#rip link he never had a chance at being tall

[smilesrobotlover]

This is the last of the Kori doodles for today I swear

#love at twilight #kori #legend of zelda au #Renado is like. the second person to know about Kori #cuz Rusl convinced Link that he needs a doctor in case Kori gets sick #and that’s when they discover Kori’s biting problem lol #gosh i had no idea that this cringey fanficky child would consume my thoughts but he is #Beth is a great babysitter :) #i really love her design #she’s just a bow person you know? #also I imagine Colin being tall and lanky #even taller than his dad #rip link he never had a chance at being tall #now his little brother his taller than him #but no worries Kori will also be taller than him #i wanna write this story so bad but it’s kinda messy #it always starts out simple and then spirals outta control 🙄 #also Renado my beloved

[awesomerextyphoon]

Realm Discoveries While Hangry

Summary: Ife's not herself while hangry, especially on a mission. Luckily, this one worked out for the best.

Pairing: Slight Steve Rogers x Black!Alien Warrior Princess OFC Ifekerenma aka Ife

Characters: Natasha, Steve, Ifekerenma, Nick Fury, OFCs, mentions of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner

Rating: 18 + / Mature

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Dark Comedy Bordering on Absurdity, Ife being a Badass Glutton, Some Violence, Some Fluff

A/N: This is the start of something a little different. I want to make some short stories that will tie back into the main series whenever I'm between chapters. I'm still working on the main series and the next chapter will be published before the end of 2023. Thanks to @firefly-graphics for the dividers!

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

What was with these supposed 'geniuses' always wanting to rule the world?

The amount of hubris one needed to go through with it never ceased to amaze Natasha. This week's version wanted revenge on the science community for calling him 'stupid' and 'crazy' over his theories on creating titan fauna and megaflora.

Someone, please shoot me.

If Nat had a dollar each time she heard some version of the 'Why I must hold the world hostage' speech, she'd be able to bribe Tony to let her control the music for mission trips.

Steve wished they would drop the speeches already. He just hoped Ife was almost done with the power cells so they could drop the charade and go home.

"Now! Watch as I claim what's rightfully mine!" the mad scientist finally finished his speech by pressing the detonation button, but nothing happened.

" What's happening? Why isn't working?!"He pressed the button another three times to no effect, "Why aren't the missiles firing?!"

The mad scientist was about to radio his henchmen outside of the main chamber when he heard bullets pouring like rain outside the hangar followed by frantic shouts from his men.

"SOMEONE STOP HER!!"

"NOTHING'S WORKING!!"

"GET THE TANKS!!"

"FIRE AT WILL!!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE?!!"

"SHE'S AN ABOMINATION!!"

"What on Earth is going on out there?" He wondered as he carefully made his way to the entrance, only for a downright beastly roar frightening nearly everyone into silence.

"What the" A soft knock at the hangar doors broke his concentration.

Ife was pissed.

She FINALLY had some decent food after not getting a chance to refuel after expending her energy reserves from her last mission, but it was barely a morsel. It took no time to devour all of the titan fauna the henchmen unleashed on her, unaware those were inferior albeit still tasty versions of food from her homeworld. She even found some yummy megaflora.

It was a bummer Ife was famished. She would've prepared them better to bring out their flavors.

Another tank shell bounced off of her.

When will these fools learn that this is pointless? Conventional Earth weapons are nothing to her. Well, at least the energy from their artillery aided with digestion. Also, the power cells were tasty; they had a refreshing tropical fruity taste with notes of mint.

Now the scientist refused to open up, even after she knocked, "Guess I'll have to let myself in."

The scientist tried his best to steel himself, only for the two-meter thick air hangar doors and part of the solid stone walls to rip off like cheap wrapping paper.

His eyes almost bugged out of their sockets at the intruder — a tall woman — casually lifting both doors in one hand and a 250-ton tank in the other. The woman turned to two tied-up Avengers, smiled, and threw both items 1500 meters away with a flick of her wrists.

"Hi, Captain, Black Widow. How's it going?"

"Can't complain," Steve answered.

"Why haven't you escaped yet? It would've taken you two seconds to get out," Ife queried rubbing her growling tummy. Her telltale sign of hunger.

"We were waiting for you," Nat retorted while raising an eyebrow.

This will be fun.

"What happened to your comms link?"

"Well…I was preoccupied."

"With what?"

The woman's eyes brightened, "I found some yummy food not unlike Avlenia, but they barely did anything for me. I ate everything the goons unleashed and then some, but I'm still hungry! Which sucks cuz I wasn't able to properly prepare them-"

That can't be right.

That chamber housed hundreds of exotic beasts and flora with a combined weight of 312.5 THOUSAND TONS!! There was no way a single person could eat one of those behemoths, let alone all of them.

"MONSTER!!"

"Huh?" Ife finally noticed the scientist and his remaining goons.

"Do you have any more? I'm STARVING!"

"No one should eat one of those beasts, let alone all of them!"

Ife raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Maybe not possible for humans, but, "she strolled towards the scientist and started unzipping her combat suit, "that was only a snack for me, and it left me hungry for more."

The scientist cried out in horror when a belly 3x the size of an exercise ball surged forth.

How is she moving?! His eyes darted over to her comrades but found them lightly chuckling with the spy sporting a smirk.

"So, do you have any more food? Don't leave me in suspense."

The monster rolled her eyes at the rude man's silence, "So you still don't believe me. Okay. Let's see. One of the beasts was this large six-legged alligator…"

She started listing the various beasts and megaflora that were now digesting in her rapidly shrinking belly.

Galala Gator: 90 tons each, Ox Chicken: 15 tons each, Giant Turkey: 75 tons each, Volcano Weathercock: 10 tons each, Five-Tailed Giant Eagle: 45 tons each, Demon Devil Serpent:100 tons each, Elephantsaurus: 125 tons each, and so on.

Every 'food item' this monster blithely listed horrified everyone besides her teammates who were trying not to laugh. Each of these specimens took elite teams to capture; several men died in the process.

Yet this Eldritch Being glutted all of their hard-won gains as a 'pitiful snack'!

"How? How is this possible?" The devastated scientist barely choked out a whisper as her enormous belly was nearly flat.

Unfortunately, the monster's sharp ears heard the whisper, "All of those delicious beasts, flora, and the energy from the power cells barely made a dent! Tell me where you got this bounty! I'm Starving!"

As if to make her point, the monster turned her head towards the hole she made and let out a near-deafening roar of a belch demolishing what was left of the wall and pushing back all of the remaining men and tanks outside.

What is this monstrosity?!

"Shit!" Not only did the wimp not answer Ife's question, but now he's slumped on the floor.

"He's out cold, Ife."

"I can see that, Nat. All I wanted was some more food!"

"Some?"

"Fine. But you know he didn't make them from scratch. He had to have gotten from somewhere."

Some of the stronger-nerved goons were able to recover from Ife's Roar, "Damn, that woman's scary!"

"Nah, man. She's a monster in human skin."

"Which is a shame, too. She's fucking hot!"

"I know, right?! Wouldn't mind going a few rounds with her."

Steve scowled as he marched up to six of the trash-talking goons inside one of the still intact tanks, ripped off the tank's hatch, and yanked four of them by their collars."I'm only gonna say this once. Never, and I mean never, say that crap about my team. Especially the 'abomination', got it?" his voice never rising above a calm, measured tone.

"Yes!"

Steve felt he needed to drive this home, "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good."

Nat rolled her eyes at Ife's bashful body posture at Steve defending her. They weren't fooling anyone.

Ife was able to pick up the scent of more delectable beasts and flew off to satisfy her voracious appetite. The scent came from a fortified bunker not far from the main base. She ripped off the building by the foundation in her haste to fill her hunger void.

It led her to a heavily fortified manmade cavern with a huge portal at the opposite end of the entrance and containment units housing even more of the delectable beasts lining the sides.

She licked her lips in excitement but stopped when she got a good look at the animals. That craven of a scientist is lucky she's too hungry to revisit him.

"I should probably tell Nat and Steve."

Nat peered into the last unlocked containment unit. She found a giant garden snake-like creature that seemed to take a liking to her. Its scales were the color of twilight at its height. She wondered if-

"You should name her."

Nat nearly swiveled her head, "What?"

"She likes you. You should name her."

"How can you tell?"

"I just know," Ife shrugged.

"Hmm. How about сумерки (Sumerki: twilight)?"

The snake affectionately rubbed her head against the reinforced glass containment wall.

"See? She loves it!"

Sumerki was the last beast on this side of the portal and was about to pass through but turned and playfully poked Ife's midsection.

"You want me to come with you?" The snake nodded.

Ife turned back to Steve and Nat, "Umm, can I-" her stomach roared asking the question for her.

"It's alright, Ife. You can go, but don't be long." Steve rubbed his hand behind his head. Neither of them wanted to deal with a hangry Ife.

Ife flew into his warm embrace, "Thank you so much!" She kissed both his cheeks, "I promise to document everything I see!"

When will those lovable dorks admit they love each other?

It wasn't long before Ife and Sumerki came back smiling and sporting enormous food bellies. Ife sped off before she could say anything. The next thing they heard was a five-minute sonic roar of a belch causing mini-tremors and cracks forming on the ground.

Sounds of her epic belch were heard 15km away.

They were glad that the scientist was stationed in the middle of nowhere.

Ife flew back into Steve's arms, "Thanks again!" Ife smiled as Steve returned the hug.

Both Natasha and Sumerki shook their heads wearing the same expression.

Ife pulled out her tablet and personal interface, "Okay, so my hunch was right and this place is incredibly vast. I was only able to explore .25% of the place."

Even Natasha was taken aback by the amount of information Ife had, "Just how big is this place?"

"So this new 'realm' is called Guloxity?"

Fury turned the last page of Ife's extensive report. He had a laugh at her devouring over 300K tons of food and was still famished.

The whole team had a laugh riot. Tony even joked about how much he'd save on grocery bills—even though she provides most of her food. It's the least he could do since he blackmailed her into joining the team.

Thanks to her, SHIELD has access to a new realm. Plus the snake she and Natasha befriended has been a delight. However, he did wonder how Ife and her friends were able to create a habitat and a size modulator so quickly.

"Do you find the terms agreeable?" Aliza looked back at Fury's desk. The deal stipulates that any findings and all findings SHIELD makes involving the new realm must be free and open to the public. This means that all patents and research can not be owned by any single nation or corporation including Stark Industries.

Banner had consoled Stark when he read out the terms.

No matter. Fury had his best people on this new venture. Even managed to rope in Banner and Dr. Cho. Ife was able to recreate the unique energy signature from the mad scientist's power cells as a source of renewable energy.

In the end, he was glad it worked out.

Now what's this about Ife showcasing new dishes based on what she found in Guloxity?

Taglist: @jobean12-blog @lookiamtrying @angrythingstarlight @gotnofucks @saiyanprincessswanie @navybrat817 @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms @idorkish @sgt-seabass

#steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers au #steve rogers x black!ofc #natasha romanoff #mcu fanfiction #mcu fantic #a warrior's heart #side story #steve rogers imagine #natasha romanov imagine #mcu au #marvel fanfic #marvel au #black widow #comedy #dark humor

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

#i haven’t got the range #also i have jaemin on the brain and friendship too! #meet me at the altar #ncitygirls #na jaemin #jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin fluff #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #needs another proofread #enjoy!

[little-diable]

Coffeeshop - Spencer Reid (smut)

I don’t like writing fluff, but I truly love this imagine. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Spencer can’t help but fall for the owner of his favorite coffeeshop 

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, choking, dom!Spencer

Pairing: Spencer Reidxfem!reader (roughly 2.4k words)

The sweet scent filled Spencer with comfort, his eyes fell shut for just a second, welcoming the familiar sensation. By now it was part of his daily routine, he’d visit the shop after a tiring day at the BAU, desperate for another cup of sweet coffee and finally some silence to read his new book at peace.

No matter how many people would visit the shop throughout the day the scent of her perfume would still linger in the air as he’d step inside, way past after midnight. Deep down it felt as if he was coming home, stepping into his apartment, a place where he could truly be himself without worrying about other people and their opinions. She made him feel safe, accepted.

He had met the owner of the shop 47 days ago, it had been cold outside, way too cold for his linking, leaving Spencer shivering and bothered, searching for a drink to warm himself up. 

(Y/n)’s cafe had been within reach, welcoming him in as the snow danced in the air. Forever he would remember the smile she had worn on her lips, the twinkling of her (y/e/c) eyes as he stumbled upon his words, distracted by her beauty.

“A-a black coffee, with,” another deep breath spilled from his chapped lips, gaze switching between hers and his trembling hands, she wouldn’t need to be a profiler to tell that he was nervous, “with a lot of sugar, please.” 

A lot? Spencer cursed himself for giving her such a vague order, though the second he tasted the coffee he was sure that she was the one. Nobody had ever managed to prepare such a delicious coffee.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m closing.” Her soft voice rang in his ears, his heart pounded in his ribcage, “of course, I’m sorry.” Spencer packed his bag, jaw clenched, he wanted to ask for her name, for her number, already imagining their first date. 

He had always been impatient, way too impatient for his own good. “I’m (y/n).” As if she could read his thoughts she had mumbled her name, reaching her hand out for him to take.

His mind screamed for him to take a step back, calculating the amount of germs on her hand, overthinking the small gesture. Though his heart encouraged him to take her hand, to feel her soft, warm skin against his. Her scent would stick to him for days. 

“Spencer,” his hand tingled, he never wanted to let go of her, wanted to pull her down besides him, talking all through the night, getting to know the calm, sweet girl.

That night had been the beginning of a wonderful routine, by now she’d wait for him, even way past her closing time. Patiently she’d prepare his coffee as he would enter the shop, looking as exhausted as ever. (Y/n) would pull him in for a hug, still not knowing anything about his fear of germs, she’d sit down next to him, with her own cup of coffee and a book she was currently reading.

There were nights where they’d barely share a word, basking in each other's company, there was no need for words, no need for mindless smalltalk, they just needed each other. But there were nights where Spencer would ramble about facts and statistics, wooing her without even noticing, too oblivious to notice her burning cheeks, the way she’d fiddle with her book, hands trembling from the rapid beating of her heart.

“Here you go, sugar with a few drops of coffee,” his laughter reverberated through the empty shop, her fingers brushed along his, tightly grasping the hot cup. It had been a tiring case, forcing Spencer to follow the team to another city, hundreds of miles away from (y/n) and their small bubble of happiness. 

“I’ve missed you.” She nudged his side with her shoulder, shuffling closer to the tall, awkward man. “I’m sorry, it took longer than expected to find the unsub.” Last week he had finally told her about his profession. Instantly (y/n) had been hooked, asking one question after another, excited to hear more about Spencer Reid’s job at the FBI.

“I can’t give you any details.” His voice trembled, growing more quiet with every passing moment, scared that he’d share any classified information. “Don’t worry about it, tell me about your team.” 

She had her knees bent, arms slung around them, pressing her thighs closer against her chest. (Y/n) found herself getting lost in his eyes, she had fallen for him from the first day on, there had been something about Spencer that had lured her in, leaving her breathless as she’d think about him.

“You’re not even listening.” Spencer chuckled, taking another sip off his coffee, wondering if he was boring her with his stories and details, he had never been an expert in talking to women, especially those who were as gorgeous as (y/n).

“Here,” (y/n) pressed a small piece of paper into his palm, she had scribbled her phone number onto it days ago, “if you want to, we could meet up outside of here.” She didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, though she couldn’t stop thinking about him, she needed to be selfish every now and then, taking her chances with the handsome man.

Before Spencer could stop himself a few words stumbled out of him, “we could go on a date now? If you’re not too tired.” A date? He wanted to row back, sure that he had just embarrassed himself, messing up his only chance of being with a woman that perfect. “Are you hungry? I could cook something for us?” She rose from her seat, “Give me a few minutes.”

No words left him as he watched her, his mind was working on overdrive, calculating all the different outcomes of this very evening. He felt excited, though strangely calm, as if they had been on numerous dates before, nothing to worry about. “Ready?” (Y/n) took his hand, fingers interlaced, welcoming the warm sensation, skin littered with goosebumps.

The chilly december air engulfed them, instinctively he pulled her closer, smiling down at the woman he had dreamt about for the past nights. He could only focus on her scent, the sweet perfume that had stuck to him from the first day on. Spencer tried to keep quiet, knowing that as soon as he’d part his lips random facts and statistics would leave him, showering her with confusing information.

“Here we are,” she pulled him into her apartment, giving Spencer some space to explore her four walls, studying every little detail, engraving it into his memory. “Dr. who?” He pointed towards a small mug she had left on her table, long forgotten from a hectic morning, “mhm, I’m quite the fan.”

He was sure that he’d never love somebody as much as he loved her.

Spencer could only smile at her, following (y/n) into her small kitchen. “You up for some pasta?” She didn’t feel his intense gaze on her, didn’t notice how his eyes wandered up and down her frame, body screaming to tug her close, to finally kiss her like he had done too many times to count in his dreams. “Spencer?” Her voice ripped him out of his trance, cheeks blushing as he mumbled a small “yes”, helping (y/n) with the ingredients.

Soft music was filling the apartment, they bumped into one another every now and then, bodies tingling in excitement. She couldn’t force her eyes off him, she had been waiting for this moment for way too long, couldn’t back down now. Wordlessly she pulled him closer, small of her back pressed against her kitchen island, arms finding their way around his neck, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

His breath hitched in his chest, hands firmly placed on her hips, not giving her a chance to move away from him. There never had been a moment before where his mind would shut down, but now complete silence echoed in his head, no worries, no numbers clouding his thoughts, just the pure imagination of her.

Both moved at the same time, lips meeting halfway. All those cliché, romantic novels finally made sense to Spencer. He had never understood the metaphor of “fireworks going off in the distance” but now, with his lips moving in sync with (y/n)’s he could feel all the fireworks, could almost smell the smoke, could almost hear the explosions in the dark sky as their bodies melted together.

(Y/n) clung to him, a squeal bubbled out of her as he picked her up and placed her on top of the island, legs wrapped around his waist. The kiss grew more heated, more passionate, emotions got shared, feelings both didn’t find the proper words to. Spencer gave her a few seconds to catch her breath, lips exploring her throat, hands disappearing underneath her shirt, tracing her soft skin.

“Bedroom,” her hoarse voice left his length twitching, uncomfortably pressed against the zipper of his trousers, “What about the pasta?” Her laugh rumbled through him, having an addicting effect to it, chuckles bubbled out of him, forehead falling against hers. “Fuck the pasta.”

Seconds later they found themselves in her dark bedroom, bodies pressed against one another, skin heating up with every shared kiss. “Let me touch you, please.” Spencer toyed with the buttons of her jeans, waiting for (y/n) to give him any sign, any reassurance that she truly wanted this. “Do it Spencer, touch me.”

The nervous feeling seemed to let go of him, encouraging him to go on. His hands hastily undressed her, ripping the layers of clothes off her body, eyes fixated on her dripping core, the pulsing clit that ached for his touch. 

“Tell me, if I hurt you,” She couldn’t reply, mouth ripped open by a powerful moan, he had his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking her skin dry, cleaning her arousal off her. Needy whimpers filled the room, she was sure that she’d cum way too soon, though she couldn’t overthink her movements, mind tracing back to his touch.

His loose curls ticked her inner thighs, he had his mesmerizing eyes closed, indulging in her taste. His tongue brushed through her folds, filling her body with a new found confidence, fingers tangled in his dark hair, guiding him through the dark. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.” Her pants spurred him on, thumb adding more pressure to her clit, teasing the pulsing bundle of nerves.

“I got you love, cum for me.” She arched her back off the bed, moaning his name as a powerful wave of lust, of adrenaline and love crashed upon her, pulling her underwater, letting her drown in Spencer and his touch. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He tried to ignore his rock hard bulge, wanting to pleasure her with everything he had, selfless as always. “Spencer,” his name rolled off her tongue, followed by a deep exhaled, “fuck me.”

He studied her for a moment, profiling the panting girl, though the hungry look in her eyes gave him the final push, roughly pinning her back down onto the mattress. “You feel that?” Spencer ground his bulge against her naked folds, arousal staining his trousers, “This is what you do to me.”

A rough kiss was shared between them, he let go of her, giving her trembling hands the opportunity to undress him. She traced along his chest, down to his throbbing bulge, pumping him a few times before he slapped her hand away. “Condom?” (Y/n) connected their lips once again, “I’m on the pill, I trust you.” An animalistic growl slipped out of him, hand finding her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes roll back into her head.

“You’re mine (y/n), I hope you know that.” With one forceful thrust he ripped her open, walls painfully trying to adjust to his length, fluttering around him. She felt tight, tighter than any woman he had ever been with. 

Like a drug she forced herself into his system, leaving him hungry for more, Spencer was sure that he’d never be able to let go of her, to forget about her, he didn’t need to have an eidetic memory to remember all of (y/n).

His hips met hers with every bruising thrust of him, hand leaving marks on her throat, a souvenir for lonely nights. “Tell me how it feels, tell me (y/n).” With her eyes squeezed shut, with her fingernails pierced into his shoulders she whispered a small “so good”, not able to say anything else. Her lungs were burning, just as her walls, struggling to keep going with his rough ways.

It- he felt too good to be true, everything Spencer did left her hungry for more, obsessed with the pain that flooded through her veins. Small, satisfying grunts left him, “I’m so close.” She could feel her orgasm slowly creeping closer, leaving her sobbing and moaning, more powerful than any orgasm had ever been. “Touch yourself, love.” His gaze followed her hands, thumb rubbing her clit, in sync with the speed of his ferocious thrusts.

“Scream my name,” his breath crashed against her lips, his speed began to falter, he’d follow her down the edge, would release himself into her heat any moment now. “Oh fuck Spencer,” her body shook, mind hazy from the lust that left her breathless. Her bed moved with his thrusts, crashing against the wall as he gave it one last push, heat filling her, prolonging her orgasm.

“I’m really glad you came into my shop that day,” she turned towards him, giggling as Spencer pulled (y/n) into his sweaty chest, arms wrapped around her, “me too, I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Tagging people that might be interested: @negans-lucille-reads​ @savior-adriana​ @honiebee​ @uchihasteph​ @playboysbunny​ @bwbatta​ @writethelifeyouwant @miraclesoflove​ @shrekboobies​ @jensenackles512​ @trickassmotherfucker​

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#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid imagine #Matthew Gray Gubler #criminal minds imagine #Spencer Reid x reader

[talonwings]

Who We Are - Empires SMP writing

a gift for you, empiresblr, courtesy of my now 5 hours of fWhip headcanons. feel free to kill me when you're done. (also sorry i don't yet have an AO3 i can link to, i've been on the wait list foreeevvveerrr).

CW for slight body horror, angst, and i guess suffocation kind of?

“fWhip? Hello? Are you in here?”

He heard the call--how could he not have, when the voice was hers? Still, he did not move, remaining where he slumped against the wall of the underground room. One of the redstone crystals blooming from the stone was jammed against his shoulder blade, but even the pain could not entice him to rise.

“fWhip, come out!” Gem’s voice was a mixture of frustration and concern, a tone he rarely heard from her--well, the frustration he had heard before, but the worry was new. Gem almost never fretted about anything; it was how she had kept him and Sausage so well in line up until now.

“I’m going to come down there!” The threat echoed down the passageway that separated the secret room from the unassuming shopfront above it. “I know where your lair is, it isn’t a secret! Don’t make me come down there!”

“Don’t,” fWhip rasped. “Please.”

Gem either couldn’t or didn’t hear him. “I’m giving you one minute, and then I’m coming down there whether you like it or not!”

“Please,” he tried again, but his voice would not obey him. It petered out almost as soon as it passed his lips. He licked them, swallowed, coughed, tried a third time. “Gem, please, go away.”

This time, it seemed, she did hear, for she answered, “I will not go away! Nobody’s seen you in two weeks, fWhip! We’re worried sick!”

“I’m fine,” he croaked--a lie.

“You don’t sound fine,” she retorted. “I’m coming down.”

He opened his mouth to warn her off again, but the tell-tale sound of the painting door sliding back masked whatever he might have tried to say. Seconds later, her footsteps started up, the familiar click of those heeled purple boots getting ever louder as she marched along the passageway toward his laboratory.

fWhip’s gaze darted around in a panic, searching out anyplace that would be suitable to hide. He hadn’t moved from his current spot in over twelve hours, and his limbs protested as he shoved himself violently to his feet, teetering off-balance from the unfamiliar motion. Finally, he settled on a small cranny near the back of the chamber, and limped over to it, cramming himself inside just as Gem’s footfalls indicated that she had reached the door to the lab itself. He heard her swing it open, and then her voice, much clearer now, softly called, “fWhip? Where are you?”

“Go away,” he replied, hating the stony rasp that he couldn’t seem to get rid of now. “Don’t want to see you.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” she replied. He could imagine the look on her face, and fought against the lump it brought to his throat. He wanted to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to throw himself into her arms.

“Didn’t ask you to come,” he croaked instead.

“No, actually, Jimmy did,” Gem replied waspishly. “Your enemy. You remember him? The one you stole his most precious possession from? He sent me a message three days ago to tell me he hadn’t seen or heard from you in over a week. Mind you, this was after I’d been questioned by Sausage, Pearl, and Shrub as to why you’ve missed the last two alliance meetings. fWhip, even your enemies are worried about you. Where have you been?”

Oh, if only you knew. His mouth twisted with a hateful, bitter little smile. “Busy.”

Gem audibly scoffed. “Right.”

“Leave, Gem.” The order tasted strange in his mouth, when he desperately wanted her to stay.

“Not until I see you.” He heard her start moving around the room, picking things up and nudging them with her feet, rearranging boxes and sliding barrels aside as she searched.

“Leave.” The cranny was small, but he squashed himself further inside anyway, stone scraping against all the places where his skin was exposed.

“Are you back there?” His stomach squeezed with terror as he heard her move toward him, squeezing between two of the suspension tubes where he had once stored specimens he was researching. “I can’t see you.”

“Please, leave, please.” If he couldn’t order her, he could at least beg her. “Gem, please, if you care about me at all, go away.”

“fWhip, I do care about you,” she said gently. “That’s why I’m here in the first place. Please come out. I just want to know you’re safe.”

He could feel his heart ripping itself in half--desperation to hide warring violently with the desire to finally be seen, even if it would cost him everything. It felt like it might burn a hole in his chest, and his hands tightened reflexively into fists as he battled himself for what seemed an eternity.

“Please, little brother,” Gem whispered.

It was as if she had caved his chest in. A sob dragged itself from his throat before he could stop it, but he finally let himself unfurl from the cranny to drape limply across the floor, gazing up at his sister’s blue-violet eyes as they widened in shock, which turned to horror, which turned to sorrow.

“Oh, fWhip…” Gem reached out a hand toward him, but hesitated, drawing her fingers back before she could reach him. “What happened?”

“You really want to know?” He had to shove back another sob with a monumental effort, watching the way her fingers trembled as she gazed at him. “Or do you want to leave, like I told you to before?”

“No, I would never,” she gasped. “Not now. Not like this.” She sat down on the floor, her violet cloak flowing behind her like a pool of silky water, and slid closer to him, although not quite close enough for their hands to touch. “Tell me what happened.”

He let his eyes drift away from hers, toward the ceiling and the red crystals dripping from its shadowy recesses. “Well, it began two weeks ago.”

Two weeks earlier…

fWhip was not a stranger to surprises, but he liked receiving them far less than he liked planning them.

It had been a long elytra flight from the undisclosed location of the Wither Rose headquarters back to his home in the Grimlands, and the multiple hours in the air were wearing on his body--even though he had been wearing his scarlet goggles for the duration, his eyeballs still ached as if the wind had been hammering them, as did his shoulder blades from the yank and drift of the elytra against his own muscles.

“Maybe next time I take a horse,” he muttered to himself as he angled in for the landing. The deepslate roofs of the Grimlands were beginning to glide by beneath him now, and he made for the circular patch of dirt at the back of the manor that was his customary landing site, his eyes trained on it until something else caught his attention.

“I am positive that was not there before…” One hand came up to tap his chin as his gaze caught on the massive outcrop of deepslate that had bloomed at the front corner of the manor gardens, studded with glinting redstone crystals. A darker shadow within the ring-shaped formation suggested there might possibly be a hole there, though how deep was indiscernible from this far above.

“If somebody has been trying to steal from me again--wait.” fWhip narrowed his eyes at the spot, investigating it more closely now, for it seemed more familiar the closer he drew. He could vaguely recall setting a circle of rocks within the closed hedges, and in their center, a red container, filled with--

“Damn! Xornoth again!” His breath huffed out harshly as he realized what had happened. First the explosion, and now this…

Veering off-course from his typical spot, he carefully glided down until he was low enough to snap the elytra closed and drop gracefully to the ground between the wide hedge rows. From down here, the deepslate ring seemed much larger than it had from the air, its jagged edges stabbing into the blue sky. He could tell now that there was, indeed, a hole at the center, exactly where he had placed the shulker-box filled with Xornoth’s corruption.

“Damn,” he whispered again. He edged closer, peering carefully at the hole as he neared in an attempt to see what might be at the bottom. It appeared to be deeper than he was tall, however, and he was forced to maneuver up to the very lip of the hole to get a good look at the bottom. Thankfully, there did seem to be a bottom, lurking maybe ten feet below the surface; the depths of the hole were quite dark, though, only dimly illuminated by patches of glimmering red crystals, and he was unable to determine much more than that.

fWhip wondered, briefly, if he ought to just ignore the hole. Common sense would seem to suggest that it was involved with Xornoth in some way, and therefore worthy of at least being avoided for the time being until he could request the help of his allies. fWhip, however, whether fortunately or not, had always been availed of a strong sense of curiosity--it was how he had developed so many of his gadgets and tools. Besides that, there was something about the depths of the small hole that seemed to call to him, and him specifically.

He glanced around, taking stock of who might be nearby in case he needed to call for help, and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. There was a groundskeeper’s cottage just on the other side of the hedge row, but he had no way of knowing whether anyone might be inside.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

Gingerly, he sat down at the edge of the hole, dangling his legs off the side and exploring for possible footholds. It took him a minute, but his toes finally caught on a ledge, and he was able to hoist himself down and into the vertical shaft. Thankfully, the same jagged-edged property of deepslate that made it look menacing also made it excellent for climbing, and he had relatively little difficulty lowering himself the full ten or eleven feet to the bottom, where his feet landed on solid stone. Looking up, he was surprised how dim the sky seemed to be after such a short descent.

Now what? he thought to himself as he gazed around at the narrow walls on all sides. Surely I didn’t make an ass of myself climbing down here for no reason.

He had but a few seconds to wonder, as a strange hiss caught his attention, echoing from the rock walls. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but the small hole began rapidly to fill with a reddish mist, which, when he inhaled it, made the inside of his nose and throat burn as if he had inhaled fire. He coughed, accidentally inhaled again, and coughed more violently, and still the stuff spewed into the cavern, and he began to wonder whether this was a trap, and whether he had been an idiot for climbing down here, and whether his allies--his friends, his sister--would find his corpse rotting down here. His hands scrabbled for handholds to lever himself back up, but the mist had filled his eyes now, and it stung, forcing him blindly to his knees. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. Lights danced behind his eyelids, and his throat was a tunnel of fire, and then he was unconscious, and knew no more.

Present day…

“And the next thing I knew, I woke up. And...this.” fWhip gestured down to himself, unable to keep his mouth from curling like he had tasted something sour. “Or, well, part of it.”

“Part of it?” Gem cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was just the wings at first.” He tugged at the grey-black appendages, hating that he could feel it when his fingers brushed the leathery flesh. “And to be honest, I thought they were awesome. Who hasn’t dreamed of having wings? Sure, they looked a little gargoyle-ish, but it seemed like a small price to pay for not having to use elytra anymore. And it felt like the redstone magic was helping me, maybe giving me a gift to fight against Xornoth. I thought it might be something good.”

“And then…” Gem prompted when he trailed off.

“And then...the rest started,” he whispered. “I tried to ignore it at first. I thought maybe I was hallucinating, or getting sick, because it started with just my eyes, and I felt like maybe it would go away if I just, I don’t know, pretended not to notice. But then it was my skin, and then my hands, and then...and then my face.” He turned away from her as a visible shudder made its way through him. “I look disgusting.”

“Why didn’t you call us for help?” Gem murmured.

“Because it was my fault it happened!” he growled, shaking his head. “Because I was an idiot and went down that hole and breathed in that gas, and now I’m a monster, and I have no one to blame but myself. Because I couldn’t wait for you.”

“fWhip, no!” He could see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes, and he hated himself even more for it, for making her upset. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen, and you’ve always been an investigator. And now you’ve had to suffer alone, and I had no idea, and…” Her voice caught. “I was so worried. I thought maybe the demon…and especially after those dreams...”

He swallowed. “I...I’m sorry. I just...I didn’t know how to face everyone like this.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, simply listening to their own breaths. Finally, Gem said, “It doesn’t look that bad, you know.”

fWhip eyed her dubiously. “Gem, I look like a gargoyle. Like some kind of…” The word demon couldn’t force itself out, but he could see she understood, for she vigorously shook her head.

“No, you don’t look anything like that,” she said. After a long pause, she quietly added, “You look like my little brother.”

He tried, but couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispered.

She reached over and finally took his hand, and he almost shouted with joy at the touch of another person; her skin was warm and soft, her delicate tiny fingers gentle as they closed around his rough, clawed ones.

“We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Together.”

He nodded, and squeezed her hand. “Together.”

#empires smp #mcyt #fwhip #geminitay #xornoth #c!fwhip #c!geminitay #cw body horror #cw suffocation #enjoy this #i suck #angst #writing

[solomonish]

things my heart used to know (solomon x reader)

You find yourself stuck in an unusual contraption with Solomon, where the only way out is to take a trip through his memories that he was not prepared to take.

Based on Once Upon a December

Ao3 link: here!

With a spectacular grunt, you rammed your shoulder against a suspicious spot in the wall, hoping that just maybe you could bring the whole wall down or convince someone to help you out or something. Chances of that were low: you and Solomon had been alone when the mysterious magical device activated, trapping you both inside. Trying to shove the more hopeless thoughts of never escaping away, you continued to push at the wall, as if one spot would give and open up to let the two of you out.

Solomon was behind you, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked the picture of calm, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth as he listened to your struggle. When you looked at him with the intention of giving him a glare, you saw the dim light in the box had turned from white to gold. With a cocked eyebrow, you pushed away from the wall as you felt it morph from stone to something smoother. “What’s…”

“It’s deciding which form to take,” Solomon answered as if that told you anything. Met with silence, he chuckled and pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to you. “We’re in a memory box.”

“A memory box?” Inadvertently, you stepped closer to him, only stopping when your arm brushed gently across his. The sensation of the walls changing beneath your hands put the horrible thought of your hands getting stuck in a partially-morphed wall, and you wanted to stick next to him in case that really did happen.

Clearly amused, Solomon looked down at you, the teasing smirk on his face making him look much more condescending than he normally did. “Yes. They require a strong magical energy to work, and typically only work once. They’re especially popular with those of us who...have a lot of memories to sift through, but they can be used by anyone. I’m surprised this one lasted so long without being used...” 

As he talked, he walked forward, noting how you stuck close to his side and looked around nervously. The darkness was slowly dissipating and the focused light began to expand into a broader golden glow. The box transformed into a long hallway, the end opening into a room you couldn’t quite see into. Curiously, the walls around you started to shine, taking on their own gilded form. Intricate shapes were carved into the gold, reaching tall like palm trees. In front of each carving stood a gold pedestal, each with some artifact on it that looked to you like they belonged in a museum. 

Finally pulling apart from his side, you ran your fingers over one of the trees. The walls seemed stable, thankfully. “You seem to know a lot about these memory boxes. Have you used one before? Oooh, or did you create them?”

He picked up a small statuette, his gaze darkening for a moment as he stared at it absently. “I...am familiar with how they work.”

He placed the statuette down with a solid clink, drawing your attention from the wall and stopping you from commenting about how utterly unhelpful his response was. Had you said something wrong? His footsteps were faster than before as he made his way down the hall, barely glancing at the walls as if he had seen them before. Well, actually, he probably had. As far as you were aware, you didn’t have an intricate temple in your memories, so this must be coming from him.

Scurrying after him, you followed him through the shadowed doorway and stepped into a room that was just as ornate but not at all connected to the hallway you were just in. While the hall looked like some temple from the first century, the ballroom-like space before you seemed much more recent, if not still at least a hundred years old. You were standing on a high landing, having emerged from an archway several feet taller than you. You weren’t an architect or archaeologist, but you could guess the style of the architecture was different. Maybe...more European? Of some sort? Cringing, you tried to push the image of your humanities professor scowling at you out of your head and slowed your own steps, choosing instead to look at the high ceilings around you.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before…” You murmured in awe. Though the room was dark and clearly abandoned, you still felt a still kind of magic around you, different from what you normally felt around Solomon. He was a few feet to your left, looking at a separate old artifact and standing before a table littered with them. If you squinted, you could see what looked like wings stretched across a long serving dish, the paint chipped and faded. You couldn’t tell if it was an angel or a bird - the pinched expression on Solomon’s face didn’t give you any clues, either. A chill settled in the room, but only you shuddered, suddenly realizing that you were an intruder in these unfamiliar rooms. The thought had you awkwardly kicking at the worn rugs beneath you, the threads dirty and torn yet somehow still looking expensive.

Without a word, Solomon dug around in the bag he was carrying with him, hastily looking for something. You watched him drop it unceremoniously on the ground, bringing up a cloud of dirt around it. In his hand was the notebook he used to teach you different runes, a faint glow coming from the page following the stroke of his pen. The sound of the page being ripped from the binding seemed to fill the room, followed by his steady footsteps as he made his way to the grand staircase. You watched him go, only turning your head so as not to draw his attention.

After he passed, you cautiously sauntered over to the table Solomon was standing at, stooping to pick up the bag he left behind. Slinging the long strap across your chest, you picked up a bear figurine gilded in chipping gold, turning it so that it caught the light. All of the figures before you seemed to be masterful pieces of craftsmanship, regal things to be envied yet somehow seeming personal.  You were almost afraid to touch them for fear of offending the unknown owner.

Your hand fell to your side, bumping a cool metal box on the way and nearly knocking it off the table. Thankfully, you caught it and brought it to your face. Opening up the small lid to reveal another bear, this one standing up as if dancing one half of the tango, you gently turned it around to find the crank. It was old and a bit rusty, but still you turned it gently once, twice, three times until you could feel the springs coiled so tightly they might break. For a moment, you held your breath, then - 

Nothing. No sound came out of the box.

"Hmph. That's a shame," You murmured, tapping the side gently with your finger. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work and you set the box down on the table again. Turning over your shoulder, you called out, "So, what is this pl- ack!"

Just as you turned, a small display of glitter resembling fireworks shot out from Solomon's hand, the shimmering ash eating away at the paper that hovered in midair. Your shout of surprise didn't stir him, his back rigid and still facing you.. The quiet fizzle that caught you off guard became a visible stream of magic curling around him and you before spreading to the far corners of the room. 

You watched as the shadows were pushed into the walls before entirely disappearing, the magic gilding the ballroom and mending the disrepair it had fallen into. Tapestries unfurled to hang on the wall as the vibrancy of the old portraits returned. Overhead, empty arches found themselves holding large, crystalline chandeliers that bathed the room in a welcoming glow. Behind you, the music box started playing, the tune sounding like a full orchestra even if you knew it should only be a dissonant metallic tin. The extravagance caught your breath, nearly distracting you from the way the paintings began to shift and colors bled together.

With another wave of his hand, Solomon drew figures from the painting, hundreds spilling out as if a day had been broken. A few emerged from the floor, entering the ballroom the same way one would step out of a lake and onto the shore. Some of the figures wire masks, hiding their identity with the facade of thespian comedy. Others came as they were, wearing the same face in a variety of expressions. Despite the period clothing and many different hairstyles, the face was eerily familiar.

You watched ghoulish duplicates of Solomon traipse around the floor or mingle, talking to invisible counterparts animatedly. The figures that were not identical were faceless, aside from the occasional partner that seemed to exist in greater detail than any version of Solomon. The figures never stepped a foot on the staircase that was now covered in a rich red carpet - somehow, they were completely unaware of your presence yet seemed to know and respect that you and your Solomon lived in reality. They were citizens of the mindscape, figments of the past, and the barrier between what is and what was should not have been breached.

So caught up in your shock were you that you failed to notice Solomon head down the stairs, as if in a trance, and breach that barrier.

Once you saw him slipping between the ghostly figures, expertly sidestepping them as if he had studied their waltz for years, you called out to him. But he did not answer, too focused on the people milling around him. Maybe your voice was drowned out by the faux chorus around you. With a huff, you gripped the strap across your chest and followed him, walking down the stairs so quickly you almost tripped.

The moment you reached the foot of the stairs, you felt as though you had stepped into a bubble. With a close eye on the figures around you, you picked your way through the crowd with significantly less grace than Solomon. You never lost sight of him in his dark clothes, the dancers only distorting his image as if you were looking through water or a warped mirror as they passed in front of your line of sight. One pair accidentally passed through you, sending a harsh arctic chill down your spine. You watched that Solomon, his hair slightly neater and sporting a ridiculous frilly neck accessory you might have made fun of under different circumstances, pay no mind to you and instead look down at his companion. His expression was mischievous, scheming, but the woman he was dancing with had a face of static, barring you from reading her reaction.

Clutching tighter to the bag strap, you hastened your pace and tried to maneuver through the spirits, occasionally brushing your elbow or hip through the people around you. Each time it sent a different shiver through you, some icy while others were warm and tingled your skin. Surrounded by phantom Solomons only made you more eager to find your place next to the real one again, but the static shock you got from passing through the hurdles made you all the more careful in your steps. Who knew finding your way through a crowd you could walk right through would be harder than finding your way through a collection of solid bodies?

Near the center of the room, you found yourself in an open area with Solomon, your Solomon, standing in the middle. It seemed the translucent versions of himself knew to steer clear of him. You watched, standing just on the edge of where the crowd seemed to circle around him, watching as he took in his surroundings. Then, slowly, Solomon turned to you as if realizing for the first time that you were there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All your words tangled together, the confusion only growing when Solomon reached a hand out to you, palm up. The gaze he held you in was unfocused, his expression the closest to unkind you had ever seen. Even if there were no right decisions, rejecting his offer to dance seemed like the absolute wrong one. With the same timid air as a schoolgirl at her first dance, you placed your hand in his. For a moment, you felt vulnerable as you untucked your arms from your chest, only to feel at ease once Solomon pulled you in. His hand fell to your waist with a practiced ease. If he had been focused, maybe you would've felt butterflies swarming in your stomach, or maybe you would've laughed nervously. His far away gaze kept the joy down, and instead you pressed your lips in a tight line, watching him closely and allowing him to take the lead.

He fell into step with his doppelgangers, directing you through a path of the specters with the firm hand on your waist. Your time at Diavolo's party helped a little, but back then you hadn't been so worried about your partner. (Well, aside from the time Lucifer asked to dance with you only to threaten you - but then you were more worried about what your partner would do to you and not his emotional wellbeing.) It was all you could do to avoid stumbling over your own feet, barely missing his ties with your heavy steps. 

"Solomon…" You breathed out, noticing how his gaze stuck to the spirits for a moment too long before turning to you. Your questions died in your throat - Are you okay? What's happening? What memory is this? How do we get out of here? - but he could read your expression clear as day, even with his mind preoccupied. 

"These are all memories of me," He explained, leading you into a turn and  arely avoiding one of his copies. "I didn't have a specific memory in mind when we activated the box, so...perhaps it just started to play all of them in one."

"So you've been here before?" You asked, astonished.

"It's...familiar. I've been to lots of places. It's hard to tell."

A pair of dancers blew through you, sending a spark down both of your spines. You turned your head to see a version of Solomon look both ways, checking for onlookers that were nowhere to be found, before tenderly reaching towards the face of the man beside him. Before they could meet, Solomon turned you so his body was between you and the romantic scene, but you were able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. It was completely smooth, like an unchisled head to a statue. 

Solomon didn't make eye contact with you, a faint blush painting his cheeks. You squeezed his hand in the only reassurance you could give. "I don't mean to pry."

There was no answer, and you couldn't blame him. Even if you hadn't meant to peer into his memories, you were witnessing versions of himself he didn't tell you about, versions of himself he might not even remember. You didn't know if he was dancing with you to angle you away from the things he didn't want to see or just to keep you close, but the fact that you were even around to be swept up in the sea of Solomons was too personal for him to dwell on.

With an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Solomon's attention was grabbed by someone on the other end of the room. His grip on your hand tightened and he tucked you slightly closer to himself, spinning you in order to turn your course. You couldn't keep up with his faster footwork, nearly tumbling to the ground and only saved by his firm grasp. Solomon wasn't paying attention to you, though; his focus was on whoever he was pursuing, his turns tight as he guided you into a small circle around the room. 

The fast turns were making you dizzy, unexpectedly jostling you every time his target moved from his sight. Feebly, you used the hand resting on his shoulder to push him gently away, asking him to stop. The more he spun, the harder you pushed, occasionally asking him to slow down. He wasn't hurting you, but you were hoping that if you could get his attention he might stop. The figures around you were whirling, spinning, disorienting you - was that how dizzy and overwhelmed he felt every day, or just now? 

Without warning, the figures around you stretched an arm out as their partners spun away from them, their fingers barely brushing past each other as they disappeared into thin air. As the remain figures turned to fade into their own memories, Solomon did the same to you. You tried to keep your hands connected, hoping maybe if you kept your fingertips on his he could you bring you back to him bring his thoughts with you. That didn't happen, and you felt your fingertips drag across his palm as you stumbled backwards.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed and looked around. It was just you and Solomon in the room again, the Golden facade having faded back into the dim, abandoned ballroom from before. Solomon was staring at a blank space a few feet from the wall, his face scrunched as if watching the world rip something from him. Perhaps he was; perhaps he was watching one of the few faces he could remember beside his own, maybe one of the ones he loved, fade away from his grasp again.

This wasn't about you - clearly, none of the memories were for you to see - but you felt a creeping loneliness settling around you. Solomon was not only lost in his own world, but in hundreds of his own worlds, where details blurred and recognizable friendly faces were a luxury. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you noticed that the music box was now playing music, the kind you'd expect from such a dainty trinket. Now, the sound seemed hollow and eerie, far from how charming you thought it would be before.

Hesitantly, you took one step towards him as the song dwindled to a stop, but the click of your shoe echoed far too aggressively in the room. The walls were slowly returning to the non-descript box you were in before, but Solomon wasn't moving from his spot. The memories would always be swirling around in his head, you supposed. He had to take his time to bridge the gap between you - even if to you, it seemed insurmountable and ever-growing.

#this is my birthday gift to myself hehe #might write a part 2 later idk #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon x reader #solomon #solomon fics #solomon angst #solomon x reader

[sisterspooky1013]

Liquid Courage & Promises Kept

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3558

Read it on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

December 20, 1999

She’d been standoffish lately. Well, she’d been standoffish today, yesterday she was actually borderline flirty. He was having a hard time reading her from one day to the next, unsure if the difference in her demeanor was real or if it only existed in his head. At times he was sure she returned his affection; the flutter of her eyelashes over her icy blue eyes and the slight part of her pouty lips appearing as an invitation, and he’d almost accepted it several times. Almost. Something always got in the way; a knock at the door, the ring of a phone, the sting of a bee or the sudden aversion of her gaze, self consciousness dragging her back inside herself and away from him. He thought he could see the internal struggle in the set of her shoulders and the tuck of her chin. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, but she couldn’t admit it to herself, and he wasn’t going to push her. He’d waited this long, what was a bit longer?

Today, the typical relief that comes with a Friday afternoon was overshadowed by her businesslike demeanor, the perfectly polite but impersonal way she answered his questions, and the thorough but unemotional way she engaged in conversation with him. The more she withdrew, the more he advanced, grasping for some feedback, some response that soothed his feeling of rejection.

“Any big plans this weekend?” He inquired, resorting to small talk, which they typically didn’t need.

She didn’t look up from the file she was reviewing. “I’m getting dinner with an old friend from undergrad tomorrow. That’s about it.” Her tone was flat and disinterested, but not annoyed. She didn’t ask him about his own plans, not that he’d have had anything to share.

“Scully….are you okay? Did I do something?” He hated the whiny tone in his voice, the insecure way he sought her validation.

She looked up then, her brow knit in confusion. “No, why do you ask?”

“You just seem kind of…off? Distracted maybe? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He saw her sit up a bit straighter, just a touch more life enter her eyes. “Sorry, Mulder. I’m fine, it’s just been a long week I guess.” She offered him a thin smile. She was placating him, that he could tell, but he still wasn’t sure why.

He returned her tight-lipped, not at all genuine smile, nodding. “Glad to hear it.”

They finished out their workday, she wished him a good weekend and left the office quickly, before he had the chance to attempt walking out with her. Part of him wondered if “dinner with an old friend” was a euphemism; did she have a date? Maybe she was going out with an ex? He’d certainly been less than supportive (not to mention mature) when he’d been aware of her going out with someone in the past, so it would make sense that she’d hide it from him. Heaving a defeated sigh, he locked up the office and headed into a weekend full of boredom and misplaced jealousy that he didn’t have any right to feel.

**********************************

Saturday he had slept in, played some basketball at the Y, and stopped by to check out the Gunmen’s latest research to pass the time. It was now half past 8 and he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so grabbed his keys and headed to a restaurant in DC that had the best burgers, in his opinion. The fact that Scully was probably out on her date right now entered his mind at regular intervals, and he pushed it away, wanting to give her space to have an actual life outside of him and The X Files. Regardless of his feelings for her, above all else he wanted her to be happy, even if it was with someone else. The thought of having to meet some guy she was dating and act like he didn’t want to rip his face off made his stomach turn.

He parked in a 15 minute space just outside the restaurant and headed into the lobby. It was a busy Saturday night crowd, noisy and boisterous with various sporting events playing on several TVs and people shouting over each other to be heard. He placed his order, to go, with the hostess and then leaned against the wall to survey the scene while he waited. It was hard to say what made him feel worse, the families with children dragging french fries through lakes of ketchup, or the couples with their heads titled close together in intimate conversation, oblivious to anyone and anything but each other. His solo status was always painfully obvious in a setting like this. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, but today, knowing Scully was somewhere with someone else, it felt like shit.

And then he heard a laugh ring out like a bell. It was a sound he knew in his bones. One that, while infrequent, was a balm on his soul. Well, usually it was, anyway. But when he turned toward the sound and saw Scully, one hand to her chest while the other lay flat against the table top for stability, leaning toward the recipient of this sweet sound with her teeth bared in a joyful grin, his heart sank. She looked completely incredible, her hair mostly pulled back with a few strands loose around her face, a blue v-neck sweater clinging to her tiny frame and showing just a hint of cleavage. She was leaning in closer to a man whose back was to Mulder, removing the hand from her chest and placing it on his arm as she practically fell over in hysterics. He had never seen her like this, and envy twisted in his rib cage. Who the fuck was this guy that could make Scully laugh like that? He forced himself to look away, to stare at the gaudy rainbow checkerboard tiles on the floor. He checked his watch to calculate how much longer it might be before his food was ready and he could get the fuck out of here. Mercifully, the sound of her laughter subsided and he willed himself not to look that way again; he didn’t want to see something he’d never be able to erase from his memory.

He was doing such a good job pretending she wasn’t there that he was genuinely startled when he felt her cool hand thread around his elbow, linking his arm in hers. He looked to her and saw that her eyes were glassy and a little bit red. She was drunk.

“Come here often?” She drawled, her smile and the weight of her body leaning against him sending a wave of electricity down his torso.

“I might ask you the same” he countered, working very hard to seem casual, though he probably didn’t need to, given her state.

“Come sit with me.” She ordered. The contrast between her behavior at work yesterday and the open, seeking way her eyes roamed his face now was jarring. He was so confused by her signals.

“Nah, I don’t want to intrude. You’re out with your friend.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “date.”

She waved her hand in the air, brushing away the concern. “It’s fine, Mulder, he wants to meet you, come say hi.”

So she’d talked to her date about him? He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, flattered, or weirded out. He turned to tell the hostess where he’d be before allowing her to pull him by the arm over to her table. As they approached, a second man sat down at the table, appearing to have just returned from the bathroom.

“Guys, this is Mulder!” She said with a level of excitement that seemed, to him, to be unnecessary.

“Mulder!” They both repeated as though they were reunited with an old friend. One was tall and blonde with an athletic build, the exact kind of guy he’d expect Scully to be interested in. The other was shorter and lean with a bald head and calloused hands. After an awkward beat where he looked at her expectantly, Scully remembered her manners and began introductions.

“Mulder, this is Rob, he and I were good friends in undergrad” she motioned towards the tall blonde man, and then to the shorter, bald one. “ This is his husband, Michael.”

A grin spread across Mulder’s face as he understood that this was most definitely not a date. He stuck out his hand and shook both theirs enthusiastically, agreeing to Scully’s insistence that he sit down as she stole another chair from a nearby table.

“I have to pee” Scully announced suddenly, leaving the table. Mulder looked after her in amused surprise at her lack of decorum. This was a side of his partner he had not had the pleasure of seeing yet.

Mulder stood to remove his coat, noticing Rob discreetly flick his eyes over his body as he did so. He always appreciated being checked out, even if it wasn’t from his target audience. As he sat back down, Michael spoke.

“It’s nice to meet you Mulder. Dana has told us so much about you.”

Mulder smirked self-consciously. “Nothing bad I hope.”

“Nothing that we can’t see with our own eyes” Rob remarked, giving him another once-over with an appreciative nod of his head. Michael jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sounds like you do a lot of interesting work together” Michael offered, distracting from Rob’s remark.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” he responded cooly, seeing the hostess approaching with his order.

Scully returned from the bathroom and plopped down beside him dramatically, putting her hand on his thigh. He eyed her skeptically, but didn’t move it.

“I gotta go, I’m parked in a 15 minute spot. It was good to meet you both. You’ll make sure this one gets home okay?”

“Of course” Michael answered, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders. “Rob is a drunk Dana whisperer, from the stories I’ve heard.”

“No one wants to hear those stories” Scully warned, draining her glass. “Anyway, I’m going with you, Mulder.”

Mulder looked at her quizzically “oh are you?”

She gave him a coy smile and nodded, her eyes bleary from the booze.

“How about I take you home instead, party girl.” He stood and put his jacket back on.

Scully shrugged, accepting this alternative, and hugged her friends goodbye. Rob held on to her a little longer than Michael, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle before she told him she’d call him tomorrow. They left the restaurant arm in arm, and when they reached his car outside he opened the door for her to climb in first.

“So chivalrous” she mused, beaming at him.

He shook his head and laughed at her condition. In the moment, she was the antithesis of everything he knew her to be. The Scully he knew would roll her eyes and pity this blatant show of flirtation. Throughout the 15 minute drive to her apartment, she continued to paw at him, sliding her hand up his thigh until he batted it away. He settled on holding her hand, which seemed to make her happy and distracted her from more nefarious contact. When he pulled up outside her building, he expected her to get out and go inside, but instead she turned to him and asked “aren’t you going to walk me to my door?” It seemed to be asked in earnest, absent any innuendo, so he agreed. She held on to his arm and leaned into his side as they made their way in, her footing unsteady in her heels. He took her keys and unlocked the door for her, his feet planted firmly in the hallway. He was intrigued by her behavior and he could admit that he was very turned on by it, but she was drunk, and there was no way in hell he was going to take advantage of that.

“Come inside” she suggested, pulling on his arm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Scully. You get some rest, call me tomorrow and let me know you’re alive. I’ll bring you some coffee and a breakfast burrito.”

She pushed her lower lip out in a little pout and stepped toward him, sliding her arms up his and on to his shoulders. The height of her heels compensated quite a bit for their usual discrepancy so that she only had to stretch a tiny bit for them to be face to face.

“What cha doin, Scully?” He asked, his mind telling him that this was a bad idea, while his body urged him to proceed.

“Just giving you a hug. Is that allowed?” Her voice was sultry and smelled like whiskey.

“A hug. Sure, I guess that’s okay.” His hands found her waist. Just a hug. They’d hugged hundreds of times.

She slid her hands around his neck and pressed her cheek to his and the rest of her body followed, breast to chest, pelvis to pelvis, thigh to thigh. This was not their typical hug. She was draped over him, her breath hot on his ear. He was afraid if this went on much longer, she’d be able to feel how much he wanted her. She pulled her head back, keeping the rest of her tucked against him, and looked at his face. God, she looked beautiful, if not a bit out of it. He willed himself to pull away, but he couldn’t, not yet. She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. Electric. His body tensed, knowing it couldn’t go on. Next she pressed her soft full pout against his lips, her fingers digging into his hair. He sighed, and then pulled away, stepping back from her, breaking contact.

She looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. Not wanting to send the wrong signal, he took both her hands in his. “You’re drunk, Scully. It’s not right. I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret tomorrow.”

She held his gaze, her eyes watery and tired. “I won’t regret it, Mulder.”

“Well if that’s the case, kiss me sometime when you’re sober and I promise I won’t turn you down.” He was smiling at her, captivated by this moment where he felt like he could say anything, where they could be completely honest for once.

“Why haven’t you ever kissed me, Mulder?” There was sadness in her voice. Regret.

He took a breath before responding. “I guess…I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“I do. I want you to.” He was afraid that he was about to find out she was a tearful drunk.

“Okay, I promise that I will. Soon.”

She nodded solemnly, and he pulled her into a hug, a real one, with her cheek squished against his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he stepped back and looked at her, asking “are you going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

She blinked slowly, her eyes working to focus on his face. “I think maybe not.”

He laughed, stepping through into her apartment and leading her to her bedroom, where he waited outside the door as she changed into pajamas. Once she was tucked safely in bed with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol within arms reach, he went out to the kitchen and got a piece of paper to leave her a note. By the time he returned to leave it next to the glass of water, she was already asleep.

***********************************

Scully woke in the morning to find her mouth dry and sticky. As she sat up, her head lurched and squeezed her brain in protest. She looked around, unsure how she got here. The last thing she remembered was spotting Mulder at the restaurant, and then….nothing. Turning to check the time, she was relieved to see a glass of water and she chugged it down, stopping halfway to take two of the Tylenol; she must have put them there before she went to sleep. As she turned to drape her legs over the side of the bed and prepare to stand, she spotted a slip of paper on her nightstand and unfolded it.

Hey Party Girl,

I’m willing to bed you have a mean hangover. Whether you remember it or not, I did promise you a breakfast burrito. Call me when you’re awake.

Mulder

Her eyes went big. Mulder was here? She felt strange not being able to remember it, and hoped she hadn’t done anything embarrassing. First she dragged herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth and then took a shower, pulling last night’s mascara from her eyelashes. As she stepped out, already feeling a little better, the phone rang.

“Hello?” She cringed at the volume of her own voice.

“Hey pretty lady, you make it home okay?” It was Rob.

“Apparently so, though I don’t remember much of anything. What happened after Mulder showed up?”

Rob chuckled softly and her stomach turned. What had she done? There was a scuffling sound on the other end of the line and she could hear Michael say “stop torturing her!” Before he wrangled the phone away from Rob.

“It wasn’t that bad, Dana, Rob is just being a jerk. You got a little handsy with him then told him to take you home. We could tell he wasn’t going to take advantage of you.”

“Uh, what do you mean by handsy, exactly?” She was starting to feel nauseous.

“I think you had your hand on his thigh and you were making some serious bedroom eyes at him, but that’s it, at least at the restaurant. I can’t speak to what happened after you left.”

“Oh god” she whispered.

There was more scuffling and then Rob was back on the line “Look, honey, it’s clear that you both want to be with each other so I don’t see the issue. Just get over yourself and fuck him already.”

“Right, thanks Rob, that’s really helpful.” She rubbed her free hand over her throbbing temples.

“It was good to see you, Dana. We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, it may be a while before I can stomach alcohol, Rob.”

“You know my number. Bye.”

He hung up and she replaced the phone on the receiver, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. Dragging herself to her bedroom, she put on sweats and a t shirt, brushed her hair, and then flopped down on to the couch, already predicting it would be a wasted day. She was too old for this. When she heard Mulder’s familiar tap tap on the door, she considered staying very quiet until he went away, pretending not to be home.

“Scully, I know you’re home, your car is outside.” She heard him call out. Fuck.

Fluffing her hair a bit as she walked to the door so she wouldn’t look like a drowned rat, she opened it and found him looking adorable in jeans and a blue sweater, a paper bag in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes went big at the idea of food and she realized she was starving.

“Well it’s clear the burrito is welcome, do I also have permission to enter the premises?”

He was grinning at her in a way she found both endearing and infuriating. She hated not knowing what had happened. Taking the bag and cup from his hands, she turned and walked to the couch, leaving the door open as an invitation for him to follow.

“Thanks” she muttered, taking a sip of the coffee before setting it on the table and unwrapping the burrito.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Like I drank way too much” she returned without looking at him.

He nodded knowingly. “Do you remember…everything?”

She shot him a wide-eyed look. “What is there to remember?”

He shrugged “nothing, just wondering.”

“Look, Mulder, I don’t really remember anything after you showed up at the restaurant and if I did something embarrassing I’d rather you just tell me now instead of dragging this out. So what did I do?”

He shook his head nonchalantly. “Nothing, Scully. You were very pleasant, actually.” He smiled at her and she knew there was more to it, but he was taking the path of allowing her to remain blissfully ignorant, and she was thankful for it.

He turned on the TV and they sat quietly and watched the news while she ate and drank, slowly feeling more human as the minutes passed. He saw her check the time and took that as his cue to leave, and she walked him to the door.

“Thanks, Mulder, both for getting me home safe and for breakfast.”

“Anytime. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

She gave him a rueful look while shaking her head slowly.

“Well, in the event that anything does come back to you, I want you to know that I intend to keep my promise.”

“That really means nothing to me Mulder, but thanks I guess?”

He chuckled a little, then turned and left her to nurse her hangover in peace.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #xf fanfic

[unreasonablebehaviour]

Pls take this random assortment of dsmp “hcs” (which is actually just me rambling out my ass but we love to see it//)

—————

- Sam just like gets really fuccn energetic in a thunderstorm... like just hyperactive but also like v strong..... also immune to electrocution :)

- He’s also like all creepers are, shit terrified of cats which is v funny considering he’s sorta friends with ant

- Even funnier if u want to take the ‘canon’ fact of ant being a whole ass 20 feet tall

- Speaking of ant and this absolutely isn’t a hc but I just find it very funny that people draw humanoid versions of all of the non human characters EXCEPT for ant who I have only ever seen drawn as a cat ghgh

- Bads skin colour is deadass vantablack like if he holds his hand in front of his face it just seemingly vanishes and you can’t pick out where his hand ends and face begins

- I want him to look terrifying.... like absolutely massive a complete unit of a man, sharp ass teeth, sharp spikes and horns, sharp claws, white glowing eyes........... but he’s just like “owo” at all times ghgh

- Skeppy has chronic pain from the diamonds growing inside his body and out of his skin... sometimes he ramps up how cheerful he is to try and hide how much pain he’s in that day

- Ranboo’s body is longer on his enderman side and so he physically can’t stand up straight unless his shorter leg is on a slope

- He’s half silverfish... mainly cause I think that’s funny like hehe both those and endermen are linked to the end/stronghold and can break blocks

- This does also mean he joins bad and skeppy in the ‘help I am v spiky’ club tho

- Also also like absolutely none of his clothes fit cause his limbs are so disproportionately long so rip his ankles in the tundra I guess

- Shortza supremacy

- Sapnap... blaze boy..... I want him to steam when he angy...... v warm to the touch and all of the dteam lay on top of him when it’s cold lmao

- George is like some weird ass mushroom man.... like he looks completely human for the most part but he’s not he just never tells anyone cause he has the mentality of ‘well no one ever asked?’ Or ‘it didn’t seem important’

- When he’s in danger the surrounding plants try to help him (like lmao there’s a war goin on? Nah just take a nap and miss out so you won’t get hurt :) )

- Imagine how much funnier the lmanberg saga would be if schlatt just looked like his profile icon rather than his mc skin.... just cute tiny sheep man in a sweater... I think it’d be like that one gif of the teddy bear slamming its head onto the table to acquire angy eyebrows

- Dreams has symmetrical white patches down the front of skin... kinda like vitiligo but not? Like deadass pure white

- I also kinda just imagine him having creepy solid black eyes ghgh (haha it’s cause he’s possessed)

- He’s immortal and kinda just snapped tbh like half the reason his actions are so manipulative, selfish and drastic are both because he’s so desperate to have control over things in his life and because low-key he kinda hopes that people will find a way to kill him off or get rid of the thing possessing him (I just want a happy ending :( make him not evil pls my poor heart can’t take a non happy for everyone ending//)

- Puffy is fluffy :) I will not elaborate further

- Revived people have creepy blacked out maybe kinda glowing eyes.... paler skin.... scars and phantom pains from their injuries....

- Phil just deadass found Wilbur hiding inside a fridge and took him home with him... wil just assumed the fridge was his mom and Phil found it too funny to correct him

- Tubbo is a moobloom hybrid and all the bees love him ok 💛

- I think it would be funny if dream just deadass can’t see shit through his mask rap considering all the feats he has done

- Phil is v old and ‘wise’ but is also fairly detached from reality as a result cause he can’t really remember what earlier parts of his life were like to understand how other people act

- I also think it’d be hilarious if he ironically had like 0 life skills... cooking? He’s shit at it. Sleep schedule? Never heard of it. Taxes? Isn’t that a state?

- The floors in the tundra trios homes are constantly being ruined by techno having hooves and Phil and maybe ranboo having claws... like u no how u can like dent and scrape a wooden floor with heels? Kinda like that

- Speaking of those three I also think it’d be very funny if they all collectively became useless or started fighting in the presence of a gold block cause like 👀 ‘oo gold/hehe shiny/hold block’ mentality

- Quackity can shapeshift.... but he’s like a ditto and always has the :] face.... mmm also maybe keeps any scars he has

- His ability to control this decreases the more he dies

- So like u could he talking to him and just suddenly he looks like someone else or like a weird mishmash of people and just hasn’t noticed lmao totally not freaky at all

- Literally non of the tundra trio are equipped for the weather like u have someone from the hot af nether, bird man who’d realistically be prone to hypothermia and someone who’s allergic to water like lmao why do yall live here what is wrong with you

- I want niki to just be very exasperated by this fact

- I want her to bake goods for her friends... tailored to their tastes.... cheer up food :)

- Also i forget when she changed her skin but I think it’d be very funny if she dyed her hair pink as an intimidation factor to tommy cause she knows he dislikes techno

- Puffy ily but I do not trust you with Tommy after the disaster that was bbh and skeppys relationship counselling

- The concept of the totems being foolish’s children is very funny to me like just the implication that he just leaves his kids in random chests for people to steal and that when they witness someone die they just explode with revive energy or something like w h a t

- Ghostbur either isn’t actually Wilbur and is just some entity pretending to be him hence the ‘poor memory’ OR him and limbo Wilbur are two halves of one entity

- I just find it v sus that he’s the only ghost that’s ever shown up... and regularly at that

- mmm tubbo hard of hearing.... relies on reading lips the best he can when to help clarify what people are saying but he can hear people well enough if they raise their voice quite loud

- cursed hc but what if ash and Zachary were somehow michael decendants and they like porkums cause he’s either originally a family friend or he just reminds them of stuff

- Ok half of these aren’t even hcs anymore and is just me rambling but who let Karl be in charge of the time travel he has such strong himbo energy

- That being said villain Karl when 👀//

- Why is tubbo like one of the smartest most accomplished people on the sever... he’s like 17..... like my man has been president, developed a new form of fast travel, has a family, developed a nuclear weapons program by himself, launched a man into space, developed a whole town and more .... like who let him have this much power he can barely read//

- I think it’d be funny if techno was just really bad at strategy games..... like ok technically he’s not bad at them but like he just spends 4 days analysing every last minute detail every round to optimise his chances of winning//

- I feel like people don’t give Jack enough credit for the fact he cheated death using nothing but spite

#mcyt #dsmp #god do I dare tag everyone #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #jack manifold #nihachu #ranboo #tubbo #philza #jschlatt #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #badboyhalo #skeppy #captain puffy #technoblade #awesamdude #antfrost #quackity #karl jacobs #foolish gamers #I think that’s everyone I mentioned? #anyway these have absolutely 0 cohesion #no thoughts just random hcs and ideas #am I allowed to bully tubbo for being dyslexic if I too am dyslexic #dif kind of dyslexic but still #I mean it affectionately #/long post

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 2

TW: Mentions of bruises, scars etc

Words Count: 1.3k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 3

The sun feels very blinding on your face. Trying to move your muscle one by one, pain suddenly rips through your body making you whimper.

“Careful.” A voice in the room says which you somehow immediately know belongs to Mr. Park.

Your eyes fling open to search for him and you find him in no time as he is seated on the bedside, watching you carefully. It’s almost unfair how illegally good looking he is.

You try to sit up but ends up groaning in pain. Your whole body hurt, every muscle is aching and screaming in pain.

“Your body’s still recovering. You need to take it slow.” He says impassively, not a hint of warmth.

“Where.. am I..?” Your voice hoarse.

“My house.” He simply says.

His house??? How- why-

Wincing and grunting, you eventually manage to sit up. You finally realize that you’re in a large and spacious bedroom with sleek beige furnitures and interiors decorating it.

You then allow yourself to stare at your saviour. Now that it’s morning, you can clearly see him and all his features. His gaze bores into you but you can’t deny how beautiful they are, his nose although not high but is sharp enough, his cheeks high and his lips.. he has a pair of very pretty pink plump lips, you note. Almost reluctantly, you drop your gaze to avoid being called lunatic or pervert for staring unashamedly.

Your gaze flickers back up when he stands, one hand in his pocket.

“I placed the painkillers there.” He juts his chin towards the bedside table and only now you notice the medicine and a glass of empty water there. “Feel free to leave once you’re capable enough to do so.” He frowns slightly, then turns.

You reach forward almost immediately, wincing at the throbbing pain on your ribs especially due to sudden movement. Without thinking, you reach for his free hand, gripping it desperately.

“Please-“ you croak and he turns, still frowning at your daringness to touch him. “Please- take me in. I’ll- I’ll.. do anything, I’ll work for you- anything. Just.. just please don’t-“ You trail off, because you don’t exactly know what you wish for.

For several moments, he just regards you. And for the briefest second, you think he would smile, takes your hand and mutters softly that he’s going to help you.

But nothing of the sort happens.

He just continues to stare at you impassively, clearly not impressed. The way he stares at you makes you feel small so you withdraw your hand, flustered and embarrassed for coming to this point in your life.

He sighs then. “Just rest.” Is all he says before he turns and leaves you alone, feeling even more helpless than ever.

Your shoulders slump back down and suddenly the realization that you really are going to be in the streets with no one to help brings fresh tears to your eyes. So you cry. For hours until you’re exhausted enough to fall asleep again.

The dark must’ve just set when you find yourself awake again, body aching even more now though there’s a lesser pain in your chest since you’ve let it all out from all the crying session.

You struggle to sit up when you feel your throat burning. You’re very thirsty. Letting out small squeaks with each muscle and limb you’re moving, you manage to sit yourself on the edge of the bed.

There’s a faint knock on the door that you think if you’re asleep you wouldn’t have heard them at all. Before you could react, the door opens and an elderly woman with her hair tied up in a bun appears. She smiles kindly as she calls your name.

“Miss..?” She hovers near the doorframe. “I brought you some fresh clothes, you can change into them. The bathroom is just beside you and if you’re done you can come outside and I’ll show you to Mr. Park’s study. He wants to see you.”

Your stomach lurches in response. He couldn’t possibly want to sue me.. or worse, kill me, right? Flashes of images of him beating your brother makes you shudder. One thing you know for sure is that he’s not someone to be messed with.

You stand though staggering slightly as your legs wobble. The elderly woman who introduces herself as Mrs. Lee immediately steps in and asks with a concern look whether you need help. You shake your head, telling you just need to take it slow and Mrs. Lee leaves you at your own devices after that.

Though not without numerous wincing and grunting, you somehow manage to shower as well, or more like wiping your body here and there. You briefly think that if you’re well enough, you’d be basking in the warm water the hot tub offers and appreciates the lavish interior of the bathroom.

You flinch when you see your own reflection in the mirror. You couldn’t have been in a worse state than this throughout your whole life. Bruises littering your body everywhere, it’s all marks of blue and purple, wounds and scratches from being thrown to the ground and your lips are slightly torn at the edge. There is also a cut above your right brow. You couldn’t really recognise yourself.

Sure, you had plenty experiences of being beaten by your abusive brother but last night, your brother seemed determine to beat you half dead. You sigh, tears almost threatening but you quickly brush it off. You have to be strong.

Outside the bathroom, there’s a white medium dress laid on the bed together with matching undergarments. You pick the dress up, eyes litting up at the beauty of it. You’ve never worn a dress before, simply because you can’t afford to be dressing up when you’re burdened with financial debts your whole life.

Still, you’re grateful since wearing a dress is still an easier task than having to fit through a jeans or leggings.

There’s a knock on the door again and Mrs. Lee appears again. Wow, she really has a knack of figuring your timing. She approaches you as you stand awkwardly on the dressing table.

“Would you sit down, Miss? Let me brush your hair.”

“Y- you don’t have to.” She doesn’t listen though, instead placing firm hands on your shoulder and putting slight pressure to make you sit in front of the dressing table. It somehow feels weird to be staring at your own reflection.

Mrs. Lee brushes your hair tenderly like a mother would her daughter. She then braids your hair slightly and tie it up in a bun, letting a few strands fall freely on each side of your head.

You feel weird. For once.. you think you look decent. Though bruises are still apparent on most of the surface of your skin and no makeup to cover your face, you don’t look so tired like always.

“Miss..?” Mrs. Lee interrupts your reverie as she taps your shoulder lightly. “I’ll show you to Mr. Park’s study. He’s waiting for you.”

And there goes your stomach churning again at the mention of Mr. Park. You’ve no idea what to expect and that makes your stomach churns further, anxiety almost swallowing you whole.

Mrs. Lee leads you out of the bedroom into the hall filled with arts and paintings on the wall and only coming to a stop when you almost reach the end of the hallway in front of a double mahogany door. She knocks on them and you don’t miss the escalating heart beat of yours as your anxiety heightens as she announces your arrival to whoever’s waiting on the other side of the door.

She doesn’t wait for an answer but opens the door and urges you to enter. Filled with trepidation as if you’re entering a lion’s den, you step inside.

If you thought the bedroom you were in just now was huge, it doesn’t compare to this study room. It’s vast, with bookshelves surrounding it and rows and rows of books, old or new filling it. Across the room, there’s a table by the window and you finally see the man sitting behind it. He doesn’t look up when you enter so you stand there awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

There’s also another man standing across the table, facing Mr. Park.

He turns at the sound of you entering and your jaw almost drop at the visual of this man. He’s tall, skin slightly tanned but above all, the features of his face are almost out of this world. Eyes sculpted to perfection, tall nose and sharp jaw, he stares at you making you stop short in your tracks. The corner of his lips tugs very lightly as he addresses your presence.

“Ah, Miss Y/N.” His voice is very, very low without him having to make the effort. “Please, come here and have a seat.”

He gestures towards your right and you notice a seating area with plush white sofa and modern table. You don’t move until the guy who was speaking just now moves towards the sofa followed by Mr. Park. You chance a glance at Mr. Park as he takes confident strikes across the room and you marvel at the way even his walking exudes charisma. He takes his seat gracefully, sitting cross legged and you miss the way he eyes you from top to bottom as you walk over while the tanner guy remains standing beside him and only now you notice he’s holding several papers in his hands.

He looks at you and gestures you to take a seat once more which you do. You almost buckle in nervousness as the two’s gaze land on you.

“So, Miss Y/N,” the guy standing starts. “My name is Kim Taehyung, nice to meet you.”

If your senses aren’t tingling all the time and you aren’t fidgeting so much in anxiety, you’d probably have half the brain to answer to his sentence but right now you’re trying very hard to do as much as breathing that you end up mumbling incoherent reply, much to the guy named Taehyung’s amusement though Mr. Park’s expression remains impassive.

“I understand that your family had been a tenant of one of Park Corporations housing area for more than twenty years now. You also have a history of late payment since five years ago and currently has a backlog of payment for one year, amounting 4 million KRW. Is that correct?”

You feel beads of sweat starting to appear on your forehead but you still nod nevertheless.

“You failed to pay for the past year which resulted to the house being seized and you’d be homeless but.. here you are..”

You try to hide the grimace as Taehyung addresses the obvious situation.

“And you still owe Mr. Park here 4 million KRW and may I ask if you have any means to settle them within this month?”

You swallow. You want to ask for another chance, to give more time but you know even if they do give you a chance, there’s no way you can rake millions just like that. Unless you sell yourself, perhaps. And that still might not make up the amount of money. So naturally, you just shake your head slightly.

“So, Miss Y/N, since you’re owing such huge amount to Mr. Park and you have no means to pay.. that means you’re technically..” Taehyung continues but was cut off by Mr. Park.

“Mine.” He says and the word echoes in your mind a million time. You’re.. what? You look up at him and see the corner of his mouth slightly quirks up like he’s smirking. Your gaze flickers to Taehyung too and he’s doing the same as well making a shiver run down your spine. Why do you feel like you’re being sold to the devil..

“So I have a proposition for you.” This time it’s Mr. Park speaking. “A marriage contract.”

A WHAT?

Link to Chapter 3

Posted on 210325 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #jimin smut #smut #kpop #mafia #jimin mafia #ceo jimin #bts smut #bts au #bts mafia

[sailorsero]

you know i’m stupid for you 1/?

author: claire (@sailorsero​) ship: adult kaminari denki x reader prompt/genre: band/musician!au/poppunk!denki wordcount: 1483 warnings: swearing (for the moment, this is all) a/n: • written for the BNHarem Making Beautiful Music Collaboration - check out the masterlist to see everyone elses!) • thank you to @unbreakablekiribaku​ for the header!  • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘stupid for you’ by waterparks

you know i’m stupid for you part one

***

RIOT! PRESENTS: DYNAMIGHT - A ROTATING HEADLINE TOUR Combining forces for the second annual Riot! Radio/Magazine empire tour are punk pop staples Chargebolt, indie rockers Plus Ultra! and newcomers Rolling Thunder, fresh off the release of their debut album, ‘Revelry in the Dark’. The tour format of a different running order each night, the mix of genres and an abundance of talent promises a sick show you won’t want to miss! The tour starts tomorrow night in Fukuoka, ending in Sapporo at the end of the month. Tickets | Details

Day 1: Fukuoka

***

The past 24 hours had been hectic and overwhelming; the last minute preparations, the packing, the 17 FaceTime calls Mina insisted were necessary for packing, the flight to Fukuoka, the hotel, meeting the approximately 3674 people involved in the tour (okay, really approximately), the soundchecks, the press, making sure Todoroki didn’t get lost (again). It could have been enough to have you considering your plan B vocation of Professional Kitten Cuddler (you’d seen a Buzzfeed article once), if it wasn’t for this feeling, right here and now.

The house lights had dimmed away to almost nothing, causing the steady thrum of chatter from the crowd to surge into a roar of anticipation that matched your own perfectly; waiting sidestage in the dark knowing you were on the precipice of doing what you loved most always made you feel electric.

You’d followed Shinsou onto the stage as the eyewateringly bright lights hit, securing the strap of your bass before looking without seeing out at where you knew the crowd was. You were really here, on this stage, with your best friends, on the biggest tour you’d done so far as a band. You let yourself bask in the joy that brought for a moment longer, before turning towards your bandmates, tilting your head in silent question. Quick nods from Tokoyami and Shinsou and a peace sign from Mina were all you needed before you turned to Todoroki to count in. Everything after that was the most beautiful white noise.

***

8 songs flew by quicker than you could ever remember, Shinsou’s synths fading out as Mina yelled into the mic like she was going for Present Mic’s radio slot.

“Our record is available from the merch table and we are on all relevant social media - @ rollingthunder! Our TikToks are epic! We have been Rolling Thunder, you have been fucking beautiful - goodnight!!!”

“‘Our TikToks are epic’?!” Shinsou rounded on the lead singer as soon as you were all sidestage again.

Mina put her hands on her hips, giving off the energy of an elementary school teacher who had to do this a lot. “They are epic! It’s not my fault you never want to be in them!”

“Maybe that’s why they’re epic?” Todoroki deadpanned, removing the sweat-soaked towel from around his neck.

The snort you gave out at the impossible-to-tell-if-it-was-intended-as-an-insult-or-not-because-it’s-Todoroki insult died off early as you caught sight of him.

Fuck. He’d actually gotten hotter overnight.

Kaminari made a beeline straight for you from the door that lead to the backstage area, 100 watt smile firmly in place. “Hey, you. Great set out there! Totally dope!”

“You were watching?” You were too caught off guard to school your tone into anything less giddy, and you knew you’d be hearing about it until you could hide in your bunk on the tourbus. Maybe not even then if your bandmates didn’t respect the sanctity of the curtain.

“Yeah, of course! We were up on the balcony, in the private bit? You know?” You assumed Sero and Kirishima formed the ‘we’ he was talking about, as they appeared one after another through the same door, grinning widely.

“Yeah, totally, I remember they said there was somewhere to watch the other sets from...cool!”

A part of you died inside as you heard yourself reply and you wondered briefly if there was any chance your whole band wasn’t watching this interaction. Hearing ‘cool!!!’ mimicked in four wildly different attempts at your voice shut that down.

There was no way Kaminari hadn’t heard all four impressions, but he was nice enough to pretend he hadn’t.

“Yeah! So, uh...you could totally watch our set, now! If, you know, you want...” He trailed off, looking hesitantly hopeful and fiddling with one of his many, many earrings.

His golden eyes had been staring into yours for the whole of your conversation so far and you found yourself getting lost in his gaze, all of the noise of the crowd buzzing and the crew swapping the setup over becoming distant to your ears.

Until his bassist slapped him on his back - hard - shit-eating grin all over his face.

“Smooth like silk, Denks!”

“Shut up, Sero!” Kaminari whined, breaking eye contact with you to shove at his bandmate’s arm. 

No one said anything for what felt like the longest seven seconds in history. Kirishima cleared his throat politely and smiled encouragingly, but seemed to run out of ideas after that.

“We’ll watch you guys! But only if you tell us how awesome we were!” Mina’s arm slid seamlessly to link with yours as you remembered how much you loved this pink-haired angel. She was a socialising expert and had rescued you all right before the silence had slid past the point of no return into Awkwardsville.

Kaminari seemed to share your sentiment, as it wasn’t with only a little relief he began to shower the rest of your band with praise. It was only when he’d rambled his way to complimenting the way Tokoyami held his guitar that Shinsou decided it was his turn to steer the conversation. “Don’t you have a drummer? Did he not want to watch our set?”

“Nah, he said he ‘didn’t wanna watch a bunch of electro emos with stupid hair sing about going to Hot Topic or what-the-fuck-whatever’,” Sero cheerfully announced, ignoring the choking sound the apparently-direct quote forced out of the blonde you couldn’t take your eyes off of.

“Wow. He’s charming.” Shinsou replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“He is, isn’t he?” Kirishima sighed, sounding like he’d have actual stars in his eyes if you could bring yoursef to stop looking at Kaminari and check. Which you Absolutely Could Not.

You’d met Kaminari at 1 this afternoon, and he’d been pretty much all you’d thought about since 1:01.

***

“Okay, so, Chargebolt - Eijirou Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Katsuki Bakugou, Denki Kaminari. Plus Ultra! - Izu...”

You were pretty sure one of the tour managers was still speaking, introducing the other band you were sharing this tour with, but you couldn’t focus on anything else. Kaminari. Denki. Denki Kaminari.

The ear you could see was adorned with multiple piercings, and the one you couldn’t was covered with a sweep of blonde hair with a black lightening bolt dyed into it. Golden eyes, pink lips. Not particularly tall, or jacked, but lean and muscled where you could see. A black Fatgum Records T-shirt over a black and white striped longsleeve, tucked into ripped jeans that fell into laced up boots. Were those fingers tattoos? It was definitely yellow nail polish and a multitude of silver rings. Talk about ‘exactly my type on paper’. Fuck!

You wondered for a second who exactly it was who had given this man the right. Then you realised he was moving - towards you.

“Hey! Y/N Y/L/N, right? I heard you guys on Present Mic’s show, the Live Lounge? That was incredible!”

Had your mouth been wide open the entire time he was talking? You really couldn’t be sure either way.

“Hey! Yeah, that’s uh...me! Thanks, I was really nervous but he was so cool.”

Kaminari nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Present Mic? Yeah, what a legend! We haven’t been on for a hot minute but we’ll probably go back next album cycle.”

You were pretty sure you were supposed to be making introductions to everyone in the room right now, but before you knew it, it had been fifteen minutes and the only person you’d spoken to was Kaminari. A way-too-stressed-for-the-first-day-of-tour looking woman was trying to politely usher Kaminari away to wherever Chargebolt’s schedule had them being right now, but he hesitated after he said a (hopefully) reluctant goodbye.

“Yeah, so...it’s so cool to be working with you! And, y’know, that work is...touring together, so we could like...hang out! Yeah? If you want?”

You ignored your own manager materialising at your side tapping her watch for a moment longer to nod quickly and breathe out a response.

“Yeah, we could, I want.”

Kaminari’s face broke out into a smile as big as the gag Shinsou was doing behind him. “Yeah. Yeah! Great! See you later!”

You’d pretended not to watch them leave the room.

The rest of your band had been only too happy to inform you that you’d failed to pull it off.

***

i have decided to make this a multi-chapter fic and will post/link a masterlist and link to ao3 when i post there so you can follow this story if you would like to!

ao3  • collab masterlist

#my writing #bnha x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki #denki x reader #kaminari #denki #mha x reader #bnharemcollab

[disastermages]

this fic is in the same universe as this fic [ao3 link]

[ao3 link for this fic]

--

The sun bears down and burns at the top of Baoshan Sanren’s veiled hat as she walks, her robes fluttering out behind her. She’d thought about leaving the mountain in white, but that might have invited questions, so she’d left in the neutral colors of a rogue cultivator, vowing to her remaining disciples that she would return.

She wouldn’t return shortly, the world had changed in the 50 years she’d locked herself away and she meant to see it, but she would return. 

None of them dared argue with her anyway.

Kneeling down slowly by a stream, Baoshan Sanren sighs and pulls the hat from her head before she sets it aside and dips her hands into the water. She wouldn’t stop for long, long enough to fill the gourd at her waist and then she would keep moving, until she reached the next village or town that needed her help.

The first handful of water is rubbed over her face, her fingers pressing into her own features while she wipes the sweat and dirt away, the second handful of water passes right through her fingers when she hears the warbling cry of some infant.

Baoshan Sanren looks up and down both sides of the stream and sees no one but the weeds and tall grass surrounding her, but the crying doesn’t stop and she’s back on her feet in a second, her hat held low in her hand. 

It wouldn’t take her long to draw her sword if it were nothing but a trick, or some spirit pretending to be an infant because it thought she was an easy mark, but she doesn’t expect it when she nearly trips over the baby, the toe of her boot catching on the woven basket the tiny thing had been set into. 

She doesn’t pick the baby up, but she does watch as it fusses and fights against the blanket swaddled around it. “What are you doing by yourself?” Baoshan Sanren asks the baby, as if she thought it could answer her. The baby’s face is red and frustrated, and Baoshan Sanren is almost certain that children this young shouldn’t be left alone in the sun for longer than a few moments.

It doesn’t take her long to find a stick to force into the soft ground, angling it over the basket and the baby so she can drop her hat over it. “Is that better?” She asks as the shade covers the baby’s face. She’s never been good with babies, they fought her whenever she tried to hold them, Lan Yi had been better, and she’d enjoyed it, but those thoughts wouldn’t offer Baoshan Sanren anything helpful right now. 

The shade of her hat seems to push aside most of the baby’s fussing though, now it only babbles and coos, still kicking against the red blanket that surrounds it. The baby’s parents must be somewhere nearby, Baoshan Sanren decides, sitting down next to the baby and burying her hands in the grass. The baby’s parents must be nearby, and they must be farmers tending to their fields, they’d only put their child here while they did something that babies either couldn’t or shouldn’t be around. They would come back for it soon, Baoshan Saren decides, and she would sit next to the baby while it waited.

An hour passes and Baoshan Sanren neither hears nor sees anyone coming, no matter which way she turns her head, one of her hands letting go of grass that she’d ripped up by now to rest it on top of the baby’s chest. “They must have loved you, look at how tightly you’re swaddled, they even put you in a basket to keep the dirt off of you.” She isn’t sure who she’s speaking for, herself or the baby, she only knows that she is speaking.

Another hour passes, and the baby begins to fuss again, against the weight of her hand now, too. Lan Yi would have picked the baby up right away, but Baoshan Sanren tries to hush it for a moment longer before she throws another, hurried glance around herself. The baby’s parents wouldn’t be pleased if they saw some strange woman handling their child, who they undoubtedly loved so dearly.

The baby only quiets minutely as Baoshan Sanren picks it up and presses it against her chest, only to begin rooting a moment later. “What are you doing?” Baoshan Sanren asks the child, bouncing it slightly in her arms, “I’m not your mother, I haven’t got any milk for you.” The child’s mother would be back shortly, Baoshan Sanren reminds herself, holding a woman she’s never met to a promise she’d made to herself. 

Lan Yi would know how to stop the baby from crying, even if she couldn’t offer it milk, a mean, unhelpful part of Baoshan Sanren’s mind offers up, trying and failing to dig sharpened nails into a hardened heart. 

Another hour and a half passes before Baoshan Sanren stands, slowly and carefully with the baby in one arm and one hand taking up her hat again. She has no choice but to leave the basket. “There are farms here, you’re not so small that you can’t have cow’s milk, are you?” The baby only whimpers in response, a spot of drool wetting the front of Baoshan Sanren’s robes. 

She walks a mile and a half and knocks on three doors before she gets an answer at the fourth, but by then the baby has begun to fuss and cry again. “Might I buy some milk from you, Madam?” Baoshan Sanren asks in what she hopes is a polite voice, her eyes not leaving the face of the old woman who answers the door. 

“Such a little one with you, your milk hasn’t dried up already has it, Dear? I have some medicines that might help if it has.” The old woman murmurs as she steps aside to allow Baoshan Sanren entry into her home. The old woman is polite enough not to stare when Baoshan Sanren has to duck her head to clear the doorway.

“This child isn’t mine, Madam,” Baoshan Sanren explains, pushing the hat down to rest between her shoulders, “I only just found it in the field by the river.” There was a chance that the old woman knew the baby’s parents, that she might get the baby back to its parents and out of Baoshan Sanren’s most likely clumsy hands.

Her words only make the old woman’s face fall for a moment, though, a surprised frown crossing a face softened by age. “Just a moment, Dear.” The old woman asks, leaving Baoshan Sanren to stand in the middle of the house with the baby in her arms while the old woman calls out to her husband, ordering him to bring a list of things, milk being one of them.

“Might I see the little one, Dear? I’ve been a midwife in these parts since I was your age, I might be able to place the baby’s parents for you.”

Baoshan Sanren tries not to seem too eager to hand the child over to someone who might know it, to someone who might know who the baby actually belongs with. She tries not to think about the way the baby had jerked back towards her when the old woman had first taken it into her hands.

The old woman is skillful in the way she unwraps the baby from it’s swaddling, allowing the red blanket to drape down her arms while Baoshan Sanren can only watch with rapt attention. 

“I see.” The old woman finally says, her face darkening as the baby wraps the whole of one hand around her thin, boney finger. “This is the youngest daughter of the Guo family, I just delivered her nine months ago last week.” Without the binding of her blanket, the baby is free to kick and play as she wants, pulling the old woman’s finger into her mouth for just a second, and then abandoning it. 

“Is something the matter?” Baoshan Sanren asks carefully, her eyes dropping down to the child’s face.

“I’m not one for gossip, Dear,” The old woman explains, beginning to rock the child despite the serious look still on her face, “but it’s dreadful business, I don’t dare repeat it.” A pit opens up in Baoshan Sanren’s stomach then, her hands twitching at her sides to reach for the baby again, but she stops herself. 

Before she can ask, and before the old woman can say anything else, her husband comes into the room, a box under one arm and a cane in the other hand, his back bent with age. 

“Should I leave her with you, then?” Baoshan Sanren asks, trying not to think of the way the baby turns and looks at her, one tiny, sun reddened hand reaching out, though she dares not take it yet. 

The old woman opens her mouth, but the old man speaks instead, “Our children are grown, Young Lady, we’re much too old to be raising another one.” Baoshan Sanren nearly tells him that she’s older than him, but she bites her tongue instead, watching as the midwife pushes past her husband with a pointed glare, still mindful of the baby in her arms.

“Ignore my husband.” The old woman advises, though not unfondly, when Baoshan Sanren looks into her eyes, “He’s spoken in such a way all his life, but he tells you the truth.” As she speaks the old woman sets the baby onto a table and steps away just long enough to take the box out from underneath the old man’s arm before she beckons Baoshan Sanren over. 

She goes to great pains to slowly show Baoshan the proper ways of cleaning the baby and changing her diapers while her husband moves to heat the milk behind them.

By the time the baby is swaddled again, the milk is ready and Baoshan Sanren is all but pushed into a chair and shown the proper way to feed and burp the baby. 

“You’re sunburned from sitting with her.” The old woman states quietly, watching as the baby falls asleep in Baoshan Sanren’s arms, thick, dark eyelashes fanned against her tiny, round cheeks. “I would not allow an outsider to take any of our children normally, you must understand, Dear, but you sat with her long enough to burn under the sun, and then you had enough sense to bring her here.”

Baoshan Sanren prays that the old midwife doesn’t see the way she bites at her lower lip or the way her arms tighten instinctively around the baby.

“You are a cultivator, are you not? All I ask of you, is that you take this child with you, and see to it that she is looked after well. Train her in martial arts or don’t, but she is safer with you than she is here, with me.”

Baoshan Sanren opens her mouth to answer, but stops herself when the child nuzzles into her bosom, trying to stretch through the swaddling. “She is a lively child when she is properly looked after.” The old woman promises, her thumb brushing over the baby’s cheek. 

“I’ve never taken care of a baby before.” Baoshan Sanren excuses, a click in her throat as she blinks something away. 

“My husband and I will send supplies with you, but if you find yourself troubled with questions or uncertainty, ask any one grandmother or auntie on the street, and five more will jump forward with their own pieces of advice.” The old woman says, a slow smile warming her face. She was speaking from experience, then. 

Breathing in deeply, Baoshan Sanren only takes another moment to look into the baby’s face before stroking her own knuckle down the length of that tiny cheek. “I will take her with me, Madam.” Baoshan Sanren decides finally, her eyes closing for just a moment as she allows a tiny fist to close around her finger. “May I ask her name?”

“The name you choose for her will be worth more to her than the name that was given before.” The old woman’s smile does not waver as she speaks, though her eyes turn softer and kinder.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, Baoshan Sanren feels short of breath as her hand rubs over the blanket around the baby. “Cangse.”

It had been the first word to come to mind, but Baoshan Sanren feels no need to take it back and try again.

“Cangse” The old woman agrees, nodding sagely.

#the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fic #baoshan sanren #cangse sanren #bssr #cssr #some people?? return to a series that gave them joy?? to cope??

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

#my ocs #holy cow that took a while #how do i tag this #jilly #ciggy #kilaine #mike #thurwen #dag and thagna #caz #reila #valkya #espira #riley #herren #felria #AND THIS IS IGNORING A GOOD TEN OTHERS TOO GGSDFSDF #i have. a proble #too many!!!! #FEEl free 2 ask for more info on any :) i kno this is a lot

[robininthelabyrinth]

prompt:  Bodyswap of Nie Mingjue and Baxia?

link to ao3 because this is long

There were a lot of rules about the saber spirits, but the most important one was always: You control the saber, do not let it control you.

The line between being a hero and being a monster was a very thin one, easy to overstep: with the horrible temper that was as much an ancestral inheritance as their cultivation style, it was all too easy for members of their family to become corrupted. Cultivating the saber spirit gave them power, but it also inspired rage – it would be all too easy to start making excuses for your conduct, to become corrupted by your own desires, to say “Oh, it’s his fault, he made me angry” or “He shouldn’t have gotten in my way” when what you meant was “I decided he didn’t matter.”

That was unacceptable.

If people didn’t matter, then nothing mattered, and all the sacrifices that had ever been made in the name of upholding justice and righteousness, using violence for good, were for nothing.

Control and principle – those were the foundations of Nie cultivation.

The saber spirits heightened the tension of it: the balance between power and responsibility, between blind rage and principled justice. Each saber spirit belonged to a single master, reflecting the quirks of their personality, but at the most base level they were all the same, simple and straightforward: they wanted to destroy evil.

All evil.

Without exception. Without mercy or nuance or – anything.

That’s why it was the job of the saber’s master to keep them in check. A saber spirit would make no distinction between a lost ghost draining a little yang energy to preserve its own life or a fierce corpse murdering people left in right, between a yao that took in the energy of the sun and moon and a yao that fed on corpses, between a small child stealing bread to feed their family or a criminal stealing in through the window to commit a rape – only a human could make those sorts of decisions.

Or so Nie Mingjue had always been taught.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, late at night, Baxia lying on the bed next to him instead of properly in her case where she belonged. “I think you could probably learn to tell the difference, if you wanted.”

Baxia purred in his mind, temporarily calm and sated – he’d gone night hunting the day before, accompanying his father, and he’d been the one to take down the creature: a maddened yao that had once been a boar, and which had recently taken to ripping people to pieces with its tusks.

His father had been very proud. He’d ruffled Nie Mingjue’s hair as if he were still a child – he wasn’t, he was a big brother now, his little brother born just last month – and called him his prodigy, ignoring the way the other Nie cultivators on the night hunt frowned.

They always frowned.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t supposed to get his saber until he was twelve. Before that, it was all practice sabers: heavy wood, to help strengthen the arms and shoulders, and eventually dead steel, to learn to finesse and how to not cut your own head off, and only once you’d shown sufficient skill in those could you finally get a spiritual weapon of your very own.

Nie Mingjue picked up Baxia for the first time when he was six.

There’d been fighting, an incursion into the Unclean Realm by assassins – some small sect, probably egged on by Wen Ruohan in a way that could never be traced to him, but anyway they were all dead now – and when he’d heard the screaming, it hadn’t even occurred to him not to help.

Suppress evil, no matter where it lives; uphold justice, no matter what it takes.

He’d been only a child, but there had been children screaming, children his own age confronting fully grown cultivators, and that hadn’t been fair at all.

Nie Mingjue had sprinted to the armory, hoping to find something – anything he could use, even just one of his practice sabers, and that was the first time he’d seen her.

Baxia – though she hadn’t been Baxia back then – had only been half-forged then, enough spiritual weapon to channel his qi but not enough to really respond to his commands. That was fine: he didn’t know the techniques to wield her properly back then, anyway.

The basics were good enough against cultivators who never expected that the young child heir of the Nie family would be able to lift a sword longer than he was tall, much less wield it.

He’d aimed low at first, going for tender ankles and vulnerable knees, and then when they’d tried to leap up against him he brought his saber up against them, aiming for their bodies.

There was a lot of blood.

Nie Mingjue was descended from a butcher: his father had been taking him to see animals get hacked up for their kitchens since before he’d started walking, a way to inure him to blood and guts and gore, to animal screams that weren’t so different from the screams of the battlefield.

It was still strange, seeing blood on the flood, blood on his blade, to see the light fade out of a man’s eyes and know that he made that happen – that his soul would be irrevocably marked with the stain of having taken a life.

As a reward, Nie Mingjue’s father had ordered that Nie Mingjue could take up his saber early.

A lot of people in the sect didn’t agree with that decision. Even now, two years later, they still frowned whenever Nie Mingjue did something, muttering warnings about how children couldn’t be trusted to control themselves, how the saber spirits were unpredictable, how a cultivator’s life might already be cut short and how there was no need to cut a childhood short as well.

Nie Mingjue’s father ignored them. Nie Mingjue ignored them, too.

He liked Baxia.

And he thought, maybe, that she liked him, too.

No one had ever told him that he shouldn’t have been able to tell.

-

The first time they switch, it’s to save his life.

It wasn’t the first time they’d gotten closer than they should: Nie Mingjue had figured out if he channeled not only qi energy but vital energy into Baxia, circulating it through her as if she were an extension of his meridians, they would fight better – she would be light in his hand, anticipating his movements, putting her force behind his blows alongside his own. He’d even noticed that he could almost ‘see’ things differently – flickers of pulsing qi in cultivators, ghostly flame in corpses – and he thought it might be that he was seeing things the way she saw things, if a saber spirit could be said to see.

He’d done it more and more, only for one of his teachers to notice and scold him fiercely. Allowing something into his vital qi was opening himself up to possession; it might help his cultivation in the short term, an emergency measure, but in the end, the saber spirit would turn on him, devour him – after all, who was truly free from evil?

At first, Nie MIngjue tried to be good, to stop, but Baxia all but sulked at him – his swings dragging a little more than could be blamed on air resistance, a feeling of dissatisfaction and unhappiness even when he killed some fierce corpses for her, randomly waking him up in the middle of the night with fake alarms because his saber figured out long ago that he hated that – and eventually he just gave it up.

Every Nie saber was different, after all; like all spiritual weapons, they reflected their master. Maybe he and Baxia were just – different?

(And if it made it just a little easier to keep an eye on little Nie Huaisang, who’d just learned what crawling was and that he liked utilizing it to get to the most dangerous places possible, well, that was just an additional perk – how people ever took care of children without having a second pair of eyes, Nie Mingjue had no idea.)

And then they were at a night hunt, fighting something especially big and bad and vicious to the extreme, and all of a sudden Nie Mingjue felt something that reminded him of Sect Leader Wen, of the slick nauseating feel of his cultivation, and his father’s saber shattered.

Everyone panicked, shouting, and the beast roared, seeing its chance, and it jumped forward, goring Nie MIngjue’s father – still stunned – in the belly and knocking him down, and then rushing towards Nie Mingjue himself who was frozen in horror.

The next thing he knew, he wasn’t – he wasn’t knowing, anymore, or at least not the way he had before.

Everything around him was qi, and qi was in everything: different colors-textures-flavors (flavors?!) that showed him the difference between a living person and the dead, between plants and animals and the dirt beneath them, and even the subtle gradations inside the three souls and seven spirits, the way the qi-flame varied in color, the lightness of the soul slowly corrupted with rot – with evil.

It was vile.

He watched as his body leaped to the side, avoiding the beast’s charge – the movements were a little jerky, he thought, and Baxia sent some frustration back that he thought might roughly translate to listen it’s a new body and I’m trying here if she were capable of speech – and then spinning around, leaping up, and then bringing him down on her.

There was an encouraging sort of feeling from Baxia – go on, do the thing, you can do it – and somewhere along the way down, aided by the force of muscle and gravity, Nie Mingjue figured out that he was supposed to bite down, the sharp end of him all a single tooth, sharp and vicious, and he grabs onto the beast’s qi with all his might, tearing at it furiously, venting his rage.

A few more swipes with the blade and the beast died, Nie Mingjue drinking in its vital energy as if it were water as the creature’s souls and spirits scattered – he even purified the ones he could reach, making sure that nothing would remain behind, rotting and infecting the world with its madness and evil.

It felt good. To see that evil disintegrate into the wind, to know it would never hurt anyone again – good.

He wanted more.

There was a tug on his mind, Baxia calling him back as if he risked going too far, and habit kicked in: he turned in response to her call, trying to come to her side or have her come to his, and suddenly the world went off-kilter again and he was standing up on two legs (he had legs?) and the beast was dead in front of him, stinking of blood and bile –

He was human again.

Nie Mingjue dropped his saber, staggered to the side of a tree, and vomited.

Baxia returned to her place on his back, a quiet vibration that conveyed no feeling, only a reminder of her presence. He didn’t know what to say to her, what to think, what – anything.

You’ll leave yourself open to possession indeed.

Luckily, no one in the clan had noticed the lapse: the other Nie cultivators who had been on the hunt with them, both young and old, applauded Nie Mingjue for the steadiness of his nerves (a lie) and one of the elders even commented that it seemed as though his cultivation had increased substantially.

It had, too, but what was Nie Mingjue supposed to say? That he’d literally eaten another creature’s cultivation, drinking its blood and gnawing on its bones, until his spirit has become swollen with power?

That he’d enjoyed it?

He had three days to wonder and worry about it, trying to think about how to handle it, and then his father opened his eyes for the first time after the coma from the wound inflicted from the beast, eyes full of madness and fury aimed at every living being around him, and then he had other things to worry about.

-

After he became Sect Leader, Nie Mingjue spent a great deal of time telling his saber that he couldn’t just stab Wen Ruohan across the table of a discussion conference.

In his head, of course – Nie cultivators were known to be close to their sabers, even closer than most cultivators of other sects were with their beloved swords, but it would still be seen as strange to actually talk to your sword as if it could respond.

Baxia couldn’t talk back, of course – she was still a sword, in the end, incapable of human speech – but that never kept her from talking back, albeit in her own way.

She liked to highlight parts of Wen Ruohan’s body that would make for good cutting – Nie Mingjue’s eyesight had never quite returned to normal since that first switch, and he could always see a very faint ghostly overlay of qi on all living creatures around him, especially cultivators – and send encouraging feelings to him, like a mother cat nudging her kitten towards its first mouse, and Nie Mingjue would press his lips together and not smile because that would be weird.

It was one of the only things that made the discussion conferences – sitting across the table from his father’s murderer – bearable.

Nie Mingjue was perfectly aware that if anyone, even those in his own sect, ever found out about his unusual relationship with his saber, they would condemn him as unorthodox, possibly even crossing the line into demonic cultivation, even though he never touched resentful energy for his own use, never summoned ghosts or demons, nothing of that sort.

But he couldn’t stop.

Even if he wanted to – and he didn’t really want to – there was going to be a war soon, and his sect depending on him. His brother needed him.

And he needed Baxia.

After the first time, it had gotten easier than ever to slip sideways into her – to let her be the man, and him the sword. Nie Mingjue was, if he did say so himself, a very good saber, Baxia laughing in agreement at the thought, and it was so freeing to be nothing but a weapon, to have no concerns but wanting to kill and kill and kill.

Naturally, that was why he couldn’t permit himself to do it too often.

Connecting with Baxia was no longer something he had to try to do, as it had been when he was younger, but rather the opposite: he would have to try very hard to try to seal the connection between them, something he did only when he was extremely upset about something, and even then he wasn’t sure the link ever closed down all the way.

She was an extension of his body, a part of him; his vital qi poured into her, unreserved, and when he cultivated, her cultivation increased apace as well, her saber spirit strengthening to new heights of power – what helped him, helped her, and what helped her helped him.

It could almost, embarrassingly, be considered a form of dual cultivation.

It never felt wrong.

Nie Mingjue prided himself on his adherence to principle, to ethics; he knew people said he was too strict, too harsh, even unmerciful, but there was forged steel in his soul now, unyielding, and every year that passed he found his tolerance for evil grew less and less.

Evil in the world – and evil in mankind.

He knew there was evil in himself as well. He never deceived himself on that front: if Baxia were free to do as she pleased, to massacre all evil as she wanted, he would be one of her targets, no matter how she grumbled whenever he thought that. Virtue could be as corrupting as vice; he wasn’t any better than the people he condemned.

The only thing he could say for himself is that he always tried to do the right thing. He tried never to take action solely for his own benefit, to lift his saber only in the defense of a just cause, to do what he must and go no further.

Excepting only, perhaps, for Baxia – but as long as he controlled it, as long as he turned her only against evil, then surely, it was still within the boundaries of the limits his ancestors had laid out, that strange cultivation style of the saber spirits.

Well. Mostly against evil.

If perhaps during an especially boring discussion conference where his only job was to look fierce and disapproving, he let himself drift a little, and someone else (equally good at fierce and disapproving, if not actively better than him) take his place – if sometimes when he slept he let her go for a walk to stretch out legs she didn’t have and play around with the feeling of having thumbs – if occasionally she would coax him into letting her be the one to sharpen him, rather than the other way around, so that he could feel exactly how it ought to be done –

That didn’t seem too wrong.

-

The ability to detect evil in the souls of men did not actually mean that Baxia was good at people.

On the contrary, in fact – in many ways, she was very much a typical saber, wanting only to destroy, and it had taken years of explanations before she reluctantly applied some human standards to her perceptions of what constituted evil.

Sometimes, Nie Mingjue agreed with her – Jin Guangshan was a pathetic waste of a man, a worthless good-for-nothing no matter how decent his cultivation was – and sometimes he couldn’t even begin to understand her perspective – Jiang Fengmian was lukewarm about everything, which was irritating beyond belief, but Baxia wanted his head on a pike yesterday and sulked when he told her that absent a very good reason she was not going to get what she wanted.

She babied Nie Huaisang the same way he did, and bullied his saber into being obedient to him – very much not how that was supposed to go, but Nie Mingjue had always been weak where his baby brother was concerned – but she viewed most of the world with intense suspicion and not a little bit of rage.

She didn’t like Meng Yao.

It was a bit like Jiang Fengmian, actually. There was no reason that Nie Mingjue could think of, and even shifting into a spirit to study the other man didn’t reveal anything other than the usual evil one would expect to see in any person, and it wasn’t as though Baxia could tell him – she just hated what she hated, and no matter how much Nie Mingjue pointed to Meng Yao’s good acts, his defense of the common folk, his merits on the battlefield, she never gave in.

Still, good help was hard to find, and Meng Yao had never done anything that didn’t fit in well with Nie Mingjue’s standards – even if there was something wrong with him, deep down, did it really matter, as long as it never showed its face?

Nie Mingjue tried to keep his distance, emotionally, but it was hard. Meng Yao seemed on the surface to be a good man, efficient and capable; he was intelligent and well-spoken, creative and stubborn, talented to the point of brilliance.

Nie Mingjue didn’t have many friends, and Meng Yao was – there. Even Lan Xichen, who he trusted (and Baxia agreed, even if she thought Shuoyue was a bit of a priss), liked him; the conversation between the three of them flowed easily, pleasantly, and Nie Mingjue almost felt as though he were something other than the leader of a sect at war, as though he were a regular cultivator chatting with his generational cohort about all manner of things.

Baxia howled in the back of his head, wanting to rend Meng Yao limb from limb.

He ignored her.

In the end, she was right, and he was wrong.

The evil buried deep in Meng Yao’s soul could not be denied.

His betrayal at Langya, premeditated murder and then a personal attack; his decision to change his colors and join the Wen sect, his murder of helpless Nie sect cultivators; the cool manner by which he traded his war glory to the Jin sect for a place and a name that only shone gold to the outside world –

It was a disappointment.

Nie Mingjue should have trusted Baxia.

(He agreed to swear brotherhood with the man because Lan Xichen wanted it, because he still hoped against hope that he could purify the evil in Meng Yao’s heart the way he did the evil of ghosts, could bring back the friend he’d once thought he’d had – but it was still a disappointment.)

Maybe that was what gave him pause, during the competition at Phoenix Mountain – he’d only met Wei Wuxian in passing before, never spent much time with him, and even less once he’d become the fearsome Yiling Patriarch that wielded demonic cultivation as a scythe against their mutual enemies.

He’d expected to have to talk Baxia down from trying to kill him at once. After all, according to the stories, he stank of resentful energy, having pulled it inside of himself until it tainted every inch of him; it followed him like a cloak of power and cruelty.

The reality was – different.

Him? Nie Mingjue thought at Baxia, mildly appalled. You like him? Really?

Baxia purred, pleased.

This I have to see.

He usually tried not to let Baxia take over in front of his fellow sect leaders, who were by now all very well trained at spotting abnormalities of even the slightest sort, but the curiosity was killing him.

In the eyes of a saber, Wei Wuxian was – a man.

Just that, nothing more. He had some virtues and some faults, good and evil mixed together in no greater or lesser proportion than Meng Yao, and while he was surrounded by resentful energy, was shot through with it, it did not infect his souls or spirits with rot any more than anyone else. It passed through him like any other type of qi energy did, the ghostly flame sliding through his meridians as though he were on the verge of becoming a demon himself and yet not absorbed within, not kept – he used only what he pulled at any given time, letting the power run through his fingers like water, and never stored it inside –

He lacked a golden core.

No wonder he couldn’t store any power; even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, the taint injuring him as it flowed through his system without purification – it was as if he were drinking alcohol while lacking a liver – but at the same time he lacked the ability to build it up inside of him.

Nie Mingjue wondered what had happened.

He waited until later – after a number of embarrassing incidents, mostly involving Jin Zixuan’s confession of affection to Jiang Yanli, a love affair which Nie Mingjue had absolutely no interest in but which made Nie Huaisang roll around on his bed, clutching his fan to his chest and sighing dreamily – and then he went to where the Jiang sect was housed and asked to speak with Wei Wuxian.

“You know it’s quite late, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian drawled, his arms crossed in front of him defensively. “And I’m not any more inclined to give up the Stygian Tiger Seal because of the hour.”

“What?” Nie Mingjue asked, bewildered, and then – “Oh, that. It’s a vile thing and ought to be destroyed, but that’s on your conscience. If you misuse it, I’ll turn my blade against you; if you lose it to someone else, I’ll drink at your funeral; other than that, it’s no business of mine.”

“…oh,” Wei Wuxian said, his arms loosening. “Sorry, I assumed. You came to speak with me and not Jiang Cheng…”

“I’ve been speaking with Sect Leader Jiang all day,” Nie Mingjue said, impatient. “About everything from matters of principle to fishing rights in small rivers that only three people even know exist – and we’re scheduled to do it again tomorrow. Why would I bother him after hours?”

Wei Wuxian laughed, then looked surprised at himself and coughed to cover it up; he stepped out of the doorway to let Nie Mingjue inside. “All very good points. So it is me you want to talk to…what about? If it’s not the Stygian Tiger Seal…my cultivation, perhaps?”

“In a way,” Nie Mingjue said. “I should warn you in advance that you may find my questions rude.”

Wei Wuxian waved that away and turned to fetch them some jars of wine. “I don’t care about rudeness. As long as your question isn’t ‘why do you still do it’.”

“Why would I ask that? It’s always better to be a cultivator, however unorthodox, than not at all.”

Wei Wuxian stopped moving after having picked up only one jar, his hand still outstretched towards the second one.

“Now that’s an odd way to phrase it,” he said, and his voice was low and sounded dangerous, but Baxia didn’t so much as quiver, so Nie Mingjue knew there was no real threat of a fight. “Second Young Master Lan spends a great deal of his time imploring me to resume orthodox cultivation; I would have thought you’d be of the same opinion.”

“But orthodox cultivation is impossible without a golden core,” Nie Mingjue said, puzzled as to why Wei Wuxian would care about what Lan Wangji thought enough to mention him, or for that matter why Lan Wangji apparently spent all his time pestering Wei Wuxian in an effort to make him mend his ways.

Wei Wuxian dropped the jar in his hand with a deafening crash.

-

Wei Wuxian sent Nie Mingjue a letter after he’d settled down in Yiling.

In it, he very politely (the man knew what politeness was?) apologized for the disturbance he had caused, explained that the Wen sect remnants were composed entirely of old men and women, a child, and only two young people, one of which was now the Ghost General, that had helped him before, on the occasion which they had once had the opportunity to discuss, and so there was a life debt between them. He stated that if Nie Mingjue wished to visit and review the situation himself, he would gladly open his gates to one who did not seem prejudiced against him, who might judge the situation fairly; he requested, very humbly, that if Nie Mingjue wouldn’t mind considering lending his voice to the Jiang sect, which was even now negotiating a marriage with the Jin sect, and which had undoubtedly been put in a very bad position as a result of his apparently inexplicable actions.

Nie Mingjue snorted at the mix of earnestness, presented as slickly as any diplomat – Wei Wuxian had clearly been trained by the Jiang sect to be their ambassador, and sometimes the training even managed to overcome his extremely irritating personality – and took Nie Huaisang with him when he went.

A gesture of good faith.

It turned out to be necessary, since Baxia took one look at Wen Ning and all but begged to chase him around, promising not to hurt him but please oh please –

Nie Huaisang smacked Nie Mingjue in the face with his fan, which had never happened before, and Nie Mingjue snapped out of the daze he was in and recalled Baxia to his hand at once, his face coloring in embarrassment.

“Forgive me,” he said to Wei Wuxian, voice stiff; he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. “I meant no offense to either you or to Wen Qionglin.”

Wei Wuxian’s extremely angry expression abruptly vanished off his face, leaving behind only confusion. “You – know his courtesy name?”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “I wasn’t aware that my reputation indicated an inability to utilize common courtesy.”

“…most people just call him the Ghost General, nowadays.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t know what to say to that apparent non-sequitur (who cared what other people did?), and looked to Nie Huaisang to see if he had a better response.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “I thought you said he was conscious, Wei-xiong? If he is, then he’s a person, and if he’s a person, he has a name. It’d be as rude as me calling Baxia ‘that old stick’.”

That was, in fact, something Nie Huaisang had done once, when he’d been a teenager and angry about having to go to the Wen sect’s camp – in fairness, Nie Mingjue hadn’t been exactly pleased about that either – and Baxia had chased him up and down the hallway, smacking his ass to make him jump every time she caught him, until he was out of breath and apologizing and also laughing more than a little.

Nie Mingjue put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “He doesn’t have that much of a death wish.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “I keep forgetting you have a sense of humor under there. Would you like to come inside? I don’t have much here, but we can talk about whatever you need to give yourself comfort that the Wen sect remnants aren’t going to hurt anyone.”

“It’s not necessarily a matter of future harm,” Nie Mingjue said. “There is also the past.”

“They’re non-combatants –”

“Wen Qing ran a Supervisory Office.”

Wei Wuxian winced.

“It’s something we can talk over,” Nie Huaisang said. “She might need to submit to a trial or something, but I don’t think death is necessarily the only outcome. Maybe something in which she uses her abilities in service to the community..?”

“She’d be happy to, if anyone would allow it,” Wei Wuxian said wryly. “Oddly enough, not too many cultivators are willing to allow someone surnamed Wen to examine them.”

“We can set a good example,” Nie Huaisang chirped. “My brother and I – why not? Maybe she can explain why he acted so uncharacteristically earlier.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. If there was one lesson he’d never managed to get into Nie Huaisang’s head – there were many, actually – it was that family laundry shouldn’t be spread out in front of others. He couldn’t have waited until after they’d left?

Wei Wuxian blinked at them both. “You’ll have to forgive me, Nie-xiong; I’m not that familiar with your brother. What was uncharacteristic?”

“He let Baxia do as she liked instead of stopping her,” Nie Huaisang said promptly. “It was impulsive, and he normally would never.”

“And you think it’s a medical issue?” Nie Mingjue asked, doubtful. More likely all those years of jointly possessing his own body with Baxia was starting to need paying for. “Huaisang…”

“It’s worth checking!”

Wen Qing didn’t find anything other than some disturbed qi, which could be the result of just about anything, and Nie Mingjue told Nie Huaisang to drop the issue in a tone that brooked no dispute.

Still, since it was clearly worrying his brother, there wouldn’t be any harm in asking Meng Yao – no, Jin Guangyao, he was Jin Guangyao now – to come over to play Clarity for him a little more often.

They could talk a little about Jin Guangshan’s frankly unseemly attempts to weasel the Stygian Tiger Seal out of Wei Wuxian at the same time. Based on everything he’d heard from Wei Wuxian, including the man’s willingness to destroy at least a half of it as a gesture of good faith, there was really no basis to claim that it ought to be confiscated from him. And with the Nie sect standing alongside the Jiang sect, the Jin sect would have no chance to use this as an opportunity to rally the cultivation world against Wei Wuxian and use the excuse to extract the seal for their own unknown purposes.

The whole situation would probably irritate Jin Guangshan immensely, even if only as proof that he was not in fact the obvious successor to the Wens in terms of dominating the cultivation world.

Chief Cultivator – hah!

If one had to be selected, and Nie Mingjue was against the whole idea, then it wouldn’t be Jin Guangshan. It wouldn’t be anyone from the Jin sect; every time he visited Lanling, Baxia shook on his shoulder and he agreed with her anger – the entire place was shot through with corruption, festering in evil, ambition and greed the only virtues they recognized. Allowing them to sit, fat and comfortable, at the top of the cultivation world for no other reason than their ambition and their wealth, the fact that they’d hung back and let others do the majority of the fighting and so didn’t need to waste money in rebuilding…it was unacceptable.

He’d have to make that clear to Jin Guangyao, somehow.

He hoped his sworn brother wouldn’t be too disappointed.

-

Severe qi deviations were said to be horrifically painful, with every vein in your body bursting, every meridian cracking, your blood boiling, your bones breaking as your qi reversed course and began destroying you from the inside –

Whoever said that was right.

Nie Mingjue felt his mouth fill with blood, his eyes dripping with them, and he saw Jin Guangyao everywhere around him, laughing at him, Meng Yao mocking his weakness in trusting him over his own instincts, over Baxia; he tried to lash out against him, only for him to disappear in front of his eyes, reappearing elsewhere, and he wanted nothing more than to kill – to kill – to stop him before he hurt anyone else – before he laid a finger on Nie Huaisang, before he deceived Lan Xichen, before – he had to kill him – he had to –

There was so much pain.

Pain and rage, fear and fury; it was like a tide that rose up, inexorable, to swallow him.

He screamed – and everything stopped.

There was no pain.

Steel did not feel pain.

Nie Mingjue was a saber once more, his qi still sick and pounding inside of him, going the wrong way, his rage still overwhelming him, but for a saber that was all right, it was all right not to know anything but rage and fury and the desire to kill: you control the saber, it doesn’t control you.

As long as his master held him back, he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone he shouldn’t.

He himself would not be hurt.

Steel did not feel pain.

Baxia complained about scratches in her surface, sulked about them, but that was just vanity, which he’d inadvertently taught her; she didn’t actually suffer, as long as she never broke –

Baxia.

If Nie Mingjue was the saber, then she was the human: she was the one in the body that was self-destructing, she was the one who was bleeding out of every aperture, she was the one who was screaming.

Baxia!

She shook him off, pushing him firmly back towards the blade and away from the flesh; steel felt no pain, and she was steel all the way through her soul – a little pain was not going to stop her.

She straightened his spine, stood up tall, and bared his teeth at Jin Guangyao, who was even now backing away, his arms around a frantic Nie Huaisang, who did not understand. She pointed Nie MIngjue at their enemy, their mutual enemy, and he wanted so badly to fly forward, sharp end first, wanted to pierce that traitorous dog through the heart and make sure he would never harm anyone again.

He wanted to rend him to pieces with his teeth, like a wild dog himself; he wanted to drink his vital energies and purify his innermost soul, to send him to his next reincarnation before his soul could even think of lingering – let him be reborn as a dog, as a snake, as a worm! Let him pay for the wrongs he has committed!

No. No, on second thought, he shouldn’t die. He should live – live and face the penalty for his actions. Let him be cast off from his comfortable life, let him live forever in seclusion with no friends and no succuor, let him know that all of his ambition has come to nothing.

Nie Mingjue roared in silent fury, and Baxia opened his mouth and roared as well: the sound that emerged from his throat was inhuman, the scream of steel scraping steel, a sound no human should ever be able to make.

“Er-ge!” Jin Guangyao shouted, his eyes white all around the irises; he clearly hadn’t anticipated Nie Mingjue surviving the qi deviation to this point. “Er-ge, come here – da-ge has gone into qi deviation, and he’s trying to kill me!”

“He’s not trying to kill you!” Nie Huaisang shrieked. “She is –”

And then, as if realizing what he’d just said, he turned shocked eyes on Jin Guangyao, abrupt realization filling his face.

“She’s trying to kill you,” he repeated dully. “Kill you – she only wants to kill evil, to punish wrongdoing. What have you done?!”

-

In the end it turned out that Wen Qing’s expertise was useful after all.

She came to Lanling and went to work immediately, but it still took nearly two weeks for her to set all of Nie Mingjue’s meridians and spiritual veins back into place, working on each one at a time; the entire process would have been agonizing enough to kill any man just from the pain alone.

It was a good thing that the one undergoing the process was not a man.

“So, this is weird, right?” Wei Wuxian asked Nie Huaisang, who’d refused to leave his brother’s side; he ate and slept on the floor next to the bed where Wen Qing operated, and his fingers were clenched around the saber’s hilt in silent supplication. “You Nie – you’re not all half-swords, are you?”

“Sabers,” Nie Huaisang corrected, rubbing his eyes. “And no. It’s just my brother. He and Baxia have always been very close.”

“Close,” Wei Wuxian echoed. “Close. Yes, I suppose that’s – a way to put it. He’s literally letting himself be possessed by his own apparently sentient saber spirit right now; I suppose you would need to be close, for that.”

“At least Baxia serves only one master,” Nie Huaisang said sharply. “Can your Tiger Seal say the same? Or is that honor reserved for your Suibian, which even now is gathering dust on your shelf, and which you will never use again?”

Wei Wuxian stopped and grimaced. “I’m being obnoxious. Forgive me.”

Nie Huaisang waved a hand, dismissing it. “And I’m tired; think nothing of it. As long as – as long as this works. As long as we can get him back.”

Wei Wuxian only ever took the briefest glances at the table where Wen Qing operated; he did so now and immediately turned away, shuddering in memory – it was even more gruesome than what he’d endured. “Is he…in there? Being suppressed by her?”

“No, thankfully not,” Nie Huaisang said, and tapped the blade of the saber. “He’s in here.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “He’s – in the saber?”

“He is the saber. They’re – sort of joined, I think? If they were once separate entities, they’re not anymore; the saber and the person are both part of a single body – no, two bodies, two bodies with two consciousnesses. Most of the time, da-ge possesses the human body and Baxia the saber, but sometimes they switch and she takes the body and he the saber; that’s what’s happening now.”

“How did that even happen?” Wei Wuxian wanted to know. “It makes my unorthodoxy look almost boring – a heresy, sure, but one that flowed naturally out of how things are typically done, the sequel to a book, written in the same style. What he’s doing…it isn’t even from the same library!”

“It is for us,” Nie Huaisang said with a shrug. “We cultivate saber spirits, like I’ve explained. This is – different, yes. But on the other hand, he might be the first Nie cultivator in a thousand years to survive the qi deviation that comes from cultivating the saber spirit.”

“Probably would have been better to test that theory a few decades later, though, huh?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced. “Yes. When I think about what Jin Guangyao nearly did…! And I liked him, Wei-xiong; I really liked him. Da-ge liked him, and da-ge doesn’t get close to people, not easily. It always hurt him, what Meng Yao did to him, but he still swore brotherhood with him so that he could try to teach him good from evil…”

He shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’re even considering not executing him,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head as well. “Is permanent seclusion really going to be enough?”

“Well, there’s going to be a trial,” Nie Huaisang said. “Though it’ll be fairly short, given that da-ge survived and Wen Qing already indicated that there appears to be the effects of spiritual poison – I would never have thought he’d be using that stupid song to do it. The one er-ge taught him so that he and da-ge could make up…! You’re not wrong, Wei-xiong; seclusion might be too good for the likes of him. But er-ge is insisting we give him a chance to explain.”

“He’s good at manipulating emotions,” Wei Wuxian said. “Aren’t you concerned he’ll play on whoever you have as judge?”

“Not if they’re appropriately objective.” Nie Huaisang looked at Wei Wuxian sidelong. “What do you think?”

“Me?”

“Well, you and Jiang Cheng. The Jiang sect is the only one of the Great Four sects not implicated by all this – though I suppose your sister is engaged to Jin Zixuan. Do you think that would be enough to disqualify you?”

“No, we’ve never gotten along; I wouldn’t be biased. Which I mean…I guess that means I could do it?”

The saber in Nie Huaisang’s hands trembled, moving forward a little as if straining to fly up and go somewhere.

Nie Huaisang looked down at it, and nodded. “Da-ge’s right – there’s something else I should mention. Something we just found out, in the basement of Koi Tower…”

“In the basement? What did you find?”

“A boy by the name of Xue Yang,” Nie Huaisang said. “And he has a very interesting story to tell.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #baxia #jin guangyao #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #yes this is the one that ate my soul #close

[cordonian-literature]

Forever Mine

chapter four

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and has plans to make sure the princess ends up with someone suitable.

➺ chapter warnings: none

❦ catch up here!

➺ word count: (+/-) 1980

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

When Leo had left Cordonia, he tried to leave all traces of his royal life behind as well. He bought a new wardrobe, everything from socks to sunglasses, leaving all of his suits in his chambers. Leo had bought a new phone and the only contacts were Riley, Bastien, Liam, and Drake. His father called him often, but he never saved the number.

And during the time he was gone, he avoided Cordonian news, too, wanting to remove himself and his mind from the nonsense that his father caused in European politics, or the lies that reporters felt they were free to tell.

So when he sees pictures of Riley and the King at the Regatta — Constantine smiling through a frown because of the sun while Riley’s grin made the photo seem brighter — he clicks on the article to read it, proud of his little sister and how she was handling the situation she was pushed into.

But Leo’s blood boiled the further he read. He wondered how these reporters had dared to write something like that about the princess when she had done nothing wrong. There were two paragraphs dedicated to praising Constantine for his declaration of war “for the protection of the Cordonian people, young and old, rich and poor”  but Leo remembered that even Commander Liam had said it wasn’t a good idea.

Leo stops reading halfway through, on the verge of throwing his phone against the wall. He sends the link of the article to Drake and receives a phone call less than five seconds later.

“Just got done reading the same article,” says Drake when Leo answers the call. His voice, usually unbothered and calm, was now hinted with irritation and anger, just as Leo felt.

“I can’t imagine the effect this has on her,” Leo responds, beginning to pace the room. “I mean, you were there during the Derby, right? I mean, I didn’t mention it to her but did you see how panicked she gets around reporters? Goddamnit…” he runs his hands through his hair then walks to the mirror to fix it. “I can’t be the only one who notices that she looks away every time cameras come near her. She’s done that since she was a kid but—”

Leo stops talking when he hears the click of the end of the phone call and turns to see Drake enter the room.

Both men sigh and fall into a pit of silent anger, neither saying a word of what they were feeling. Leo saw the heat behind Drake’s eyes, and almost laughed to himself when Drake’s jaw clenched.

More out of curiosity and wanting to see just how Drake felt about Riley — but also feeling the brotherly need to see how she was doing — Leo suggests going to check on her.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Drake says, quickly standing from his seat and going to the door.  

The men emerge from the room and walk down the hallway, taking a moment to adjust to the lack of light. When the walls are finally somewhat visible, Drake nudges Leo and jerks his chin forward: someone is walking ahead of them in the same direction.

A broad set of shoulders, tall build, blond hair, and military uniform: Leo instantly knows that it’s Liam. Drake looks at Leo for what they should do, but Leo simply shrugs, wanting to see where the man was going, hoping that he’d walk in another direction.

But three turns and a flight of stairs up later, they’re still walking in the same direction. The King’s Chambers were a long way off, causing Leo to wonder where Liam’s destination is. They’re currently in the hall where all the guests stay. A few more turns down would be Riley’s room, but before that is the library.

When Liam turns the corner and goes momentarily out of view, another set of footsteps can be heard from behind them. Drake gently pushes Leo towards the wall so that whoever it was couldn’t see them.

The person stops right next to them, and Drake nudges Leo to get behind a statue of his great-grandfather. Neither of them can tell who the person is, but both men’s hearts pound when the person knocks on the door.

“Who is bothering me this late at night?” an arrogant voice vibrates through the closed door, and Leo recognizes it as Neville’s.

He opens the door and light pools into the hallway, almost giving away Leo and Drake’s hiding spot, but they shift so that they are still in the shadows.

“Who are you?” Neville’s tone has an edge to it.

“Zoe Zacharias, at your service,” says a feminine voice. The name sounds familiar, but Leo isn’t sure he knows them. “I have been given a letter to delie—”

The sound of paper being snatched echos off the statue. “Who is it from?” Neville interrogates.

“That is not something I am allowed to disclose.”

Leo and Drake glance at each other, features not visible but their eyes are alight with confusion and curiosity.

Neville rips open the letter and unfolds it, holding it out in front of him to read. “Let’s see… hm… your participation in the Season is inappropriate, ha!” Neville raises his voice and laughs. “What nonsense is this?” He continues to read: “Years ago… partnership with Mister Golzine… association with his club and company… has been…” his voice lowers to below a whisper, and Leo can see Neville’s eyes widen with panic, “connected to… disappearance of twenty ad—”

Before finishing the sentence, Neville rips the paper and throws the remains at Zoe Zacharias’ face.

“You can rip the letter,” she says, shoving pieces of paper off her shoulder, “but you can’t get rid of the evidence. We’ve found videos and bank statements that all connect back to you. If this were to be leaked to the public, or to His Majesty, you would be—”

“Shut your mouth!” Neville gasps in an intense whisper. “Don’t! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve… I… It can’t be traced back to me! All I did was… I didn’t play a part in anything! This has nothing to do with the Social Season!”

“But it does,” the woman interjects, her face and posture still calm and collected; she had the high ground now, and Leo wanted to laugh at how the arrogance had melted off of Neville’s face, but he was too afraid to breathe. “If you need more proof, I can show it to you tomorrow along with His Majesty. The King would never allow such a scandal to disgrace the royal family or Cordonia.”

Through the light that the room provides, Leo can see that Neville has started sweating.

“All right!” Neville gasps. “What do you want? What do I have to give you to make you and your partners keep your mouths shut?”

Without hesitance, she states, “Your resignation as a suitor.”

Leo and Drake’s eyes go wide.

Neville takes deep breaths, visibly weighing the possibilities. Leo had hoped he would read the whole letter aloud. What exactly had Neville gotten caught up in? He didn’t want to know the details, but Leo imagined that there must have been something in the letter that could have unveiled the writer.

“Fine,” Neville finally utters. “I will leave in the morning.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Zoe says. “No Cordonian shall hear of this, and we will make this information disappear.”

“Thank… you,” Neville breathes, the anguish and confusion still glossing his eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“I understand, you probably have much to do before morning,” Zoe nods her head and smiles.

“Yes,” Neville stutters and closes the door, throwing the halls of the palace back into a pit of darkness.

Zoe’s footsteps can be heard retreating in the direction they all came from. Once she’s out of hearing range, Drake and Leo continue walking towards Riley’s room, the unease heavy between them.

They reach her room and knock on the door, but there’s no answer from the other side, and it seems like the lights are off, too. Drake checks the time to see that it’s a few minutes after midnight.

Not wanting to stand in the hallway for too long, Leo says, “We can check on her before breakfast, let’s go back.”

On their walk, they remain silent, eyes and ears alert in the case that there was someone else awake. When they’re back in Leo’s room and the doors are shut, their shoulders relax and they let out a sigh.

“Do you know who Zoe Zacharias is?” Leo asks.

“I think she’s a part of the King’s Guard,” Drake answers. “I haven’t seen or heard of her in a while though, I’m not sure.”

“She’s worked with Bastien?”

Drake shrugs, “I was introduced to her a few months back, and that’s what she said she was.”

Leo nods, beginning to pace again. She said she was a part of the King’s Guard, but had never worked with Bastien? There was no doubt she worked with the government, seeing that she had so much information on Neville.

“The only person who would have had the power or influence to do this is someone close to the king,” Leo states, unsure.

“It doesn’t make much sense. How do you know?” Drake asks.

Leo takes a moment to think, not having a solid answer to Drake’s question.

“Clearly,” Drake continues, “whoever sent that letter probably wanted to get rid of some competition.”

“Who would have wanted to do that?” Leo asks, feeling the pieces come together.

“It could have been Constantine,” Drake says. Leo’s father was easy to blame; the man wasn’t always diplomatic, and there was a high chance that such a corrupt man would try to shift the results of the season.

“Or,” Leo suggests, “it could have been Alexander.” Drake nods in agreement. “I imagine he has enough influence to get that information, and using it to get closer to Riley makes sense, too.”

“You’re right,” Drake says, even though neither man was confident.

The room falls into silence again, Leo and Drake’s minds racing for a better explanation with the lack of knowledge. If someone had wanted to get rid of Neville, why do it privately? Why not go to the King and have Constantine release this information?  

“It’s late,” Drake says, patting Leo’s shoulder and pulling him away from his train of thought. “Get some sleep. We’ll have to keep an eye on Prince Alexander and Constantine. Maybe talk to Olivia and get her to help out.”

“Olivia?” Leo looks up at his friend and smirks. “Why Olivia?”

Drake frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that? I just mean that she’s good at this stuff.”

“Yeah, but there’s a whole bunch of other people we could ask.”

Drake rolls his eyes.

“We could ask Liam,” Leo begins to list jokingly. “Bastien, or even Miss Zoe Zacharias. Better yet, we could even catch Neville before he leaves in the morning and make him tell us everything.”

“I don’t want to ask Liam,” Drake says quickly, causing Leo’s eyebrows to jump up.

“Woah, man, I just suggested it, no need to get defensive.”

Drake sighs, and Leo throws his arm around Drake.

“Do you have something against Liam or is it…” he gives Drake a knowing look.

“No,” he says curtly.

Leo holds up his hands and walks back to his bed. “I was just asking,” he says, trying his best not to laugh.

Drake turns and opens the door, “I’ll see you in the morning, we can tell Riley what happened.”

“Sure,” Leo says as the door closes, though he makes a mental note to remember not to tell her. There was no reason to stress her out more. The less she knew about someone manipulating her decision, the better.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

a/n: sorry for not posting. lol i know i say this every time but life really do be getting in the way 😫i’m counting down the seconds until school ends so i can finally have some free time. anyway i know this is short but i hope yall enjoyed it!!

@twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kingliam2019  @queenrileyrose @royalromancer @princess-geek @mom2000aggie @parkdoesthings @claireloutoo

#hey besties guess who's back from the dead 😼 #trr fanfic #choices fanfic #liam x riley #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #liam rys #riley brooks

[womanoflettersinthebunker]

Dean looked down at the remains of the family with an arm wrapped around his stomach, willing his lunch to stay down. It shouldn't be affecting him like this, not when this was the third family he'd seen like it just this month.

A whole family torn to pieces- parents, grandparents, children. Every single one of them, coating the walls, the furniture, every last piece of them scattered around him.

The scent of blood was thick and it twisted his stomach so badly that, for a moment, he thought he was about to lose his meagre meal.

There was a slight scuffling sound and his gun came up immediately, slowly moving towards the source. It was coming from down the hall, from inside a closet. The sound stopped as he got closer, but he could hear the faint sound of fabric shifting behind the door. Steeling himself, he grabbed the doorknob and pointed his gun, only to bring it back down and curse when he saw what was inside.

A kid, no older than four or five, flinched hard at the sight of him and curled around the small bundle in his arms. A bundle that Dean could see was a baby. The kid was shaking and holding the baby close to him, even moving to try to shield the baby from him. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm here to help," Dean said reassuringly, putting the gun in the back of his pants and kneeling down. "I'm Dean. Are you guys okay?"

The boy peeked up at him with one eye, then slowly lifted his head up to look at him. "Is he gone?" He whispered. 

"Is who gone?"

"The… The man. The tall man," he said, voice still a whisper. Whether it was from shock, fear, or just trying not to jostle the baby too much, Dean didn't know.  "The man that put us in here."

"What did he look like?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice even. Dimly, he could hear his dad outside, moving around. "Did he say anything?"

The kid shook and buried his face in the bundle, whole body starting to shake. "I want momma," he could hear him whisper. "I want daddy."

He didn't dare look back at the kid's parents' remains. 

"Let's get you outta this closet and outside, alright bud?" Dean suggested, reaching for him. "And then we can-"

The kid jerked back hard, holding the baby impossibly closer to him. "You can't take him, you can't!" He said, almost imploringly. "He told me not to let go!"

"Not let go of what?"

"My brother," the kid whispered, voice shaking as he buried his face in the bundle once more, the bundle that was still asleep, innocent and untouched by the carnage that had happened outside the closet door. "He told me to never let go of him. Cause that's my job, I gotta look after him, cause I'm older."

Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, the words all too familiar and ringing in his ears. 

Along with his failure. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said hoarsely. “And you’re doing a great job, buddy. But now it's time to get outta the closet here, we gotta get you someplace safe.”

“Are mommy and daddy gonna be there?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t have the heart to lie to him but he also couldn’t tell the truth. “"But you gotta get outta here first."

"With my little brother?"

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah," he whispered. "With your little brother." He slid his jacket off and used it to cover the boy and his baby brother, carefully picking the both of them up. The kid reached for his shirt, his hand curling into the fabric as he stubbornly held onto his brother. 

"I gotta take care of you," Dean could hear him whisper to the baby. "Cause that's my job."

He forced himself to swallow, keeping a hand on the back of the kid’s head to prevent him from looking at the carnage, and walked on and away from the house, each step taking a great deal of strength that he didn't know how long would last.

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

“We saw the broken door and called the police. I went inside to see if there was anything I can do to help,” Dean recited in a monotone voice. “I’m an EMT in training, I wanted to help if there was anyone that I could. All I found was… What you saw. And the kids in the closet.”

“So he killed two other kids, but for some reason, he spared these two,” the officer surmised, shaking his head. “Anything else?”

“No,” Dean told him. “Just… Just what was there.”

The officer nodded, closing his notepad. “Next time, don’t go on the scene son, first thing you should know, don’t-”

“Contaminate a crime scene,” Dean finished. “I know. Just wanted to help.”

“I get it, I do,” the officer said sympathetically. “You’re free to go son, thank you for your time.”

Dean nodded and walked away, joining his dad in the hallway. “Anything?”

John handed him a cup of coffee- it was cheap and barely real coffee, as hospital coffee always sucked, but Dean shot it back gratefully all the same. They walked away from the room, passing one window through which Dean could see the kid; crying and still holding onto his baby brother.

He felt his stomach clench. He decided to blame it on the bad coffee.

“Same as the others,” John said as they put some distance between them and the police. “Bodies completely ripped to shreds, no organ in particular is missing, but also in pieces. Kid showed no sign of trauma so that means he didn't hear any screams or anything like that."

"So it was like a… One time thing, before they even had a chance to scream?" Dean asked, throwing the cup into the trashcan they passed. "What the hell could even do that?"

"There was a forced entry, the broken door tells us that," John said, voice flat as he listed. "The television was on and there was burnt food on the stove, meaning that the family was awake and possibly together. Whoever came in either saw the family and decided on the spot. Or…”

"Or they were watching and picked this family in particular," Dean finished for him. "He grabs the family, has time to shove the kid and baby in the closet, and just… What? Eviscerated the rest of them?"

"It was hard to tell but they weren't cut, the pieces weren't sliced, they were jagged and rough, meaning that most likely, done by hand."

"Or by something else," Dean said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The kid's lack of reaction is what seals it. He wasn't acting like he heard screaming or crying. For him, he was put in the closet and he stayed there until I came. Door wasn't locked either, so that means the kid chose not to come out."

"Did he say anything? About the guy?"

"Said he was tall. And that he told him to look after the baby, cause that's his job." Dean tried but couldn't completely keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Said he had to look after his little brother."

His dad didn't say anything for a moment. Then he placed his hand on his shoulder. "Dean…” His voice had gone soft.

Dean shrugged it off, walking forward. "This makes the third family. They have nothing in common. We can't find any signs of anything supernatural other than them being torn into pieces, which, like you said, looked like it was by hand. They came from different backgrounds, different styles of life, religion. Nothing links them with the others. Other than their deaths."

"And this time, with two survivors, almost like they were chosen," John added, shaking his head. "I got no clue, son."

"Me either," Dean agreed, reaching their respective cars. "Bobby?"

"Already let him know, he said he'll get back to us."

"Great," Dean said, without humor or confidence. "Time to get a drink."

"Dean-" he hated his dad's delicate tone of voice. "-maybe you should cut down on the drinking? I can't remember seeing you actually ingest something that wasn't alcohol."

"Had a bagel this morning. I'm fine."

"Half a bagel. If that."

"Dad, I'm fine!" Dean said firmly, staring his dad in the eye. "Drop it. I'm getting a drink, join me if you want."

Not giving him a chance to say anything else, Dean got into the Impala, closing the door tightly behind him. He spared a moment to glance at the empty passenger seat, a habit he still couldn't break. Jaw clenched and shifting side to side, he started the car and got onto the road towards their motel, tongue curling in his mouth. 

He really needed a drink.

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

He didn't end up going to the bar, remembering he still had a few bottles left from the last town in the trunk. He got into his room and locked the door behind him; it wouldn't stop his dad from coming in, but it would give Dean a couple extra seconds. 

He ignored the second bed, not even putting anything on it. He threw his jacket to the side and collapsed onto the bed closest to the door, groaning slightly as his hand fumbled for one of the bottles he’d kept nearby for just this. He finally managed to grip one,not caring which one, and brought it up, turning onto his back so that he could pour it into his mouth a bit better, choking slightly as too much sloshed in and coughed, swallowing with some difficulty.

He relished in the burn of the drink, even as it made his stomach cramp and bile fill his mouth. Could be from the alcohol, could be from the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual meal. 

Every time he tried to eat, he ended up getting only a few bites in before throwing up, so it was easier to just have an all liquid diet. 

Also, at times, if he was lucky, it made the nightmares go away. You can’t really dream if you get blackout drunk after all.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, unseeing, and brought the bottle up again, taking a deep pull. He drank until it hurt and coughed again, feeling his eyes getting heavier and closing them. He couldn't really focus on anything other than his own beating heart that sounded too loud and overpowering in his ears, so much so that he was tempted to reach into his chest and rip it out.

Not like he had much use for it at this point. 

His hand came up to his chest, fumbling for something that wasn't there anymore. He had spent years getting used to the weight of the amulet, used to the leather cord digging into his neck, used to reaching up to grip it in reassurance. 

But it wasn't anything there anymore, had been melted and destroyed in fire along with-

"Dean, it's okay. I'm okay like this, promise. Please don't send me away."

-the rest of his heart, hence why he no longer needed the organ beating in his chest.

Bringing the bottle up, he took another swallow, throat working as he drank the rest of it, letting the bottle hit the ground before he turned onto his side and curled into a ball. Closing his eyes, he already knew it was going to be a sleepless night.

Whatever scenes played in his head during the night, they were encompassed completely in fire and blood, Sam’s pleas audible over the rest. 

"Please don't do this!"

He didn't get that much sleep anymore.

#supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #SPN #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester #365 #6/365 #2021 writing challenge #365 Days Of Writing #rebirth in fire au

[fluffymcu]

Letting Loose

Part ONE

This series is TICKLE related. Outfits that are linked here are purely for picturing the clothes, you don’t have to look like the model.

Series Summary:  You’re the little sister of the one and only Captain America. You’re also the youngest girl on the team, so that automatically makes you the avengers’ little princess. And they spoil you as such. They have become your amazing family and you don’t know where you’d be without them. This series will show random adventures and fluffy events in the daily life of the reader and her family, along with an unexpected turn later on as you read.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing this series! This is my first time writing one and I’m a bit nervous but I hope it all goes well. :) The first few chapters will be about random events, not really following a timeline until Chapter 9. Hope you enjoy! 

Word Count: 3,500

Next

-----

It was 1945, and you were only 5 years old. You and your brother Steve lived with your Aunt Kimmie until Steve left to join the army. When HYDRA got word of an enhancing super-serum, they planned to find out who they were experimenting on to try and steal the serum before it was injected. But it was too late. Captain Rogers was born, and their plan to steal the serum from Erskine had failed. Their only resort was to take out the serum out of Steve’s own blood. But they had to catch him first. After doing much research, they found you. Y/n Rogers. You were young, and important to the captain. 

When you least expected it, HYDRA stormed into your apartment, taking the life of your Aunt, your mother figure, and taking you into their clutches. They had taken you to a facility that was dark, and scary. They threw you in a room and kept you there for days, only feeding you when you were about to pass out. Steve had stormed many HYDRA bases in search of you but never found you. In the final battle against Red Skull, he had not know that HYDRA had taken you on the plane to terrorize the world. You were being kept in on the the small cells that were installed in the plane. By the time Steve knew your were on board, it was too late. He had to make a decision. 

“Stop!! Look around you!” Red Skull yelled, weak and defeated. Steve was on the pilot seat, calculating what to do. “This is the resolution to everything, Captain! If you stop this plane, everyone in here that is willing to do our good work will perish!” Steve payed no mind to him as he continued to type in new coordinates. Red Skull grunted as he stood up to give this a chance one more time, grabbing the tesseract in his hands. “DO YOU HEAR ME? EVERYONE HERE WILL DIE! EVEN THE GIRL!” 

This made Steve pause and look at the villain with fear filled eyes. His sister was there. In the middle of all of this. Once Red Skull had his hands on the tesseract, he was banished to Vormir and never seen again. Steve turned back around to face front, with tears in his eyes. This was the most difficult decision he’s ever had to face. He had no problem giving his life to save the world from destruction. But his little 5 year old defenseless sister was on board. He knew what he had to do, but it hurt him deeply. With tears glazing his eyes, he aimed the plane downward, closing his eyes and mumbling out an apology before crashing the plane, freezing the both of you for over 65 years.

You woke up in your brothers arms, and you didn’t recognize anything of the outside. It was so bright, and your brother looked scared and alert, holding you protectively in his arms until a tall man approached you both and explained some things to your brother. 

A lot had passed. Thankfully, you were very young when you were frozen, so it didn’t take you too much time to adjust to the modern world. You lived with Steve in an apartment for about a year and in 2012, after the battle of New York, you both moved into the Avengers tower.

That was 9 years ago.

Things were different now. Those memories were long forgotten and you moved on and focused on what you had now. The team had moves to the compound now, and your relationship with every one of them had grown so strong. They were your family and you were their Princess. And you had the best life you could have.

----

“Y/n, you’re gonna be late to school!” Tony sang, peeking his head through your bedroom door. You groaned and turned on your belly, deciding to ignore him. “Come on. I know you’re sleepy but you’ve got school.” He said, walking over to your bed and snatching the covers off of you. 

“hey!” You whined. Tony sighed and shook his head at you. 

“I can’t believe you don’t wanna go to school. You love school!” He teased. You rolled your eyes and sat up in your bed. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I wanna go to a place filled with obnoxious kids, degrading principals, and teachers who only care about a number on a paper?” You replied sarcastically. Tony helped you up off the bed and patted your back.

“That’s the spirit. Wanda made breakfast, come down in 10 minutes or you don’t eat.” He smirked. You playfully glared at him but complied nonetheless.

You walked over to your humongous closet and picked out an outfit. You threw on a thin white woven swear and some black jeans. You were a sucker for black jeans. You put on your white shoes and some diamond earrings before grabbing your bag and running downstairs.

Steve, Tony, Bucky, and Nat were up and eating breakfast in the kitchen. “Morning guys!” You greeted. Everyone turned towards you and smiled widely.

“Good morning!” They greeted back and you walked behind Bucky, where he was sitting on one of the stools and hopped up on the foot bars, reaching from behind and hugging him tightly. You had a special place for Bucky in your heart. Just for him. He was your brother’s best friend and you remembered when he would come over to your apartment and play with you, throwing you up in the air and playing with your dolls. And every time you would need a babysitter, he would always volunteer and you never wanted anyone else. You smiled as you nuzzled your face into his back. Bucky smiled, tracing patterns on your arms that were wrapped around him. “Alright, come eat, you leave for school in 10 minutes.” Steve said, being dramatic and pretending to rip you off Bucky’s back and leading you towards the table where a waffle on a plate was. You giggled and sat down to eat. The team continued on with their conversation until you finished eating and put the dishes in the sink. 

“Thanks for breakfast!” You said with a satisfied smile on your face and made your way back upstairs to Peter’s room. You strolled in shamelessly but stopped in your tracts when you saw him passed out in bed. “Oh,,, Happy’s gonna be so mad.” You chuckled, making Peter stir awake. 

“Huh? What happened?”

“You’re still in bed? Happy’s waiting out in the car. You got like, 2 minutes, dude.” You giggled as you saw Peter’s eyes widen in realization. 

“Crap!!” He yelled, scrambling off his bed, only in his boxers and ran around his room, putting on random clothes. You laughed at his frantic state and shook your head slowly. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” He whined at you. You raised your eyebrows and scoffed.

“Me?! Why am I the one to blame? Tony said he came in here to wake you up but you must’ve fallen back asleep.” You shrugged. 

“okay, uhh, just tell Happy I’ll be there in 2 minutes. 2 minutes, I promise.” He said, throwing on a shirt and looking for some khakis.

“Okay.” You shrugged, skipping down the stairs and outside after saying goodbye to the team. “Hey Happy. Peter said he’ll be here in 2 minutes.” You say as you enter the car. Happy nods with a sigh and about a minute later, Peter runs out of the front door and jumps in the car. 

“I’m here!” He pants. You shake your head at him with a teasing grin and he rolls his eyes, poking your side. Happy leaves to go drop you both off at school. Once you get there, you hop out the car in a rush, since you’re about to be late. “Thanks, Happy!” You both say and run inside. 

“See you after school.” Peter says while running next to you. You nod before both of you going your separate ways to your classes. You run into your classroom just as the bell rings, following your classmate inside. You sigh in relief and go to your seat, panting.

School went on like normal, you studied, had lunch, tolerated Jeremy, who was the kid who constantly teased you and pulled your hair, stole your notes until you ask him to give it back, and so on. Jeremy never really bullied you in the sense that he never said anything mean to you or made you feel bad, he just did things to annoy the crap out of you. You tried your best to avoid him but it seemed like he knew what you were trying to do and made it his personal mission to make himself known to you every chance he got.

The final bell rang to your relief, and you quickly packed your stuff, speed walking out of class to purposely escape from Jeremy. You smiled lightly as you were able to get out of there since he was still packing his stuff. 

You walked to your locker, hoping Peter would meet you before Jeremy did so you could go home. You looked hopefully through the moving crowd and groaned as you saw Jeremy walking over from far away. You sighed but then perked up when Peter suddenly appeared from the other hallway, coming closer. You pumped your fist and waved at him to go faster. Peter looked surprised at your rushed behavior but sped up nonetheless.

“Hey, What’s up? Why were you... eager to see me?” He smirked, wigging his eyebrows. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I wanted you to go faster because Jeremy was right behind you and he would’ve started annoying me again.” You chuckled. Peter hummed and nodded.

“Ah, the douche.” He sighed. You giggled and nodded your head, the both of you going outside to look for Happy’s car. 

---

You walked through the entrance of the compound and greeted everyone in the living room. “Hey guys!” You and Peter greeted before jumping on the couch and settling between Pietro and Bucky. You all discussed what you wanted for dinner before Steve and Clint went to the gym and the rest of the team went to the kitchen to cook and others to their rooms.

You went to your room with Peter and started to put on your ballet outfit to stretch and practice. Peter sat at your desk to start on his homework. You were so glad your teachers spared your class and didn’t give you any homework. “What did Mr. Brandon give you today?” Yo asked, stretching, lifting your leg to rest it on the bar Tony installed on your wall and touching your head to your knee. Peter sighed, flipping through the pages.

“Basically the same thing as yesterday, gave us a 6 page packet and told us to write down why we think these theories are correct or incorrect.” You hummed and continued to stretch for a while before Peter started to collect his papers. “I’ll see you at dinner, Imma go to my room and start writing my essay that’s due in a couple of weeks.” He smiled. You nodded as he left and you decided to finish up and take a shower.

After you got dressed you laid down on your bed, sprawled out like a starfish and sighed. Right then, Steve came in your room with a smile and and sat next to you on your bed. “Hey, Princess. So, how was school?’’ Steve would come over to your room every few days just to have one on one time and talk about whatever.

You shrugged. “Ehh,” Steve chuckled and gently grabbed your arm, pulling you to sit up.

“Why do you say that?” You rolled your eyes at the mere thought of how annoyed you were at school. 

“Jeremy. He’s so. annoying.” You ground out. Steve chuckled and nodded. You had told him about Jeremy before. But it seemed like you were ranting about him more and more often. “He’s always grabbing my notes, or pulling my hair to get my attention, or whispering at me during class. I try to ignore him but he just keeps doing it until I answer! And when I do, I GET IN TROUBLE!” You whined, throwing your hands in the air. 

Steve smiled widely, chuckling at your frustration. “You know, have you ever thought that that’s why he bothers you so much? That he likes getting you angry? Because... maybe... he likes you?” He raised his eyebrow at you. You make a face of disgust, making him laugh. “I’m just saying, especially with teenage boys, their way of flirting with a girl is by picking on them. So maybe he has a crush on you!” He sang, bumping his arm against yours and poking your side. 

“Eww, no! Steve stohop!” You whined, slapping at his hand but he only chuckled and started to run his fingers over your belly.

“You know I have a point.” He said cheekily, smiling when he hears your airy giggles. You push at his hands harshly and twist around.

“Stohohop! Steve I swehear to gohohod if you don’t stop,” You glared at him through your giggles. Steve gasped before tackling you and throwing you on your back. 

“Did you just threaten me? huh?” He teased before scribbling his fingers around your torso with more pressure, causing you fall into a fit on hysterical giggles. “You had the audacity to threaten Captain America.” He shook his head, feigning disappointment before lifting his hand under your shirt to pinch at your bare belly. Just the absence of the thin fabric on your skin made the sensations so much worse as you shook your head side to side, letting out a steam of squeals and hiccups. 

“IHIHIM SOHOHORRY!” You squealed when he came in contact with your ribs, digging in between them at a slow pace before quickening his fingers and tasing them into your ribs. You let out a scream and you arched your back, giving him the opportunity to blow another raspberry on your belly. You cackled and pulled at his hair to pull him away. He sat back with a wide smile and wiped the messy hair off your face. You were panting heavily and moving your hands over your torso, trying to rub off the lingering tingles off your body. “You’re a jerk.” You huffed after you caught your breath, gently kicking him in the stomach. Steve chuckled and helped you up. 

“Come downstairs.” He suggested, walking down with you when you nodded. Everyone was downstairs in the kitchen and living room except Bucky and Peter. Bucky was taking a nap and Peter was still working on his essay. 

You sat on the couch next to Nat and rested your head on her shoulder. She leaned onto you, doing the same. A few moments passed, and Tony and Clint were getting into a petty argument about the spaghetti sauce. 

“It’s too thick. You need to water it down.” 

“Who waters down sauce? You don’t do that. Look, contrary to popular belief, I know what I’m doing. And I’m definitely sure I know how to make spaghetti. Lay off.”

“I’m just saying! It’s already too thick! And the more you boil it, the thicker it’s gonna get, you need to dilute it!”

“You can’t dilute sauce!!”

Nat rolled her eyes with a groan and stood up. “I’m gonna go break them up, I guess.” She mumbled before going to the kitchen. You heard from your place on the couch, all of their yelling and Nat telling them to break it up. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. The argument died down after a moment and the conversation went back to pleasant. 

You were alone in the living room until Pietro zoomed in and sprawled himself on the other couch. You smiled when you saw him, taking note that he looked very tired. He didn’t look like a sleepy tired, more of a bored tired. You sat up a bit and rested your chin in your hands, looking at him for a bit. When he sensed your eyes on him, he looked at you a smiled. “What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“Are you bored?” You asked him, smiling when he sighed loudly and laid back down.

“Yuppp.” He said, popping the ‘p’. You stood up, bouncing a bit on the balls of your feet. 

“Do you... wanna have a pillow fight?” You smiled widely. Pietro perked up and returned the smile. 

“Yes.” You giggled at his quick response and grabbed a throw pillow from the couch. You knew Pietro was very energetic and got bored easily, which made him really fun to play around with because he was always open to do anything if it meant he didn’t have to sit around and do nothing.

He stood up and grabbed a pillow before you both got in a stance.  “COMMENCE!” You yelled, grabbing the attention on everyone else in the kitchen, making them smile fondly at the scene. Tony groaned. “Oh, great. They’re using the throw pillows. They are going to tear. those. up.” He sighed before putting the noodles in the pot. The team went back to their conversation while you and Pietro were battling with your pillows. 

You were giggling a lot, making you lose your balance many times and made your aims more miscalculated. You stepped back to compose yourself again before aiming at his head. But Pietro used his speed to dodge it, appearing behind you and whacking you to the floor. No mercy. You grunted as you hit the floor but couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey! No powers. It’s not fair.” Pietro sighed and agreed before helping you up. He let you whack his head and the fight continued for a few more minutes.

Pietro currently had the upper hand as you were once again in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. He was whacking you over and over, making you cower away a bit, and bring your leg up to shield yourself. Pietro was also laughing, not having any mercy. “Give up, Printsessa.” He chuckled, whacking you again.

 You laughed, trying to grab his pillow away from him but he pushed you onto the couch, stuffing his pillow in your face, pretending to suffocate you. The situation was hysterical to you and you fought against him to get the pillow off your face but your laughter was making you weaker by the second.

Pietro laughed and pulled the pillow off your face and started to tickle you around your sides. You shrieked and kicked out your legs to get get him off. “NOHOHOHO!” You squeaked, hugging your arms to yourself to block his hands. There wasn’t much you could do anymore because the pillow fight had taken a lot out of you already. Your laughter was desperate while he nuzzled his stubble in the crook of your neck. You squealed before falling into silent laughter, the feeling paralizing you and making you melt onto the couch. Pietro blew a final raspberry on your neck before sitting back and getting off of you. 

The team was chuckling at your exhausted state and got up to sit at the dinner table. Pietro helped you up to sit down at the table. You took a seat next to Tony and the empty seat where Bucky was gonna sit. Tony called out for Peter to come down and Pete took a seat across the table form you. When Pepper served the plates, Bucky came down and sat next to you. When everyone was here, you all began eating and talking about the day and the plans some people had tomorrow.

After dinner, you and Peter helped wash the dishes and put them away. You and him were messing around, cracking jokes at each other and Peter was pretending to drop a glass over and over. “Peter stohohop. You’re gohohonna actually drop it!” You giggled, shaking your head as he continued, not even a second later, the glass fell and was just an inch off the floor before he caught it, biting his lip in shock. You gasped, expecting to hear a big shatter but sighed in relief. “See you goof? I told you were gonna drop it!” You whacked his shoulder with the drying towel. 

“Ah, but I didn’t.” He raised his brow at you. You rolled your eyes and pointed over to the sink. 

“Just finish with the dishes before you break something.” You scolded, smiling when he complied with a sigh. Not long after, you were done with the kitchen and you bid everyone goodnight with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. You made your way upstairs to your room, changing into some pajama shorts and a tank top. 

You crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to your chin and scrolled through Instagram for a few minutes before turning off your lamp and going to sleep.

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