#“Doesn't Make Him Less of a Miracle”

[randomfoggytiger]

"Doesn't Make Him Less of a Miracle"

(Fictober, Day 30)

Fictober's almost over, and I haven't tackled the very genre that lured me into fic in the first place: S9 AU.

*****

William took after his father in many ways: he was very bright, unnaturally articulate for his age, and immaculately opportunistic: a born-and-raised schemer (though said schemes were often undercut by his innate inability to lie believably-- which Mulder ribbed Scully about, mercilessly.) He was also an incredibly fast runner with a propensity to dive head-first into the nearest kerfuffle. 

And Fox Mulder, the intelligent progenitor of this intelligent child, exploited that propensity to its fullest whenever he needed a few hours of unbroken concentration. Thus, Skippy’s Bouncy Castle and Ball Pit Stadium became the local haunt for the Mulder-Scully family’s operations. 

Alternating his afternoons between sifting through poached documents and worming his way into various mummy or nanny groups, Mulder learned just as much about thumb sucking habits as he did the ever-changing factions and movements of the crumbled Consortium empire. It wasn't a leap to apply his hostage negotiation tactics to toddler tantrum mitigation; and, to his surprise, he seemed more popular outside of the Bureau than in it, constantly getting interrupted by a child or their guardian with yet another situation that needed diffusing.

But like all aspects in life, there were prices to be paid for peace; and little William Mulder-Scully chose closing time on an already hectic Monday to exact that price.

*****

“Willaaaaaaaaaaaaay!” Mulder dropped his hands out of their airhorn position, pivoting to watch, helplessly, as hordes of well-behaved, snot-nosed, and spit-curled children of all ages wobbled out after their parents. The very picture of the Rockwell American dream. Staff members were whipping out mops or picking up stray toys-- one particularly under-tipped teenager glowered at him from her post near the light switch-- and still William did not appear from the midst of the ball pit. 

For a split second the old fear rushed irrationally back, cold sweat breaking out on his neck, "Fox!" clamoring in his mind-- but Will’s sudden outburst of giggles grounded him in reality, shook him involuntarily with relief. Deal with it another day.  Annoyance at his unexpected fear-- and annoyed he was annoyed-- spurred Mulder into action.

"Will, outta the ball pit-- we gotta go pick up food.” ‘Pick up food’: the universal unspoken for quick-and-easy greasy garbage from the nearest burger joint. Another thing father and son had in common.  

His precious miracle cackled. “Daddy, I’m a sea monster. You have to come hunt me.” 

“Sir--”

Mulder jolted at the sudden, vicious tug on his sleeve. Light switch teenager, frosted lips curling even further downward, had somehow learned teleportation and wasted that ability by scaring the daylights out of him. “The ball pit's closed. Grab your kid and go.” 

The ghosts of each and every one of Scully’s long-suffering eyerolls flashed through his mind; and he counted them, likely by tens, in an attempt to remain calm. Losing his cool exterior while hopped up on too many cups of coffee would only damage any potential future discount-- not to mention the years of ammunition Scully would have on him as their son inched slowly towards the plague of puberty.

“Yeah, just a minute, my--”

Losing interest in Light Switch Girl, Mulder covered the last few feet in a light jog, skidding across a wet patch on the floor but recovering his footing with a couple of hairy maneuvers.

Red ball, green ball, blue ball, green, green, blue, purple? Red, blue-- 

Red hair. The sea monster was just submerging on the other end of the pool, upgrading his chortles to belly laughter. 

“William, we can play the sea monster game tomorrow, but we’ve got to leave now.” Mulder was pleased to note that his son’s head paused, recognizing that ‘William’ and ‘got to’ were a big deal compared to ‘Will’ and ‘gotta’. The head bobbed up and down, wavering between losing the battle with honor or fighting the war with outright rebellion. 

Since logic seemed to be winning over wheedling-- a trait Scully would rib him over, mercilessly-- Mulder doubled down. “C’mon, Buddy, the workers have to clean up and go home. They want to eat, spend time with their families. …Watch a movie.” Well, a little wheedling wouldn't hurt.

The sea monster was drifting closer, his thoughtful Scully scowl and blue eyes rising above three green balls perfectly resembling algae-speckled rocks. What are the odds. “Is it… dirty in here, too?” 

YES. “Yeah, Will, it’s pretty gross in there. Probably has a few cooties, too.” 

His son may have had the genes of a scientist, but he hadn’t quite figured out the finer points of germ pathology. William breeched, fast, which gave his dad scant seconds of catch time before nearly faceplanting on the floor. “Cooties!” he chanted while wildly flinging his arms about, forcing Mulder the Triumphant to dodge a few accidental nose wallops.

Cooties really did come in handy. 

“Sir--”

Great. Light Switch Girl was back. 

“--your laptop and bag were moved to the front desk. If you could please grab them, we need to finish closing up.” She crossed her arms, sneered at his wiggling son, and began to brusquely tap her foot. 

In moments like these, Mulder wondered why he bothered trying to save the planet.  

“Thanks.” Readjusting Will-- who was attempting to climb, face first, down his back-- and offering an equally charming lip twitch of his own, Mulder skidded his retreat across the room, sorted and collected his things-- with the hand not currently grabbing his four-year old’s ankle-- and hoisted all of his belongings-- sea monster included-- over both shoulders before making his grunting exit. 

“Willy, I think you’re getting too big to be able to lug around anymore. Soon you'll have to help drag me back to the car.” 

Sea monsters and cooties forgotten, William puzzled this new idea while getting situated in his car seat. Mulder let him pursue it in silence-- another neat wrangling trick-- as he buckled, unbuckled, and rebuckled straps; then, since the gears were still turning in his son's head, he slid the bag onto the floor and slid himself into the front seat. The driver's safety belt was clicked into place when Will jerked upward, waving his hands and beaming at his father in the rearview mirror.

“It’s not me, it's the laptop! It becomes heavier every time you save another part of the world!” 

Mulder chuffed a laugh, enamored with the flawless logic of the young and uneducated. “You’re too smart for your old man,” he assured, proudly. 

“Can we get chicken?”

Just like that-- subject over and burgers out the window. “Sure, buddy. My treat.” 

*****

Fighting Colonization, catching sea monsters, and hunting down KFC may not, exactly, be a day in the life of the average American family; but it certainly enabled him to strum up an interesting moral out of the Flukeman and its excitement to go home. On second thought, Will would probably be incentivized to try hitchhiking to the ocean himself.

Now there's something Scully and I can't take credit for: possible obsessions with sewer tanks.

Somehow, Mulder didn't think she'd like that, either.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[fairyroses]

#can't stop thinking about this #i hate to say it but in general i'm leaning towards the luthor point of view here? i'm all for eyes being wide open #that said i feel neither pov is wrong #the kents have their reasons to believe the way they do and so do the luthors #it's just interesting when the differences between the families are brought into the spotlight #i feel that's when the show was at its strongest #it lost a lot when it became all about love triangles instead of this (via @raelis1)

100% agree and also this is why I claim 'eyes open' by taylor swift as a lex song:

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You’re My Baby Too

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

You'd think that the second pregnancy would be a breeze. You already know everything about how it goes, how to prepare, what to expect, but in your case, your second pregnancy was dreadful.

First trimester, horrible nausea, you spent half your time over the toilet with Lando holding your hair. Your baby boy was so much bigger than Isla it made your back hurt like crazy all the time, and the worst thing of all was that your baby boy didn't wanna come out.

You prayed you wouldn't give birth before Lando finished the season, so when the season ended you were relieved. But then your due date passed, and nothing happened. Then five days passed after your due date, nothing again. 10 days after your due date - the baby just doesn't wanna come out.

You were frustrated, exhausted, and tired of being pregnant. You just wanted to be able to see your feet again and be able to get up off the couch without Lando having to pull your hand.

"It's because you make such a good home for him he doesn't wanna come out, love." Lando tried to calm you down in a nice way, not even realizing that he irritated you with that because he's been saying that for the last 10 days and your nerves have become very thin hearing it.

"I swear, if you say that one more time.." You barked rolling your eyes at him while holding your still very pregnant belly.

"I'm sorry, I'll shut up.."

“Thank you.” You glared at him.

He didn't hold it against you for your brazen response because he understood that it had become too much for you. Lately, he's been walking on eggshells around you because everything has been annoying you, and he didn't want to be the one to contribute to that.

When the twelfth day passed since your due date, you realized that too much time had passed and you even started to worry a little that something was wrong. So Lando decided to take you to the hospital, where you very clearly told the doctor that you weren't leaving the place until you gave birth.

You thought that by some miracle, as soon as you stepped into the hospital, labor would start and you would just pop the baby out and everything would be over in less than two hours just like it was with Isla, but of course that wasn't the case with this baby.

"I think we have no other choice but to induce the labor." The doctor said.

"Okay, how long does it take?" You asked. "Is it like natural labor or?"

"Induced labor can last from a few hours to a few days, it depends. It's most often completed within 12 to 18 hours from the start of the procedure."

"Oh my God" You sighed in despair with tears in your eyes and Lando immediately squeezed your hand to offer you at least some comfort.

"Does it hurt more than a normal birth?" Lando was very concerned about how painful it would be for you. While you were giving birth to Isla, Lando was of course by your side, and even though it was much shorter and easier, he was still terribly shaken to see the pain you went through.

"I don't want to discourage you and scare you right from the start, but many women have said that induced labor is more painful."

And boy oh boy was it painful.

When they gave you the drip to induce contractions, that's when the real agony began. The drip makes contractions stronger and more frequent and you can't even begin to explain what you'd compare that pain to.

You were sweating.

Crying.

Gripping the sides of the bed and Lando's hand, which at one point you thought you were going to break.

You honestly felt like dying. What was supposed to be the most beautiful experience of your life was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Lando was heartbroken seeing you like this. He was putting cold compresses on you, hugging you, kissing you, comforting you, begging you to endure this.

"I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could go through this instead of you. I'm so sorry."

He didn't leave you for a second, except when you caught a 5-minute break from the contractions and managed to close your eyes for at least a moment and calm down. Lando said he had to go to the bathroom.

He lied actually. Instead he went to the hallway outside your room where his parents were patiently waiting. By the look on his face, Cisca and Adam could see that Lando was not well and that he himself was traumatized.

Lando didn't say anything, he just hugged Cisca and buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I'm so fucking scared for her. It wasn't like this the first time." Lando cried quietly.

"Oh honey, y/n's going to be alright, I promise you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but soon this will pass and you'll be going home with your baby." Cisca comforted trying to lift his spirits. "Honey, you need to get yourself together, alright? She needs you right now and you need to be there for her."

When labor finally began after 14 long hours, you were running out of strength. You were so exhausted that you weren't sure if you would be able to push the baby out.

"Push y/n, push!" The doctor encouraged.

"I c-can't" You cried breathing rapidly. "Lando, I can't do it.."

"Come on baby, you can, I know you can. Just a little bit more and it's done, I promise. You've got this" He was pushing your hair out of your face, holding your hand, and holding your leg at the same time.

"Come on, push, push! I can see the head!"

Finally, the baby's cry was heard and soon the baby boy was on your chest. As soon as you saw him, all the pain instantly vanished.

He was so perfect. So worth it.

Lando couldn't contain his emotions as he rested his head on your shoulder, carefully observing his baby.

Later that day, when everything had calmed down, Lando was still there by your side. He couldn't be separated from you nor did he want to. His gaze shifted between you and the baby watching you both sleep peacefully.

He was tired too. He didn't really remember the last time he slept, but he knew you had it worse than him anyway, so he didn't even think of complaining.

"Lan?"

"Hey, love" His face lit up when you opened your eyes. When he saw you smile, it brought energy back to him. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did, why didn't you?" You asked him when you saw the huge dark circles under his eyes and the same clothes from the day before yesterday. "Baby, please go home, I know you're exhausted too."

"The only way I'm getting out of here is with you two."

You didn't want to argue with him because you knew it was pointless. You were just grateful that he was there and that he was yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl. I'm so proud of you." Lando said softly caressing your cheek and looking into your tired eyes. "I love you so much you know that, right?"

"I know, I can feel it. I love you too, so much." You say before kissing him. "Where are our kids?"

"This little guy is sleeping here without a care in the world."

"And Isla? She didn't come with your parents?"

"No, I told them not to bring her because I knew you'd get too emotional if you saw her, and I wanted you to rest as much as possible."

"You should've told them to bring her, I really miss her and I can't wait for her to meet her brother." You said, but you could still see the worry in Lando's eyes. "I'm fine, Lan, I promise."

"We're done with the kids. Our family is complete now."

"Lan.." You chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. I never want to see you go through so much pain again. It's been so hard to watch you like that and not be able to do anything and I'm not putting you through it again. "

"It was worth it tho. Look at him, he's so perfect. I'd do it all over again for our baby"

"I know, I know, but you're my baby too." No matter how many children you have, his protective attitude towards you will never change.

"Oh, love.." You pulled his hand to get up from the chair and come sit on the bed next to you so you can cuddle up next to him.

"I can't wait to take you home, both of you." He said quietly kissing your forehead.

You rested your head on his chest, knowing that wherever you are, as long as he's there, everything is fine.

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[enderlovez]

Germs

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 719

Summary: Everyone is shocked when the genius germaphobe drinks directly from your water bottle, you even more so when it was actually just a plot.

Content Warning: Mentions of germs and being a germaphobe, reader has some slightly unholy thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

It's just a normal day in the BAU. You're silently sitting at your desk, scanning through the paperwork from the case you and the team just closed. It was a hard one, and you had to spend close to three weeks across the country, so it's a relief to be home.

Only problem there — the case was located in Arizona, a state commonly known for being hot. So you, and everyone else, got into the habit of drinking extensive amounts of water, a habit that's surprisingly hard to kick now that you're back in Virginia.

Not to mention how it feels so much colder here now.

You shudder and pick up the water bottle you picked up from the gas station on the way here, pulling up the top and drinking deeply from it. It's not like you're even really thirsty, but you just can't help it!

"Y/N?" someone asks from behind you, making you jump and let out this embarrassing squeak. You turn spin around in your chair to find the one and only Doctor Spencer Reid, standing in front of you with his hands clasped, nervously twiddling his thumbs.

"What can I do for you, Handsome?" you ask teasingly, fighting back the goofy smile that threatens to take over your face.

Embarrassed, his face turns a delicious crimson, hands moving to clasp together behind his back. He's so freaking adorable, all you want to do is eat him sometimes.

"May I please have..." The rest of his sentence is lost in translation as his voice trails off into something you can't hear, but you're sure that no matter what he was asking, you'd give it to him in a heartbeat.

"M'sorry, what was that?" you ask, relaxing back into your chair as you observe him. He really is the prettiest boy you've ever seen, with his glasses and puppy-dog eyes. It's a miracle you can even form a , coherent sentence when he's around.

"May I please..." he starts again, pausing briefly to look around, "may I please have some of your water?"

Your eyes widen at his request, but you smile and nod nonetheless, staring at the bottle in your hands as you pass it up to him, the top already popped up.

You're not sure what you really expected him to do with it, considering Spencer Reid would never put his mouth where someone elses was, especially not when he saw it there less than a minute ago.

But here he is, drinking from your water bottle like his life depends on it. He doesn't realize just how many people are watching him — the pretty germaphobe who doesn't even like shaking hands with people — doing something as simple as drinking.

It's not the drinking that they're watching.

You're definitely not thinking about the fact that he's drinking most of your water, just about the fact that he's indirectly touching his mouth with yours, and to say you're mesmerized is an understatement.

"Thank you," he murmurs when he's finished, a guilty yet somehow mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks between the almost empty bottle and you. "I'm sorry for drinking all your water. Maybe I could take you out to dinner to make up for it?" He pauses for a second, leaning slightly forward so only you can hear him. "As a... date?"

Mouth agape, all you can do is nod as he hands the bottle back to you and makes his way back to his desk. It's entirely unprofessional for the work place, but you can't exactly make yourself care.

"Reid, you know there's a place you can get your own water, right?" Morgan questions, eyes glued to Spencer as if he'd grown a third head.

"I do," he says as he sits back down at his desk, "that just felt a whole lot cleaner."

A breath you didn't realize you were holding escapes you as you slump down into your chair like a ragdoll, looking down at the still-wet nozzle of the bottle. With your face blushing madly, your put your mouth over the very place his was barely thirty seconds and down the rest of your water.

Since when was Spencer Reid so smooth?

Since when was he interested in you?

You have to get onto that man.

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What terrifies me most about the hunt for the United Healthcare shooter is that we honest to god live in a panopticon. They were able to work backwards and trace the shooter's entire stay in New York from start to finish. They know the exact moment he arrived in the city down to the specific bus he got off, and there are less than 10 stops on that line so if they haven't already started cross referencing security camera footage from every bus station to see who boarded when then they will soon. They know which hostel he stayed at and for how long, they know where he stopped to get food, he was sure to slip up and leave a fingerprint somewhere. There is no hiding anything you do, anywhere you go, for any reason. If I were a juror I'd vote to acquit the guy, but the plain fact of the matter is that the NYPD and the feds can and will bring the hammer down. Your rights end where the powers that be want them to end. They'll pull an Epstein and make it look like he killed himself while he's in jail, or else just summarily execute him in a shootout during the arrest. If by some miracle it goes to trial they will pull strings behind thr scenes to handpick jurors sympathetic to the prosecution. It's Eric Adams' New York, and soon to be Trump's FBI. This doesn't end well for the shooter, and that's bad for everyone in the Surveillance States of America.

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly (Mouthwash)

Part 1

(This gonna be a mini serie)

"What do you mean I can't see him? It's my husband we're talking about."

You crossed your arms but tried to maintain a relaxed posture, you didn't want to get defensive, you knew well that Anya wasn't the one to blame, you were just too anxious after that crash.

Anya: "I'm so sorry (Y/n), but the captain himself has told me that he doesn't want you to see him... He doesn't feel capable of seeing you in the state he is"

"Oh, I understand now. But you know that if he is incapacitated to perform his tasks and give instructions, then that makes me the captain."

You said firmly, putting your hands on your waist and puffing your chest, making the woman feeling so little. 

Anya: "I know, but he... Give him time, please... He is in pain."

"Anya please- it's been a week already. I need to see him" 

You ran your hand over your face, pressing your brow for a few seconds, trying to relax. 

You had been working with Curly as her co-captain for years, and less than a year ago, you had even gotten married.

Many questioned your position since they said that in case you had to be promoted to captain if something happened to Curly, your judgment would be influenced by your husband. 

You weren't going to give them rigth to keep saying that. You worked too hard for that and you now that the situation has come up you will show them.

"You are right, the captain's last orders must be respected, but please, tell me if at any moment he feel ready to see me." 

You took the woman's hands firmly, almost pleadingly, to which she nodded. 

You needed to stay calm to keep everything in order on the ship. 

"The cockpit is completely destroyed... the corridor to it was automatically sealed with safety foam so that space wouldn't absorb us, we are floating aimlessly, and we don't have a radio to call for rescue..."

You murmured while attentively examining the ship's blueprints along with Swansea and Daisuke. 

"Are the suits still available?" 

Swansea: "The room where they are stored has foam that has sealed the door, but it is not a very thick layer."

"Then I'll use one and exit through the hatch to check the cockpit damage, maybe there's something that can still work."

Daisuke: "Woah... The covkpit was blown up... It's a miracle that the explosion allowed the captain to reach the corridor before it was sealed with foam, otherwise he would be floating in the-"

He fell silent when he saw Swansea's look, gesturing towards you. 

"Yes... the truth is that it was a miracle that he's still alive, I'm grateful for it... Let's stick to the plan."

You stood up, ready to go to the room where the spacesuits were.

At that moment, Swansea took the opportunity to hit Daisuke on the head. 

After managing to get in and take the suit, you headed to the exit room, equipped yourself before leaving through the hatch. 

You observed in detail the void around you, a dark sea full of stars and debris floating around you. 

You held on to the ship, trying to reach the cockpit.

Swansea: "(T/n), can you hear me? Can you see anything?"

You smiled upon realizing that the suit communicator was intact, happy to feel that you weren't alone on that walk. 

"Loud and clear Swansea, I'm approaching the cockpit, the foam has spread outside the ship, it seems that it has prevented the fire from spreading."

You responded and went down to the cockpit, there was almost nothing, the only thing found there was the floor and half of the control panel. 

You sighed in resignation upon seeing that there was nothing salvageable left, everything too broken and burned. 

Until you got scared when something hit your helmet. 

Swansea: "All good?? Your pulse has accelerated too much."

"Yeah... I'm sorry... Something scared me."

You mentioned seeing Curly's ring floating near you, and soon you took it before it drifted away and kept it. 

You returned to the ship and took off the suit, and upon seeing Swansea, you shook your head, assuring him that there was nothing there that you can use to get out of there.  

Daisuke: "How did it feel to be in space??"

Swansea: "Child!"

"No, no, it's fine Swansea," you raised your hand, interrupting the man before he could scold the boy. "You never get used to that feeling, I've gone out many times for different reasons but each one is unique."

Daisuke: "Did you see an alien?? Was that what scared you?"

"Oh yeah, it had enormous eyes and tentacles on its arms, giant and ponty teeth, ready to devour interns!"

You and Swansea started laughing when Daisuke hid behind the older one. 

When they stopped laughing, you looked at both of them with a smile. 

"We're going to find a way out of here, I promise you." 

Swansea: "Sure, captain," he nodded at your words. 

It felt so strange to finally be called that way, but you maintained your stance, nodding and leaving that place to head to the reserve depot. 

You started organizing the remaining food supplies, it seemed like they were going to have to ration a bit, so you began separating and counting everything to maintain an inventory. 

You locked the storage room with a key so there wouldn't be any food thefts. 

You rested your head against the door and sighed. 

You searched in your pocket and took out the ring you had found, noticing how it was slightly deformed by the heat and cold it had been exposed to, but it still retained its circular shape. 

You placed it on your ring finger, next to your wedding ring.

You were sure that his ring was way bigger than yours, but the explosion for sure make it smaller now for you to use it.

After looking at it for a while, you pressed your lips against the two rings. 

"We're going to get through this, no matter what it costs me."

[siderealcity]

So, one of the things I love about Dawntrail is the way the four competitors are introduced and framed.

Spoilers ahead.

We meet Wuk Lamat first. She's the reason we're here. But we'll come back to her.

So then, Zoraal Ja. He doesn't speak a single word throughout his first appearance. Even when approached, the first, and only, thing he does is tell his lackey to talk for him.

Look at what Erenville says about him when he exits the palace to the cheering of the crowd:

Erenville: Zoraal Ja. The First Promise and commander of the Landsguard. Sareel Ja, the palace seer. As he was so careful to remind the crowd, Zoraal Ja is indeed the natural child of Gulool Ja Ja. Alphinaud: And “Resilient Son”? Is that another title, like the First Promise? Erenville: After a fashion. Common knowledge has it that two-headed Mamool Ja cannot sire children… Yet Zoraal Ja was born all the same, with the Head of Resolve's features and the Head of Reason's scales─an extraordinary example of life's unyielding resilience. Alisaie: And a warrior's reticence. He says little, but the way he moves… I know a hardened soldier when I see one. Erenville: He's a natural swordsman─a gift he inherited from his father. Some even say that the son has already surpassed the sire. Should he come to power, the First Promise means to employ that martial prowess in the conquest of foreign lands. For this, he and his supporters have been labeled expansionists. This puts him in direct opposition to Wuk Lamat, who advocates for the preservation of peace. You may recall that she spoke of a claimant who “cannot be allowed to rule.” That is Zoraal Ja─the warmonger.

Zoraal Ja is clearly framed as the favorite by all of Tural to win the contest, but look at how Erenville describes him. Every compliment is instantly returned to his father. He's the Resilient Son, whose impossible birth was a miracle only Gulool Ja Ja could have managed. Look, see how much he resembles both his fathers. His sword skills are great--he inherited them from his father.

He resents his siblings because they, being adopted, are granted nothing by nature. Everything they get from their father is learned. Not innate. Koana's studies and Wuk Lamat's people skills are theirs. He doesn't see Bakool Ja Ja as a threat because they're too similar. All that makes both of them special came from their parents. But Koana, he sees as a threat or a useful tool. Koana has been recognized for what he's done on his own.

He's the perfect example of the pressures of the first-born child, even though we never get the impression that his father puts any pressure on him at all. It's the public who puts the full weight of their expectations on him, purely for a quirk of birth. Everything's expected of him, but if he succeeds it's not because of him, but because he's his father's son. Which is maybe why he refuses to engage with the people at all.

That's… going to come back to haunt us all later.

Then there's Koana. When Bakool Ja Ja insults his older brother, whom he desperately does not want to win this contest, he immediately jumps to Zoraal Ja's defense. The supporters who approach him don't have anything to say about him at all, they just want cool stuff. Bring us trains and airships and magitek doodads! He escapes from them as awkwardly as humanly possible. And note how differently Erenville describes him:

Erenville: Here we have Koana, the Second Promise, who spent time as a pupil at Sharlayan's own Studium. Alisaie: Now that you mention it, I think I did see him in the halls once or twice. There was nothing to suggest he was Turali, much less from a royal family. Erenville: That was by design. He forewent his usual garb and took an Eorzean name to avoid attention. Alphinaud: So it was Koana who introduced the dirigibles. And the railway, too, given what we just heard…? Erenville: In furtherance of his goal: to enrich Tuliyollal with every bright notion he learned of in Sharlayan. He is the hope of those who prize innovation. As aloof as he may seem, Koana and Wuk Lamat actually get along rather well. They bicker and banter as only close siblings do.

He was a student at the Studium, but we don't hear of any other achievements there. No graduating with honors. No inventions of his own. His accomplishments are mostly… being a royal, and therefore in a position to get other people's ideas implemented in Tural. And he seems to feel that. He doesn't want to be noticed, doesn't want to be lauded, won't take the encouragement of his followers, and doesn't promise them anything because he doesn't feel like he can.

He is very much caught in the middle all the time.

Between his love for his brother, who doesn't love him back, and whom he knows can't be allowed to rule, and his sense of duty to his nation. Between his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of failure. Between Tural and Sharlayan. Between his beloved baby sister and the contest that makes them rivals. Between his ideals and reality.

Perfect middle child.

Then we get Bakool Ja Ja. The outsider.

We know from the Dawnservant's introduction of the rite that historically only two-headed mamool ja were allowed to rule. He is set up, then, as the symbol of the old order.

And the moment he steps outside, the crowd goes wild.

He isn't the Dawnservant's son, but he is, as far as most of those onlookers are concerned, the next Gulool Ja Ja. The person who reacts most negatively to his appearance and bravado, tellingly, is a boonewa. A member of one of the clans that actually makes blessed siblings. That's… that's going to be meaningful later. Unlike the two claimants who preceded him, nobody asks him for anything. His supporters don't support him because they think he can help them. They support him because of what he is.

Erenville's description of him is notably brief:

Erenville: The chosen of Mamook, Bakool Ja Ja. Winner of the recent martial tournament, and the only claimant not of the Dawn's Promise. His strength is undeniable, but…you see how he is. A few devoted Mamool Ja are his only supporters. Krile: What would he do with the throne should he win it? Erenville: His policies and so forth? I doubt he's thought much beyond winning the contest itself. But one thing seems certain: if he does become Dawnservant, he will see the Mamool Ja exalted as the ruling class, and all others forced into subservience.

And yet… he's not the one Wuk Lamat was afraid of winning. Which is somewhat prophetic foreshadowing, really. Bakool Ja Ja is the only claimant who has no thoughts of the future. He has to win this contest because he exists. That's it. That's all there is.

He has to win because blessed siblings always win. If they don't… then why should they even exist?

That's… yeah.

And finally, Wuk Lamat emerges from the palace. With her mom.

If it wasn't clear before that she's the baby of the family, the fact that she makes her grand public appearance as a contender for the throne with her nursemaid should be a clue.

We have, at the moment that Erenville asks if we're sure we really want to be part of this, so far seen her wander off distracted in Sharlayan, get panicked by a talking bird, eat her weight in barbequed monster, and get extremely seasick. The one thing we know she wants out of this contest is to stop Zoraal Ja from starting a war the second he takes the throne. She is doing this, not because she wants power or has a vision for Tural, but because she opposes a bad vision.

She is so much the underdog in this contest that most of the crowd left before she appeared, assuming the show was over, and what's remaining is standing within earshot gossipping about how pathetic she is compared to the others.

Wuk Lamat is constantly in someone else's shadow. Her father. Her elder brothers. That random guy who got in here somehow. Sphene, when we get to Alexandria. She's invisible, and she seems to feel like that's just how things work. Even the soldiers who meet us at the docks need to take a minute before they realize who she is.

Erenville doesn't say anything about her, though he has a few words about how her supporters are mostly the elderly who remember the war. (I would imagine that includes a lot of non-elderly shetona, too.) But he doesn't really have to talk her up. The Reigning King of Dry Understatement may have insisted back in Sharlayan that they are not friends, merely long-standing acquaintances, but when she asked him for advice about finding allies for the contest, he recommended a god-slayer. Talk about fixing the fight. Not just recommended, he dropped what he was doing and went back across the ocean to recruit them. He could have pointed her at the Students of Baldesion. He was working with them already. Instead, he came back to Sharlayan and asked the Students to go get WoL. A person he knows is capable of crossing the entire universe to avert the apocalypse and also, for some reason, stopping to catch stray marmots along the way. He really wants her win. He just won't quite say that out loud.

"As you just witnessed, Wuk Lamat has no great army of supporters. Not yet, at least." Oh, Erenville.

[suguann]

I HOPE YOU STAY—GOJO SATORU

✎. he’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. it just sort of slipped out. | wc. 2.8k+

tags. fem!reader, grinding, unprotected sex, oral sex, some mutual pining (it's implied he doesn't know how to talk to reader), there is not a world where gojo isn't rich, fwb to lovers, jealousy, gagging on how very much in love gojo is with reader and she doesn't see it, praise kink, pet names [18+ only]

masterlist

You’re not sure how it all started.

(As how all arrangements like these seem to start.) 

You remember calling Gojo on a night out with your coworkers—one too many cheap vodka cranberries in your system clouding your judgment—just as he left the office for the day, asking if he could pick you up from a shady nightclub downtown. 

(You’d hardly been acquaintances, and there was a long period of time where you’re sure he only tolerated you for Shoko’s sake since she’s the one who dragged you into their group of friends. You’re always the last one he acknowledges in the room, and he seems to clam up when you’re alone together.

You refused to let it get to you. Especially when you only see him a handful of times every other month or so, although less now that you’re around, and you pretend it doesn’t eat at you.)

It’s still a mystery why you called him out of everyone you know—you had to scroll through an endless amount of contacts just to find a message you sent him months ago that he left on read with the express purpose of annoying you—and even more surprising that he answered.

You didn’t know him as well as Shoko, but maybe a secret hidden part of you knew he’d help if you were in a pinch.

“Hello?” 

(He might be the most infuriating human you know, but he has a voice like rich bourbon. 

He’s also stupidly attractive. Beautiful, even, with his straight nose, soft-looking mouth, and thick hair that adorably curls around his ears. However, you’d never say that to his face, for his head would get too big.)

“Do you think you could give me a ride?” It was almost a miracle that your words didn’t slur.

You half expected him to hang up, but then he asked for the address, and several minutes later, he pulled up to the curb in his shiny sports car that probably cost more than everything you own combined and watched you stumble into the soft-leather passenger seat. 

It should be embarrassing how long it took you to buckle your seatbelt, but then you finally got a good look at him and took note of his expensive-looking suit: his tie slightly undone, shiny watch and cuff links glinting under the passing street lights, how his hair looked like he ran one of his bear paws for hands through it several times. 

You think it was the first time you realized he was as tall as he was wide.

The quintessential businessman in a three-piece suit. You understand the appeal now. 

(That je ne sais quoi that makes you want something out of reach. Why your friends from college ask if he’s single when all you see is a man who never takes anything seriously.)

He’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. It just sort of slipped out.

Gojo gave you a look that would have made you giggle if you weren’t serious. “What?”

“I want a kiss,” you told him again.

It was the little once-over he gave you afterward, the way he missed the exit to your street and took the one that led to his, how he kissed you until your knees were wobbly and weak, and you could barely walk to his door in your heels as he pressed small ones around your mouth while his fingers sunk into your hair.

(That. That—)

You came against his thigh—staining his Burberry suit while he whispered dirty things into your ear—right there in the hallway where anybody could see if he didn’t have the whole floor to himself.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned into your mouth once he had you in his room, his hands trailing up and down your sides until he found the zipper for your dress and tugged. "I can't believe this is really happening."

(Later, you spend a lot of time analyzing what he meant.)

You urged him toward the bed when he had the black slip of fabric pooling at your feet, dropping down to your knees in front of him, and together, you scrabbled at his pants, shoving them around his hips. You’ll never forget how hot and heavy he was in your hand that first time, how your fingers barely touched and looked so small in comparison.

There was a thick vein along the underside of his cock, and you trailed it with your tongue, going up and up until you took the slightly purpling head into your open mouth.

You kept taking more of him until you couldn’t go any further without gagging, which wasn’t far because he was big—possibly the biggest dick you’ve ever seen outside of porn—and it made you a little dizzy how quickly it robbed you of air. 

“Holy shit.” He stroked your hair so softly, so sweetly, groaned things that made you preen and nuzzle into his touch. “You’re so good at this. You gonna let me cum down that throat?”

That made your belly flip—the fact that Gojo Satoru, of all people, called you good—a stone creating a current of new possibilities.

You hummed a muffled “Uh huh” and squeaked when he held your head down—the coarse hair at his pubic bone brushing against your nose—cumming down your throat in hot, heavy spurts, and you’re surprised you swallowed it all because it was a lot.

He fell back against the mattress, freeing you of his grip, arms spread wide and panting as he lay there with his eyes closed.

“Was it good?” you asked, licking away the small amount of cum that escaped the corner of your mouth.

That got him to pop his head up to look at you, a hint of something too soft on his face than you were used to from him. “Come here,” and he let you crawl into his lap.

A sigh escaped his lips as his hands hovered close to the side of your waist before letting them fall back against the mattress. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he mumbled after kissing your forehead.

(That’s how you think it started.)

~~~~~

Everything’s fine.

Perfectly fine before Gojo sits by you, casually planting himself between you and the newest member of your group of friends, Nanami. You roll your eyes at how childish he’s being, refusing to react to his blatant jealousy.

Then he inconspicuously rests his hand on your knee. You jump at first, and the few people sitting at the table with you glance at you curiously, including Gojo, who gives you a mischievous little smirk that can only mean trouble. 

Again, you roll your eyes and choose to ignore whatever is going on in that lizard brain of his.

That doesn’t last long because he’s leaning across you to grab a handful of pretzels, only to lean in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he sinks back into his seat.

“You look so fucking good in this dress right now.” His voice already sounds hoarse, stretched thin—raw with want—and you inconspicuously rub your thighs together under the table. “Are you wearing what I bought you underneath? You’d show me, yeah?”

(Because he buys you things now���perfectly normal for someone you’re sleeping with who’s not your boyfriend, but maybe your friend—and sometimes you playfully call him Daddy when he has your wrists tied above your head with one of his silky ties.

And who cares if a few of your things and a toothbrush have found their way into his place? He lives closer to your job. Nobody can blame you for choosing convenience over a forty-minute ride through the subway.

Normal.)

Distantly, you’re aware that you aren’t alone, and there are several ears within earshot distance, but that doesn’t stop the little gasp that escapes past your lips. 

“Satoru, knock it off.” You glance around the table to make sure no one is paying attention, your tensed shoulders relaxing a little when you find everyone too preoccupied with their own conversations.

Gojo already has acknowledged this, too. 

“I bet you still taste just as sweet as you did this morning. You have no idea how much I want you. It’s making me hard just thinking about it.” At that, you peek down at his lap to find the prominent bulge pressing against his khaki pants. 

“Oh?” voice soft when you finally tear your eyes away from his crotch to meet his heated gaze again.

“Mhm.” 

Oh. 

You can tell that he sees your walls cracking, that it would only take a few sweet words before you finally caved: “You’d let me have another taste, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath hitches because, yes, you would. 

That’s how you find yourself with your thighs parted and one of your legs draped over his.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape while the rough pad of his middle finger presses small circles over the top of your panties. His fingers tease, exploring the slick seam of you and retreating when you start arching your hips up into his touch.

It feels like you can’t breathe—or perhaps you’re too fearful to find out what other noises you’d make if you did—practically choking on the torturous (because that’s what this is) pleasure you’re receiving, and you’re ready to beg. You really are. However, you aren’t prepared to face the mortifying consequences if you happen to open your mouth.

Something that sounds a lot like, please, just waiting on the tip of your tongue.

It feels like every pair of eyes at that small table are on you, but they’re none the wiser to what is currently happening beneath the party-themed tablecloth, still laughing and mingling around the yard as they celebrate Geto’s birthday. 

It’s not as if it’s all that obvious, either. 

Gojo is turned away from you, currently in the middle of a discussion with the birthday boy himself. You have no clue what they were talking about because you’d stopped paying attention a while ago—not that you’d be able to listen if you wanted to with Gojo’s fingers turning every spun cotton candy thought back into melted sugar. 

He traces lightly over the covered seam of your lips before finally slipping under the silky material—his skilled fingers working slippery circles at the apex of your thighs—and the subtle relief forces you to swallow another moan. 

“Satoru,” you warn under your breath, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements. But the feel of him patting your sticky, sensitive clit with three fingers cuts off all of your protests, forcing you to sit there and let him play with you.

Heat crawls up your neck as he explores your slick folds, the loud music, and chatter, thankfully hiding the wet sounds produced between your legs. 

He does offer some mercy when he notices the slight quiver in your thighs, how they jump and jump until he stops teasing to press to fingers inside you and grind the heel of his palm into your clit. Your hips start rocking forward against his hand slightly, and you pray nobody notices because the heat spreading through your belly is almost too consuming to stop now, making you dizzy with it. 

Your abs hurt from how hard they clench, and your legs shake, culminating in a slow drop just before you resurface. Gojo can probably feel it—attuned to your body after all these months—and starts moving in a steady rhythm, and—

The breath you’re about to take gets caught in your throat, fingers gripping Gojo’s wrist and the ledge of the table as you tip over the edge. Your legs tremble while you convulse onto his hand, and you have to lean into him to keep from falling out of your chair. 

His fingers bring you back down, slowly, rubbing soothingly against your inner thigh as the fog gradually dissipates from your brain. And what you’d give to hear him call you his good girl at that moment—

“Hey, are you okay?” Shoko asks you from across the table. “You don’t look so good.”

All eyes turn towards you, including the smug little gleam in Gojo’s. 

“Yeah,” you squeak before standing up hastily. You pull Gojo up with you, not caring that it’s the same hand covered in your sticky-wet slick. “I just remembered that I need Sa—Gojo’s help with something.”

Only a few are dumb enough to believe that lie, and you avoid the smirk Shoko gives you as she watches you practically drag Gojo toward the house.

(Because, of course, she knows.

And perhaps she’s not the only one.)

~~~~~

The tipping point in your relationship—the one that turns it from a maybe into a definite something, and not just two people who have been having sex and somewhat living together for six months—happens on a night Gojo comes home late from work. 

(Exactly five minutes to eleven.)

You’re not usually the jealous type, but you’ll admit that dating someone like Gojo—rich, attractive, owns more Tom Ford suits than you have jeans, and just important enough that he has an assistant who runs said suits to the dry cleaners—can stir up some insecurities.

A more reasonable person would lay out the facts like a deck of cards: you know he’s someone’s boss’s boss, so he likely had to stay behind to fix someone else’s mess, but the proverbial chip onto the poker table comes with his new assistant. 

Hinata.

A girl who’s fresh out of college and around him more hours of the day than you see him during the week, and from the few times you stopped by his office, you can tell she has a thing for him—her lack of subtlety could compete with Gojo’s nonexistent observation skills.

Much later, after you’ve slept on the softest sheets you’ve ever laid on, you’ll admit you overreacted. How you shouldn’t have thrown blankets and pillows at him from his bed for him to sleep on the couch with as soon as he walked through the front door—not to mention how you never give him a chance to explain himself and keep huffing whenever he opened his mouth.

After the second pillow (almost comically, if you weren’t so upset) hits him square in the face, he drops the blankets to grab your wrists.

“Would you stop throwing blankets at me and tell me what’s wrong?”

"Like you don't know," you hiss unhelpfully just to be difficult.

"I wouldn't be asking if I did." This time, his voice is softer when he says, "Talk to me."

"It’s your assistant."

He frowns. “My assistant…?”

“Yes, your assistant,” you huff, making an unsuccessful attempt to yank your wrists free. “She obviously has a thing for you, but you’re too thick to notice. You forgot your phone, and she answered and said you were busy...”

He probably sees the vulnerability on your face. Hears what you’re not telling him because he presses a kiss to your forehead—I’m not seeing anyone other than you—another to your mouth before he’s showing you with your thighs pressed to your chest that every piece of him (even the parts he doesn’t show to anyone else) is yours.

“You want me to send this video to her to let her know you’re the only girl I want to fuck?” he grunts, making sure his phone captures the way his cock pushes in and out of you, hissing dirtier things that only you hear—the tightest pussy he’s ever had. “Would you like that?”

“Y-yes,” you whine, fingernails digging into his hand wrapped around your throat. “Please, Toru. I want it.” 

“So fucking dirty,” he growls, even though he’d do it for you anyway.

He stuffs his cock into you over and over again until you’re a twitching mess underneath him, the walls of your cunt clenching down around him as you cum with a squeak.

“There you go,” he groans into your ear, tossing his phone to the side to pin you against the mattress so he can reach that tender spot deep inside you that made you cum so hard once your foot cramped, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Is that what you needed? To make you cum because you’re mine? Fuck, baby—I’ll never get tired of this perfect little cunt.”

“Better not,” you whimper, eyelashes wet, squirming beneath him as he fucks you hard into the soft sheets.

“Never, sweetheart, never.” Gojo’s thrusts turn rough and brutal, almost working you into overstimulation just to prove a point. "You're my girl. The only one for me."

It's not quite an 'I love you,' but it's close.

Afterward, he pulls you between the sheets, holds you close with a hand cupping the back of your head, and asks you to stay.

“For good this time. No more leaving in the morning,” he whispers, lips grazing your cheek. “You like the walk-in closet and the clawfoot tub. We have enough room to turn the spare bedroom into an office for you because you like how sunny it gets in there during the day.”

It’s not a question, but you still say ‘I do’ because you really like how the word we sounds coming from him.

“Then…stay.”

…You say yes because it’s not as if you want to be anywhere else.

[bbystark]

♡ ghost figures it out ♡

simon riley (ghost) x reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡ donate :)

summary: ghost tells soap he's in love, then he goes home to you with big plans

⚠︎ suggestive themes mdni

a/n: can you guys tell that all i want is to be wifed up by a large man? ;( it is short, but enjoy!

"Soap." His voice cuts through the air abruptly. No response from said man, sucked into his shitty tv dinner and whatever was flickering on the tv. He tries again, voice laced with subtle exasperation. "Johnny."

Soap pauses for a split second, before stuffing his mouth with another bite, not sparing him a glance. "Wut?"

"Think I love 'er."

Soap doesn't think he hears him right. "Wut?" He repeats, staring at his LT dumbly.

"Said I'm in love."

"Fuckin' 'ell, little y/n? You finally fuckin' catchin' on?" Soap slaps his knee, chortling to himself like this was a comedy show. "She finally say somethin'? Cause I know you're brooding arse didn't."

"Fuck are you on about?"

"S' no secret Lt, lass walks around with 'er homecooked meals 'n doe eyes starin' after you. None of us ever thought that woman was just a fuck fer you, was just waitin' for one of you to quit bein' daft."

Simon almost feels himself flush at the overt admission that everyone around him could clearly see what he hadn't until recently. When he had first seen you at the the pub near the recent base the 141 had been assigned to, he told himself it would be a one time thing. Then it was twice, three times, then bringing you along to nights out with his team, because hey, you get along so well, why not? Come 'round the base just to say hey and drop off "leftovers" while you're at it. That's casual.

How true it is that hindsight is 20/20. When Simon doesn't respond immediately, Soap continues on. "What're your intentions with the lass? Plan on makin' er' an honest woman? Think she's in love?"

"Doesn't matter. She's mine. I've got plans, Johnny."

Soap leans back in his chair, scoffing a little while still grinning. "Aye, I'm sure. Always wanted to be a best man." He means it as a joke, but what Simon replies is dead serious.

"I'll do you one better 'n make you an uncle."

Soap gawks a little at that, before making his way over to Simon and grasping his shoulder. "Imagine that, little ghosties runnin' 'round. Never took you for a family man but with a lass like that, who could blame you." He jabs a finger into his chest. "Just put a ring on it aye?"

Soap was convinced that Simon was the epitome of "confused but has the right spirit". Sure he was doing things a little out of order, but it was a miracle the broody bloke found someone like you in the first place.

"Aye. Plan on making 'er a proper wife."

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

When Simon texts you that night, a simple 'I'll be there in an hour.', you figured it was your typical hookup. Still, you had baked cookies and tidied the apartment like you were a doting little girlfriend. After months of being with Simon, but not really being with Simon, you were often confused with the complicated relationship.

When Simon lets himself in through the front door right as your bent over retrieving the cookies from the oven, and watches as your face lights up at the sight of him, he's never been less confused. He finds himself with his hands gripping your hips, ignoring your questions of how he is and if he wants to try a cookie. His nose fills with your perfume and the warm smell of sweets and he's so overwhelmed with how content he feels.

You were home. You were his.

He guides you to the edge of the counter, grasping your plush thighs in his hands and hoisting you to sit on the cold marble, your hands grasping his shoulders as you giggle. He gives you a small smile and spreads your legs, fingers tracing your inner thigh.

He kisses you, and you're no longer confused when he whispers "Whaddya think 'bout marriage?" in your ear, and later, when he was between your legs, a raspy "How 'bout children?"

It was going to be a long night.

[darkbluekies]

P.O.V 2025 ver

Yandere!mafia boss x reader x mafia!boss enemy

Summary: To get Silas to keep his end of an agreement, a hostage is taken, someone known to be very dear to him.

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, nsfw mentions, torture, blowing people up, murder, guns, gore, blackmailing, darling breaking, self guilt, angst, humiliation, and probably more along those lines!

Word count: 5.6k

“Let me go!” you scream as you struggle, for nothing, against the rugged men pulling you left and right. 

“Be silent”, one of them replies in a sharp, rude tone, “or I'll cut your tongue.”

You're pushed down on your knees on a polished, wood floor that seem to be out of place. You run your eyes around the room, scanning anything and everything. The room is dim, with a big desk, armchairs and a decorative carpet. Your heart hammers in your chest, to the point of nausea. Just an hour ago you were in the backseat of Silas’s ar, waiting for him to be done with a mission. You had been left alone with two trusted drivers. They had been shot, quick and easy, as if someone had rehearsed it. And you had been snatched by the two men holding you.

A man sits in the big chair behind the desk. He smirks at you. Hes about Silas’s age with dark hair, dimples and piercing, blue eyes that shrinks you.

“So this is Silas’s little playmate”, he says, voice full of amusement, and leans forward in his chair to get a better look at you. 

He stands up and walks around the desk, walks over to you and crouches down. He takes a grip on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your neck strains painfully. The man snickers and touches your lip with his thumb, as if wanting to open your mouth—which you refuse. If he forces his thump past your lips, you're going to bite him. Hard. 

“You're a pretty, little thing, aren't you?” the man mumbles and caresses your cheek.

You swallow. You remember how scared you had been the first time you met Silas, how you barely dared dared to move, but that wasn't nothing compared to this. You knew more about this world by now, know just what kind of things that could be done to people. But you also know what happens if you don't do anything—you get married to a mob boss. You slap the man's hand away. He raises his eyebrows in shock, and amusement.

“Feisty too?” he asks and tilts his head. “You'll regret that.”

“What do you want?” you spit. “I haven't done anything!”

The man laughs, a genuine one that doesn't sound taunting. You caught him by surprise.

“You're cute”, he says. “‘You'? What the fuck could someone like you do to me? This is about Silas, your husband.”

“Then get him, what the fuck am i doing here?!” you screech.

“It's simple. You're here as a trading prop.”

“What?”

“Me and Silas had an agreement and your husband hasn't fulfilled his part. I, personally, have much patience, but even i get tired of waiting. You are here in hopes of making him fulfill his part.”

“That’s not fair …”

“That’s how this world works, didn't you know?”

You glare at him.

“You don't know?” he asks, his small smile growing. “If I want something from him, I have to take something he holds dearly to get what I want, because that son of a bitch is as slippery as an eel.”

You glare at him. The man graces your cheek, staring into your eyes. You take a deep breath and keep it in your throat. You just have to keep out until Silas comes and gets you. Everything will be okay.

“And I know for a fact that Silas holds you very dearly”, he says. “The fact that I even have you here is a miracle. There are some who don’t even believe that you exist because of how protective Silas is of you. He is skilled at keeping you hidden.”

“He will kill you for this …”, you mumble and avoid eye contact.  

He’s killed people for less when it comes to you. 

“I’m going to get those papers if it’s the last thing I do”, the man mutters and stands up. “And if I have to do something like this to get them, I will. I’m tired of Silas seeing me as a joke. I’m in the mood to … kid around, a little.” He looks down at you and then at one of his men. “Send him one of his little playmate’s fingers.”

You gasp, letting out the breath kept in your throat. Before you’ve realized it, you’ve stumbled up from the floor and thrown yourself towards the double doors, in hopes of saving yourself of losing limbs, but they’re faster. They grab your arms and drag you back to the spot you left. You scream, kick and fight. When they let you go, the force makes you fly into the opposite wall, hitting your elbow and head in the process. A sharp, colorful pain fills your body. A faint ringing noise in your ear. You ignore it as you crawl together, hugging your trembling body and wishing nothing more than to become one with the wall.

The man snickers and watches you from afar.

“I thought you’d be more brave”, he admits and strolls over to you. “Aren’t you married to a mob boss? Haven’t you already seen all the horrible stuff he does? Hasn’t he done them to you? Or is he the type of man to hide it all from his sweet, little innocent darling? Just like he hides you from us?”

You don’t answer. Silas has put you through stuff, you can’t deny that. He’s been mean and scary, been your worst nightmare. But he’s always made sure that you were aware that he could be much, much worse.

“Answer.”

“He doesn’t show”, you whisper and swallow air. 

“Well, I am going to. I am going to ruin you for him. If he wants you all innocent and pure, I’m going to make sure he gets a tainted wife/husband back. He won’t even be able to recognise you. That will make him second guess trying to trick me in the future.”

You’re sure that your heart has stopped and sunk down to your stomach. If there's something you could have Silas to thank for, it’s the fact that he’s shielded you from all the morbid things he does. 

“Don’t look so scared”, the man smiles. “I’m not going to kill you. You will go back to Silas—you have my word. I’m just going to … roughen you up a little. Show you a different side of the world you live in.”

You try not to show how scared you really are, but you’re sure that you’re as open as a book. The man walks back to his desk and sits down. 

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay there”, he says. “Like a passed out alcoholic.”

The men who had kidnapped you leave the room, leaving you alone with the man who’s going to destroy you. You look around, searching for something to help you, but remain still. You have to get out somehow, have to escape!

Time seem to have stopped, but when the man looks up from the computer, your legs have gone numb. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. “Silas is a clever bastard, hiding your identity. Don’t even bother with any type of lying, I will know.”

You don’t answer. 

“Give me your name or I will rip your fingernails one by one”, he says threateningly and crouches down in front of you. “Do you get that?”

“Yes …”, you gulp. 

“What is your name?”

“Y/N.”

He looks at you, studies your face for traces of lies, until he nods and stands up again. What would you have done if he hadn’t believed you?

“Y/N Achilleos”, he says, tasting your name on his tongue. “Interesting. Nice ring you have there, by the way, must have cost a ton.”

“Why do you want to know my name?” you ask. 

“No reason, really. Just curious. I know so little about you. You’re interesting, whether one likes you or not.” 

“What’s your name?”

He stays silent for a few seconds. “You can call me Tony. You weren’t involved in this world before, were you?”

“How could you tell?” 

The man scoffs with a smile. “I get what Silas sees in you.”

He stands up and walks over to you, pulling you up and dragging your numb legs over to the desk. He sits you down on his chair, in front of the computer. He stands behind you, holding his muscular arms on either side of you, trapping you. You glance towards the video on his computer. The thumbnail is enough to make you sick. You can’t tell what it is, exactly, but there’s enough blood for you to question if it’s real or not. Someone’s tied to a chair. 

“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re going to watch every single video I show you, is that clear?” Tony hisses in your ear. “Or else I’m really going to cut one of your fingers and send it to Silas. I’m not kidding.”

He reaches for the mouse. 

“Please, don’t”, you beg. 

“Why? Are you afraid to see the truth of what your boyfriend is doing?”

You grow cold and turn your eyes back to the thumbnail. 

“I-Is it Silas in the video?” you stutter. 

“No. He’s not dumb enough to film his things, but I know for a fact that he does this kind of stuff too. Watch now, or else I’ll bring out the knife.”

He grabs the mouse and moves the pointer to the play button. The first you hear are echoes of sobs and painful moans. The entire screen is filled by a man with missing limbs. Two masked men are torturing him beyond what a human body should be able to handle. You clench your eyes shut and feel how Yony grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. your neck cracks. 

“I told you to watch”, he hisses. “So watch.”

He throws your head back. Whiplash is hitting you in the tightest places of your neck and you hold a hand over your throat. You continue to watch the video with tears running down your cheeks, and the man hovering above you. You can feel how the image in front of you burns into your brain and you know that it’ll never go away. 

“I must say, watching a video isn’t the same as actually experiencing it, don’t you think?” the man smirks once the video is over. 

You feel sick. 

“Just get Silas!” you almost shout. “Get him so I can leave! I watched your fucking video!”

“Did you think that we were done?” Tony asks. “No, not yet, dear. I’m not done. I’m going to taint you like you’ve never been tainted before. Better yet, I think I’ll break you.”

All his words makes you want to cry, throw up and melt into a puddle. All at the same time. Tony grabs your arm and pulls you up from the chair. He drags you out of the room, through a pair of dimly lit corridors and down a flight of stairs. You stumble in his harsh grip, still on uneasy feet. The room you stumble into reminds you of the worst of Silas’s basement, mixed with that video you just saw. The large room is divided into different parts woty invisible walls. Casino tables, machines made for pleasure you never want to experience, a bar and blood—a lot of it. A hedonistic paradise. The air is thick, hard to breathe, and smells of sex, drugs and blood.

“Trust me, spend ten minutes down here and you will be a new person”, Tony laughs. 

You don't look at him. Your eyes are fixated down on the floor, which is the only place where you don't see anything you don't want to. You can't remember the last time you've been this scared. Your body has stopped reacting to the trial your brain is sending.

Silas, please. Help me. I will never take you for granted again, just please save me.

You’ve never wanted Silas to find you as badly as you want now. It’s ironic, in a morbid way, because usually you want him far away as possible. 

“Let's go make some introductions”, Tony says and pulls you with him to one of the bar tables.

You stumble in front of a group of people sitting with drinks in front of them. You hit your knees on the stone floor, which sends lighting of pain up your thighs.

“Oh my, look at this little thing”, a seductive, slurred woman’s voice coos. “What a cutie, already on their hands and knees for us. Way too easy.”

You’re quick to sit back down and glare at the woman. She’s dolled up in old, torn clothing that once must have cost a fortune. 

“Look at that innocent sparkle in their teary eyes”, another woman says, smiling. “It’s not often you get to see that here.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, weighing you down like a stone. 

“This is Silas Achilleos’s husband/wife”, you hear the man above you smirk. 

The group of drunk people raise their eyebrows and lean forward to get a better look at you. 

“Silas, hm?” a man asks and get oss his bar stool. “This is a bit too perfect, Tony.”

“He must be pissed that you took them”, the first woman laughs. “I’d pay to watch his face right now.”

You look around to see something else than their mocking, dissecting looks. Instead, you’re forced to watch all kinds of horrors. It all belongs in a nightmare. One you wish you could wake up from. 

Silas, please … oh, God. 

You feel how sobs build up in your chest and pushes up your throat. Your eyes fill with blurry tears. Oh, how badly you want to wake up. 

“Yes, that’s it”, Tonny coos. “Cry for us.”

He pulls out his phone and films you. You try to hide your face in your hands. The woman who had taunted you crawl over and put their sticky hands on you, trying to pry them off. 

“Let me go!” you scream and fight them off, voice breaking. “Don’t touch me!”

“See something you recognize, Silas?” you hear Tony murmur. “Y/N, turn around and tell your dear husband how badly you want him to save you.”

You feel sick to your stomach. There’s no way you’ll willingly give in to the man’s humiliating request. You have never been less dignified in your life, and never been this terrified. The women grab your face, their long nails poking into your skin, and forcefully turn your head towards the phone’s camera. 

“Come on, Y/N”, one of them whispers in your ear, a sugar sweet slurring that makes you want to throw up. “Do it. Show him.”

You shake your head vigorously. They tug at your arms with their gnarly hands, twisting and pulling on you. Their nails sink painfully into your skin, drawing blood. 

“Stop it!” you scream in agony. 

“Beg your husband to save you”, Tony grins. “Let him know how scared you are.”

I hope Silas kills you.

“Silas, please”, you choke out and avoid looking into the camera. “Please help me. Please.”

You hear them chuckle around you. Tony cuts off the video and fiddles with his phone, most likely sending it to Silas. The woman let you go and you curl up, hugging yourself tightly. 

Just a few minutes later, the same phone that recorded you rings. Tony smirks and presses ‘accept’, putting it on speaker. 

“Only the Gods know what the fuck I’m going to do to you for this!” you hear Silas scream on the other side of the line, even before Tony has had time to say something. “And you better fucking pray that your mother will recognise your sorry ass after I’m done with you!”

Tony chuckles. 

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you had fulfilled your end of the agreement, Silas”, he says, calmly. “I want my papers, and you’re going to give them to me if you want Y/N back.”

“Fine, you can have your papers, you disgusting filth! Tell me when and where and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Oh, no, not now. I’m too busy. How about tomorrow at five pm?”

“No, now!”

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible. I’m not done with your darling yet. I have so much more to show them.”

Silas’s voice is venomous. “Show what? What are you doing to them?”

“If you’re going to bring Y/N into this world, why be so stupid to not show them what you’ve forced them into?”

A few seconds of silence pass. You can see in front of you how Silas exchanges a look with his second in command, both of them trying to see if the other one knows what’s going on. 

“You can’t!” Silas shouts. “You have no fucking right!”

“Stop me then, but I have to let you know that I’ve already started here.”

“If you touch a single hair on my wife’s/husband’s head, I’m going to cut off your cock and make you eat it. Believe me!”

You have never heard Silas this mad before. He really does care for you.

“I’m not going to hurt them, Silas”, Tony says. “That isn’t why I’ve taken them. Hurting them doesn’t help me in the slightest. I’m just letting them see the truth that you hide from them. The lies you tell. Meet me at the old warehouse by the highway tomorrow at five pm. Bring only two men and I will do the same. No weapons, no tricks.”

“I don’t need weapons to kill you. You’ll pay for this.”

Tony smirks and hangs up. He turns to you and pulls you up from the floor. 

“Tomorrow at five you’ll be free”, he says and drags you out of the basement. 

He says it in a way that makes it sounds like a promise, but to you it is nothing more than a reminder of the time he has left to taint you. 

It’s the third man he’s beaten to death this evening. Silas hands are throbbing in pain and he’s not sure if the blood he’s drenched in is his own or theirs—probably both. But he’s not done yet. His body is trembling with anger. He sees red. Silas is sure that even the devil would be afraid of him if he saw him now. 

“Silas”, SIC breathes out behind him, letting his eyes wander over Silas with sadness. 

“Not a word”, Silas hisses, holding his hand back to silence him. “I’ll kill you too And I know I’ll regret that, so stay quiet.”

SIC licks his lips nervously and looks down at his hands, staying silent. Silas breathes out heavily and lets his shoulders slump. He wants to scream, but his voice has gotten stuck in his throat. 

“Do you want to know the worst thing?” he asks without turning around to look at SIC. 

“What?” he wonders. 

“The worst thing isn’t that they’re gone from me. Y/N’s escaped before and I always manage to find them. I know how they behave once I get them back. No, the worst thing is that, this time, i can’t do anything to help them. I have no other choice but to wait for Tony to give them back to me. And until he does, he can do whatever he wants to them.”

SIC lowers his eyes. 

“And I’m scared what state they’ll be in once I do get them back”, Silas says quietly. “I’ve done my best—I’ve worked my ass off, day and night—to make sure that Y/N doesn’t know what’s going on around me. I know that they shouldn’t be in this world and that it’s my fucking fault for dragging them in … but I’ve done everything in my power to make the best of the situation. All of this hard work, for nothing.”

“He could be lying”, SIC says. “Maybe he just said that to scare you.”

“No. I know him. He has shown Y/N filthy stuff. Worse than what they saw on that USB that brought us together. That’s the worst thing.”

SIC swallowed. Silas turns around and looks at him. His black eyes were red around the corners, tears in the bottom. 

“I’d rather have my brother take them again”, he hisses. “Because I know Ares. I grew up with him. I know exactly how he thinks and how he acts. But I don’t know Tony, not like that. I don’t know how far he’s willing to go … no, that might be the worst thing, actually. Fuck!”

He screams out in pure anger and SIC flinches. Silas stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall, where he sinks down on the floor with his sweaty head in his bloody hands. Every ell in his body has lost adrenaline, leaving him aching and hurting in a way he’s never felt before. He can feel his heart breaking into pieces, feel it leaking blood into his lungs. SIC walks over to the wall and sits down in front of him. 

“Y/N’s stronger than you think”, he says softly. “They’ve survived your basement more times than any of your enemies.”

“That’s because I go easy on them.” Silas’s voice has lost any power it had and is now nothing more than a whisper. “I know where their breaking point is and I don’t go further than that. Tony won’t go easy on them. Won’t care about them … even if they scream, or cry, or beg.” He leans his head back against the wall. “I should never have left Y/N in the car. I shouldn’t have brought them at all.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have foreseen it. I knew I had fucked up once I saw the dead drivers. But it was already too late. How could I let someone take them?”

“You tried to shield them by letting them stay in the car. Otherwise they’d seen you kill someone.”

Silas rolls his eyes tiredly. “Seems like they’ll have to watch that anyway.”

SIC sighs. 

“I’m going to kill that pathetic little insect”, Silas growls. I’m going to make sure his mother doesn’t recognise his disgusting corpse.”

“I’ll help you”, SIC says.

Silas looks at him. 

“I will do whatever you want me to do”, SIC says. “Just say what, and I will do it. I will always stand behind you.”

Silas nods and hugs him. SIC hugs him back, petting his back. 

“Let’s give that motherfucker butterflies in his stomach”, he says. 

The night seems to never end. The hours have dragged by. You’ve seen more than you ever could have anticipated. Video after video. It never seemed to end. Tony has made sure that you have seen everything possible before five pm. You’re exhausted. The person you were yesterday seem to be so distant, so … different. 

“Very well”, you hear him, “time to wrap up our little visit and send you back to your husband.”

“What if he doesn’t come?” you whisper, mortified by your own words. 

What if Silas doesn’t want you anymore now that you’re not the person he wants you to be? 

“If he doesn’t come to pick you up, I’ll keep you”, Tony replies. “You’ll be my own little guinea pig. I’ll force you to watch everything until your fragile brain breaks. Get up now, we have to leave.”

You stand up, slowly, to not activate the nauseating volcano in your stomach. The images of the night’s horror videos still visible in front of your eyes. They never had to touch you, never had to harm a hair on your head. They could break you, anyway.

You’re forced out of the building, feet dragged behind you. Placed in the backseat of a gray car, pressed between two men— “Bring only two men and I will do the same”. You keep your head down, eyes in your lap, for the entirety of the bumpy ride. You’re exhausted, hungry and broken. Even if Silas comes to get you, he’ll be too late. 

When the car stops, you’re forced out and into an old warehouse. The cold, damp air is hard to breathe. Tony’s grip on your arm is bruising, painful. 

“Now, let’s wait”, he says in a cocky tone. “Silas will be here soon enough.”

Not even five minutes later, you can hear the screeching of a car’s breaks. Your heart stops. Despite wanting nothing more than for Silas to come save you, you’re ashamed to let him see who you’ve allowed yourself to become. 

The sight of him storming into the warehouse with SIC and another of his men makes your heart ache and your eyes to tear up. You’re so relieved to see that he came to get you, and so ashamed. You’ve never seen him this mad before. His black eyes seem to burn, his body language animalistic. His jaw is tightly clenched. He’s wearing his long, dark coat, his hands buried in his pockets. SIC holds a yellow paper file in his hands. Silas gives you a quick look, and all you can see is fury. 

“One word out of you and I’m going to rip your eyes out”, he says coldly and takes the paper file out of SIC’s hands. “Give me what’s mine.”

“The papers first”, Tony replies and shakes you, “and then I’ll return your toy.”

Silas’s reply is short. “Don’t call them that.”

“They’re in my hands. I get to call them what I want.”

Silas eyes are enough to murder. 

“The papers”, Tony says, raising his eyebrows. 

Silas throws the paper file on the dirty, stone floor. One of Tony’s men walks over and picks it up. It takes everything in Silas’s power to not throw himself over him. As soon as the man has returned to Tony, you’re let go. For a second you look around, trying to confirm if you’re really free or if it’s just a test. 

“Little thing, come”, Silas says and gesticulates for you to come.

You don’t need more convincing. Your legs move and before you have the time to register it, you’ve reached Silas’s open arms, a man you didn’t want anything to do with twenty four hours earlier. You’ve never been so happy to see him. You crash into his firm body and feel how he wraps his arms around you. He holds you tight, hiding your face into his shoulder. 

“It’s okay”, he whispers. “It’s okay, little thing, you’re safe now.”

You break out in heavy tears, causing his heart to bleed thickly. You breathe in Silas’s familiar scent, happy to smell something else than the metallic scent of blood. He holds you firmly, mortified of having you slip away from him again. He searches for something to say to comfort you, tries his best to find the right words, but there’s nothing he can say to erase whatever happened to you. Silas glances towards Tony who is busy looking through the file.  He wants to do something, something much worse than what that man did to you, but he won’t let you see anymore horrors. 

“What did he do to you?” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me.”

“He forced me to watch videos of people … o-of people …” 

You can’t repeat it, but you don’t have to. Silas understands.

“Did he touch you?” he whispers, trying his best to stay calm. 

You shake your head without lifting your head out of his chest. He breathes out in relief.

“SIC”, he says over his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Bring Y/N out to the car. I don’t want them to see what I am going to do.”

SIC nodded and took you out of Silas’s arms. His grip on you is softer than you’ve ever felt him be before. SIC walks out to the black car with you. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks and sits you don in the backseat. 

“More nauseous”, you admit quietly. 

“Perfect, then you can drink some juice.”

He opens a bottle of sugary apple juice and gives it to you. You hold it in your hands, contemplating. 

“I’m bruised”, you mumble. “What will Silas say?”

“I thought that you said that they didn’t hurt you?” SIC asks. “Did you lie to him?”

“I fought back when they dragged me around. Silas won’t like it.”

“He’s not mad at you, Y/N. He’s pissed at himself. I will cover all the mirrors for you, if you prefer that.”

“Thank you.”

“Now sit here and wait for Silas to come back. Drink your juice.”

Silas pulls up a gun from his pocket. 

“We said no weapons!” Tony reminds him. 

“You broke the rules by taking my husband/wife”, Silas smiles. “I’m just making it even.”

He’s quick to shoot the two men he had brought with him. They fall down dead beside him, their bodies leaking blood onto the stone floor. Tony’s terrified. Silas drinks it in. He gives the gun to his remaining man. 

“I’m not going to shoot you”, he says and removes his coat, rolling up his sleeves. “I want to feel you die under my hands.”

He runs forward and throws himself over him. Tony’s knocked to the ground. He tries fighting back, but Silas’s anger makes him quicker, stronger. He sees your distraught face in front of him for every punch and wishes that he could kill him over and over again. How could he hurt you? An angel? Silas grabs his head in his hands and slams it into the stone floor, over and over again, until the man’s head shatters. 

“Done”, he breathes out and stumbles away from them. 

He grabs the yellow file and walks out to the car, wiping his hands with his handkerchief on the way. SIC looks at him, eyes asking if it’s time. Silas nods. SIC switches places with Silas and hurries into the warehouse. 

“Hi, baby”, Silas smiles and hugs you. “How are you feeling? Did he make you drink some juice?”

“I’m not feeling like drinking juice”, you say. “But I appreciate it … i’m sorry, Silas.”

His eyes glow with worry. “Why are you sorry?”

“I should have been stronger.”

“You are so incredibly strong, my darling, don’t say that!”

“I tried to fight back.”

“I’m so proud of you. You’re safe now. I’m here now and you don’t have to fight anymore. I have already done that for you.”

“Is he dead?”

“Like a mammoth.”

Silas cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead softly. 

“This is my fault”, he says. “And I will do everything to make things better. I shouldn’t have left you in the car. I shouldn’t have brought you at all. The car has been upgraded, no one will ever manage to break in again. Not that I will ever leave you alone in it again, but …”

He takes your hand in his and lifts it to his lips, kissing desperately. He’s never felt a guilt this strong before. It’s a piercing feeling cutting through his heart. You have a long road to go to feel better, and he will stay with you every step of the way.

“I hate to see you upset … tell me what I can do to make you feel better”, he pleads and hugs your hand. “I will give you anything you want. Nothing is too much. I will buy you anything. I will take you wherever you want to go. Do you want to meet your parents? We can go there, I’m serious.”

“I just want to sleep”, you sob and shake your head. “I can’t think …”

You want to escape this living nightmare in hopes of finding it easier in dreamland. Silas nodded and scooched in beside you, hugging you to his body. 

“Just sleep”, he says softly. “Sleep on my shoulder. I’m right beside you.”

“I’m safe with you … aren’t I?”

“As safe as you can be.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. Just rest. I love you. I’m so sorry for this. I will take care of you, whatever you need, I’ll get you.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes slowly. He holds his muscular arm around your shoulders to keep you close and wraps his coat around the two of you. His lips never leaves your face as he fights back tears. It grows like a bowling ball in his throat, but he refuses to cry. you are safe and that filth is dead, he tells himself. It’s all over, but his rage is still ravenous. 

SIC walks into the warehouse and takes a quick look at the three dead bodies on the floor, in pools of their own blood. He walks over to the most gruesome one, not needing to see his clothes to know that it’s Tony. His broken skull is enough. SIC takes out a cylinder out of his blazer, a stick of dynamite he’s been waiting for years to use. He lights it and places it in Tony’s mouth before hurrying out of the warehouse. He hears the explosion behind him and smiles. 

“Is it done?” Silas asks as he returns. 

“Let’s say that he’s a hard puzzle now”, SIC laughs. “A thousand pieces isn’t enough to describe how many pieces I blew him into.”

“Thank you, SIC.”

“Of course. The one that messes with Y/N messes with you, and in turn with me. I told you that I would do whatever you wanted.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of Y/N now. I will clean up.”

Silas nods and hugs you closer. You cling onto him.

“Thank you”, you whisper and meet SIC’s eyes. 

“Of course”, he replies and closes the car door. 

Silas hugs you and kisses your forehead. He has only two people in this world he cares about, and he will kill anyone that dares to come close to either of them.

[koinotame]

idolatry

word count: 3.1K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, half self indulgent reader insert fanfiction half character study, unreality, religious undertones, possession is discussed abstractely, hypothetical harm to reader, the yandere is subtle but it's there

summary: you've somehow been reincarnated into a version of genshin impact where all the playable characters are self aware and seem besmitten with the player. the problem is that they can't make up their minds about whether you're their player or not...

a/n: aether vs your many fake fans

the flow of time has never felt steady to aether. despite how important it was to humans wherever he and his sister have traveled, there has always been a disconnect from it for him. You disappearing for months at a time is nothing out of the ordinary. time flows the same with or without You. like the sea's waves, it recedes and pushes. when he's used as a vessel by You, weeks can pass by in the blink of an eye and hours can feel like years spent in Your embrace. years have passed since You first started possessing them, and yet it's only been a couple of months at most. nothing moves forward in Your presence, nothing stays in stasis in Your absence.

so when he suddenly truly understands how humans experience the passage of time during another one of Your disappearances, aether immediately knows something is wrong. filled with dread and a harrowing heaviness deep in his gut that something has happened he can never take back, he finally understands what it means to be desperate for more time. have You abandoned him at last? has he not been enough, not quick enough to uncover this world's secrets and find his sister as You desired? finding you, clearly not from this world and trying to backtrack when you call him by his name—aether, his name, not Your sacred name he has been passing off as his own ever since Your arrival in teyvat—before any of Your other undeserving, fanatical vessels do seems nothing short of a miracle to him.

overjoyed at not having been abandoned after all, he clings to you and promises to protect and guide you through this foreign world—this time not as Your vessel, but as your first and most devoted follower. he doesn't need to be his own person, not when he can exist within the context of you.

paimon is less convinced. aether has turned even more immoderate and unnerving ever since your appearance, and she's not a fan. she… kind of understands. how important You are to aether, to the many others You've met through them during their journey. but does he—do any of them—really need to devote their entire being to You? she doesn't mind you, as a person, she really doesn't. but she doesn't like what You as a concept do to aether.

these days, she barely feels like she's part of the group, the one she formed with aether what seems so long ago, anymore. your arrival has completely overshadowed her presence. where she was previously part of a duo with her travel companion, she feels like little more than an afterthought now. she misses him. he calls her silly for it. she has only ever known him through Your command, so there isn't anything to miss. he's the same as he has always been. she just doesn't understand because You never graced her with Your embrace, and now that you have seemingly lost that ability perhaps she will never understand.

she says nothing, but she finds herself a little glad. better to never experience Your embrace, whatever that means, than lose herself completely in devotion to someone who clearly wants none of it.

the first archon they approach with you, venti, is apologetic but firm in the notion that aether is simply confused. he can understand how aether came to the conclusion, desperate and unused as he is following Your disappearance, but Your presence is simply unmistakable. he bids the two of you farewell amicably, but you find it impossible not to notice the difference in his demeanour afterwards when you run into him around the city. his smile is deftly crafted and practiced, his voice level and fingers steady as they pluck the strings of his lyre, but something about his eyes betray his own growing desperation.

if even aether is faltering like this, perhaps You really have abandoned them this time…? if he shows You how well mondstadt is faring, how much they've rebuilt and grown and thrived since You helped him quell dvalin's anguish, will You be proud of him and return? even if not to him, at least to the city? will You ever have Your vessels dance in the city square's fountain, or make the hike up the skyfrost nail to gaze upon the beauty of the unabating grey and white landscape again?

over time, even venti wavers and starts seeing what aether has seen in you. it is equal parts acceptance and desperation that drives him to you, to the one Your faithful traveler has placed his belief in, to feel Your embrace again, even if it can never be the same as it once was. he survived thousands of years without Your grace, to fold for it now that he knows what Your benevolence feels like is nothing short of shameful. the thought gnaws at him all the while until it has consumed him whole. in the end, he has not grown at all; still that little wind spirit desperate to not lose another he holds close. somehow, when you hold him, he can't seem to mind.

while the two of them have never discussed the matter of You explicitly, aether is perceptive enough to realise zhongli is one of the most reverent of the whole… of any of Your vessels. you called them cast without thinking the other day, whatever that meant. of Your cast. so he goes to him next, telling him that You've made Your way to this world permanently, that he's found You. his first instinct is anger, anger at your lying, anger that aether, who You have blessed with Your presence more than anyone else, who You picked as Your primary vessel, would fall for such mockery. aether was astute to not bring you along when he announced this, or perhaps you knew and chose not to yourself. it matters not. he knows he has proven himself to You, that the real You would never hesitate to reveal Yourself to him. instead of expression his righteous fury, he does his utmost to reign it in. if anything, this works in his favour. he almost feels sorry for aether, wrapped so tightly around the pinkie of a fraud.

upon meeting you properly, he realises perhaps he misunderstood the situation a little. zhongli isn't a fool (when he's not blinded by momentary rage, at least), he can see how uncomfortable you are with the whole situation. while you are not blameless for continuing this facade, aether has deluded himself and cast You aside entirely on his own—and when You finally grace them with Your real presence, zhongli is certain aether will be the first to fall from Your grace. that drunkard too, falling into temptation out of loneliness like that, will get what's coming to him.

until then, all he needs to do is keep his distance and stay as he is, as Your most loyal and dedicated devotee. until then, all he needs to do is send the two of you off. there is no need for him to get violent, not when Your punishment will hurt aether all the more. he thought he was long past such childish emotions, but he supposes that even now You breathe new vigor into him.

you shy either away from visiting inazuma entirely. seeing how the previous archons have reacted to you, you have little doubt that the raiden shogun would be the first to get violent. it's a dilemma you would rather avoid altogether, if possible. just in case. maybe your worry is misplaced, but… aether, of course, can never deny You, and the raiden shogun, of course, would meet your expectations without a proper thought.

the puppet has learned since, but much of the framework of logic she used to enact the vision hunt decree and rule over inazuma in the past several hundred years remains and is hard to completely make away with in such a short amount of time. imposing ei's will on a whole nation is wrong, but arresting and doing away with someone making a ridicule of You is a completely different thing. ei remains a little more hesitant, but even she cannot bring herself to completely disagree. You are the pinnacle of eternity, of control, of life—for some mere human to be impersonating You is unacceptable. hearing the traveler, Your closest companion, has put his trust in you would give her a bit of pause. he was right last time, so maybe this time as well… but then it was You who was right through him, not him in and of himself.

ultimately, your instincts would have turned out to be correct, and she buries herself in her plane once again, leaving the shogun to continue cleaning up inazuma. on her own, she imagines herself meeting You—the true You—and what it would be like to welcome you to her nation in earnest. she wonders if You would be proud of her.

nahida knows You immediately. she is the archon of wisdom, and weak as she may be, that title is not for nothing. your presence feels a bit differently from how it did when there was much more distance between You and her, but it pushes and pulls in a similar way. she doesn't feel she needs to, but should it come to it, she could always take a quick peek at your thoughts… and she would just get confirmation that she was right from the start. now that she's free—largely by virtue of You and the traveler—her word has much more weight than before. sumeru will always welcome You with open arms. if you prefer to live more privately, she understands that. but know that you can always come to her. for anything. she really, really means it.

it's only a small, selfish part of her, and she doesn't like thinking this way or how the other archons, the ones who should recognise You right away, are treating you, but a tiny part of her deep down finds herself feeling almost proud that she's the only one to recognise your grace. whenever you're around, she finds herself spending all of her free time with you. she wants to hear everything—your thoughts, your opinions, which weather or meal or nation you like better, your experiences, your home world, what it was like handling your vessels, everything and anything you deem fit to share with her. from how you indulge her, she's glad she also seems to bring you a similar comfort to the one You give her.

she wonders if Your embrace feels similar to when she possesses others' bodies. the warmth and absolute serenity that overtakes all of her senses when You control her can't compare to anything else. it's nice to be in at the helm of herself too, of course, especially with her newfound autonomy. but if You were to offer her that comfort permanently, she wouldn't be able to turn down Your offer.

when furina looks at you, she sees a reflection of herself. she might not recognise You, but she cannot bring herself to disdain someone in such a similar position to herself. she cannot imagine that You, kind and benevolent and goodhearted as You are, would want her to be cruel to you. whether that is her genuine belief or an attempt to redeem herself to You, after deceiving not only Your vessel but also You directly, does it matter?

Your presence has been a fairly recent entrance in her life, but she has been hearing about You for hundreds of years. she cannot remember a single conversation she ever had with her mirror self that did not feature You as a point of dialogue, of ambition. with only her and You to cling onto for hope for five hundred years, the only natural outcome was to develop such a strong faith and dependence on You. perhaps not as fervent as some of the other… archons, but not something that should be underestimated. Your presence in fontaine, even if through the traveler, had given her renewed hope at the time. as soon as she saw him for the first time, she knew.

your presence is… completely different. there's hints of You—likely residue You've left in the traveler—but not much else. she cannot believe in false idols, she tells the two of you, but she will see about providing some lodging for you. even if the traveler—even if aether is wrong about this, his service to fontaine deserves some merit, so she's sure this can be overlooked. it's what You would want, she hopes to herself. and if she finds herself seeking you out more and more, what difference does it make? when you smile so sweetly at her and praise her for holding on for so long, that you're proud of her, her resolve cracks.

neuvillette has always known of You. it is only when the traveler shows up in fontaine with Your presence in tow that he understands with certainty that You do exist, that he truly understands how wonderful Your warmth feels even at a distance and in these circumstances. You take Your leave for a while, and he thinks he is alright with that. even just knowing Your comfort so intimately (because this is already so much more than most are permitted), however brief, is enough for him. perhaps his returned authority also has an impact, but he is certain it would not have felt this invigorating without Your help.

and then You return, and he finds himself actually understanding what it means to be embraced. no sooner is he experiencing what it feels like to be whole for the first time before he finds himself in sumeru's desert, where he remains stranded for a week. Your presence fades until his punishment—for what, he remains uncertain—is complete, but Your hold on him does not, and something keeps him in place there the entire time. You do not use him much after that. he cannot deny Your judgement, even if he does not quite understand.

he learns of your arrival in teyvat through chance, by way of some opera gossip which happens to mention that furina has found herself a close friend. when he catches a glimpse of you… he cannot say he feels Your presence. none of you breathe a word about the subject to him, and it is only much later he learns of what you're hiding. if Your every loyal furina and Your first and most important vessel recognised You when he did not even so much as suspect it, where does that leave him?

of course childe would recognise You. that piece of the abyss that clawed its way into him so deeply it will never separate from him again would recognise You anywhere, even should ajax not. long before your current descent, he recognised Your strings of control much earlier than most of Your other vessels did. while he's never really given much thought to whether others have recognised You as well, he noticed the way Your presence lingered on aether in particular right away.

it's part of what drew him to the traveler in the first place—what's so special about him? why not childe? why did this outlander get to be Your vessel and he didn't? has he not proven himself enough for You? his mission aside, he felt a more personal disdain at the traveler. after he embarrassed himself in front of You and the truth came to light, he tries his hardest to redeem himself to the traveler. to You. so, naturally, when Your favourite little traveler comes to him with You in tow, he recognises You right away, as he always has. he's a little bitter, if anything—why did it take aether so long to come to him? does he not trust him? is he controlling You and Your actions? or—and he tries not to think about this too hard—is it You who doesn't trust him?

it doesn't matter. You're here now, and he's here for You now, and he'll do everything in his power to help You. You won't have to be alone any more, he promises, You won't have to hurt any more. nobody will harm You, ever again, not when he's here now. (he ignores how aether has easily stopped any harm from coming Your way so far without his help.)

it is you who thinks to approach albedo. the link is weak, but as soon as aether shows up at his makeshift lab in dragonspine with You in tow, he knows. it's as if he has no other option than to recognise You, however faint Your aura has become, as if there was never another possibility. it makes sense—after all, he was made for You. so were all the others, in a way, as was the whole world of teyvat, but not in the same way his master crafted him for You. to appeal to You. to be used by You. to find out the truth about You, though it's possible she just left him with that mission (to find out the truth about "the world"—You are the world) to keep him busy after she threw him away when he did not yield the results she was searching for. it doesn't matter. he's found You now, and he can't let you slip away. especially not to Your other, faulty vessels, those who couldn't recognise You at first glance.

thankfully, you seem fond of the area of the mountain and don't mind staying. you even take interest in his work, though you seem to not enjoy the constant sketches and pieces of art he produces of You for you as much. it's not the same as when You fill every molecule in his body and bend it to Your whim, but this is also nice.

one day you ask him about alice; she's been to different worlds, so you wonder if he could ask her about her methods. you seem hesitant, and you waited specifically until aether had left to collect some food for the next couple of days. it's a logical choice, Your favourite vessel would not take Your request well. albedo can't find it in himself to either. even if it's you asking, he cannot just let You leave, not after all this time. he promises you he will ask, but is honest when he tells you alice might take a long, long time to pass by mondstadt again, so… in the meantime, let him know if there's anything he could do to make Your stay here in teyvat more comfortable. anything at all. You're going to be here for some time, after all.

[sorchathered]

All I want for Christmas is you🎄

A/N- Hey y’all! This is my submission for @bellaireland1981 Hallmark Holiday writing challenge! A little corny, perfectly christmassy, and just in time for the holidays! I hope you all love it!

Pairing- Jake Seresin x reader (callsign Fawn)

Warnings- Language, Angst, Jake Seresin in love

Summary- the squad gets roped into a holiday charity auction, where dates with single male aviators are the prize. Will you bite the bullet and tell Jake how you feel before Christmas break? Or will you have to watch him go on a date with someone else?

The air was filled with excitement this week. Christmas block leave started in a few days and Maverick could tell that everyone on his team was going to be completely useless. No one could blame them though; it had been a hell of a year and going home for a few days was a guaranteed way to boost their spirits and get them back in the game for the new year. The knock on his office door was unexpected though, and when Admiral Simpson marched into his office he knew the time for celebration was probably on hold. Matching orders in hand he groaned as he made his way down to the ready room; the guys were going to hate every minute of this. It would be hilarious.

"I guess Cyclone's wife is part of some fancy supper club and they decided to auction off dates with single aviators as a big prize. I mean it all goes to charity so l guess it's not all bad." Natasha says with a shrug as she digs into her lunch, Bradley looks less than enthused about the whole ordeal and Jake doesn't seem to have a care in the world. "It's more like we got volun-told to do it, the only consolation is a four day weekend, if you ask me we could have at least gotten a gift card or something." Bradley grumbles, and you can't help but agree it does seem pretty meager considering they are basically being sold to a bunch of middle aged women to ogle them. You can't help but be a little annoyed at how chill Jake seems about it though; it's not like the two of you were serious or anything, but the little green monster was clawing at you at the thought of someone else holding his attention. You'd unpack that later, now wasn't the time.

If Jake seems unphased to you then it must be a Christmas miracle, he can’t stop wondering what you’re thinking about this whole ordeal; would you bid on him? Would he have to go on some stupid date with a 50+ year old divorcee and make small talk? He didn’t mind being ogled for charity, it was for a good cause and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t know he looked as good as he does. He should tell you how he feels, just bite the bullet and ask you to be his girlfriend. The thought of you laughing over the ridiculousness of him settling down has kept him from making the declaration, he may seem cocky and cool headed but on the inside? Well he’s a big ball of nerves when it comes to you. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever been into before, and the thought of getting turned down was down right soul crushing. So he’d settled for casual hook ups, late night booty calls and shitty diner food late at night when you wanted company. He wanted more; real dates where he held your hand and got dressed up to eat fancy shit he couldn’t pronounce, waking up and eating breakfast together, goodnight kisses before you passed out in each other's arms. He was getting soft, or at least that’s what Javy said when he got that dopey look on his face when you entered the room. He’d tell you after Christmas block leave, surely by then he’d have his shit together enough to make his case.

You had to admit that while the San Diego women’s supper club was a stuffy bunch, they certainly knew how to throw a swanky affair. The ballroom of the Lafayette Hotel was decked to the brim with an old Hollywood Christmas vibe. Garlands covered in holly and poinsettias covered the doorways, Christmas lights and candles as far as the eye could see, as a jazz band played holiday classics while the crowd of upper class ladies mingled with their crystalline glasses of spirits. It very much felt like stepping back in time; almost as if Sinatra himself was preparing to take the stage. You were definitely glad Phoenix had the forethought to drag you and Halo out to dress shop earlier in the week, your cocktail dress you usually donned for weddings wouldn't have cut it for something like this. The event said black tie and they weren’t kidding, even the guys in the squad had shown up in tuxes, and you had to keep your composure because Jake Seresin in a suit was a feast for the eyes. He mingled a little with the group as he made his way over to you, beer in hand because you can dress him up but he’s still a good ol’ southern boy at heart. His gaze over your frame heated your skin, and he knew damn well he had you flustered, flicking his toothpick around in his mouth as he grinned at you.

“You look good Fawn, damn good.” You felt good too, it was a beautiful night and he was by your side, now if only you could get yourself together enough to tell him how you felt. “I have something I need to talk to you about Jake, before we all go on block leave and don’t see each other until the new year.” He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans in so he can give you his full attention, this is it, just jump off the edge headfirst and tell him you want a real relationship. “I want us-“ You hear someone clear their throat behind you, it’s Admiral Simpson and his wife- beckoning all the eligible bachelors to meet up on stage so the auction can begin. With a groan Jake drops his head to your ear, squeezing your hand as an apology as he asks you to hold that thought. Ugh! You should’ve just said something sooner, now you’ll be left with your anxiety to keep you company while you watch a bunch of women place their bids. The girls make their way back to their seats, Halo suggests that Phoenix should place her bets on Coyote; Lord knows neither of them have been subtle about their hookups these days.

“I doubt any of us has the money to throw around that these rich old bags do.” “Oh my God Phe!” You crack a smile at her crassness, she and Javy seem so solid; nothing like the uncertainty you feel in your gut right now.

“Oh shit, isn’t that Admiral Roger’s ex wife? The one Jake got trash duty for hooking up with?” Halo whispers as an elegant looking woman walks past them with a sneer. “Fuck. Yeah that’s her. She got reported by Mav for stalking Jake too, went completely bat shit after their hookup and wanted to be his sugar mama or some shit. She’s bad news. You don’t think she’ll bid on him do you?” Phoenix said, frown etching her pretty features as she looked at you for an answer. You didn’t have one, you hadn’t even thought about her in months. She’d really fucked with Jake mentally, it was part of the reason you’d kept relationship talk off the table because you were afraid you’d run him off after that train wreck. If she was here it was almost guaranteed that it was to stir the pot, you had to do something, anything to keep him out of her cross hairs. “Phe, I gotta go talk to Mav- but we have to protect Jake. See what everyone’s got in extra cash- we may need it.”

The auction was definitely a success, these ladies knew what they wanted and went for it. Harvard had gone for 5,000 and as the rest of the guys were filing out you imagined the prices would just keep rising. The feeling in your stomach felt more like a boulder as you watched the former Mrs. Rogers and her gaggle of snotty girlfriends ogle over each of your friends. This was supposed to be a fun joke for charity but the more you thought about this woman using it to manipulate the man you loved the more sick you felt. Mav had assured you that he’d handle it as best he could; Iceman seemed confident that combined everyone could place a bet to win Jake and that there was no need to worry but it did little to calm your nerves. Finally Jake takes his turn on the stage, flashing his trademark grin and playing it up for the crowd. He caught your eye and gave you a wink, and as much as you wanted to return it you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. What if someone else won him? What if she won him? I mean yeah it’s just a line dancing date for charity but still. This woman is a nightmare in heels and you’d rather not watch him suffer through an evening with her.

“I’ll start the bidding at 100 dollars!” Mrs. Simpson calls out over the microphone, and a chorus of bids ring out through the ballroom. A bidding war breaks out between Mrs. Rogers and an ancient looking woman seated in the front, bringing the price to nearly 10,000 dollars. Jake looks off kilter as he watches his stalker fight over the bid prices, and you realize that none of you have the cash to help keep him from getting away unscathed. “Oh god, he’s really gonna have to deal with her isn’t he?” You groan, Phoenix rubbing your arm absentmindedly as the price skyrockets to 30,000. It appears though that Mrs. Rogers has finally met her match, at 35,000 she gives up and relinquishes her place to the little old lady. Finally you can breathe a sigh of relief; cheers ring out among your table as the older woman stands up and takes a bow, digging in her purse for her black card. When her name is announced you can’t help but laugh; it turns out she’s Icceman’s beloved mother in law, she loves charity work and has a ridiculous amount of money and nowhere to spend it. She pinches Jake’s cheek as he makes his way over to her, with a robust laugh she shoos him off to the table your squad resides, and he is back to grinning like he won the lottery himself.

“What did she say to you? Ice’s mom?” You say later in the evening, Mrs. Rogers' husband apparently got a very interesting text from her someone about her whereabouts and left shortly after the auction ended with her tail between her legs. “She said I have a damn good squad looking out for me, but it’s more about what Mav said that I want to talk about. How about we take a walk, sugar?” He downs the rest of his whiskey and takes your hand in his, leading you out to the lobby where it’s quieter.

Before you can say a thing he’s got you all wrapped up in his strong arms, leaning in with a gleam in his eye as he kisses you by the obscenely large Christmas tree. You melt into it, the noise of the party drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, your head going a little fuzzy as he deepens it to the point of indecency. When he finally pulls away you chase his lips and he chuckles, stroking your jaw and soaking up the moment. “Mav told me you saved me from an evening of hell with my stalker, that true pretty girl?” You’ve been caught and you know it. “I just didn’t think it was right; you deserve better than that. A-and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want anyone else to have your time…especially not her.” You frown in frustration and he can’t help but find that little crease between your eyebrows so damn endearing.

“What did you want to tell me earlier? I can take a guess and hope like hell I’m right but I need to hear you say it.” He looks at you with so much love, it’s overwhelming and heats you all the way to your toes.

“I want us. I know we’ve been keeping things casual, but I fell in love with you Jake, and I want more with you. If that’s what you want too.” You’ve got his heart in your hand and you don’t even know it, he leans in to kiss you again as he whispers against your lips. “All I want for Christmas is you darlin’, couldn’t ask for a better gift. I’m yours, loving you is the easiest thing I can do and I’ll do it forever if you let me.” It was the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received.

Tagging- @bellaireland1981 @roosterforme @attapullman @honeytwrites @heavenssins @djs8891 @kmc1989 @mynameismckenziemae @kissmecaitie @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @pinguhub @lenafromthenordiccoven @shanimallina87 @trickphotography2 @teacupsandtopgun

[munsster]

sober thoughts

A/N: who let the WIPs out? 🙈 nah….. i was gonna continue but….. that was so corny. anyway, i am back from the hiatus No One saw coming. enjoy <3 (gif creds: @raiderlucy)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: If drunk words are sober thoughts, Steve sure is talkative when he’s had a few. 1.3k words

Warnings: fluff, drunk/high steve, pet names (puppy, sweetheart, baby), mutual pining, cursing

It's New Year's, and you find Steve all starry eyed and bubbly in the center of a stranger's kitchen. You know exactly where to find him 'cause he always tells you the kitchen is the best place to hear the music without the fuss of the party. His hair's all tousled and you're pretty sure he lost the top button of his shirt somewhere. You can see the dainty chain looped round his neck in the warm light. The one you gave him.

You catch his eye, and suddenly he's grabbing for your hips like he can't balance without them. He's definitely been smoking with the way his smile reaches his eyes before anything else. Any other night, he would've stayed sober, but you promised to get him and Robin home safely before he could beat you to the punch.

He's hot like an oven up close. All pink in the cheeks and warm at the temples. You push his hair our of his eyes and squint up at him.

"Hi, puppy," you coo. His fingers press a little harder into your soft skin on impulse. Some kind of nonessential reflex or something, but it feels so essential holding onto you like this.

"I like that." The endearment, your eyes right now, the way you're holding his bicep, this song. "I like you."

He dies when you chuckle.

"I like you, too, sweetheart." But he knows you don't mean it like that. Not like how he means it. Everyday he's reminded you like him as a friend. And everyday he's reminded that he likes you as something much more and much less attainable.

Robin tells him it’s noble to play the long game, but in all honesty, he's not sure he's playing any game at all. If you like him one day, hallelujah, it's a goddamn miracle, but if you never like him like that, then that's it and he'll still be your number one admirer forever. Even if that means admiring you from afar.

Still, he whines about it: "You don't get it." You roll your eyes with a lighthearted smile. He's high. But to Steve, that doesn't matter. What matters is the way you let him look at you. He leans a little closer, brings his hand to the side of your neck. On instinct, his lips pucker a little and he bats his long lashes at you.

You put a pause on him with your hand to his chest.

"I'm not gonna kiss you while you're drunk. And high," you tease. You almost feel bad with the way he pouts, his hair all over the place even after pushing it out of his eyes.

“Why not? It’s New Years!”

“Yeah, an hour and a half ago.”

“Well. You kissed Robin, and I kissed no one.” And you think he’s laying it on real thick, playing into the bit for a little too long. You might even suggest it’s less of a bit now and suddenly something much more real and grating.

“Poor baby,” you coo, frowning sweetly in response to his more dramatic frown.

“Yeah. Poor baby. Nobody cares about baby.” Steve huffs like a discontented horse.

“I care about baby.”

“Then kiss me,” he whines.

“You’re inebriated.”

“No, actually. I’m sober as can be, I’ve got no juice in me at all.”

You try and act surprised but you both know he chugged and crushed four beer cans just to impress you. And that was when you first arrived several hours ago. You’re more impressed he hasn’t hurled, yet.

“Steve, I’m only not kissing you because I care. You must know that,” you sigh with your hands gliding easily back over his shoulders, fingers taken with the soft nape of his neck. The warm clasp of his chain.

“Ugh”—he rolls his glassy eyes, grumbling—“o’course I know that. In fact, it’s very thoughtful of you. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You wish he didn’t seem so sad saying it like that. You wish it didn’t make you so sad to hear it said. Of course, he knows that. Steve is the sweetest, most considerate guy you’ve ever known, and those big, brown eyes are to die for even when they’re a little pink around the edges.

What really matters is that when he looks at you, your heart races like someone’s betting it’s the fastest. It beats even faster at the possibility that his ‘crush’ on you isn’t a joke. That it hasn’t been this whole time. That maybe his feelings are real and that would mean they’re reciprocated.

“Okay, fine, I’ll kiss you.”

Steve assumes the position almost immediately: puckered lips fighting a smile, eyes pinched closed, fingers subconsciously pulling your hips towards him.

You hook around to kiss the apple of his cheek. He groans, setting his heavy head on your shoulder. You pat his back, resting your temple against his peachy ear.

“You can have your kiss if you still want it sober.” At that, he lifts his head, and with it goes a presumptuous eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting it sober since I was thirteen. Don’t think that’s gonna change overnight.” He states it like it’s a fact of life; what an idiot! He wasn’t supposed to say it like that! He had planned on some totally romantic picnic or late night drive or some extravagant, life-altering, near-death-experience to set the mood. Anything but at the very beginning of a new year, intoxicated in every sense of the word.

“Steve!” You holler, “Since thirteen?!”

“Well, duh! You just have zero googoo eyes radar. I make ‘em all the time at you,” he says, shrugging it off. But you can only imagine thirteen-year-old Stevie waiting for the bottle to point to you, only for it to skip you every lousy turn. And thirteen-year-old you somehow jinxing the rotation of the bottle. No matter how hard you willed it to choose you, it never did. Not for Stevie.

“Well… stop that!”

He chuckles. “You can’t make me.”

You’ve never been more nervous talking to Steve. You’re so nervous, you can’t even remember when it used to be easy. His eyes are locked with yours, big and shiny and so brown and wide and soft. Windows to the soul, eh?

“You are so plastered,” you scoff. Who says he can peer into your soul. You divert him to the ceiling instead, knuckles to his strong chin.

Steve shakes his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” you look at him to find a painfully familiar lopsided smile. “It changed everything.”

He tilts his head. Sweetly. Mischievous as ever, but sweet.

“So, you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

You sigh. “Only if you ask nicely tomorrow.”

“Fine!”

What you don’t expect is for him to run out of the room. There’s muffled shouting, the slam of a door, a triumphant ‘yes’, and a beat of silence before he returns, scuttling across the floor, sharpie in hand.

One of his shirt sleeves is pushed to the elbow. Across his forearm is a smattering of permanent black ink.

“What’s this?” you coo as he excitedly presents his arm to you.

“It’s a reminder.”

Looking closer at the ink splotches, you can just barely make out the message: Ask nicely, coward. You squint up at him, trying your hardest not to giggle.

“It’s a threat and a reminder,” he chirps, brows raised, eyes wide, chest pounding. He thinks you look happy, smiling as you smack his chest.

“You’re really hopeless, yunno that?”

You could call him as many names as you wanted, he’d take them all as endearments. As long as you keep teasing him with promises of sober kisses and your hands in his hair.

He nods, “Now call me your puppy again.”

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