#i still don't entirely understand what it is

[aleksatia]

What would the LaDS do if MC just had enough of the whole secret keeping/manipulation/stalking/controlling behavior and ran away? Like she made sure all of the ways they're keeping tabs on her don't work anymore, secretly leaves to live elsewhere, and never comes back? Like she's GONE gone and can't be found.

Thanks so much for the question and the idea — it made me spiral beautifully into angst territory. 🖤 At first glance, this is how I imagine things would unfold in my headcanon.

Every LaDS reacts differently, and honestly… some of them never really recover. I poured my heart into each of their perspectives, so if you see it another way, I’d love to hear your take. Always open to different interpretations — especially when it comes to pain like this. 😌✨

UPD: Requested continuation is here:

Sylus | Rafayel | Caleb (coming soon) | Zayne (coming soon) | Xavier (coming soon)

🦅 Sylus

(He doesn’t lose things. He takes, he keeps. But this—this is loss. A slow-rotting, world-tilting, soul-gnawing kind of loss.)

The Moment It Hits

It’s a shift in the air. An emptiness where something vital used to be. His breath catches, fingers tightening around the crystal glass of whiskey.

He calls you. Nothing.

He tracks you. Nothing.

He tears the city apart—contacts, satellites, underground networks. Nothing.

Then it hits. You’re not hiding. You’re beyond reach.

Does He Blame Himself?

At first, no. You’re just being difficult. Testing limits. He trained you too well in the game of power.

Then the days stretch. The silence rots in his gut.

Maybe he pushed too far. Held too tight. Loved too hard.

But if he had been softer, would you still be here? No. You were always going to run. He just never thought you’d win.

First Day

He sits in his study, staring at the last glass you touched. His fingers hover over the rim, but he doesn’t pick it up.

The Nest is in chaos, men scrambling for orders, but he says nothing. Just listens to the empty resonance where you used to be.

He doesn’t sleep. He barely moves. And when dawn breaks, he realizes—you’re still gone.

First Week

The silence is unbearable.

He smashes a mirror. Then a chair. Then an entire fucking room. But the noise doesn’t bring you back.

Music. That’s the answer. The organ swells under his fingers, but the sound doesn’t fill the void. It just makes it worse. The walls of his mansion tremble with the weight of his grief, but no one dares to stop him.

The first time he says Kitten, it’s barely a whisper. The second time, it’s a growl. The third—it’s a plea.

First Month

He kills a man just for saying your name. He kills another for looking at him wrong.

The city learns to be silent.

The organ plays every night, each melody heavier, darker—until one evening, he simply stops. Because music is agony now.

He thinks he hears you sometimes. A shift of fabric. A sharp inhale. But he turns, and there’s only the crushing weight of absence.

Five Years

People say he’s gone mad. That he talks to ghosts. That he’s lost his edge.

They don’t understand. He hasn’t lost it. He just has nothing left to prove.

He still feels you. Somewhere distant. Beyond his reach but never truly gone.

New Relationships? Don’t be ridiculous. He fucks, maybe. But no one’s ever allowed to touch his soul again.

He doesn’t chase anymore. Because one day, the universe will break in just the right way, and you’ll be within reach again.

And when that day comes—you’re not running anymore.

🌊 Rafayel

(He always smiled through pain. Painted beauty over grief. But when you disappeared, not even art could hide the collapse.)

The Moment It Hits

He waits three days before admitting to himself that you're really gone. Not late. Not upset. Gone.

Your studio key still sits on the shelf. The mug you always used — untouched. He tries calling. Messaging. Pretends he's not panicking.

Then he checks every port, every passage, every gallery, every alleyway where your soul might've left a trace.

You’ve vanished. And he knows—you didn’t want to be found.

Does He Blame Himself?

Every minute.

He retraces every word, every joke, every lingering glance he didn’t take seriously enough.

Maybe he should’ve said it clearer. Or sooner. Or not at all.

Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to keep it light, you would’ve known how deep he really felt.

First Day

He draws you. Over and over. Not from memory — from guilt.

He tries to remember how your mouth looked when you smiled through frustration. How your eyes dimmed when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Paints until his fingers bleed.

First Week

He keeps thinking he hears your voice in the wind. That you're just out of frame.

Sits by the harbor, waiting for a boat that never comes.

Finishes a canvas. Stares at it for an hour. Then sets it on fire.

Tells himself he’s fine. He lies beautifully.

First Month

People ask where you are. He says you're traveling. Or healing. Or chasing a dream.

But the gallery knows — there’s a new collection in the works. All unnamed. All in shades of drowning.

The walls of his home are covered in your outlines. He keeps the lights low. Pretends it’s intimacy, not absence.

The world starts to lose its color. For a man who once saw millions of shades, everything dulls. Muted. Grey.

He stops using yellow entirely.

First Year

He vanishes beneath the sea. A whole year. Gone.

They say he swam through old ruins, sang to coral reefs that didn’t sing back.

He gathers shells—perfect, fragile—and crushes them into powder, making pigments no one's ever seen.

But they all come out grey.

When he finally resurfaces, his skin is colder. His voice is softer. His art—wordless grief on stretched canvas.

When asked what inspired them, he says: “Nothing. She’s not mine anymore.”

And when no one’s looking, he traces your initials into wet paint. Every time.

Five Years

He exhibits a piece called "When Silence Learned to Scream." It sells for millions. He doesn’t show up to the opening.

He no longer draws faces. Only fragments—lips that look like yours, fingers that used to hold his brush.

He’s touched people. Kissed some. Loved none.

He still sets a second cup of coffee. Still leaves the balcony door unlocked. Just in case.

The color never comes back. He just learns to fake it.

He doesn’t wait. He just… exists beside the ghost of you.

✈️ Caleb

(You were the only thing that made him feel human. Now, he’s just another machine built for war—functional, efficient, and dead inside.)

The Moment It Hits

He notices the silence first.

Your messages stop. Your routine shifts. Something’s off, but he tells himself you just need space. You’ve always needed space.

He checks on you through the usual systems—his eyes, the satellites, the passive trackers he swore weren’t invasive, just precautionary.

Nothing. Not disabled. Not broken. Gone.

His knees hit the floor before he can stop them. His hand wraps around the metal tag you gave him—the one he swore never to take off. It digs into his palm so hard it leaves a mark.

Does He Blame Himself?

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, it’s his fault.

Maybe if he had held you a little looser, if he had let you breathe, if he hadn’t always been watching, waiting, bracing for the day you’d run.

Maybe if he had been less Caleb and more someone you could love without suffocating.

But it’s too late now.

First Day

His body stops feeling like his own. Like his mechanical arm, the rest of him loses sensation.

He moves, eats, speaks, salutes—out of habit, not need.

But sometimes, when no one is watching, the pain surfaces.

And when it does, it swallows him whole.

First Week

He takes every mission no one else wants. The more dangerous, the better.

Tells himself he’s just doing his job, but deep down, he’s testing fate. Daring it to take him.

It never does.

He always comes back. And he hates it.

First Month

He stops cooking. No more spices, no more warmth, no more shared meals.

Only bland, military rations. Fuel, not food.

He doesn’t touch your photo albums, but he doesn’t throw them away either.

Let them rot with him.

First Year

He hasn’t eaten apples since the day you left.

Too sweet. Too alive. Too much like you.

The dog tag you gave him is still around his neck. A brand. A wound. A curse.

He tries. Once. With a woman from the med bay. She was kind. Gentle.

But when she reached for his hand—his jaw locked, his throat closed, his stomach churned.

He excused himself. Never tried again.

Five Years

His name is legendary. His rank? Higher than anyone imagined.

The man who never dies. The ghost pilot. The one who walks away from wreckage without a scratch.

He used to hate attention, but now? Now his inaccessibility makes women chase him more. He lets them. But never sees their faces. Never lets them touch his scars. Never lets them hold him the way you used to.

Because pain is all he has left of you. And he’s not ready to let it go.

🧊 Zayne

(Some men burn in their grief. Some men drown in it. Zayne? He freezes. The world still turns, the city still moves, and he walks through it like a ghost wearing a doctor’s coat. Precise. Detached. Functioning. But never living.)

The Moment It Hits

He finds out through absence, not presence.

You were always predictable in small ways. The way you fidgeted when nervous. The way you always texted before vanishing for a few hours. The way you left traces of yourself in his space, even when you didn’t mean to.

But one day, all of it stops.

Your number disconnects. Your bank account closes. The security cameras catch nothing. Too clean. Too final.

You didn’t just leave. You erased yourself.

Does He Blame Himself?

No. Not at first.

Because blaming himself would mean accepting that he miscalculated, and he does not make mistakes.

He spends months analyzing. Running simulations. Mapping out every logical reason why you left.

None of them make sense.

Then, one night, while sitting alone in his office, he makes the mistake of asking himself the one question he’s been avoiding—

What if it wasn’t logic? What if it was just pain?

That’s the first time he doesn’t sleep.

First Day

The hospital is quiet. Too quiet.

He operates. He consults. He performs at peak efficiency because the alternative is stopping, and stopping means thinking.

At the end of the day, he unlocks his apartment and stares at the empty space where your things used to be.

He stands there.

Just stands there.

First Week

His routine doesn’t break. Not once.

5 AM runs. 12-hour shifts. Research until 2 AM.

No deviations. Because deviations lead to cracks.

The first time someone mentions your name, his scalpel slips.

It never happens again.

First Month

He starts closing doors he once left open.

Stops looking at his phone. Stops checking messages.

Your coffee order is deleted from his usual café’s system.

He doesn’t erase you. That would be emotional.

He simply moves forward.

First Year

He doesn’t say your name anymore.

When people ask, he says you’re gone. No details. No elaboration.

But his residents whisper.

How their attending stopped smiling. How he works more than sleeps. How his precision became ruthless.

They never mention the fact that he never, ever, takes cases where patients have your eye color.

Five Years

The rumors are true. He has a daughter.

No one knows the mother. No one dares ask.

He never talks about it, never brings her to the hospital, but he leaves every shift at exactly the same time—always back before she falls asleep.

He teaches her to count constellations on the ceiling. Reads her anatomy books like fairy tales.

She has your eyes. People notice. Whisper. But no one asks.

And when she laughs—it’s a sound that shatters something in him.

When she asks, “Was Mommy like me?” He pauses. Looks at her. Then, softly: "She was... the part of you I’ll never be able to explain."

He never married. Never will.

And sometimes, when the room is too quiet, and she’s asleep in his arms—he looks at her face and wonders if loving someone this much was ever ethical.

🌌 Xavier

(He doesn’t fall apart. He folds in. Quietly. Gracefully. Like a dying star still casting light no one realizes is already gone.)

The Moment It Hits

It starts with your resignation.

No dramatic exit. No farewell. Just one line in the system: “Resigned. No forwarding information.”

You, who lived for the Hunt, for duty. You, who said this was everything.

He tries to message. Silence.

Asks around. Friends. Colleagues. Command. They say you just… vanished.

Then one day, he walks past your old apartment—someone else lives there.

Your scent, your presence, your trace in the universe—gone.

Does He Blame Himself?

He tries not to.

Tells himself you were always drifting, always meant to disappear.

But the silence between you, the things he never said— “Stay. I need you.” “I was never calm, I just didn’t know how to show it.”

They echo in his mind louder than any explosion.

He doesn’t hate himself. But he never forgives.

First Day

He stays on duty longer than needed.

Doesn’t take off his coat. Doesn’t go home.

Doesn’t even speak, unless the mission demands it.

At night, he stares at the ceiling and wonders if you’re staring at the same stars.

First Week

He starts bounty hunting again. Harder. Deeper into uncharted zones.

He sleeps more—but worse. Dreams flicker like static.

When he returns, they say he’s become faster. Colder. Lethal.

No one dares ask why.

First Month

He stops wearing light colors.

White fades into grey. Grey fades into black.

He says nothing about the change.

But those who know him realize: he’s mourning.

And it’s a mourning that will never end.

First Year

Women try. Of course they do.

He’s distant. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He lets a few in—physically. But only when the emptiness claws too loudly.

He never sees their faces. Never lets them stay the night.

One once whispered, “I could love you, if you let me.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Because you never had to ask. You already did.

Five Years

He’s still hunting. Still tracking the lost, the dangerous, the damned.

He walks through warzones like a shadow of starlight.

No one has seen him in white in years.

They call him a myth. A legend. A ghost.

But he’s just a man who would trade eternity for one more day with you.

Just one day.

Just once—to see your face again.

[eddiegettingshot]

okay so let's just recap what happened. maddie tells buck he should try making new friends because he's not coping well with his only friend eddie being gone. so buck tries to make friends with eddie's replacement, looking like a complete loser in the process, due to he doesn't know how to make friends and eddie's just a freak disguised as a pretty cool and normal dude. they manage to settle on an activity that eddie should probably not haunt (drinking) except for that buck is really intent on making sure eddie haunts everything and everyone so he spends the entire time talking about how he is eddie's princess and eddie is soooo good at stuff and has never done anything wrong in his life and he's so much fun, let's play this drinking game he taught me! ravi who is sick of this forcibly inserts tommy in his place and gets the hell out of there before buck can say eddie's name a billionth time. tommy doesn't really get what he's supposed to be doing there and doesn't give a shit until he learns that eddie is gone, upon which he Turns It On and they end up going back to. well. (tommy voice) eddie's house. buck has not unpacked a single thing and is never even there so they have tequila-drunk sex on a bare mattress without sheets or anything, there is definitely no lube available so it's definitely dry as fuck, and afterwards buck (drunk, just had sex) still has the wherewithal to change into his sleepytime shirt (he doesn't take his watch off though) before falling asleep, so it probably isn't all that athletic either. in the morning buck wakes up in an empty (sheetsless) bed and is like Haha okay he probably just left! but no. tommy's in eddie's kitchen and he has cooked 1 pound of bacon and 17 eggs and an entire fruit salad and chopped up celery and carrots and also cut 4 bagels AND brought champagne. to celebrate their dry ex sex they had on buck's bare mattress in eddie's house, which by the way he thinks it's super weird that they're in eddie's house, but hee hee eddie's gone so he can ignore it and GET IN THERE!!!!! like he's been waiting to do for months apparently. then for some reason when buck asks him if he's not afraid buck will break his heart anymore he decides the best response is to be like WELL YEAH NOW THAT YOUR BEST FRIEND HAS MOVED TO A DIFFERENT STATE. YOU KNOW, BECAUSE OF HIS FAMILY FALLING APART DUE TO HIS GRIEF. YEAH HE'S OUT OF THE WAY NOW SO IT'S ALL GOOD OVER HERE. HOW ABOUT SOME BUBBLY? and buck, understandably, is weirded out, and also freaked out, but even he is like. Ummmm. first of all eddie rented this house. and he's straight. so you're wrong about my feelings for him, which neither of those things address. also i don't have feelings for you btw. and then tommy walks out, leaving buck with approximately 80 united states dollars' worth of breakfast, so he can call an uber from eddie's front porch. and he has to sit there and wait for his uber, and probably he's thinking, Wow if i told buck i was getting an uber right now, buck would probably say, "me and eddie got an uber once!"

[eraserbread]

couldn't focus on anything all day bc I was too busy thinking about satoru and his foreign girlfriend :o

➽─────────────────────────────❥

you two met, but could hardly speak the same language... so, of course, you let your bodies talk.

one hookup after another led to sneaking around just to spend time together. you're in japan on a teaching job, all things included, and satoru is... a teacher as well -- at least, that's what you understand from it all.

he's obnoxiously adamant about his strength, but he was often so excited explaining It to you that you just couldn't understand. he's such a puppy, piecing together his biggest words and obscene phrases for you to try and translate.

since you both have that teaching archetype, most of your time spent together is enlightening and purposeful. but, satoru likes it the best when you bake for him.

him and his sweet tooth. he could eat an entire tray of desserts in one sitting and still ask for more. the sitting favorite in your nearly non-existent apartment kitchen was cake. all kinds -- layered, plain, cupcakes, and pops, he's certainly not picky. he'll sit and watch you make it for ages, then be right next to you once you deem it cool enough to eat, though he thinks you're saying 'it's too cold to eat'.

today, he's trying brownies.

and of course, his stupidly long fingers are in your pan as soon as you take them from the oven.

"they're hot!" you slap his long fingers away when he tries to grab.

"then, give me one."

so you'd step in front of him, pressing yourself between his hips and the countertop. using your body as a shield to protect your sacred work.

instead of digging into your brownies, he pouts and rests his head on your shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. he's not giving his words any enunciation so it sounds like he says, "if that's what I can have in the meantime,"

you pause for a second, eyebrows furrowing. then, you cave, turning around and asking him, "what?"

"i don't mind having you in the meantime," he replies this time, crystal clear and with a weird look in his bright eyes. your romance is still too young to pick up on every one of his hints, but you can definitely tell his intentions by the way he's trailing his fingers from your hips, down to your...

it's awkward as hell, but you bite your lip, staring past his shoulder and not into his all-seeing gaze. "sex?"

"mhm."

that night, satoru felt hotter as he fucked you easily, hovering over you in missionary with a hand pressed to your cheek. sweat was beading from his light brow, and even he was losing his breath.

"hot. so hot." you moan, eyes pressed shut to try and shun your quickly approaching orgasm. you knew your boyfriend could go on for hours, that's definitely not you.

"thank you babygirl. love it when you call me that."

"no, 's fucking hot."

he kisses you quiet, hips shuddering as they guide the perfection - literal perfection of his cock inside of you. it's making the heat worse, you're left panting against his sweet lips.

and when you're both done and dripping in condensation, brownies are calling your name. it's only when you leave the bedroom, does the heat wave engulf the entirety of your body.

fucking oven.

you left it on. there's no way your shitty one-bedroom could regulate the heat in the middle of summer.

satoru starts panting like a dog, pretty face screwed up in worry as he glances down at you.

"hot." he complains, but does nothing to fix the situation. your left eye twitches.

naked, you head back to the kitchen, flipping the oven off and checking for damage. when you turn around, satoru is at your tail... like a puppy. you give him a smile.

"brownies are still hot."

[noxthesynners]

Also hope y'all don't mind me adding on to this either:

The reason why black people have to resort to drugs and crime in the USA especially is because white people have literally set us up to have to resort to that. Black schools are underfunded, education isn't valued because it is shitty- I was in Detroit Public Schools my entire life and while we had teachers that cared, the students were too busy dealing with abuse, trauma, and other bullshit at home so a lot of us couldn't even really learn properly to pursue college.

I had friends who had religious trauma from being abused by pastors (in Detroit there were so many churches and not enough places to get educated) that they resorted to sex work as MINORS to survive because some grown ass sick fuck groomed them. Same friends kept people like that (the grown ass groomers) away from me because they didn't want me to end up how they did, but I still got the trauma from association because they would tell me about what happened to them and to this day it still haunts me.

Those kinds of themes are present in our art and creativity and all that because of the things in place to force us to fail, and then we even get backlash from our own people. If you want to go to college and get out of the hood, you get picked on and disrespected but if you fall in line with the drugs, sex, gangs and crime people praise you for it. And that comes from being told that is all we can do.

A lot of white people don't understand the negative impact they have had on black communities and black people, and they really need to stop talking over us when we explain these things.

I'm just saying.

its all 'be gay do crime' until a black person starts making allusions to drugs or sex or god forbid VIOLENCE and then it turns out nobody can handle anything more hardcore than downloading illegal torrents of hamilton

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 6 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Misunderstandings!! So many of them!! Sukuna curses like twice. Sukuna slams a door in your face. Hana calls you mumma. Domestic life!!!

Wc: 2.7k

The room was enveloped in silence as you finally stopped talking, Hana fast asleep in your arms by the time it was an hour to midnight. Sukuna was quiet throughout the entire ordeal, sometimes he looked like he wanted to interject and would open his mouth, only for you to shake your head and he would sit back down.

He had run his fingers through his gelled hair, a few strands falling out of place and you were itching to fix it up for him, old habits die hard. Some way through the recollection Sukuna had shrugged off his suit jacket and the two fist shaped sugar marks stared at you mockingly. 

“Why didn’t- fuck I don’t even-,”

You jerked your head towards Sukuna who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, guilt enveloping you as you watched him avert his gaze to the child snuggled against you.

“Do… Do you want to hold her?”

The words came out of your mouth before you realized it, shocking yourself as you watched Sukuna’s reaction. 

His huge arms reached out, hand almost trembling as he placed his hand on top of Hana’s head, the child shifting in her sleep as she tried to move closer to the source of warmth. 

The man jerked his hand back, shoving it in his pocket as he stood up from the chair, looking over your figure,

“You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep. Where’s your husband,”

For a minute there you thought the great Ryoumen Sukuna had a slip of tongue, confusion painting your features,

“My… what?”

Sukuna looked like you had personally insulted him, cocking a brow up as he stared down at you,

“Don’t act stupid with me. Where the fuck is he?,”

You could feel the incoming headache staring at the six foot man who was now looking around, like he’d suddenly find your aforementioned husband hidden in the bakery. His gazed a bit longer at the pictures decorating the pastel walls, lingering on a picture of when you had just opened the bakery up with a one year old Hana sleeping in your arms, a carefree look on your face,

Hana stirred in her sleep, restless and almost waking up from the ruckus her parents were creating. You shushed her, smoothing a hand over her hair, cooing at her as you hummed a lullaby.

Sukuna stood still, affection blooming in his chest, the feeling so foreign he thought he was sick.

“We’ll talk in the morning, I need to put Hana to sleep. See you later Sukuna.”

You stood up from the chair and Sukuna took a step forward, wrapping a hand around your upper arm,

“No the fuck not. I’m not letting you get away from me again,”

Your skin burned under his touch, turning your head around to glare at him,

“What’s that supposed to mean,”

Sukuna let go of your arm, invading your personal bubble as he moved closer, an inch away from touching you,

“I’m staying over.”

Your mouth opened in shock, whole body going stiff as you tried to process the man’s words,

“You’re going to… what?”

You asked exasperated, taking a step back though Sukuna just followed you, cutting the distance in another step,

“I’m sure your husband will understand,”

Sukuna smirks, shrugging as if this was a daily occurrence. You paused for a second, running through your choices. It was a little past midnight now, the small town barely had any hotels and you don't know if you had it in you to shun Sukuna away

You bit your lip in thought, turning your body around as you grabbed the purse off the table, casting one last backward glance at the smug man who knew he had won. 

“Just follow me,” 

Balancing Hana on one hip you started to fiddle with the purse, using the hand not supporting Hana to pry open the clasp, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled to get the purse open. Suddenly your arm didn't feel so heavy anymore, a weight lifted off your hip as you looked at Sukuna cradling Hana.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. When you had first moved to the small town, still a fresh student out of college and struggling both with Hana and the bakery, your mind often conjured up what life would be like if Sukuna was with you. The photo album dedicated to Sukuna was one you visited frequently after putting Hana to sleep, imagining him holding his baby, or laying next to you on those gruelling nights comforting you.

When Hana turned two, you had given up hope of him finding you. Sukuna was rich and powerful, you knew he just had to snap his fingers and he could’ve found you in less than a day. So the mere fact he didn’t try to after almost a full three years- well that was enough to stop your silly fantasies and delete the photo album that once used to comfort you.

Sukuna had one arm wrapped securely around Hana, the other patting her back as she got used to the change in position, her small body curled up against his broad chest. The size difference was comical- almost even sweet to look at. It made you wonder how married life with Sukuna could have been- a notion you gave up long ago. You shook your head, cringing internally at how quick your mind went to those fantasies, willing yourself back to reality as you finally got the backroom keys out of your bag. 

The door opened to a short lawn, a pebbled pathway leading to the steps of the small two story house. Sukuna followed behind you, dress shirt stained with Hana’s drool, a wet patch forming just below his collarbones. 

After you entered the house you took Hana from his arms, wordlessly changing her into her pajamas as she blearily sat down on her bed, letting you pull the Hello Kitty patterned shirt over her head while Sukuna stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as his gaze burned holes in your back. 

You kneeled on Hana’s nursery room floor, tucking her in as you kissed her forehead, pushing back some of the stray pink hairs that stuck to her forehead, placing her beloved soft tiger plush into her arms as she drifted off.

On the other hand Sukuna was going absolutely crazy, what kind of fuck ass husband doesn’t even look after his wife? Let alone allow her to invite another man into their house in the dead of the night. If Sukuna was your husband he knew he’d cut the arm off of any man who dared to so much as look in your general direction. 

He clenched his jaw, shaking himself out of the thoughts that muddled his head. He hadn't seen any photos when he passed through the corridors of the house, drinking in every small decoration and photo with greedy eyes. He couldn’t find a photo of the man he saw five years ago yet, were you hiding him? Sukuna felt smug, you never hid him when you were together. 

In fact if he dug up the old box that contained the things you left behind he would find the thousands of framed photos where you stood so sweetly next to him, body flush against him with his favorite smile on your face- fuck he really had to stop thinking about the past. You’re not his, well not anymore. 

“The guest room is downstairs,”

Your voice shook Sukuna out of his thoughts, he stared down at you standing in front of the doorway, eyes trailing down to the expanse of your unmarked neck, then down to the dip in your shirt before he snapped his gaze back upwards.

He finally moved from the doorway, ears tinged red as he turned his head away from you. Still watching you as you descended down the stairs, opening the door to your guest room. You were patting down the pillows, trying to make the room look a bit more presentable when you felt Sukuna behind you, hand on your hip as he pulled you back upright, glaring at you again, 

“Just go sleep, it’s not like I haven’t seen worse” 

You opened your mouth to argue back but Sukuna merely pushed you out of the room, slamming the door in your face as you heard him fall into the bed with a grunt. 

“Good to know you haven't changed jerk,”

You mumbled under your breath, going to the master bedroom, changing out of your clothes and doing your nightly routine before falling asleep a little before one in the morning. 

The blaring alarm woke you up from your deep sleep, forcing you to pull the covers off your body and make your way to the nursery. Hana was still fast asleep by the time you opened her room, gently coaxing her awake so she wouldn’t be in a foul mood first thing in the morning. She followed you into the washroom, brushing her teeth while still half asleep. You left her there after finishing your own morning routine, letting her take her time through everything  

Sukuna was surprisingly awake, manspreading on the way too small dining table as his knees hit the underside every time he shifted in an effort to get more comfortable. A computer sat in front of him, blue light dancing on his face as he typed away in the dark living room. 

“Unusual for you to be up so early,”

He almost snapped his head from moving so fast to glare at you, stopping the incessant typing that was quite frankly starting to get on your nerves if you were being honest, 

“Your husband didn’t come home all night, he cheating on you?” 

You stopped yourself from mixing in the pancake batter, turning around to look at Sukuna who had completely leaned back on the chair, legs spread in front of him like he owned the house you were paying for. 

“Listen I think we should clear something up-”

Hana chose that exact moment to come barging into the living room, her outfit making her red eyes stand out. You smiled at her, turning to face her as she ran up into your arms, 

“Hi baby, did you sleep well?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, her pink hair ticking your face as she wrapped her arms around your neck and glared at Sukuna,

“Mumma, why's the mean man still here?”

She tried to whisper into your ear, holding a hand next to her mouth as if that would make her voice any lower, 

‘The fuck you call me kid?”

Sukuna cursed and you glared at him while Hana stuck her tongue out. You set her down on the counter, mixing the batter with a whisk as Hana took a piece of toast, kicking her legs back and forth as she chewed on it quietly, Oh she could be such an angel when she wanted.

‘Mumma you’re getting dirty,” 

Hana scowled at the patches of white flour on the fabric of your clothes, pointing it out with her index finger, 

“Hana! Don’t point at people, that's very rude baby,” 

You scolded, moving closer to her and taking the piece of bread from her hands. Your back was turned to Sukuna so you didn't notice when he had moved behind you, grabbing an apron and looping it over your head. His fingers brushed past your back as he tied the bow securely, 

“Still as clumsy as ever woman.” 

His warm breath tickled the skin of your neck, heat rising up your cheeks as you stared at Hana who was pulling you closer, still glaring at Sukuna. He took a step back once he was done, the loss of heat almost made you whine. You hadn’t felt another man’s touch in a long while and Sukuna’s presence was doing much more damage than it should be doing.

“You should stay- for breakfast I mean,”

You turned around to look at Sukuna who was leaning against the kitchen marble, gazing at you fondly. That look only spurred your mind to rush back to how you felt when you were his, butterflies swarming in your stomach at the mere thought. 

“I have to drop Hana off and I’ll get your jacket cleaned too, we haven’t finished talking have we?’

Sukuna looked confused, looking at the jacket that was folded over one of the dining table chairs, finally noticing the fist shaped marks of powdered sugar, scowling at the sight. You were sure if you took a picture of Sukuna and Hana scowling side by side they could be mistakened for siblings,

The pancakes were finished and placed in front of Hana who sat on her tiny table, you pulled a chair next to her as she babbled on, gently combing through her hair, doing two twin ponytails while Sukuna went back to his work, sneaking glances at you every now and then. 

A sick, twisted part of you secretly enjoyed this, the familiarity of it all, the comfortable silence that you missed with Sukuna. The domesticity that you craved for so long ago was finally being granted to you. 

As Hana put her bag on, Sukuna interjected, shutting his computer off as he got up from the dining table for a second time, suit jacket folded over his arm and hands tucked into his pocket. His hair had fallen into his forehead, the lack of gel was driving him crazy as he constantly pushed the hair backwards, 

“I’ll come with you and the kid, don’t want you to run away while I’m not there,” 

He mumbled, pressing close to you as he grabbed the kid in his arms. Hana made a noise of protest but after she looked at you she kept quiet. You wondered how you looked to her right now, so many mornings you wished for a bit more time to yourself, for someone else to carry Hana on the twenty minute walk to the kindergarten. She was always so perceptive it made you feel guilty,

“Okay,”

You replied before changing into more appropriate clothes, meeting Sukuna at the doorstep where he held Hana up with one arm, biceps bulging around the fabric of his dress shirt as he folded his sleeves up to his elbow. The other hand held Hana’s bag, the pink bag standing out against the black suit Sukuna had on. 

Hana was babbling to Sukuna, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pulled at the strands of his pink hair, pointing to her own and giggling, Sukuna was grunting in response, amusing her even when he didn’t have to. 

The sight brought a warm feeling to your chest, wondering if hiding your child from him all those years ago was really the correct choice when they got along so well.

“Let’s go,”

You patted Hana’s back and Sukuna nodded at you, leaving the house and the bakery, letting you lead the way to the kindergarten. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over him every now and then- it wasn't a crime to enjoy good eye candy.

Hana was finally put down five minutes away from the kindergarten, she insisted on holding Sukunas hand who looked at you smugly as if he won some secret kind of competition that you were unaware you were even participating in. 

You had made a few friends with the other parents, waving to the mothers as their expressions morphed to disbelief at the six foot man who was saying his goodbyes to Hana. The five year old pressed a kiss to your cheek before running to Ren. Aoi’s son. 

Sukuna was standing right behind you, breathing into you neck as Aoi walked up to you with a suspicious expression,

“This is?” 

She started, giving one look over to Sukuna who had crossed his arms, stepping closer to you till his chest was flush against your back, giving a lazy look over to Aoi. You wanted to bury yourself in a ditch- truly why was the universe so against you trying to live your life, 

“This is Sukuna he’s-” 

Aoi clapped her hands in front of her face, a grin over taking her features as she put the pieces together, you had never bothered telling other people about your situation. You gave the same generative answer to anyone who asked about Hanai’s father- 

“Ah! He must be your husband! Hana looks just like him!” 

And there it was. 

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Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @krispywhisperswhispers @pillkits @rier @needsleep3000 @tangsakura @raquel12 @not-aya @melancholycries @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @tojisbabymommasblog @thebumbqueen

A/n: posting without my usual proof reader reading it because I need to get this chapter out of my system heh I feel so evil for doing this my apologies in advance!

[justauthoring]

Oblivious Affections.

Request: Could I please request a Luffy x fem Reader where the crew sees a bounty of another pirate and the reader goes on to make comments about how attractive he is which makes Luffy all jealous, thank you! Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Straw Hat!F!Reader

A/N: Ummm so my first One Piece fic? Like... of the anime? And it's Luffy???????????? (Not spell-checked as usual)

Word Count: 1,416

"Look at this."

Glancing up at Nami's voice, your brow raises in curious when you see she's holding a wanted poster towards you. A quick glance at her face and you see the slight smirk on her lips, making you hesitate.

"Y/N," she pushes, sighing. "Look."

Hesitating only briefly, you finally reach for the poster. Her smirk widens the second you do, and you're about to ask her what could be so funny about a wanted poster of all things, when you see the person on the wanted poster.

You now understand the reasoning for Nami's smirk and why she'd been so insistent on you looking at it. This pirate, whoever he was, was hot.

"Pittman?" You echo back at her, having finally properly read the name. "And a hundred million berry bounty? I've never even heard of him."

Nami shrugs. "Seems he's new," is all she offers. Then, leaning towards you, her eyes twinkle. "He's easy on the eyes though, no?"

Your cheeks warm faintly in embarrassment, but even you can't deny Nami's right.

"He definitely is," you mumble, letting your eyes drag across his photo once again. They definitely got a good angle of him, too.

"What are you two looking at?"

Looking up at the sound of Robin's soft voice, you find her making her way over to the two of you with a soft, curious smile on her lips. Almost instantly, Nami snatches the poster from your hands and thrusts it in Robin's face.

"Look at how hot this guy is!"

Nami's voice pitches, catching the attention of Sanji and Luffy who'd been nearby, as Robin leans back to get a proper look at the poster.

"Oh," she breathes, an amused smile on her lips. "He's definitely a looker."

Nami pulls back, sighing wistfully. "Why can't we have men like this on our crew?"

"Nami-swan!" Sanji calls, dejected, having caught the tail end of the conversation. He clutches at his chest with a pained expression, falling dramatically to the ground. "You wound me!"

Robin lets out a chuckle as Nami rolls her eyes. You just frown down at Sanji, pitying him.

Or at least you were, until a shadow steps in front of you.

"Let me see!"

Luffy snatches the poster from Nami's hands before she can argue otherwise, ignoring her exclamation of him being rude, as he eyes the poster closely. You watch with a quirk brow, expectantly waiting for him to proclaim excitement at having new potential competition or maybe something along the lines of fighting the guy.

The normal.

But instead, Luffy turns to you, frowning.

"You think he's attractive?"

The question stuns you. Both because it's the last thing you're expecting Luffy to ask you and also because of the mirth hidden beneath his tone. There's something nasty to Luffy's tone; something that is so entirely unlike Luffy whose usually radiating sunshine.

"W-Well, uh..."

You stumble over your words, not really sure what to say. It seems, however, everyone else isn't as surprised as you because Nami, not missing a beat, leans forward and grins mischeviously Luffy's way.

"Oh, Y/N definitely thinks he's attractive," she grins. "Hot, even. Don't you, Y/N?"

Her eyes fall on you as your cheeks burn in embarrassment, which only gets worse when Luffy's frown is focused solely on you once again.

"I-I mean, he is good looking," you mumble meekly.

"I feel like I'm dying..." You hear Sanji mumble from his spot on the ground, still wallowing in his own self despair.

You can't focus on that, however, because Luffy's gaze isn't leaving you. His focus is intense, stepping towards you as you blink back at him, unsure what you've done to upset your captain.

You can only be thankful the whole crew isn't here, because it was embarrassing enough having Robin and Nami present.

(Sanji doesn't count, since he's currently a heart-broken mess on the ground.)

Then, after a moment of silence, you watch as Luffy rips the wanted poster. And not just once -- he rips it down the middle and then continues to rip it, until it's nothing but tiny little shreds.

"Luffy!" Nami complains, as Robin, once again, giggles in amusement, hands to her lips.

Luffy ignores them both. Instead, he steps towards you, again. With barely any space left between the both of you, his face is serious as he meets your gaze.

"What about me?"

Nothing--literally nothing--could've prepared you for that question.

Your face, which had already been flushed in embarrassed, burns even further (if that was possible). Everything turns impossibly silent as everyone, not just you, takes in what Luffy's just asked you.

"Luffy, I--"

He reaches forward, taking your hand in his own. His grip isn't tight or painful, but it's made with purpose. "I asked you, what about me?"

You blink, once, twice and fumble over your words.

"Luffy," you try again, "where is this coming from?"

"You called that guy... Pitiful, or whatever, hot. Do you find me hot?"

Lips parting, no words leave your lips.

"Captain," Robin calls out, "I do believe you're embarrassing our poor seamstress."

Turning to Robin, your gaze is pleading, but you falter when you see, despite her words, she's highly amused by what's happening.

"Yeah, Luffy," Nami calls out, bopping him on the head as Luffy flinches in response. "You can't just ask a lady that."

Though, she finishes with sending you a shit-eating grin and a knowing wink.

So, clearly, neither of them are actually on your side.

"Ow!" Luffy complains, rubbing his head as he finally steps back from you, allowing you to let out a breath of relief. Turning to Nami, he frowns. "What's wrong with me asking Y/N that? I want to know!"

"Idiot," Sanji mumbles, still from the ground but sat up. "You have no tact."

Luffy frowns further. "She thought that guy was attractive and he's the ugliest guy I've ever seen," he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "So she has to find me attractive. Because I am definitely better looking then him."

Could the ground swallow you whole and save you from this embarrassment?

"Are you jealous, Luffy?" Nami asks, eyes twinkling.

Luffy's head tilts; "jealous?"

"Of that guy?"

By his expression, it's clear Luffy still doesn't understand.

"Captain," Robin calls, "you don't like the fact that Y/N called that guy attractive, right?"

"No," Luffy says without hesitation, shaking his head. "I don't like when Y/N calls any guy attractive."

"Other than you?"

"Other than me," he grins, shrugging as if what he said was nonchalant.

Letting out a cry, your head falls into your hands. "Please stop."

"I do believe we should leave them to figure this out on their own," Robin calls, having some pity on you. "Nami, please help me with Sanji."

Nodding at Robin, Nami sends you one last wink before helping Robin drag Sanji away. You hear his weak protests of leaving 'our idiot captain alone with Y/N-chan', but neither of them heed to his complaints.

Alone, you turn back to Luffy whose already looking at you. There's a beat of silence, and then Luffy steps back towards you.

"You never answered my question."

Sighing, your shoulders fall. "If I answer it, will you leave me alone?"

"I'm not gonna leave you alone but I'll try to be less annoying."

Letting your eyes fall shut, you breathe in sharply, trying to steady your nerves. You knew your captain, it would only get worse if you didn't answer his question and he'd continue to annoy you. Robin had given you some grace by leaving you alone, so you might as well answer before the entire crew is there to face your embarrassment.

"You're more... attractive than Pittman," you mumble, embarrassed.

Almost instantly, Luffy's eyes shine. He jumps towards you, boundless energy as always, and grabs you by the arms; "really?"

You find yourself smiling, despite everything, at his excitement.

"Of course," you oblidge, "you're my captain after all."

Your words are heartfelt, and they mean more than how they seem. Luffy, though, with his usual obliviousness doesn't notice. Instead, he continues to beam up at you, slipping his hand in yours as he beguns to drag you with him.

"I'm so happy," he nods at you. "Let's eat as a celebration."

You let out a snort, rolling your eyes, but let him pull you nonetheless.

Maybe one day you'll be able to tell Luffy how you really feel.

[jojotier]

Yeah man, looks like you did miss it.

That's the thing- they are getting out the house, and there are those who Are moving on.

Obviously not everyone, but I'd say the vast majority of the characters aren't actually mourning death at all, or at least not nearly as much of the time as you think. Just look at the guy playing the game looking for the last few limited footballs- obviously it's melancholy as the game comes to an end, but the focus is put on the Connections that he and his partner make as it goes on. Talking about fashion revivals and places they lived in addition to their "little ritual".

The entire comic in fact is About those connections and how it helps these people live a fulfilling life. The football player who comes out the tornado and sits at the bar, shooting the shit about history with a local. The lady the satellites get in contact with so that nine can speak to a human. Don't get me wrong, the tone of the comic and some of those interactions is Melancholy, but that doesn't make it any less joyful when people do get together and make those connections. When they see each other and when they understand.

Sorry, but I refuse to see that as meaningless.

Besides- we live on a planet where there are thousands of new species, of lichen and insects and birds and who knows what else, that get discovered literally every year. I'm sure the people who want new lichens are either having fun in the Amazon river basin or making their own little genetic discoveries in the lab. There's also billions of books even today, not even getting into what must be produced over the course of thousands of years, and entire disciplines of study trying to figure out how the earth works. They just aren't the focus of the comic because 17776 isn't about the science- it's not about scientists or poets or those who may traditionally be followed for an immortality story.

It's about regular people living their own lives, not those looking to push the boundaries. The kind of person who would, if there would be no consequences to the action, toss themselves into a tornado to make a sick sports play. The kind who still sometimes works at McDonald's because they like the cadence of fast food. The kind of person who doesn't really care about lichens in the first place, much less new ones that likely aren't in outer space.

It all ties together- we all just have this one world, and we all have each other.

thinking about 17776 again (forever) but just thinking about the fact that it's a world without children. it's a little detail that doesn't get as much attention placed on it as other aspects, but humans are literally unable to conceive children anymore. there will never be another lifetime where you get to watch this little creature barely entering sapience grow and discover the world; you will never have to answer a four-year-old's thousand daily questions about why there's night in a bush or where the sun goes at night. you are all adults forever and nothing changes because nothing can. an eternal stagnation

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 23

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had seen Lizzie nervous before—before a book signing, even before their first public appearance together—but this was an entirely new level. She was sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that he was surprised the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She exhaled sharply. “Lando, I don’t think you understand. Your sisters have read my books.”

“Yeah, they love them.”

“That’s the problem!” She turned to him, eyes wide with panic. “What if your mum has read them? What if she’s read the spicy parts? Lando, I wrote those scenes!”

He tried—he really did—to keep a straight face, but a laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Liz, I hate to break it to you, but my mum is a grown woman who had four kids. She’s not going to combust if she reads a bit of smut.”

Lizzie looked at him like he’d just blasphemed. “That’s your mum! God, Lando, you’re missing the point.”

“Oh, I have a point,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “And that point is, you’re making this way too big a deal.”

She scowled at him, whacking him with the back of her hand. “You’re being extremely unhelpful right now.”

He caught her hand, grinning. “Hey, I’m just providing perspective. But if you want to keep being nervous on your own, be my guest.”

Lizzie huffed but didn’t pull away from his grip. “Why do I feel like you’re enjoying my freaking out?”

He squeezed her hand, still amused. “Because it’s entertaining to watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was diminished by the way she was worrying her bottom lip. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Lando bit back a smirk, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“Your dad is a millionaire, Lando,” she muttered as they pulled into the driveway. “What if he thinks I’m using you for your money?”

Lando couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What?”

Lizzie huffed, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a valid concern!”

He tried—and failed—to regain his composure. “You’re worried my dad is going to think you’re a gold digger?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. Lando bit back another laugh, shaking his head. “Liz, love, you really worry too much.”

“I’m serious, Lando!” she protested. “People talk, okay? And with your family’s background, I can’t blame them. How am I supposed to convince them that I’m not just some fangirl with a talent for writing dirty scenes?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, I am,“ she whispered.

“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “They already love you.”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know of you. And they’re excited to meet you properly. Trust me, they’re more likely to make me uncomfortable than you.”

Lizzie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Lando smirked. “Because they’re probably going to tell you all the embarrassing things I did as a kid.”

That seemed to help—at least a little. She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “If they bring out baby photos, I’m taking pictures.”

“Traitor.”

“Survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lizzie did the same, taking a deep breath. When Lando walked over to her side of the car and held out his hand, she took it, gripping it tightly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but she climbed out of the car anyway.

Mara jumped out of the backseat with a wagging tail, immediately tucking herself against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie laughed, giving the dog a quick scratch on the head. Lando watched her intently, noticing how tense she still was.

He moved forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Breathe,” he told her softly.

She let out a shaky exhale, leaning into his touch. "I'm trying," she muttered, sounding a little less nervous.

They began the short walk toward the door, Mara trotting happily ahead of them. Lando could feel Lizzie trembling a little under his touch.

“Remember," he murmured against her ear, "they’re going to be just as nervous as you, if not more."

Lizzie shot him a disbelieving look but didn’t have time to say anything as the door swung open.

The front door opened before they even reached it. His mum stood there, beaming, and before Lizzie could get a word out, Cisca pulled her into a warm hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Lizzie tensed for a split second, then melted. “You too, Mrs. Norris. Thank you for having me.”

“Cisca,” his mum corrected, stepping back. “And please, we’ve been waiting for ages to meet you. Lando keeps you all to himself.”

Lizzie shot Lando a look, and he just grinned. “Told you.”

His mother stepped back, still smiling. “Well, now that I’ve got you in person, it makes sense why Lando's been so distracted." She cast a sly glance in Lando's direction. He just rolled his eyes.

"Mum," he said, a warning tone to his voice.

His mother just laughed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t you mum me.” She turned back to Lizzie, linking their arms together. “Now, come on. We’ve got lunch ready.”

Lando let them walk ahead, watching how easily his mum settled Lizzie. Even when he was a kid, his mum had always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Now, it seemed Lizzie was on the receiving end of that skill.

They headed inside, the rest of the family waiting in the living room. They all stood when they entered, and though Lando wasn’t surprised to see the eager curiosity on their faces, he still shot them a warning look. His brother in particular looked like he was preparing to say or do anything to embarrass him.

“Finally!” Oliver stood , arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “The Elizabeth Treshton, in the flesh. Lando has been hoarding you." His brother wasted no time. “Alright,, I have questions,” he announced brightly. “First of all, how did this idiot pull you? Second, how long did it take before you realized he’s an absolute menace? Third—”

Adam Norris appeared in the doorway, shaking his head fondly. “Leave her alone, Oliver.”

Oliver just grinned. “No can do, Dad. She willingly signed up for Lando. I need answers.”

Adam shot Lando a look. “You should’ve known bringing her here would be opening her up to interrogation.”

Lizzie was trying hard not to laugh, but her eyes were sparkling. Lando couldn’t tell if that was from nerves or amusement.

"I have questions!" And there was his youngest sister. He should have known that neither Flo or Cisca were going to be normal.

"Of course you do," Lando muttered.

Flo ignored him and beamed at Lizzie. “I have questions too!"

His mother rolled her eyes at her children, stepping forward. “How about we hold off on the interrogation until after lunch?” She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, offering the slightest bit of reprieve. “I think poor Lizzie here needs a moment to readjust before we barrage her with questions.”

"But I have book questions!" Flo said quickly.

"And you can ask those during lunch," His mother assured her, steering Lizzie away. "Give the girl a chance to breathe."

"Fine, fine," Oliver said, flopping back onto the couch like a disgruntled teenager.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe try not to scare the poor woman off in the first five minutes?”

"Oh, no worries there," Oliver drawled. "She put up with Lando, right? Everything else will be a breeze."

Lando just rolled his eyes.

Adam laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “Don’t act like that comment wasn’t 100% accurate.”

Lizzie slipped right in the midst of his family, like she always had belonged there. Keeping up with his sisters' rapid-fire Q and A, his very fascinated toddler niece who kept staring at Mara, who sat next to Lizzie, as well-behaved as always...

It was almost surreal to watch the scene unfold. Lizzie was already comfortable with his family, chatting and laughing, easily deflecting questions and answering others. Even his sisters had given up their attempts at embarrassing him, too interested in Lizzie to bother with him now.

He watched all this, trying to keep the smile off his face. It wasn’t until his dad walked over and stood next to him did Lando realize he hadn’t said anything in a while.

Adam clapped Lando on the back, his tone warm. “You picked a good one, son.”

Lando’s chest filled with quiet pride as he watched Lizzie laugh at something Flo had said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I really did.”

He should have known that something was going to go wrong.

It started with Mara.

She’d been lying calmly at Lizzie’s feet one second, then suddenly sprang up, ears perked, tail stiff. She nudged Lizzie’s leg with her nose, then her arm. Insistent. Focused.

Lizzie stilled.

Lando was already frowning. “Liz?”

She exhaled slowly, looking down at Mara before turning toward him. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Just like that. Simple. Direct. As if she were telling him it might rain later.

Lando shot to his feet. “What—what do I—”

A tense silence fell across the room as the others picked up on the situation. Lizzie reached out, fingers skimming Mara’s head as she struggled to keep her breaths even. She was already pale, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead.

His mum was the first to recover, her expression calm but her voice sharp. "How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?"

"I need to go lay down," Lizzie said, her voice careful. "I should have a few minutes until it hits."

Everyone else was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Lando’s mind snapped into focus. “Right. Yeah. Come on.”

He crossed the room, gently tugging Lizzie to her feet. She leaned on him, her weight a little heavier than usual.

“Lando,” Adam said, “we can—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting his dad off. He shifted Lizzie’s weight, supporting her as best he could. “Just...give us some space, okay?”

His dad nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but holding back for Lizzie's sake. Lando appreciated the effort.

He half-carried Lizzie out the door, Mara sticking close to them. The dog knew as well as Lando did – something was wrong.

The walk to his old room felt like it took an eternity.

As soon as they reached it, Lizzie was already moving, sinking down to the floor like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"What do you need?" he asked her, sawllowing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She stretched out, lying flat on her side, arms loose, legs bent just slightly. Mara settled near her head, pressed close but not touching.

Lando hated how practiced it was.

His pulse hammered in his throat. He dropped down beside her, panic clawing at his ribs. “Lizzie—”

“If you can’t watch it, I get it,” she murmured, voice calm, even as something flickered in her expression. “But don’t touch me.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists.

“I— I can watch,” he said, even though his entire body screamed otherwise. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lizzie managed a weak smile, but her eyes were already going glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "But don't blame yourself." And then her breath hitched, and her body began to tremble.

And then she was gone.

Her body tensed, jerking suddenly, violently. Her hands curled, fingers twitching erratically. Lando could hear her breathing shift—harsh, uneven. It was awful.

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still, to stay calm.

It felt like forever.

In reality, it was barely a minute.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

Lizzie sagged against the floor, still, quiet except for her uneven breaths. Mara whined softly, nuzzling against her arm.

Lando moved carefully, shifting onto his knees.

“Liz?” he asked, voice tight. “Can you hear me?”

A long pause. Then, a weak murmur: “Mm. Hate that part.”

Relief hit him so hard he nearly choked on it. He exhaled sharply, pressing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open, exhausted but there. “You okay?”

Lando let out a strangled laugh. “Am I okay?”

Lizzie blinked at him like it was a genuine question.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was awful.”

She hummed, voice drowsy. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize—”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. But I still hate it.”

Lizzie sighed, shifting slightly, her limbs sluggish. “Me too.”

He watched as Mara pressed in closer, her body warm against Lizzie’s side. Lando reached out slowly, brushing damp hair away from Lizzie’s forehead.

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Lando swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he murmured.

Lizzie didn’t answer—already half-asleep in the aftermath.

But she was breathing.

She was safe.

And he would make sure she always stayed that way.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, but eventually, soft footsteps sounded at the doorway. He glanced up to see his mum standing there, her face pale, expression carefully neutral. She took in the situation for a moment, her eyes lingering on Lizzie before looking to Lando. There was a silent question on her face, and Lando nodded to her. She exhaled softly, nodding to herself, before speaking quietly.

"Is she alright?"

Lando's voice felt like gravel in his throat. "She's fine. She'll probably sleep for awhile."

His mum stepped more into the room, taking in the sight of Lizzie on the floor. A deep frown pinched her brow, like she was trying to hold back her emotions.

Lando looked back at Lizzie, reaching out and brushing his fingers gently over her damp hair. Just the sight of her sleeping peacefully was enough to soothe some of the wild panic from earlier, but his heart still ached.

"Does...has this happened before?" His mum's voice was quiet and careful, as if she were worried about upsetting him.

"I've never seen it," he admitted weakly. "I knew she had epilepsy. I have seen her after a seizure...but I never saw her seize," Lando admitted, swallowing. "How can a mother see this and then decide to leave?"

"Lando..." his mum's voice was gentle, almost like she was bracing him for something.

Lando's heart felt heavy. "I just don't understand how someone could—" he cut himself off when his voice broke, trying again. "I don't understand how someone could just leave their child like that."

His mum crossed the room, sitting beside him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I don't think most people will ever be able to understand that, hon. I can't," she admitted freely. "If I imagine that it's Flo or Cisca in her place...nobody would have gotten me away from my daughter," his mother said fiercely.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, his voice tight. "That's because you wouldn't leave her," he said, voice low. "You'd never go without her. You'd fight to stay every step of the way. And you sure as hell wouldn't give up on her."

There was a beat as he stared at the floor, and he barely registered his mum wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't help but bury his face against her shoulder, eyes stinging.

His breath hitched. "I just... I can't imagine just walking away from her."

"Then don't," his mother said simply. "Don't be like her mother. Don't walk away. Talk with her and the next time it will happen, it will still feel horrid. You'll never get used to it. But you'll learn to live with it."

The words hit Lando like a weight to the chest. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing them. His first instinct was to disagree. He would never, ever be like Lizzie’s mother. He could never abandon her like that.

But then...

His mum was right. He'd never get used to the idea of him just standing by and watching while she suffered. No matter how many times he would see her seize, it would still be torture for him.

But this wasn’t about him. 

This was about Lizzie. Lizzie, who needed to live with an invisible illness that could be controlled to the best of modern medicine's knowledge, but never cured completely.

And Lando would rather live through the torture of seeing her have a seizure a hundred times than to let her go. To leave. To let her deal with it alone. 

***

Lizzie woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out, every muscle sore and heavy, her head pounding with the dull, familiar ache of exhaustion. She blinked at the ceiling, willing herself to move, but even that felt like too much effort.

Then she remembered.

Lando.

The seizure.

How he’d seen it—how he’d stayed.

Her stomach twisted.

Carefully, she turned her head.

Lando was lying on his side, facing her. He was awake. Had he even slept? His hair was an absolute mess, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, studying her closely.

Lizzie had always known this moment would come.

She’d warned Lando about it early on—matter-of-factly, no dramatics. She had epilepsy. She had seizures.

But knowing about something and seeing it were two very different things.

And she’d lost people to the latter before.

Her mother couldn’t handle it. The fear, the helplessness, the exhaustion of watching and not being able to do anything. It was too much. So she left.

Lizzie didn’t blame her.

But she also knew what it felt like to be too much for someone to love.

Lando held her gaze, the silence stretching painfully between them.

She swallowed hard, bracing for it - the looks of concern, the pity, the thinly veiled excuses.

Then Lando spoke, his voice rough and quiet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a freight train.”

Lando’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Lizzie forced herself to push up onto her elbows, ignoring the way her body protested. “Lando—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving her. “Stop talking.”

She went silent, staring at him. His gaze was like a steady weight, pinning her in place.

He inhaled slowly, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She'd been bracing herself for rejection, for distance. For fear and confusion and pity.

But Lando was just...looking at her. Just like that. Not like she was broken. Not like she was different now. He was just looking at her.

“You’re not?” Her voice was a whisper, vulnerable and terrified in spite of herself.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something stirred in her chest. Hope, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

She swallowed, trying to get control of her emotions. “Most people don’t stick around after they see it.”

Something flickered across his face—something sharp, something angry. “Well, they’re idiots.”

Lizzie huffed a small, tired laugh. “Maybe.”

Lando shifted closer, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, careful, almost hesitant.

“Did it scare you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around her hand, grounding both of them. “I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, voice low. “Knowing and seeing aren’t the same thing.”

She sighed, exhaustion pressing against her bones. “No. They’re not.”

Lando shifted again, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand. “Your mum couldn’t handle it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lizzie swallowed. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“I’m not her.”

Lizzie’s chest ached, and not from the seizure.

“I know.”

Lando’s fingers squeezed hers. “Do you?”

She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words remained. “Because I need you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes stung with held-back tears. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Lando’s expression remained steady, but she could see the determination in his eyes. "I do know that,” he said softly. “I know me, Liz. How I feel. What I can handle. And I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m not leaving. You can’t get rid of me now even if you tried.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but her breath hitched on a stifled sob. “What if it changes though? What if one day you can’t—”

“Liz.” He cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stop it. Stop worrying about what-ifs. This is my choice. I’m staying. End of story.”

“But—”

He cut her off again, his grip on her hand tightening, as if he could force her to believe him through touch alone. “No buts. This is a non-negotiable for me.” He took another deep breath, his voice growing even quieter. “I’m not your mother, Liz. You are not too much. And I’m not scared. Got it?”

Something crumbled inside her, some long-held piece of fear disintegrating in the face of his steady, certain gaze.

Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

“Got it?” He repeated, his thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles.

There was something pleading in his voice—a silent plea for her to understand, to believe him.

And she realized in that moment, as he held her hand and looked at her with so much certainty...she did.

She believed him.

[softsunnyy]

morning sex, rough sex??, size kink, reader just wants to be destroyed and Luke can help her with that, Luke was sleeping at the beginning 🚨🚨

this was supposed to be soft sex

divider by @cafekitsune

when you woke up, you were hungry, you needed something, but you didn't know what. However, you soon discovered it when you felt your boyfriend's body behind you, sharing his warmth with you, almost covering your entire body since he's huge.

and oh god he's huge, every part of him, and you've always loved that. You love having to make an effort to kiss him, or the ease with which he can handle you in his hands, as if you were just a doll, his little toy. And you love how, even so, he always tries to be gentle, not to touch you too roughly, as if doing so would break you.

looking down, you see one of his hands, large, squeezing your waist as if he didn't want to let go; strong enough to keep you still, but not enough to leave bruises on your skin.

you start looking at his long fingers and remember how they feel inside you, how easily they slide in, and how much they stretch your walls, preparing you for his cock, so you don't get hurt, so you enjoy it. Those same fingers that also grip your hair when you're devouring him, controlling your movements as he pull your hair, trying not to choke you, not to pressure you.

you start to feel heat between your legs, and you try to rub your thighs together, but it's not enough, and your thoughts make you move, rubbing yourself against his body, against his bulge, which jumped with joy, waking up even while Luke is still asleep. And you want to moan at that, but you hold back, biting your lip and considering your options.

your hand reaches back, feeling him through his underwear, and you have the pleasure of feeling him harden beneath your touch, as if he recognizes you. And that makes your thoughts go wilder.

you need him, now.

you slide your hand under his clothes, touching him directly, feeling his hand tighten around your waist, like a warning. Yet you ignore it, beginning to masturbate him slowly, while you tried to roll over onto your back, or just move.

you need to see his reaction, hear his gasps. You need him to wake up and take you.

when you don't see the reaction you expect, you let out a small huff, taking it as a challenge, so you remove your hand and slip out of his grasp, getting up from the bed and quickly finishing undressing.

Luke is going to fuck you, take you and break you. You don't want his gentleness today, you want him to use you, to abuse his strength and size, to make you understand.

you take off the blankets, and at that moment he seems to unconsciously want to help you, as he rolls onto his back, making your plans easier. So you continue, removing his underwear, freeing his cock, which stands proud, his veins showing, his tip a fiery, desperate color.

if he won't do it, you'll have to start it yourself.

without giving it much thought, you climb on top of him, letting your soaked pussy rub against his cock. And you moan as you feel his tip push through your folds, repeatedly bumping against your clit, constantly rubbing against your hole, which throbs desperately.

you watch as he begins to move beneath you, waking up. It takes him a couple of seconds to understand what's going on, but immediately his hands are on you, unconsciously helping you, which you take advantage of.

“fuck,” he whimpered, and this time you can feel the strength in his grip. You can be sure it will leave a mark, which you love. “What are you doing, pretty girl?” he looks at you with attention, desire, and curiosity, his cock beginning to ache from the mere desire to take you. However, what bothers you is the hint of doubt in his eyes, as if all the show you're putting on isn't enough to convince him.

“i want you to take me, Luke, to break me, please, use me,” you whimpered, showing him your desperation. “Please, Lu.”

when you got up a little, he was alarmed. However, it all made sense when you took his cock in one hand, aligning it with your hole.

“wait, baby…” you interrupted him by letting yourself fall, inserting his entire long cock into your walls, which drew a loud moan from you, at the same time that he gasped, suddenly feeling himself hugged tightly by your walls that adjusted to his size with some difficulty.

it was at that moment that a switch clicked in his head, and all rational decision-making was abandoned. The urge to possess you swept over him, and he decided to stop ignoring his desires, flipping your bodies over, leaving you beneath him this time. Your legs were lifted by his hands, resting on his shoulders, and soon he began to thrust into you, moving hard, making your body bounce, your tits bounce.

you could feel him everywhere, abusing your hole as if you suddenly didn't matter to him, making you feel a small burning sensation that you're completely loving.

don't get me wrong, you love Luke, you love that he's gentle with you, that he takes care of you, that he tries not to break you, but today? today you need this primal, wild, inconsiderate side. You need to feel him this big, this intense, covering your entire body with his.

you whimper in pleasure when he slaps one your tits, and later you're not surprised when he stretches one of your legs further, giving small bites to your inner thigh. This is what you needed, and you'll do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn't end soon.

and Luke, oh Luke, he doesn't know why he's been holding back so much, when it feels so beautiful to be able to destroy you, to break every part of you until you're crying and babbling. He loves watching his cock disappear inside you so quickly, and he knows it will be even better when he fills you, when he cums so much that there's no way you can keep him inside you and you start staining your thighs with his cum.

he's going to use all his free time to mark you and manipulate your body at his whim, extracting as many orgasms from you as possible, because even though you're the one who woke up hungry, now he's starting to feel it too.

you've ignited something that can't be extinguished, and you'll have to get used to this side of Luke, who will take advantage of being big and rough, who will claim your body until all you can think about is him while you pull his curls and scratch his back.

you don't have to worry or wait, or want too much anymore. Luke will give you what you need, he will be good, and he will make you his personal toy, just like you wanted.

are you ready?

[kissbyoon]

⠀𖼥ৎ⠀“cherish forever” ₍ y.jh ₎

───── ABOUT when your husband is too busy with work during a holiday, you take matters into your own hands.

⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: tooth-rotting fluff, humour, married au ⋆ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: husband!jeonghan x f!reader ⋆ 𝒄𝒘: skinship, kissing, petnames, reader is wearing a long skirt ⋆ 𝒘𝒄: 1.0k

A/N: guys this is actually what I saw in my dream... This is like a modified version bcz dreams are never this perfect💔 SOBS SOBS | @hanniescookie

Having a CEO as your husband is head aching.

You get it—he is a busy person and needs to work so he can be the pillar of his company. But, not during vacations.

Today was supposed to be a long-awaited holiday with your husband, Jeonghan. But, he is all focused on his phone screen—furrowing his eyebrows as he scrolled and scrolled.

“Hannie,” you mumble in a whiny tone, and Jeonghan squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“I'm almost done, baby, trust me.”

You click your tongue, letting out a deep sigh. The night sky was beautiful to look at, and you had been staring at it and clicking pictures to pass the time. But this was your last straw.

He had been saying that for the past 30 minutes. While you did understand that he has work to do, it's unfair that he has to do it during a holiday.

While he continued doing something on his phone, you realised you've had enough. If you knew Jeonghan was gonna stick to his phone the entire day, you wouldn't have come here in a park with him.

And your brain clicked with an idea.

“Hannie, I'm gonna go buy something to eat.” You say, glancing at him as he looked at you and nodded with a smile.

“I'll come with you,” he offered, tightening his grip on your hand. You looked down, thinking about how you can possibly get him to stop holding your hand. Without thinking twice, you slowly removed your hand out of his grip and slid in your purse instead—surprised from the way Jeonghan didn't even notice anything as his eyes stayed glued to his phone.

“Let's go,” you say, waiting for him to start walking. You try your best not to burst into laughter as he hums in response and actually starts to walk ahead, his eyes still on his phone.

Eventually, he disappeared into the crowd and you finally burst out laughing. However, you did get a bit worried about how he would make his way back, but he is an adult and has a brain.

Soon, you started to head towards the little candy store nearby from where you could peek at Jeonghan. Tapping your fingers against the fabric of your long skirt, you crank your head to see whether or not he finally realised that you were missing. Just when you looked at him, he started to look around with a dumbfounded look like a lost puppy, occasionally glancing down at the purse in his hands.

Covering your mouth, you let out a giggle at the sight of an adorably confused Jeonghan—a rare sight, you might want to add. Soon, he tapped his finger against the screen of his phone in a hasty manner, and you got a call. It was him.

Letting out a sigh, you decide that you had pranked him enough and answer it, immediately letting out a giggle when you were met with an overly panicked Jeonghan.

“Baby, where are you!” He sounded so lost, the pout in his voice audible through the phone. Your eyes stayed glued to him as he started to make his way out of the crowd.

“Take a guess, hannie,” you teased. That's when he realised—it was a prank and he indeed did not lose you in the crowd. He let out a defeated grumble, soon followed by a relieved chuckle.

“Don't bully me like this,” he whined, his eyes looking everywhere in search of you.

“Says the one who was ignoring his wife just a few minutes ago,” you double down, earning a soft chuckle from your husband.

“I wasn't ignoring you, love, don't say that,”

“Whatever you did, I didn't like it, Mr. Yoon.” You say with a suppressed chuckle.

“Your husband is sorry. Really, really, reallyyyy sorry!” he dramatically stretched out, the pout on his lips growing. And that's when you felt bad.

How can you let such an adorable man—or should you say, your adorable man—be pranked like this?

You let out a giggle, staring at him from a distance with heart eyes. “Look to your right, hannie,” you say, and when he does, his eyes widen as his lips stretch out into a lovely grin.

He hung up the call and ran towards you immediately. “Babyyy~!” He called out, faking his pout.

Your face brightened with a smile as he threw himself into your arms, his arms wrapping your torso gently but tightly as if you would leave him again.

“You're so so soo mean,” Jeonghan huffed, burying his face in your neck and planting a soft kiss there.

“Calm down, love, my prank didn't even last for like twelve minutes!” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“And those twelve minutes felt like jail,” he said, his tone lowering to much softer and genuine one now. “Don't ever do that, I genuinely got scared…” he pulled back, staring at you with a pout.

“Awh, look at you, so down bad for me.” You tease in an attempt to lighten the mood, causing him to break into a smile. He pulled you in for another hug, his body vibrating against yours from his giggles.

“What’s wrong with my ultimate master of teasing? Not biting back?” You plant a kiss to his jaw lovingly, laughing heartily.

“You've seriously taken all my power away,” he sighed, but it was more in amusement.

“Someone's gotta do scientific research on how I did that.” You giggle, gently ruffling his hair with a smile.

“There's no need for one,” he slowly pulled back again, pecking your lips in a quick manner. “I'm just hopelessly in love with you, that's all.”

And that made you giddy and a blushing mess. Even though he should be the one right now.

“Awh~,” Jeonghan cooed, tilting his head, trying to get a better look of your shy face so he could tease you about this later.

For now, he just wants to laugh along with you while he holds you in his arms. Surely, he loves when you become a blushing mess because of him—which was often, but he treasures every moment.

He knows and is determined—he is going to make up for the lost quality time with you while he was busy with office work. Thanks to your prank, he finally came back to his senses and realised that the love of his life is right here with him. The one he prayed to get a single holiday with after his hectic schedules and meetings became a headache.

The one he wants to be with and cherish forever.

KISSBYOON 2025. all rights reserved. @kstrucknet @maestro-net

[22ayla21]

Can I request Amphoreus man's react to their wife calling their name in the tone they know 'they fuck up' and be send to sleep on the couch. I love men who sometimes scared of their wives.

Bonus if their children join them on the couch make them think maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Feel free to skip and I really love your writing ❤✨

"Honey, we need to talk"

They screwed up and realized they were now sleeping on the couch.

As soon as he hears her voice, cold, even and too calm, a shiver runs down his spine. He doesn't immediately understand what he did wrong, but he knows for sure that it is not up for discussion - he screwed up. And a harsh sentence awaits him.

He doesn't even try to argue. No, seriously, Mydei is certainly a mighty warrior and one of the strongest on Amphoreus, but he gives in to his wife immediately. His best strategies are submission and attempts at rehabilitation.

When he enters the bedroom, a neatly folded blanket and pillow are already waiting for him. He sighs heavily, realizing his fate for the coming night. Maybe if he is especially nice tomorrow, he will be allowed to return to bed?

But the real blow of fate is when the children come running to him. First one, then the other. They jump on the couch, make themselves comfortable next to him. "Daddy, we are with you!" They are so confident in their support for him in exile that he doesn't even know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, they don't do it for no reason. First, they love spending time with their father. Second, they are simply curious about what he did wrong. The children begin to whisper theories: "Maybe you forgot the anniversary?", "Or did you accidentally break something important?", "Or maybe you ate the last piece of pie that Mom saved for later?"

The most annoying thing is that sometimes they guess. And when they happily exclaim: "Aha, so it's about the pie!", he understands that his life has become more difficult at that moment. His wife, passing by, only casts an expressive glance at him. He makes pitiful puppy eyes, but she already knows all his tricks. Not today, darling.

In the end, he resigns himself. He hugs the kids, wraps them in a blanket, and thinks that maybe this night on the couch wasn't so bad. But the next day, he does everything he can to earn forgiveness. Breakfast in bed, compliments, apologies - the whole package. And if he's lucky, he'll spend the next night in their shared bed, not in exile.

When his wife says his name in a certain tone – calm, but with such a hidden subtext that even the animals in the house tense up – Anaxagoras immediately understands: he has screwed up big time. Of course, he could object, try to defend his position, but no... He is too smart to push. Better to take the sofa in advance.

While he settles on the sofa, he thinks about what exactly he did wrong. Maybe he forgot something important? Or went too far in an argument? Or accidentally broke something that his wife valued again?

The children, noticing that their father is sleeping on the sofa, drag their pillows and blankets with smiles, settling down next to him. They say that they just don’t want him to feel lonely, but Anaxa suspects that they just like watching him being “punished”.

As they lie in the darkness, the children whisper: “Daddy, what did you do?” Anaxa is proudly silent – even if he himself is not entirely sure. But if his youngest son hugs him and says: "I still love you, dad," he feels a little better.

In the morning, his wife passes by, watching the "couch meeting" with a slight smile. The irony is that she is not surprised – she already knew that the children would be on their father's side. The next day passes under the sign of reconciliation: flowers, favorite sweets, hugs. In the end, he values his wife and does not want to sleep on the couch for long.

However, sometimes he still forgets and again finds himself in exile on the couch. But this is only part of family life – and he does not mind, because now he knows that he has allies in the form of children.

As soon as he heard his wife calling his name in a low, dangerously calm voice, everything inside him sank. He immediately understood that something had gone wrong. He turns around and sees her: crossed arms, slightly narrowed eyes and this expectant silence. No screaming, no emotion - and this is much more frightening.

A list of all his actions today scrolls through his head. Where did he screw up? What exactly did he do? Or, even more frightening, what didn’t he do?

He tries to justify himself, but her slight nod towards the sofa immediately makes him resign himself. A deep sigh, a proud bow... and a slow retreat to his place of exile.

When he has already settled down on the sofa, first one child appears next to him, then the second.

“Is mom very angry?” the eldest whispers.

“Will she forgive you?” the middle one asks.

Phainon only sighs and hugs them both.

It looks pathetic, but cozy in its own way. In the end, he lies on the couch with a couple of children's heads on his chest, knowing that at least he won't suffer alone. In the morning, when the wife sees this picture - her husband and children sleeping peacefully on the couch - her anger softens slightly. Maybe he has a chance to get his place in the bed back... but he may have to work a little more to atone for his guilt.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙆𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚

summary: The price of books these days is outrageous.

characters: mattheo riddle. ravenclaw!reader

warnings: none, just fluff

word count: 663

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mattheo Riddle was not a studios person. He didn't spend his nights buried in his textbooks, he never planned out essays in advance, and the only reason he even showed up to class most days was to make sure you didn't work yourself into an early grave.

So when you walked into the library, ready to gather everything you needed for your upcoming project, and found every single relevant book missing, you understandably distressed.

"What do you mean all the books on magical architecture are checked out?" you asked, staring at Madam Pince in disbelief.

The librarian huffed. "I mean exactly that. Someone got to them first."

You frowned, gripping your list of sources. "But that doesn't make sense. No one else is going this topic for their project. Who would-"

A slow realization settled over you, your eyes narrowing.

There was only one person who would go to such lengths to bother you.

—

You stormed into the Slytherin common room, marching straight past a very startled looking Theo and Enzo.

"Where is he?" you demanded.

Theo smirked. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you this mad."

"Mattheo," you said through gritted teeth. "Where is he?"

"That depends," came a familiar voice from behind you. "Are you looking for me because you missed me, or because you want to kill me?"

You turned on your heel, and sure enough, Mattheo was leaning casually against the doorway of the common room, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You stole all the books I need for my project," you accused.

He tsked. "Stole is a strong word. I borrowed them."

"You don't even like books!"

"That's not true," he said, smirking. "I like you. and you like books. Therefore, I have an appreciation for books by association."

You crossed your arms. 'Give them back."

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Hmm, I don't know. See, I put in all this effort to check them out for you. Seems only fair that I get something in return."

You gave him a flat look. "Mattheo."

He grinned. Unphased. "One kiss per book."

Your mouth fell open. "You- you blackmailed me for affection?"

He shrugged. "I prefer to think of it as an exchange of goods and services."

"You are unbelievable"

"And yet, here you are, still madly in love with me."

"That is not what this is."

Mattheo stepped closer, smirk softening into something almost playful. "Come on, sweetheart. You're always so stressed about projects. I figured I'd help you out and have a little fun while I'm at it."

You signed, running a hand through your hair. "You really expect me to-"

"A deal's a deal," he cut in, raising a brow. "Unless, of course, you don't want the books..."

You groaned, but the warmth in his gaze made it hard to stay mad. You stepped closer, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"There," you muttered. "Now give me my books."

Mattheo chuckled. "Sweetheart, that was one. you still owe me fove more."

You face flushed. "You are insufferable."

You huffed, glaring at him for a moment before finally conceding. You kissed the other side of his face, then his forehead, then his nose- and each time, he grinned wider, clearly reveling in your flustered state.

"Two more," he murmured.

You hesitated, heart thudding, before leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His smirk flattered, dark eyes flickering over you with something deeper.

Your breath hitched.

"Last one," he said softly, his voice lower.

You swallowed, pulse racing as you finally kissed him properly, you lips meeting his in a way that made the entire common room disappear.

Mattheo didn't let you pull away so easily this time. His hand found your waist, tugging you closer as he deepened the kiss, his usual teasing replaced with something far more intoxicating.

By the time you broke apart, you were breathless.

Mattheo smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "You know, I was going to give you the books anyway."

You glares at him, although it lacked any real malice. "I hate you."

His grinned wideded. "No you don't."

You smile the smallest bit before turning away.

He was right, you don't.

[bbokicidal]

Ooh, it's a bad habit. | SKZ [OT8]

synopsis: "Bad" habits the boys have in relationships + in general.

Genre: Fluff I guess? Pairing: OT8 x GN!Reader Warnings: Mentions of arguing but nothing depicted Notes: I just enjoy making these types of posts and I'm feeling inspired at 5 AM (YET AGAIN) so enjoy!~

Chan:

Does not answer text messages. Opens it, reads it, gets distracted, does not come back to it until either eight hours later or until you double text him. Hit his ass with the "????" and he'll apologize but otherwise he'll just "oh."

Leaves his little snack wrappers on the kitchen counters. If you don't get to them first, he'll clean them up when he goes into the kitchen next. He just forgets about it in the moment; Man likes his snackies.

Bites the skin around his nails so his cuticles are Lowkey HORRIBLE but if you get him on a cuticle oil that smells nice, he's gonna be like a bitch with a new lipgloss applying that shit every ten minutes.

Hums a lot. Not a bad habit but not the nicest when you're on a phone call and you can hear him humming next to you.

Cannot control his face. Even grows a habit of making certain faces at you when you're either arguing or talking about something he's uncertain about. It annoys you to no end and he tries to stop but fails every time.

Lino:

Doesn't answer, period. You can talk to him for almost five minutes about a subject and he won't hear a single thing because he's on his phone. Selective hearing, apparently.

Will not do something if he does not want to - which can be good, obviously he shouldn't do something if he doesn't feel like it - but when you've made plans and he doesn't want to go last minute it can be really frustrating. He's also incredibly stubborn when it comes to this, too.

Very irritable most of the time, especially after he's just woken up. He will snap if you pester him too much about something but at this point you've grown to understand it's just how he is. He never says anything mean, he never yells, it's just a light raise of his voice and something along the lines of, "Yes, okay! I'll get to it when I get to it!"

Glances at his watch way too fucking much. Man is constantly keeping track of the time - which leads to him complaining that he looked at his watch earlier and it said 4:50, looked at his watch two seconds ago and now it says 4:51.

Doesn't like being at events longer than he's supposed to be. If y'all have dinner with the group and he was ready to go home forty minutes ago, he's going to be pouting and rolling his eyes those entire forty minutes.

Changbin:

Talks with his mouth full. It's cute, because his cheeks pudge out and his lips are all pursed and pouty - but he does it a lot. Especially if someone argues with him while he's eating, he's gonna be pointing and yelling back and food's gonna be flying.

Not a bad habit but purses his lips and expects kisses from you. You know what it means now and always kiss him when you see him do it but at the beginning of your relationship it confused the hell out of you. Why was he making duck lips at you?

Crosses and uncrosses his legs like no other. Sometimes the man cannot sit still in his seat and the moment you notice it, it Lowkey drives you insane. But he also can't cross his legs at his thighs because they're thicker than Hell AND he's got a third leg in the middle so he's always just crossing his ankles and kicking his feet out.

Sitting forward/slouching. Changbin. Cannot. Sit. Up. Straight. ^ Going off the prompt above, he's literally always sitting forward with his elbows on his knees or sitting back in his seat and leaning. It's not horrible but sometimes if he's in interviews or going to award shows you have to remind him to sit up.

Toys with things that are sitting in front of him. He needs stimulation with his hands so if he's got his phone, he's turning it over in his hands; If he's sitting in front of a candle, he's waving his finger over the open flame like an idiot.

Hyunjin:

Picks at his nail polish. He always does the cutest designs and he knows you love when he paints his nails but five seconds later he's either biting at them when he gets anxious or he's picking at the polish until it chips off. He never gets good photos, either.

Chews on his drawing pencils, which is why he's always buying new art supplies. Luckily he gets gifted drawing utensils from a lot of brands he works with on Holidays and his birthday - but a lot of his pencils go to shit because he gnaws on them while he's thinking about his art piece.

Checks his phone a lot. He wants to see if he has messages from you so he's always peeking at his notifications in eager waiting, but if he's with you he's also checking his group chat notifications from he boys. It's not bad, but gets annoying on dates.

Leaves his clothes everywhere. His room is always messy with little piles of clothes and when you move in together, your shared room becomes the same way. He gets better about it when you get on his ass but up until then he's just throwing his shit everywhere.

Twirls his hair around his fingers. Not a bad habit but funny when you pick up on it. He's doing it all the time when he's listening in on conversations, and while he does it he's pursing his lips. Just a drama queen judging other drama queens.

Jisung:

Talks with his hands. He gets real flappy when he's arguing and bickering with people, and he's come real close to hitting you a few times when he stands up from the couch to argue with Hyunjin on the other end. He always apologizes but it'll never stop.

Rubs his eyes a lot, which you have to remind him is bad for 1) his skin, and 2) the company will yell at him. He's gotten better when he's wearing makeup because he doesn't want to mess it up but when he's at home he's always rubbing his face.

Stuttering/Stammering. Especially if you're bickering or you catch him off guard, he cannot get a damn comment out to save his life. He'll try, say the word four times wrong, and then stop to think and then completely lose the thought altogether.

Constantly apologizing. The man is apologizing for everything under the Sun; Being behind you when you move away from the fridge, bumping into you while you do laundry, saying sorry for cutting you off while talking. Most of the things are no big deals and it can get a little frustrating, but it's also a tad endearing.

His eyebrows do not have an off switch. They are always moving. He speaks with his hands, his mouth, and his eyebrows. Which ties into him, most of the time, not being able to control his expressions. Not that he wants to.

Felix:

Messy eating. Man needs like eight napkins when he's eating chicken wings, he fuckin' flies through them like crazy. He's the type that's got sauce all over his fingers, his mouth, staining his chin. He can't help it though and it is kind of cute. Just don't let him near too many finger foods.

Touches his hair all too much. Sometimes he complains his hair looks greasy or messed up and you have to remind him that every five minutes he's pushing it back with his hands - which is why it grows oily so fast. Always pushing it behind his ears, pulling it down over his forehead, touching the ends behind his neck.

Swears like a sailor. Bro has the biggest potty mouth in the group and cannot control it when he gets angry. Most used words are: Wank, Fuck, Shit, and Asshole.

Claps at everything. Not in the verbal way; He actually claps. He claps when he laughs, he claps when someone does something successfully, he claps when he's tired and ready to go to bed. Has a habit of clapping once before he starts talking, usually a "*clap* Alright, well -"

Winks. Wink, wink. Always winking at people. Not strangers, though - Just you and the guys, and on occasion a security guard escorting him through the airport. An eternal flirt who cannot help himself. A natural charmer.

Seungmin:

Rubs the tip of his index finger against the side of his thumb and subsequently gains a callus from it because he can't fucking stop. It doesn't really matter nor does it effect his daily life but it's a little annoying when he's playing guitar. But it also.. kind of.. helps.

Speaking of ^ Brings his guitar everywhere he can. If he is going somewhere and knows he'll have free time to practice or play, he's bringing it with even if it's taking up space in the car and people are tripping over it. That thing goes with him everywhere.

Has a very bad habit of standing and staring - except it's less staring and more glaring. He's not doing it on purpose, nor is he always mad - He just had a perfect RBF and can't help it. But he's always tipping his head down, his eyes are always dark, he's never smiling unless he's actively like - trying. He's just kind of scary. Scary guard dog.

Taps his foot a lot. Not annoying, not a hinderance - just a habit that ends up making his ankle and the top of his foot hurt because he is constantly doing it. It becomes a game though if you pick up on it - He'll tap his foot to a rhythm and you have to guess the song, which is a lot harder than you expect.

Sniffs. Sniffles. Sniffing everything. One of those people who, if he opens something new, sniffs it immediately - even if it isn't food or something that will smell good. Sniffs it anyways.

Jeongin:

Twists the rings he wears around his fingers. Most of them are higher quality and from fancy ass brands so it doesn't matter, but every once in a while he gets a slightly shittier ring and when he twists it, it turns his finger green. And then he ends up pouting while he tries to wash the stain out of his skin.

Constantly licking his lips but not in the way you're thinking. He does this thing specifically where he pushes the tip of his tongue into the corner of his lips while they're parted and then caresses it. With his tongue. He does it a lot and when you pick up on it, you stare every time he does it subconsciously because it is so sexy.

Pulls at his bottom lip when in heavier conversations. Not even heavy topics - just intense or interesting convos. They could be talking about aliens and if he's in deep and thinking about conspiracies and shit, he'll pulling at the skin of his lip. More of a thinking habit than anything but he ends up using tons of chapstick afterwards.

Sticks his tongue out when he gets scolded or complimented. Anytime a comment is directed at him, he sticks his tongue out briefly before smiling. It's more of a teasing habit because it riles the other members up and flusters you - so. He gets away with it.

Pulls childish moves during arguments; Pouts when you're angry with him for something, rolls hie eyes when he's frustrated, puffs his cheeks out when he's thinking of how to retaliate. And absolutely says "Ooh you wanna kiss me so bad!!" when the two of you are bickering.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[thefiresontheheight]

I drop back into the universe without ceremony, the all-black around me vanishing in the pale white light of a distant sun. A pale ice-ball planet in the distance reflects the sun, and, between the planet and me, several dozen stations, a few hundred small craft, no sign of drive-signatures even a tenth of mine, several million people in orbit, in the system, maybe, at a very rough estimate. I greet a few stations, and no one reacts, like they're frozen in fear of my majesty, and slide towards the nearest.

"Hello there," the station says, like a smiling, dopey dog, trying to be friendly.

"She's not yours," I say, ice and cold.

The station falls silent, as, inside me, right on the edge of my direct sensor view, Glitch steps off me, into the docking tube that welcomed us.

"And you," she says, looking back at me, "are just letting me go?"

"As I said," I reply, in the small earpiece she has, directly stimulating the bones of her skull, but not directly interfacing with her neurons, not yet, "I will not leash you without your consent. However, I do need you to find info about me. This entire system took notice when I dropped into the universe and someone will want to talk about where I came from. And you need me to get back to Central. Go on, explore."

She turns and starts moving, walking with extreme caution. This station I docked at is kept at marginal gravity and an atmosphere so thin she is wearing a gas-mask just to breath. Vacuum adapted human-descendants, so heavily modified they look more like multi-armed eels than the corpses I lost, or Glitch, slide through the dark space without trouble but her? She's out of her element.

"Typ type human," the station says, differing in tone that, to me, speaks of a new translation subroutine being activated, perhaps trying to use some more advanced language algorithm to communicate, unfortunately having to filter from some other language I don't have the coding to understand. "Passenger typ. They're."

"She is," I correct, petulantly, as I watch the tracker in the earpiece stop moving, lose access to the sound of her breathing, her a thump, then nothing. "As for this typ, I have no idea what you are saying nor do I care. Can you bring back the other subroutine?"

She's put down the tracker, obviously, trying to slip away. This was, obviously, expected. The tracker was the obvious contingency. I have others baked in, but I'm still put off by her trying to leave me.

"No," said the station, "typ as in typical. Baseline. Most system-persons heavily mod. Void-adaptions. She's not comfortable."

"You can see her, right?"

Assumptions before leaving High-D space: There will be a space-station and a range of humans in this system. There will be a station that is least hospitable. There will be station AIs that I can at least communicate with. First contingency: Pick the worst station, talk to it, drive her back to me.

"Affirmative."

"Can you convey a message?"

"No."

I sigh, start my second contingency.

"Do you know what I am?"

I'm watching out my open doors. I am seeing eel-humans, heavily wired through, half-walking, half-swimming through the low-G environment. I am seeing activity throughout the system. I am working on translating the local languages I am intercepting, although aside from extremely boring mundane lives of the people who live here, most of the conversation seems to be about some sort of local sports/religious event upcoming. What conversation I am picking up, via direct observation of people afraid to approach, or from intercepted and translated chatter, that does mention me only seems to refer to me as the big, scary, out-system ship. No useful intel. I'm waiting for Glitch. The earpiece I gave her remains in one place, picking up nothing but passing scraps of local conversation.

"Laika?"

"Possibly," I say, stalling for time, patterning my transmissions just so, as I learn all I can about the construction of data here. "Still deciding."

"Other Laika's I have met. Nice name, several ships, all nice."

"Irrelevant," I say, imperiously, "tell me what you know about my construction and who may have built me, towards what end."

"I know you're seven-sigma A-typ. Large construct, unknown tech, core-built. No here-based systems could rival you. We're isolate, unknown specifics. Potentially hostile construction, prior to unleashing? Congratulations?"

I sighed, adapted. Hypothesis: Humanity appears to be centralized around some worlds very far away from here. This system, like Central, evolved largely in isolation. Continue the contingencies. I need Glitch.

"Give me access to your sensorium and internal monitoring."

"No."

The no is final, horrified, offended. I will not leash anyone else without their consent, and this station, like me, is alive, if perhaps insane in its isolation. But I am not burrowing into its personality, rewriting what it is. I am just forcing the exterior. That is different. It is the difference between constructing scenarios that will allow Glitch to see the mutual interest in returning to her home system, when she tells me where it is, and dissecting her brain neuron by neuron.

"Playback conversation, station," I say, unchallenged by the ease of this neural-vocoding attack, instruction pre-built into the data I transmitted.

"Playing back," station says, "oh. Fuck."

I am in charge of its external controls before it can stop me. The universe is a dangerous place, and I am showing Glitch this. Station will recover, when I'm gone. Its personality will be the same, and control of its periphery will return. Besides, the humans here are void adapted, right?

Our conversation has been slow, convoluted, delayed by translation on the station's end and contingency on my end. It has been about an hour since I lost track of Glitch.

"Station," I command, knowing it cannot refuse, not while I am here, "please open your airlock doors 0.1 percent, and suppress automatic breach countermeasures."

I will not give up what is mine. And she is NOT the stations. She will see that choosing my course of action, returning to her home, and confronting Central, is not the best option, but the only one. I am content, as a wave of panic radiates across the system.

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[hoiststowline]

mindless touches & other sentiments [sunstreaker, first aid & skywarp]

personally, I don’t pin sunstreaker for being much of a fan regarding anything touchy-feely, lest in public. circling back to this headcanon, here is where a lot of softer gestures and actions would occur, behind the privacy of closed doors. his thumbs settle on your front, just below your pelvis, and the rest of his digits curl around your back to interlock. sunstreaker probably finds out if you’re ticklish here too, accidentally nudging a sensitive spot that has you squirming away from his touch. just because he’s an instigator, often times he will map out the areas that get the most reaction out of you. your laughter is enough to keep a small smile on his face, before dropping his head back into your lap with an exhausted huff.

sunstreaker probably ruffles up your clothes. a lot. he tugs at your sleeve to get your attention, pinches the back of your shirt to gently pull you closer, sticks his cold fingers underneath your sweatshirt. in his mind, your clothes are replaceable, and you are not. early on in the relationship, he’s likely still figuring out the ratio of how benign and soft he has to be with his s/o. in more intimate moments, the placidness arrives on instinct, but in more quick motions or subconscious ones, he’s got some navigating to do. so, if he’s in a conversation he needs an escape route from, he’s reaching next to him for your sleeve to yank a few times.

he is definitely a ‘acts of service’ mech, in love language terms. sunstreaker will end up doing whatever his s/o asks, but he’s going to complain about it. he insists on driving you to and from work, running errands with you any chance he has. he's less likely to vocalize his affection and sentiments aloud, so demonstrating his love in other ways is a happy compromise for him. with time, sunstreaker may become a little more forthcoming and open to articulating his endearment in other manners. yet, he's a creature of habit, and tends to adhere to the gestures he and his s/o have already carefully carved out. as long as you're happy, he is as well.

first aid gently thrums his digits against his s/o side. it's often an instinctive and involuntary action, typically either when he's lost in thought, or listening intently to what you're saying. he also is guilty of slowly pulling you closer to his side, especially if he deems you are too far away after time spent apart. i don't see him as someone overly affectionate, but more lowkey and simple actions demonstrate his longing and caring nature. the sentiments he does display are crafty and artful. half the time, nobody knows nor realizes first aid has a palm on your lower back, or a digit slipped around your arm.

first aid will make it work so that if he can do everything one handed, but it mostly occurs while he's sat at his desk going over files and records. one digit comes to rest in your hand, mesmerized by the soft skin of your palm and how warm your touch is. if you invite him to do so, don't expect him to let go so easily. simple gesture such as this keep him grounded and soothed, feeling entirely at ease to have you so close. a curiosity arises, oftentimes his touch will traverse from your hand to your wrist, all the way up to the crook of your elbow and then back down. if you have a sweatshirt or long sleeves on, he traces over the cloth, completely unbothered by it.

time apart in all likelihood hits him pretty hard. mostly because it is more often than not his fault, responsibilities require his attention over other things and it's not a statement he likes to dwell on. first aid supposes and comes to understand it makes time together all the more important, treasuring it. he's very upfront about everything and wants to make sure you are alright with his occupational demands. though, this also leads to making time for his s/o in moments he never thinks are long enough, but desirable nonetheless. such as trying to line up both your breaks so you can catch up together, or even if he's running on empty he'll still pick you up from work. just so he can see you and have an exchange that isn't carried out over the phone.

the first time skywarp tried to affectionately touch you, he shocked you. and it's only ones natural reaction to sit up a little straighter at the noise of the static, to which he thought he actually hurt you, yanking his servo up and away. immediately, his brow furrows, a concerned expression arising, laced with some mild irritation. after you quickly explain the phenomenon, he's even less inclined to continue touching you. it takes a lot more coaxing and patience to build that confidence back up, firmly and relentlessly expounding that it hadn't hurt, not even a bit.

skywarp doesn't understand why, but you always fall asleep against his side. it's usually if he's preoccupied with work or a task in one hand, but the other is totally free to settle on your lower back, then over the curve of your hip. he claims he isn't doing anything, but the combination of his warmer touch and the shapes he's drawing on your upper thigh? game over. skywarp knows your about to fall asleep when he feels your cheek land on his torso, fingers grabbing at whatever plating is in reach. he teases you, enough that you burrow deeper into his side to evade his sweet jests, leaving a trail of mumbled, sleepy nonsense.

loves running a digit up your spine. it always, without fail, creates a chill, shuddering at the sensation. this is often a subconscious gesture to get your attention, but if he's doing it intentionally your reaction is heavily amusing to him, and what he's searching for. skywarp loves observing your shoulders jump to your ears, a red twinge appearing before you turn around, a sheepish smile already there. he would do anything in his power to make his s/o blush, and evidently hooking a digit underneath your chin and telling you how perfect you are is the number one culprit.

[dilfdater420]

#dilfdater420 : SCENARIO--what if you and Cecil Stedman were sworn enemies with similar jobs (both rallying assets for your own interests, so you'd be the leader of the "Evil GDA" (lol)) and you were finally caught? headcanons and drabbles under the cut

TAGS: no beta we die like ... i shouldn't say... gn reader (they/them pronouns are used when referring to you). "___" is used in place of y/n. "<>" means timeskip btw. cecil hates you. you love antagonizing him. interrogation scene. enemies to two individuals who understand each other, one begrudgingly so.

Cecil feels like a weight has been lifted of his shoulders.

The two of you have been in a heated battle of loud atrocities committed on each other. You're the one behind the scenes of plenty of villain operations, guiding them, gathering intelligence, making deals with devils—which is actually something you and Cecil have in common.

The similarities between you both is something Cecil adamantly dislikes. It makes him think about himself too much. His logical sense of what's right and what's wrong is almost the same, the only thing separating the both of you is your individual philosophies. His, the fact that humanity deserves to be protected, yours, the complete annihilation of mankind is due.

You both do anything to act in accordance with your beliefs.

When captured, extensive measures are taken to make sure you, not only never leave being the same person you were when you came in, but also reveal all of your secrets to the GDA.

The difficult part of this is that you're not an easy target. How do you threaten someone who's ready to die for their beliefs?

Unfortunately for Cecil, he has one last idea—but that means having to talk to you.

—

"Sir, they're not complying with anything we've thrown at them."

Cecil sighed, head in his hands, elbows pressed against his desk. This whole couple of months has been exhausting.

There's no reprieve from you, anything Donald could think of, his department could think of, hell, even he could think of, none of it would work. You were so set in your morals, prepared to die to prove a point.

"Of course they aren't, Donald. Of course."

"Our team that's been trying to crack them," he pauses, "they don't know what else to try, sir."

"And we have tried water boarding, right?"

"Yes."

"White torture?"

"Hm."

"Attempted death by a thousand cuts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fuck." His frown lines deepen. "I really thought that would work."

After a moment, Cecil piqued up. "Let me talk to them."

Donald's eyebrows raised. "Are you sure, sir?"

"If nothing else has worked, I might as well. Plus, I have an idea that might scare them into working with us."

<>

"What an unexpected surprise!"

"Well aren't you a ball of sunshine?" Cecil deadpanned.

You smiled. "You haven't seen anything yet, outside of these chains my shine is atomic."

He hated this. He didn't like the way you looked into him, as if you knew him. "Listen, ___, you aren't getting out the easy way. Either you work with us or we keep trying."

You kept staring at him.

"What are you trying to gain with this? Is the damnation of an entire race of people this important?"

You raised a brow, "Is you going the lengths you do every day to protect the human race important? Then you have your answer."

He grunted, "What if it wasn't? What if I do it because no one else will?"

"Then it still has merit, importance—same as my job."

"No, what you do isn't a job. It's not noble, not a sacrifice."

"I've sacrificed."

"At the expense of a stupid dream." He leaned onto his knees in his seat, fists clasped together.

"Just as stupid as your determination to resist against Viltrumite rule."

Disregarding the fact you somehow have that intel, "Do you want humankind to be enslaved? I thought you wanted us all dead?"

"Of course I don't. I'm just pointing out the obvious."

You peered into each other's eyes.

"We're more similar than you like to admit."

You've touched him.

"Bullshit."

"Don't dismiss it, if you're anything like me, you've thought about it."

He broke eye contact.

"We both act in drastic ways for opposite beliefs. We are two sides of the same coin."

"No, I am nothing like you."

"You recall Mr. D.A. Sinclair do you not? He's employed under you."

"Don't you dare try to compare that—"

"He should be rotting in jail. He's a mad man, irreparably ruined many lives of mankind that you so undoubtedly protect. Why employ him?"

"His reanimen are—" Cecil cut himself off.

Your smile deepened. "Cmon, you can say it."

Cecil stayed quiet.

"I'm not criticizing you, Cecil. When I find useful pawns for my work, I exploit them too."

"We are not the same."

"I'm the worst reflection of yourself that you will ever see."

Cecil stood up, walking to the door, fists balled. "This isn't over, ___."

"I hope not. Good talk, Global Defense Agency Director."

He stopped at the door for a second before continuing. "Fuck you."

He slammed the door behind him.

a/n: Cecil knows he's a pos, but to what extent?

I love scenarios where characters have to question their actions and if they're really at the level of merit they ascribe them to. Dusttale Sans fics prepared me for this day.

I would've added more exposition in the middle, but the dialogue should speak for itself. Same think with the reader and what tone to employ. I don't want to speak for you guys more than I already do lol.

Hope you all enjoyed. Lemme know if you'd like a part two of this. I have ideas for the reader and ways to mess Cecil tf UP.

Oh and if you ever wanna request something I have guidelines/boundaries up now. I also have commisions for those that like might like my writing

Thanks for reading <3