points are tense and tingle intensely.

“Was there something you wanted to say?” Dan asks, his hand holds your chin and firmly tilts your head up.

He slowly presses himself harder against you, your blood pounds through your veins.

“…me,” you mumble out unintelligibly and shyly.

“I can’t hear you.” Dan leans in close to your ear.

“Fuck me.” You breathe out heavily, beads of sweat begin to form on your face. “Please…fuck me.”

A pair of strong hands grip your bare butt, squeezing it. You press your legs together in embarrassment.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Dan says with a wide, fanged grin.

He takes one hand to his belt and quickly undoes it, it falls away with a quiet click. There is a quiet grunt from Dan as he works to undo his pants. He unknowingly thrusts himself outwards, and you get a glimpse of a very visible bulge. You swallow thickly.

The gulp turns into a deep, biting inhale to hold back a small sound that attempts to escape your throat. Dan’s thick, throbbing member emerges from his pants. You stare silently as he stands up straight and looms over you. Dan has a lustful gaze in his deep red eyes as he looks over you.

“I hope you’re ready to take me in,” Dan says in a low, husky voice.

It reaches deep into your mind, your heart thumps loudly. You wordlessly nod as he picks you up.

Before you know it, the two of you are on one of the chairs around the table. Dan is on the chair itself while you settle on his lap. He has you turn around and face away from him, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

Dan immediately grabs your thighs in a firm grip, he positions his member directly under you so that it seems like you’re sitting on top of it. It rubs up with yours, your insides clench in delight at the contact.

Then you find yourself unable to move around. You feel a tug on your thighs, a glance down, and you squirm in embarrassment. Dan pulls your thighs wide apart so that you’re completely exposed.

You breathe heavily, your chest expands and deflates.

You freeze up as you feel Dan position himself under you, his member slowly slips in but stops just before your hole. The tip barely touches the tender flesh.

“Relax,” Dan says soothingly, enunciating with a deeper tone. “Ready?”

You breathe shakily and nod. A wave of emotions swirls up in you, from your gut all the way up to your throat.

You tense up, legs stiff and quivery as a thick and warm mass slides inside you. Then you jerk in response, discomfort lightly tingles through you.

Dan groans softly as he eases himself into you. Your warmth clenching around him becomes a point of fixation. He inhales deeply, the intoxicating taste of euphoria floods him. Every breath seems like Dan is slipping deeper and deeper into you, earnestly taking you all at once.

In and out.

Your nerves explode with sensations and emotions that you can’t describe. There is no way to do so, all you know is that they seep deep within you. Something that unlocks your innate wants and desires and makes your heart dance.

You lightly bounce up and down with every thrust, twisting your body to feel the thrusts hit home deeper and deeper. You fall back against Dan’s body, you heave a breath of euphoria. Your legs jitter uncontrollably and a rush of blood pounds your throat.

Dan pulls you closer and tightly to him, he lifts your legs up high and at an angle. You have little choice but to awkwardly dangle there, though you barely notice since a hot, lustful haze fills your head.

Jutting into your body, Dan feels you tense around him. He grits his teeth with a soft groan. Every little sound he makes seems to expand more and more energy. Shivers tease his muscles into clenching and twitching.

Thrusting faster and harder, the hot, tight sensation around him, and the sound of your whimpers dissolving into quiet cries of pleasure.

All of it feels so good. So right. A dizzying sensation hits the both of you.

Heat blazes on Dan’s face, he bares his fangs as he forcefully thrusts upwards. Lightning shoots through his body in a numbing buzz. Dan’s member throbs and twitches deep inside you.

You grunt at the sudden force of Dan’s thrusts, a fireball that explodes inside of you. You suck in your gut. You bite back a cry, it jolts you. An overwhelming sense of numb and heat washes over you.

You stiffen, pants huff out of you. You arch your body, quivering. One of your arms wraps over Dan’s arm to hang on to him for support. A wet warmth pools under you, you twist away from it, but it sticks to you.

Dan slows the thrusting, you hear him mumble something and then grunt a bit loudly.

A pleasurable sting explodes in your lower body.

Panting hotly, Dan shifts around and repositions himself on the spot. His length twitches and throbs to the point of discomfort. Dan groans and jerks forward to ease the feeling.

He twitches violently.

Warmth erupts inside you. You sit up straight with a loud moan as you feel a sticky liquid fill you up on the inside. You try to close your legs, Dan prevents you from doing so.

Dan grunts in relief. He focuses on the wetness dripping from him, leaking from you as you sit stiffly on top of him. Dan’s ghost core thuds and a tingle crawls up his spine. He leans forward, easing himself deeper into the sticky mess.

You sit there in silence; your brain numbs and your face flushes all over. A liquid warmth settles deep within you. You swallow thickly and deeply, your insides and muscles churn and twitch in zeal.

“That…” Dan starts out slowly to break the silence. “Could’ve been better.”

You barely turn to pin him with a look.

Before Dan can respond, a faint bang interrupts him. The two of you perk up, wondering what it could be. Voices are heard chattering away loudly, it carries imminent alert.

You squirm around in panic. “What if someone sees us!?”

“Let them come,” Dan states with a sly smile, the blush on his face didn’t exactly fade away.

You levy panicking looks between Dan and the doors that were sure to burst open any moment. You don’t like how calm he is.

Then, just as the double doors burst open, Dan grabs you closer. Even before the first footsteps into the conference room, the two of you vanish into thin air. As if you were never there at all.

#danny phantom #fanfiction #dan phantom #dan phantom x reader #character x reader #male reader #dan phantom x male reader #tumblr writers #fanfiction community #fanfiction blog #dark danny #phanfic #dp fic #danny phantom fanfiction #for blacklist:#smut #nsft

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damixnpriest · 2 months

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the watchman on his beat on ao3

4.6k words / trick williams/ilja dragunov / rated e

When Ilja holds up in challenge, sweating but still smiling, Trick huffs.

"For real?"

"Show me your moves."

#listen....... im weak about them #trickunov tag #ilja dragunov #trick williams #wwe fanfiction #< for blacklist

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letthewhumpbegin · 4 months

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BTHB voting #9

My goal for this year is to complete my new Bad Things Happen Bingo Card😇. I've never before produced that much fanfics in one year, so we'll see how it goes 😁

You, my dear readers, followers and accidental-passers-by, get to vote who / what fandoms the prompts will get filled for! Over the next weeks I will post a poll per prompt, and you can get voting 😉

The 9th prompt is: AMBULANCE RIDE

For a 'look-and-feel' of my writing, check out my writing masterlist

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gravitywonagain · 1 year

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Okay, I’ve never seen The Blacklist but the Netflix summary and preview clip looked super interesting so here we go.

Wei Wuxian finds himself surprisingly calm as he pushes open the plate-glass door beneath the massive Cultivation Bureau of China insignia. Low-level security cultivators watch him as he passes, but no more intently than they watch anyone else. The one closest to the doors even nods to him. Wei Wuxian wonders at how stupid that man is about to feel, and then decides he doesn't care.

The interior of the building is warm enough to fog up his sunglasses once he’s far enough into the grand, granite foyer. The doors fall shut behind him; the sun shines down through the tall wall of glass like even it wants to watch what happens next. It should feel like the closing of a trap. But there’s a brightness in his chest, a kind of buoyancy that wards off any anxiety that might want to cling to his heartbeats.

He pushes the fogged sunglasses up his forehead into his hair as he makes his way to the front desk. The woman there — a second-rank cultivator by her uniform, barely a step up from the mall cops guarding the doors — looks at him without a hint of recognition. No fear in her eyes, no tightness in her jaw.

“Welcome,” she says with the kind of resigned false cheer that all customer service professionals seem to learn as a part of their job training, “to the CBC. How can I assist you today?” Her name tape says Zhang.

“I’m here to see Director Lan Qiren,” Wei Wuxian replies, similarly cheerful.

He finds that he is cheerful. He’s been planning this for several weeks now. It’s always nice to finally have a project underway.

“Yes, sir,” says Cultivator Zhang. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not.”

She nods. Types something into the computer. Looks back at him.

“Name and identification?”

He braces himself. So it begins.

“Wei Wuxian,” he says with a smile, and he slides his passport to her over the counter.

Still no recognition. Which is fair. She’s still in the rote part of doing her job. Plugging names and numbers into the computer.

But something will ping soon. Her own memory or the system.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait for her to return his passport — it will be confiscated soon, anyway. He doesn’t wait for her to dismiss him — the alarm will likely sound before she’s finished entering the appointment request.

He steps backward, away from the desk and toward the center of the foyer. Slowly, he sets down his black, canvas backpack. Just as slowly, he removes his worn, leather jacket, draping it gently over the backpack. Then, he uses the red scrunchie around his wrist to tie his shoulder length hair up into a quick ponytail, before interlocking his fingers behind his head.

People have turned to watch him. The first-rank security guards, but also the other people in the foyer -- office workers, civilians. He doesn't look back at them.

As the alarm sounds, he is already halfway to his knees. And by the time the first-ranks get their swords out of their scabbards, Wei Wuxian — aka Yiling Laozu, the most wanted man in cultivation — has already crossed his ankles with his eyes aimed down at the floor, grinning wildly.

—

“What the fuck is this?”

A folder, thick with loose papers, slams down onto the metal table in front of Wei Wuxian. Some of the papers begin to slope out of the open side, unsecured as they are.

“I thought ‘no cursing’ was one of your Bureau rules,” says Wei Wuxian, delightedly amused already. Do they really think a bit of anger is what will break him? He grew up with Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu for fuck's sake.

The man who yelled and threw the folder stands to the side of the table, closest to the door, and glowers down at Wei Wuxian. He’s a strong enough cultivator to press the room with his spiritual power, lending weight to the air in a way he probably hopes will make Wei Wuxian feel claustrophobic. Unfortunately for him, Wei Wuxian has spent time with far more power than this man can spin out of his golden core.

The cultivator wears the standard CBC field uniform of durable blue wool trousers, a white linen shirt, and charcoal-grey combat boots. His jacket is of the same cloth and tailoring, but it is clean of any rank or unit insignia. He has no name tape, either. The only identity marker on him is a sect affiliation patch with a silver beast’s head embroidered over a green background. Nie Sect cultivators, because of their unique blend of spiritual and bestial energies, are required to self-identify when inside the building. Wei Wuxian remembers that from his time in Bureau training, too.

“Answer the question.”

Wei Wuxian lounges as much as he can in the simple plastic and metal chair. His hands are still bound behind him with a thick zip tie, but at least they’re not attached to anything but each other. There's no suppression in the bindings, or in the room, which is curious. A sign of trust, maybe? Or, more likely, they're not entirely sure how to deal with him. Which is kind of why he's here in the first place.

He looks down at the way the stack of paper still seems to be oozing from between the tabbed manila jacket sides of the folder. None of the individual notes are entirely flat, giving the whole sheaf a disheveled texture. It is decidedly not the lightly-battered red-canvas portfolio he brought in with him, though he does recognize the papers within.

“Looks like a folder,” he says, a casual smirk curling up one side of his mouth. “I feel like even you field types should be able to figure that one out for yourselves.”

Across the room from where Wei Wuxian is sitting, the wall appears to be a mirror, though nobody in this room would think that’s what it is. Behind that mirror, Wei Wuxian would bet his entire stash of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that Lan Qiren is rolling his eyes.

Inside the room, the Nie cultivator pinches the bridge of his nose in a frustrated gesture that looks adorably familiar. “What are your notes supposed to be getting at, Wei Wuxian?” he asks.

“Oh! These are my notes!” says Wei Wuxian with, he’ll admit, exaggerated surprise and innocence. “Giving you a bit of trouble, are they?”

The Nie cultivator huffs through his nose.

Because of course they are. Wei Wuxian is not stupid enough to show up to CBC headquarters with decipherable notes. Who the fuck do they think he is that they were even willing to devote the three hours, or however long he's been sitting here, to try.

“What do you want? Huh?" The cultivator looks like he personally has been attempting to read through Wei Wuxian's notes, which is certainly a choice the Bureau made. A couple of choices. First to have this rando attempt what many of Wei Wuxian's own teachers were never quite able to do, and second to send him and his ratcheted irritation in here to deal with Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian blinks owlishly at him and he can almost see his blood pumping harder across his temple.

"What’s your purpose here, Yiling Laozu?” the cultivator tries again.

It's tempting to continue to stonewall him, but Wei Wuxian is actually here for a purpose. “I told that nice cultivator at the front desk," he says, reminding everyone listening that he has, actually, been very cooperative. "I am here to meet with Director Lan Qiren.”

The Nie cultivator shakes his head, almost apologetically. “Director Lan is busy, so you’re stuck with me for now.” He says it like he's just as upset about it as Wei Wuxian is. Like they're somehow in this together and if they can just overcome their differences, they can sing and dance their way to the high school prom.

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, a curious grin spreading on his lips. It could be fun to indulge this. To play along just enough to see how high he can raise this guy's pulse. His eyes flick over the cultivator. The man isn't unattractive, thick muscles and hair just long enough to pull. He looks easily riled, already primed for it, but not a man who would resist the attention if he thought it was actually getting him somewhere with the notes.

"Just work with me here," he says, proving Wei Wuxian correct and pressing what he clearly thinks is an advantage. "I'm all you've got right now."

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian doesn't actually want to send a Nie sect cultivator into qi deviation for this, entertaining as it might be.

So Wei Wuxian grins lazily back at him and says, “Oh, I highly doubt that." He directs his attention to the window that isn't a mirror. "What do you say, Old Man Lan?" In his periphery he can see the Nie cultivator splutter at Wei Wuxian's impertinence. And wow, did they just not prepare this guy at all? "Wanna come in here so we can get this party started? Or would you rather I frustrate your subordinate to death first. You know I can do it.”

It's unclear if it was the familiar title aimed at the Director, or the casual insult to the Nie cultivator's own control, but when Wei Wuxian looks back to him, the man's face is almost purple.

“Who the fuck do you think y—“

The door swings open, cutting him off, as Lan Qiren, in all his CBC Director glory, walks into the room.

“Language,” he says to the Nie cultivator, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t say anything about it, for which he feels he deserves a medal of some sort. Or at least a pretty color ribbon.

The Nie cultivator gawps for a moment before he seems to collect himself again.

"Director Lan," he says with a bow.

Lan Qiren nods back to him, disappointment radiating, and flicks his hand back toward the open door.

Dismissed, the Nie cultivator bows to the Director once more and then leaves the room with significantly more control than he had a moment ago, so kudos to him for that.

Beside Lan Qiren are two other cultivators. Both are as unadorned as the Nie, though these don't even show their sect affiliation. At least not explicitly. The one to Lan Qiren’s left is of a medium build, hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She looks tall for a woman, with the broad shoulders and muscular arms of every Lan sect cultivator. Wei Wuxian imagines he can see the sect necklace sitting beneath her tightly done up band collar.

The one to Lan Qiren’s right— Well. Wei Wuxian would recognize the director’s youngest nephew with his eyes closed on a moonless night. Lan Wangji, of course, doesn’t even deign to look at Wei Wuxian, those beautiful honey-brown eyes focused somewhere on the wall beyond his shoulder. And fuck if that doesn’t get Wei Wuxian’s blood pumping.

“Ah, Old Man Lan!" greets Wei Wuxian brightly. "How nice of you to take time out of your busy—“

Lan Qiren cuts him off. “I’m here, Wei Wuxian." He doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing, his exasperation with his former student quickly returning to its home in the deep set of his eyebrows. "Explain to me what you are doing here.”

The Lan cultivator on Lan Qiren's left is watching Wei Wuxian with an intense, assessing kind of gaze. He can almost feel her cataloging the degree to which his shoulders are sloped and the exact shade of his eyes.

Lan Wangji still isn't looking at him.

“Well, I found out you’ve been looking for me—“

But Lan Qiren cuts him off again. He looks tired. “Enough with the games, please. Are you here to help us, or are you here to waste our time?”

They know why he’s here, is the thing. They’d have to be very dumb not to have put it together by now. And the CBC is many things — stuffy, uptight, moralistic, understaffed, underpaid — but they aren’t actually incompetent. With murders stacking up left and right, resentful energy found gathering in places and quantities it shouldn't naturally gather in, and Wei Wuxian’s very solid alibi of being not in the country at the time, there can be only one reason he’d so willingly turn himself in like this. And Lan Qiren, in particular, is not stupid. Which means that he wants Wei Wuxian to say it. Which is… a little bit humiliating and a lotta but like eating dirt.

But, hey. He’s here to get shit done, not to be cowed by an old teacher in an argument that Wei Wuxian has still technically won! Resentful energy can be used just like spiritual energy is! But, sure, it can be… pretty fucked up, too. In the wrong hands.

Wei Wuxian inhales deeply. It's still not a comfortable thing to admit.

“Alright, fine," he says, meeting Lan Qiren's narrowed gaze across the table. "You have a demonic cultivator problem. I have a problem with my work being misused for a string of murders. It seems to me we may be able to help each other out on this front.”

CBC Director Lan Qiren would never do anything so crass as openly gloat, but there's a sparkle in the dark brown of his eyes that does it for him.

"Good," he says, sitting down in the chair that Wei Wuxian is only now noticing exists. Lan Qiren picks up the folder, resettling the loose papers inside, and folds his hands over the top of it. Because, again, he's not an idiot, he doesn't jump right into the good stuff. He simply asks, "What are your conditions, Mr. Wei?"

Wei Wuxian's shoulders are tight after several hours of having his wrists bound behind his back. He squirms around in the chair to relieve the pressure on one, stretching his neck out in the process.

"Amnesty, obviously," he says. Because it is obvious. Wei Wuxian is not just going to let the CBC throw him in jail after this. And if they try, they'll find it to be a much more difficult task than they're prepared for.

"Obviously," replies Lan Qiren with a nod.

"Not," Wei Wuxian clarifies, "that I've actually broken any legal laws. Just your bullshit cultivation laws."

Lan Qiren's eyebrow twitches and Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if he'll actually see a full face reaction during this interview. If not, there will be plenty of time as they work the case. Lan Qiren did always hate the way Wei Wuxian briefed a room.

Now, however, Lan Qiren sounds only mildly annoyed when he says, "Those are, as you put it, 'legal laws.'"

"Yeah," says Wei Wuxian, slouching further into the uncomfortable chair, "but you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean." Which is to say that Wei Wuxian is not nearly as much of a reprobate as Lan Qiren wishes he was. Resentful energy corrupts the body and mind and all that turned out to be true... but only if you don't account for it. To date, thirteen years since he started cultivating with resentful energy, Wei Wuxian still has yet to spiral out into degeneracy and moral decay. Much to Lan Qiren's apparent chagrin.

Lan Qiren huffs shortly through his nose. "Indeed. Anything else?"

"Lan Zhan."

Even at the sound of his own name, Lan Wangji continues to look past Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian can no longer pretend Lan Wangji isn't the immediate focus of any room he happens to be in.

"What about Special Agent Lan Wangji?" asks Lan Qiren, something perturbed in his voice.

Wei Wuxian isn't looking at him. He's staring intently at Lan Wangji as he says, "I'll only work with him."

Still nothing. Lan Wangji continues to hold his unnaturally still posture. His eyes boring a hole into the wall behind Wei Wuxian, so focused and so deep that Wei Wuxian imagines the man can see all the way out of the building through it.

Lan Qiren clears his throat as if trying to get Wei Wuxian's attention back on himself. When it doesn't work, he simply presses on and asks, "And why is it you want to work with my nephew?"

The question sounds surprisingly disingenuous. Like Lan Qiren already knows the answer. Which, maybe he does.

"Maybe," says Wei Wuxian casually, "I just want something pretty to look at."

A muscle jumps in Lan Wangji's jaw and it takes real, actual effort for Wei Wuxian to not shout his victory.

"No, Wei Wuxian," says Lan Qiren. "If we’re going to do this, you have to say it."

That does succeed in getting Wei Wuxian's attention back. Lan Qiren's eyes are narrowed, more angry than he's been the entire time he's been in here with Wei Wuxian. He was always protective of his nephews, but the fury in his gaze speaks to something more, something specific. And personal.

Wei Wuxian meets that anger with a stubbornness that has subdued a mass grave of resentful dead.

They stare each other down, neither willing to look away. Fire and ice, eating away at each other.

It surprises Wei Wuxian to find that his ice is what wears down first. But, he realizes quickly, it isn’t all that surprising at all. He supposes that saying out loud why Wei Wuxian wants Lan Wangji around is less painful for him than it is for Lan Qiren to have his nephew insulted in front of him. Not that it was an insult, really; Lan Wangji really is that pretty. But Lan Qiren's ire is fair. Wei Wuxian's stubbornness is... not.

"Fine," he says, and actually drops his eyes in concession.

He's not above admitting that that was a weird moment for him, but he takes a few seconds to stretch his shoulders back before continuing.

"I want Lan Zhan there," he says finally, "because he’s the only one of you fuckers who’s ever been able to keep up with me." Which is both true and gratifying to say.

He glances up at Lan Wangji, but still cannot seem to read anything on that beautiful, stoic face. Lan Wangji’s breath is steady; the even thrum of his golden core can be felt across stadiums if he so chooses, but now it remains quiet and spinning; his posture could be written about in textbooks, and possibly has been.

Nothing.

Wei Wuxian tries not to bristle about it. He’ll have time.

When he looks back to Lan Qiren, he meets the man’s steely gaze and says, "There. Happy?"

Strangely, Lan Qiren does look pleased. Almost… amused? He has the beginnings of a smile threatening his perpetually dour expression — a softening around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. He strokes his long beard.

"It’ll do. For now."

#wei wuxian #lan qiren #wangxian #lan wangji #mdzs #the untamed #cql #fanfiction #the blacklist au #i'm not gonna finish this #but somebody funnier than me should #or somebody better at writing case fics #or both #as many cakes as you want!#fic inspiration #my writing #no research was done in the making of this first draft #this is crack your honor

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