#so I’m making that a mission from now on

[freakycafetomoe]

The Years in a Blink

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵pairing !! : Gojo Satoru x Reader

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵summary !! : Love, parenthood, and how time moves too fast when raising someone you love.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵contains !! : Fluff!!!!, a happy family, emotional whiplash, Gojo being the most dramatic but softest dad, heartwarming, a daughter growing up, Gojo being Gojo, heartfelt family moments, a lifetime of love, nostalgic angst, angst with a happy ending, humor, and a full-circle ending.

not beta-read. we die like men !!

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵word count !! : 8k words

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵playlist !! : You'll Be in My Heart by NIKI

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵A/N !! : This was supposed to be a simple headcannon, but somehow it turned into a whole thing… omfg. This has been rusting in my drafts for 5 consecutive lol days, and I finally got around to posting it. I have no idea why it took me so long, but here we are!! and I am both emotionally drained and weirdly proud. 😭tanginaaaajdksfbhd I made this while listening to You'll Be in My Heart by NIKI, and it was so worth it. Now I'm rereading it while playing the song again, and JKKEFUGKDSVBSFUH OMG, I’m so proud of my work. If you liked it, please like, follow, and reblog—it would make my suffering worth it LMAO. This is my first ever long fic #favorite. Hope you enjoy this rollercoaster of love and Gojo being the most dramatic dad ever. This fic means the world to me! 💙 (i have daddy issues)

⇢ read on ao3 here.

Dad! Satoru who took forever to come up with the perfect name for his daughter. He had a whole whiteboard full of ideas. “Okay, babe, hear me out. Infinity Gojo.” You threw a pillow at him. “Satoru, no.” He dodged dramatically. “Fine, fine. But what about… Limitless Gojo?” You grabbed another pillow. In the end, he chose a name that meant “miracle” or “light” because that’s what she was to him. His brightest existence. But of course, he still calls her “Princess Infinity” as a nickname.

Dad! Satoru who is absolutely wrecked by how much she looks like you. The first time she pouts, he points at her like he just discovered a new universe. “DID YOU SEE THAT?! That’s your pout. She’s your mini-me!” He holds her up like Simba in The Lion King. “You are the chosen one!”

Dad! Satoru who takes his discovery way too seriously. He starts documenting every facial expression, snapping pictures like a paparazzo. "Look at this one!" he exclaims, shoving his phone in your face. "She’s got your ‘annoyed but secretly endeared’ look down perfectly!" You sigh, glancing at the photo of your daughter glaring at him mid-bite of her snack. "Gee, I wonder where she learned that from."

Dad! Satoru who swears he’s going to get a baby-sized blindfold because “her expressions are too powerful.” He dramatically shields his eyes when she pouts. "I can’t! She’s too cute! I’m weakened!" You flick his forehead. "You’re literally the strongest sorcerer, Satoru." "Yeah, well, not against this!" He gestures wildly at your daughter, who just blinks up at him, completely unbothered.

Dad! Satoru who makes it his personal mission to capture every moment. “Babe, babe, look—she’s furrowing her brows just like you do when you’re mad at me.” He grins proudly, taking another picture. You sigh. "At this rate, we’re going to run out of storage space." He smirks. "Guess we’ll just have to get another phone. For research purposes."

Dad! Satoru who insists on doing side-by-side comparisons. He holds up baby pictures of you next to her face, squinting. "Unreal. It’s like I time-traveled and married baby-you." You shove him lightly. "That’s a weird way to put it." He nods solemnly. "Yeah, that sounded better in my head."

Dad! Satoru who is absolutely convinced she has your attitude, too. "Oh no," he whispers dramatically after she gives him a particularly unimpressed look. "She’s got your stare. I’m doomed." You cross your arms. "Maybe she’s just learned not to tolerate your nonsense." He gasps. "My own wife and daughter, teaming up against me?! Betrayal!"

Dad! Satoru who secretly loves it, though. Because while she might have your face, she has his laugh, and every time she baby-giggled at his antics, it’s like hearing the best sound in the world. He grins, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead before looking at you with an almost smug expression. "Looks like my genes still won in the end, babe."

Dad! Satoru who still can’t believe his child is a perfect mix of him and the love of his life. Some days, he just stares at her in awe. “She’s got my eyes, but your entire face,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Like the universe just decided, ‘Yeah, let’s take Gojo Satoru and make him actually pretty.’” He huffs dramatically. “Unfair.” But then she giggles—his giggle, his exact laugh—and his heart melts because somehow, impossibly, she’s the best of both of you.

Dad! Satoru who gets smug about her inherited powers way too fast. “She’s got my eyes. She’s so getting my powers.” You squint at him. “Or she just has your eyes, and that’s it.” He smirks. “Nah. She’s definitely gonna be OP.”

Dad! Satoru who gets proof of her potential when, as a baby, she somehow activates Infinity. He went to pick her up—and his hand just stopped mid-air. “WHAT. BABE. SHE’S BLOCKING ME OUT.” You blinked. “Satoru… is she using Infinity?” He gasped, falling to his knees. “She’s already mastered self-defense. I’ve never been prouder.”

Dad! Satoru who realized way too late that having a mini-him was a recipe for chaos. The first time she teleported onto the kitchen counter by accident, he nearly dropped his drink. “BABE, SHE JUST—DID YOU SEE THAT?!” You sighed, already used to the absurdity. “Yep. Congratulations, you’ve cloned yourself.” Meanwhile, she just giggled, completely unbothered, while Satoru dramatically clutched his chest. “She’s too powerful. We need to establish ground rules immediately.”

Dad! Satoru who is a total girl dad. Braiding her hair (badly), playing dress-up (“I make a fantastic tea party guest, thank you very much”), letting her paint his nails, and calling her “Daddy’s little sorcerer.”

Dad! Satoru who is completely whipped. The second she says, “Papa, up!” he’s already lifting her. If she tugs his sleeve, he kneels immediately. If she claps her hands? Oh, whatever she wants, she gets. And if she ever cries? Oh, he’s fighting the air, the universe, and maybe even himself because NO ONE makes his princess cry.

Dad! Satoru who still can’t believe he had made a life out of love. He’s cradling her in his arms, watching the slow rise and fall of her tiny chest, the way her little fingers twitch in sleep. She’s so small—so impossibly small—and yet she fills every corner of his heart in ways he never thought possible. He brushes a thumb over her cheek, awestruck. “How did we make something this perfect?” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You stand at the doorway, watching them—, your husband and your daughter bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Satoru is sitting by the crib, one long leg stretched out, the other bent so he can rest his elbow on his knee. Your daughter, barely a few months old, is curled up against his chest, her tiny hand fisting the fabric of his shirt in sleep.

Gojo doesn’t notice you at first, too lost in the quiet rise and fall of your baby’s breathing. But when he finally looks up, your eyes meet.

For a solid minute, neither of you says a word. You just look.

It’s a silent conversation, one spoken in the way Satoru’s arms instinctively tighten around your child, in the way your lips part, as if to say something but never quite do. It’s in the way his expression softens, those normally bright, mischievous eyes now filled with something gentler

Something deeper.

You step forward, the wooden floor cool beneath your bare feet. Slowly, tenderly, you press a kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a moment before resting your forehead against his temple. He exhales, a soundless sigh, melting into the warmth of your touch.

Standing there, with your daughter safe in his arms, you close your eyes and lean into him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His free hand finds your waist, grounding you, keeping you close.

And for a while, neither of you moves.

No words are needed. No explanations, no reassurances.

Because in that moment, it’s just you three.

Dad! Satoru who looks at his running child and suddenly feels heartbreak. It hits him out of nowhere—the realization that time is slipping through his fingers faster than he can grasp it. Just yesterday, she was so small, fragile, fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm. Now, she’s a blur of energy, teleporting through the house with that same mischievous glint in her bright blue eyes. He watches her, frozen in place, torn between overwhelming pride and the quiet ache of knowing she won’t always be this little. “Babe,” he says, turning to you in mock horror, masking the sting in his chest. “She’s growing too fast. Slow her down.”

Dad! Satoru who still finds himself staring at her sometimes, completely lost in the fact that she’s real. It feels like just yesterday when the two of you held her for the first time, when she was nothing more than soft coos and tiny fists curling around his fingers. Now she’s climbing onto his shoulders like it’s her throne, tugging at his hair as she demands, “Faster, Papa!” And of course, he obeys—because how could he ever say no to her?

Dad! Satoru who, no matter how much time passes, will never get used to the fact that he and the love of his life created someone so utterly, breathtakingly special. He watches as she sleepily crawls into your lap at the end of the day, rubbing her tired little eyes, and he swears, time can do whatever it wants—race forward, slip away—but he’ll always remember this. These fleeting moments, these stolen glimpses of pure, unfiltered love.

Satoru watches as his daughter runs across the living room, her tiny feet padding against the wooden floor, her giggles ringing like wind chimes in the summer breeze. And just like that, something in his chest tightens—painfully, achingly. He swallows hard, eyes tracing every movement, every bounce of her little steps. It feels like just yesterday when she fit in the palm of his hand, when she clung to him with fragile fingers, barely able to open her eyes. Now, she’s running, laughing, growing. Too fast. Far too fast.

“She’s too big,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he’s mourning something. His arms cross over his chest as he leans against the doorway, watching her twirl in her little dress—the one he swears was too big when you first bought it.

You look up from the couch, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “She’s literally three, Satoru.”

“Exactly!” He groans, running a hand through his hair in distress. “What’s next? College? Marriage? Moving out? My baby can’t leave me!”

“She just asked you to play tea party,” you snort, shaking your head. “I don’t think she’s planning her future yet.”

At that exact moment, your daughter comes barreling toward him, tugging insistently at his sleeve. “Papa, sit!” she demands, patting the tiny chair beside her plastic tea set. Her bright blue eyes—his eyes—glimmer with expectation, lips pursed in a pout so much like yours.

And just like that, the strongest sorcerer in the world is brought to his knees. Literally.

Satoru sighs, utterly defeated, but a grin spreads across his face as he lowers himself onto the ridiculously small chair. “Alright, Princess. Pour me some tea.”

Dad! Satoru who watches his daughter, now a teenager, with that same awe-struck expression he had when she was a baby. He still remembers when she used to cling to his leg, demanding piggyback rides, her tiny hands always reaching for him. Now, she’s taller, more independent, rolling her eyes at his antics instead of giggling at them. And it breaks him a little—because when did she grow up? When did his little girl become this smart, confident young woman?

Satoru watches his daughter from the doorway, arms crossed as she lounges on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She’s not running around the house anymore, not clinging to his sleeve or demanding piggyback rides. No more tea parties, no more chubby little hands reaching for his. Just a teenager, taller, sharper, more independent. And somehow, that realization cuts deeper than any wound he’s ever taken.

"Hey, kid," he calls out, leaning against the frame. She hums in response but doesn’t look up. He clicks his tongue. "What, no ‘Papa’ anymore? I remember when you used to cry if I wasn’t in the same room as you."

She finally glances at him, deadpan. "Yeah, well, I also used to think eating sand was a good idea. We all make mistakes."

Satoru gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as he staggers back like he’s been fatally wounded. "My own daughter… betraying me like this… where did I go wrong?"

You walk in just in time to witness his antics, sighing as you press a hand to your forehead. “Satoru, stop being dramatic.”

“She’s being mean to me,” he whines, pointing an accusatory finger.

His daughter snorts, finally setting her phone down. "Papa, I’m literally just existing."

He huffs, plopping down beside her and ruffling her hair despite her protests. And though she groans and swats at his hand, she doesn’t pull away completely. It’s not the same as before—he knows that. But when she leans her head against his shoulder for just a second before picking up her phone again, he realizes—maybe she hasn’t outgrown him completely. Not yet.

Dad! Satoru who pretends to be cool about it but is secretly struggling. “You don’t need Papa to walk you to school anymore?” he asks dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been personally betrayed. “Not even a little ‘Papa, save me from my homework’?” She gives him a deadpan stare. “Dad, I can teleport.” He gasps. “You’ve turned against me.”

Dad! Satoru who will never admit how much he misses when she was little—but still smiles, still ruffles her hair, still watches over her like he always has. Because no matter how much she grows, how strong she becomes, she’ll always be his little girl. And even if she pretends to be annoyed, even if she sighs and mutters, “Dad, you’re embarrassing,” she still lets him pull her into a hug. She still leans into his warmth. Because deep down, she knows—he’ll always be there, just like he always has been.

Dad! Satoru who stands at the doorway, watching his daughter—his not-so-little girl—laugh effortlessly with her friends, eyes bright, posture confident. He swears it was just yesterday when she was small enough to fit in his arms, clinging to his shirt with tiny fingers. And now, she’s growing into someone all her own. It aches, just a little, but he swallows it down because this is what he raised her for—to be strong, to be happy, to live freely. So, even as she rushes out the door, barely glancing back, he only smiles. Because no matter how much time passes, she will always, always be his little girl.

Dad! Satoru, who leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching his daughter rummage through the fridge. She’s taller now, her movements more sure, more deliberate. The little girl who once needed his help reaching the shelves now barely even looks up as she grabs a drink and shuts the door with a practiced ease. He lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head.

“You know,” he starts, voice light but laced with something else—something softer. “You don’t need your old man anymore, huh?”

His daughter pauses mid-sip, glancing at him over the rim of her glass. “What?”

“You heard me,” he continues, pushing off the counter and ruffling her hair, though she immediately swats his hand away. “I remember when you used to cling to me all the time, like my own personal little shadow. Now look at you. Barely even say hi before you run off with your friends.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “I still say hi.”

Satoru gasps dramatically. “Oh, my mistake. A single ‘Hey, Dad,’ before you vanish into the abyss totally counts as quality time.”

From across the room, you shake your head, amused as you fold the laundry on the couch. “Satoru, stop guilt-tripping our daughter.”

“I’m not guilt-tripping! I’m stating facts!” He places a hand over his heart, sighing. “My own child is abandoning me, and my wife is taking her side. This household is cruel.”

Your daughter snorts, but something in her expression softens. She looks between the both of you, then sets her drink down, stepping forward. Before Satoru can react, she wraps her arms around his middle, hugging him tight.

He stills, blinking in surprise.

“You’re so dramatic,” she murmurs against his chest. “Of course I still need you.”

From where you stand, you watch the way Satoru melts instantly, his arms coming up to hold her just as tightly. His chin rests on top of her head, eyes closing as he breathes her in. It’s a quiet moment—one that tugs at your heart, filling you with warmth.

You step forward, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Satoru opens his eyes at that, blue gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you, standing there in the soft glow of the kitchen light.

“Well,” Satoru murmurs, voice quieter now, “that’s a relief.”

Your daughter pulls away first, rolling her eyes at his antics but smiling nonetheless. And when she steps back, you’re there, resting your head lightly against Satoru’s chest. His arm slides around you instinctively, holding you close as you both watch her leave the room.

“She’s growing up too fast,” he sighs.

You hum in agreement, tracing absentminded circles on his back. “She’ll always be our little girl.”

Then suddenly, you laugh softly, shaking your head as you watch your husband dramatically wipe at his eyes. It looks like he’s wiping some dust in his eyes. I think. "Toru, don't be such a crybaby!" you exclaimed.

"I'm not!" he argues immediately, turning to you with an exaggerated pout. "And don't act like it doesn't affect you too!"

You open your mouth to protest, but the moment your daughter disappears down the hallway, the silence she leaves behind feels heavier than expected. Your chest tightens just the slightest bit, and you sigh, leaning into Satoru’s warmth. He huffs, triumphant.

“See? You feel it too,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You groan, lightly smacking his chest. "Okay, fine! Maybe I do. A little."

"A little?" He scoffs, wrapping his arms around you fully. "Y/N, we made a tiny, adorable baby, and now she's a teenager who rolls her eyes at me daily. This is a tragedy."

You chuckle, resting your forehead against his chest. "It just means we did a good job, you know? Raising her to be independent, strong."

Satoru sighs, squeezing you tighter. "Yeah, yeah. Still sucks, though."You stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, finding comfort in the fact that even as time rushes forward, some things. Like this, like you and him. This. will always stay the same.

Dad! Satoru who still can't believe his little girl is all grown up. He watches her pack for college, stuffing way too many hoodies into her suitcase (half of them stolen from his own closet). "Are you sure you don’t wanna stay home forever?" he jokes, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Dad, you’re being dramatic." But when she turns away, he catches the way her hands slow, fingers gripping the fabric of a sweater just a little tighter. You, sitting on the edge of the bed, fold one of her shirts and smooth out the creases a little too carefully. "You really packed fast," you say softly. "It feels like you just started." She doesn't say anything, just reaches for your hand and squeezes.

Dad! Satoru who insists on moving her in himself. "No sorcerer is touching my daughter’s boxes but me," he declares, teleporting all her stuff effortlessly into her dorm room while other students struggle up the stairs. You sigh, patting your daughter’s shoulder. "Just let him have this." And she does, letting her dad hover, check the locks, and inspect the entire room like he’s scouting a mission. You sit on the edge of her bed, running your fingers over the new sheets. "You’re going to be okay, right?" you ask, and her smile falters for just a second. "Of course," she says, but she’s gripping the edge of the bed like she’s anchoring herself. Satoru notices. He sits beside you, nudging her knee. "You know," he says, quieter, "you can call me anytime. Like, really. Even if it’s just to tell me your dorm ran out of snacks."

Dad! Satoru who gets choked up when it’s time to leave, but he isn't the only one. You and your daughter hug tightly, the kind of embrace that lingers, full of unspoken words. When she lets go, her eyes are glossy, but she grins anyway, throwing her arms around both of you. "I love you guys," she whispers, and just like that, Satoru is doomed. You hold his hand as you walk back to the car, but neither of you can bring yourselves to open the doors just yet. Instead, you both turn back for one last look. "We did it," you murmur, squeezing his fingers. Satoru swallows hard, blinking up at the sky. "Yeah," he exhales, voice rough with emotion. "We really did." And yet, as you both stand there, hands clasped tightly, you can’t help but feel that this is just another beginning.

The drive home is quiet. Not the uncomfortable kind—just the kind where the air is too thick with unspoken emotions. Satoru grips the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, his fingers flexing now and then like he’s trying to hold onto something already slipping away. You, sitting in the passenger seat, stare out the window, lost in thought. Every few minutes, his eyes flick toward you, like he’s checking if you’re okay, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

It isn’t until you pull into the driveway, the house unnervingly still, that he finally breaks. "Okay, so that sucked." He groans, dramatically throwing his head back against the seat. "Like, really sucked." You huff out a soft laugh, but it’s strained. "Yeah," you murmur, staring at the front door. "It really did." Neither of you moves to get out of the car. The house feels different now. Emptier. You had spent years preparing for this moment, and yet, standing at the edge of it, you still feel unready.

Satoru suddenly turns to you, brows furrowed. "Hey," he says, voice softer now. "You doing okay?"

You let out a slow breath, resting your head against the seat. "I don’t know," you admit, finally looking at him. "It just feels... surreal."

He nods, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah. One second, she’s a tiny gremlin stealing my sunglasses, and now she’s—" He gestures vaguely, like words are failing him. "Living on her own. Learning how to adult. Being independent and—ugh, I hate it."

You chuckle, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You don’t hate it. You’re just having a hard time letting go."

"Of course I am!" He looks at you like you just said the most ridiculous thing ever. "That’s my baby! Our baby! Who’s gonna randomly barge into my office to annoy me now? Who’s gonna bully me with you?" He sighs dramatically. "Who’s gonna give me another gray hair every time they teleport onto the kitchen counter?"

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in the way you look at him. "She’s not gone, ‘Toru. She’s just... starting her own thing. Like we did, remember?"

He pauses, and something flickers in his eyes. He does remember. The two of you, younger, reckless, diving headfirst into a life together, unsure but excited. And now, your daughter is doing the same. The thought makes his chest tighten.

"I just..." He swallows, looking down at your joined hands. "I just hope she knows that no matter how far she goes, she can always come back."

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, gentle and reassuring. "She knows," you whisper. "Because we never let her forget."

Satoru sighs, letting his head fall back against the headrest. "I still hate it," he grumbles. "But... I guess I can be proud too."

You smile, shifting closer so you can rest your head on his shoulder. "She’s gonna be just fine, ‘Toru."

He turns his head, pressing a kiss against your temple. "Yeah," he exhales, finally allowing himself to believe it. "She will be."

And for the first time that day, the ache in his chest feels a little lighter.

Dad! Satoru who immediately squints at the guy like he’s trying to activate his Six Eyes to scan his entire existence. The second his daughter cheerfully says, “Papa, this is—” Satoru cuts her off with a pointed look. “No. No, it’s not.” The poor guy stiffens under the weight of Gojo Satoru’s scrutinizing stare, while you sigh from the kitchen, already rubbing your temples.

Dad! Satoru who absolutely refuses to acknowledge his daughter’s boyfriend as a real human being. “So, what does it do for a living?” “Papa, he’s not an it—” “Fine. What does the thing do for a living?” “Papa.” He hums, taking a slow sip of his tea, eyes never leaving the terrified man across the table. “Does it have a last name? A home? A social security number?”

Dad! Satoru who dramatically clutches his chest when his daughter holds the guy’s hand. “OH, THE BETRAYAL!” He turns to you, looking utterly betrayed. “Do you see this? Do you see our child forsaking me for some—some civilian?” You roll your eyes, patting his shoulder. “Toru, please.” Meanwhile, the boyfriend shifts uncomfortably, whispering to your daughter, “Does he actually think I’m a civilian?”

Dad! Satoru who pulls the ultimate dad move—suddenly vanishing, only to reappear right behind the poor guy. “Boo.” His daughter’s boyfriend nearly jumps out of his skin. Satoru grins, clapping him on the shoulder, just a little too hard. “Relax, kid. I don’t bite.” His grin widens. “Unless you break my daughter’s heart. Then we’ll find out if Infinity has a ‘future son-in-law erasure’ mode.”Dad! Satoru who eventually—after many warnings, veiled threats, and dramatic tantrums—finally eases up. Later that night, when it’s just the two of you, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it,” he mumbles. “She’s still my baby.” You smile, leaning against him. “I know. But she’s growing up, ‘Toru.”

He exhales, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Then, after a beat— “Do you think I can pull off a background check without her noticing?”

You groan. “Satoru—”

“Just kidding! …Mostly.”

Dad! Satoru who, despite all his bravado, is now sitting stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line as his daughter and her boyfriend sit across from him. The air is tense—he’s making it tense—and his daughter groans.

“Papa, seriously?” she huffs. “Can you please stop looking at him like that?”

Satoru’s eyes stay locked on the poor guy, who is visibly sweating under his scrutiny. He tilts his head slightly. “Like what?” he asks, voice all too casual.

“Like you’re planning fifty different ways to remove him from existence.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely doing that,” Satoru deadpans. “Haven’t settled on one yet, though.”

His daughter throws her hands up. “Mama, help?”

You, having already anticipated this mess, merely sip your tea, watching in amusement. “Toru, play nice,” you say, but there’s no real scolding in your tone. You know better than anyone that this was inevitable.

Satoru leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Alright, kid. Let’s get to the important stuff.”

The boyfriend gulps. “Y-Yes, sir?”

“How fast can you run?”

“Excuse me?”

Satoru sighs dramatically. “See, this is why I’m worried. My daughter is a sorcerer. A powerful one. If a fight breaks out, I need to know—will you be useful? Or will you just stand there like a deer in headlights?”

“Papa, stop.”

“I’m just saying! He needs to prove he’s worthy of my precious baby girl.”

“By running?!”

“It’s a very practical skill, sweetheart.”

His daughter groans again, but her boyfriend, to his credit, musters up some courage. “I-I might not be a sorcerer, but I’ll always do my best to protect her.”

For a split second, Satoru falters. Just a little. His gaze softens—only slightly, but it’s there.

Then he smirks. “That’s sweet, kid.” He leans back, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that I can teleport you to a different continent in the blink of an eye if you piss me off.”

“Papa!”

You set down your tea with a sigh, finally deciding to intervene. You stand up, moving beside Satoru, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Toru, enough,” you murmur, and to his daughter’s surprise, he actually listens. You look at the nervous young man sitting before you. “Don’t mind him too much. He’s just—” you glance at Satoru, your voice softening, “—having a hard time letting go.”

Satoru huffs, looking away, but he doesn’t deny it. His hand finds yours, squeezing lightly.

His daughter sighs, shaking her head, but she’s smiling now. “Papa, you have to trust me on this, okay?”

Satoru exhales, rubbing his temples. “Fine, fine. But,” he turns back to the boyfriend, “I will be keeping an eye on you.”

The poor guy nods furiously. “Understood, sir.” Satoru grins, finally relaxing. “Good! Now, who wants dessert? We’re having cake to celebrate me not killing anyone today.”

Dad! Satoru who, after months of relentless teasing and dramatic sighs of disappointment, eventually accepts his daughter’s relationship. He still likes to mess with the poor guy—calling him "Little Chum" because of the way he always looked like a scaredy-cat in their first meetings—but over time, the title sticks in a more affectionate way. It starts as a joke, but before anyone realizes it, Satoru is casually slinging an arm over his son-in-law’s shoulder at family gatherings, laughing, “Oi, Little Chum! Pass me the soy sauce,” like they’ve been doing this for years.

Dad! Satoru who, against all odds, actually forms a bond with him. The guy is surprisingly patient (which is absolutely needed when dealing with Satoru), and even though Satoru will never outright admit it, he grows to respect him. They end up watching sports together, trading jokes, and even sparring once—Satoru taking it easy, of course, but just enough to make sure Little Chum doesn’t get too cocky. One evening, as they sit outside, sipping drinks, Satoru lazily remarks, “Y’know, I used to plan your disappearance.” The poor guy chokes, but Satoru just smirks. “But hey, you stuck around. Guess you’re alright.” It’s the closest thing to approval he’s ever going to give—but it’s more than enough.

Dad! Satoru who, after much (dramatic) resistance, finally comes around and accepts his daughter’s relationship. Though, in typical Satoru fashion, he does so in the most annoying way possible.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs one day, slinging an arm around his daughter’s boyfriend. “I guess you’re not completely useless.”

The poor guy visibly relaxes for the first time in months. “T-Thank you, sir—”

“—but you do remind me of a scaredy cat,” Satoru interrupts, smirking. “So I’m calling you ‘Little Chum’ from now on.”

His daughter groans. “Papa, no.”

“Papa, yes,” Satoru corrects, already grinning. “It suits him, don’t you think? Look at that face! That’s a certified Little Chum right there.”

The boyfriend looks helplessly at you for support, but you just shake your head with a knowing smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

And so, the nickname sticks.

— 0 —

As time goes by, something unexpected happens—Satoru and his son-in-law actually form a bond.

It starts with small things. Little Chum helping him carry groceries, asking about his work, and—even though he has zero sorcerer abilities—genuinely listening whenever Satoru rambles about techniques and cursed energy.

One night, they’re stuck washing dishes together after a family dinner, and Satoru hums thoughtfully. “Y’know, kid, I kinda like you.”

Little Chum nearly drops a plate. “Oh. Um—thank you?”

Satoru snorts. “Don’t sound so shocked.” He hands over a towel, shaking his head. “You make my daughter happy. That’s what matters.”

Little Chum smiles, more sure of himself now. “She makes me happy too.”

For once, Satoru doesn’t ruin the moment with a joke. He just nods, drying his hands. “Good.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “But just so you know, if you ever break her heart—”

“I know, I know,” Little Chum laughs. “Teleportation. Different continent. No one will find the body.”

Satoru grins. “See? You’re learning.”

And just like that, Satoru finds himself with something new—someone new—to protect. Not just his daughter, but the family she’s choosing to build. And maybe, just maybe, he’s okay with that.

Dad! Satoru and you who made sure your daughter’s wedding was nothing short of legendary. There was no budget—not when it came to their little girl. The venue? The most extravagant, draped in breathtaking chandeliers and fresh white roses. The dress? Handcrafted by the best designer, fitted with delicate embroidery and shimmering pearls. The food? Only the finest dishes, flown in from across the world. Every guest was treated like royalty, every moment orchestrated to perfection. And at the very front, Satoru sat with his arms crossed, a smug grin on his face as if to say, Yeah, I did that. My daughter deserves nothing but the best.

Dad! Satoru and you who, despite all the glamour, found yourselves caught in something much simpler—watching your daughter, now a bride, glowing with happiness. Y/N had tears in her eyes from the moment she walked down the aisle, barely holding it together as she squeezed Satoru’s hand. He, on the other hand, was a mess in his own way—leaning over to whisper dramatic complaints, “This is unfair. She was just my baby yesterday.” Y/N shushed him, squeezing his fingers tighter. And when it was time to give her away, Satoru lingered, just for a second, cupping her face like he was memorizing this moment. “You’re still my little girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead before finally—reluctantly—letting her go.

Dad! Satoru who stood at the altar, hands tucked into his pockets, as his daughter—his little girl—glowed in her wedding gown. His heart ached in the best and worst ways, torn between overwhelming pride and the bittersweet reality that today, he was letting her go.

After the ceremony, when the celebration was in full swing, he finally pulled the groom aside. The music and laughter faded into the background as Satoru clapped a firm hand on the young man’s shoulder, pulling him just close enough to make him sweat. The poor guy gulped, already familiar with Satoru’s antics, but this time, there was no teasing grin, no mischievous lilt in his voice.

"She’s my baby girl," Satoru started, his voice lower than usual, almost serious—almost. "I raised her, I protected her, and I made sure she never had a single moment of doubt about how much she was loved." His icy blue eyes locked onto the younger man’s, searching, assessing. "And now, that’s your job. So tell me—" his grip tightened just slightly, "—are you ready for that?"

The groom swallowed but nodded, straightening his spine. "Yes, sir. Always."

Satoru studied him for another second before breaking into a wide grin, slapping his back hard enough to make him stumble. "Good answer, little chum."

From a distance, Y/N watched with amusement, shaking her head. "You’re scaring him again, ‘Toru."

"I have to, babe. It’s tradition." He winked before turning back to his daughter, who had been watching the entire exchange with misty eyes. She stepped forward, lips wobbly, and before Satoru could say another word, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him so tightly it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"Thank you, Dad," she whispered against his shoulder.

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. I may not be with you, but you gotta hold on okay? You just have to be happy."

And as he held her, swaying slightly as if they were still dancing in their old living room, he knew that, no matter where life took her, she would always be his little girl.

— 0 —

The reception had slowly begun to settle, the music softening, the golden lights flickering like tiny stars across the grand hall. Guests mingled, laughter and chatter filling the space, but you found yourself away from it all, standing by the balcony, staring out at the night sky.

You weren’t even sure how long you had been there, arms crossed over yourself as if trying to hold something in—something overwhelming, something bittersweet. The day had been perfect. She had been perfect. Your daughter, in her shimmering gown, wrapped in love and happiness, starting a new chapter of her life.

But then, why did your chest ache so much?

A familiar warmth pressed against your side.

"Mom?"

Her voice was soft, hesitant—like she already knew what you were feeling. You turned, eyes immediately landing on her face, so heartbreakingly beautiful, still glowing with the remnants of the day. Her veil was slightly askew, her lips curved into a gentle smile, but her eyes… oh, her eyes were so much like yours. Full of love. Full of understanding.

"You’re hiding." She teased, but there was no bite to her words.

You let out a shaky laugh. "Maybe."

She stepped closer, reaching for your hands, holding them between hers like she used to when she was a little girl. But now, her fingers were steadier, stronger, no longer clinging to you for comfort but simply holding you because she wanted to.

"I remember when you held my hands like this when I was scared," she murmured, gently running her thumb over your knuckles. "You always made me feel safe. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt me as long as you and Dad were there."

Your throat tightened. "We tried, sweetheart. We tried our best."

She smiled, eyes glistening. "And you succeeded."

You let out a trembling breath, squeezing her hands. "You have no idea how hard this is for me. Letting you go."

Her brows furrowed slightly, her own grip tightening. "Mom, I’m not going anywhere."

"You are," you whispered. "Not in a bad way, not in a way that means we lose you. But this is different. You’re someone’s wife now. You have your own life, your own family to build. And I—I just…"

You trailed off, unable to finish because your chest was too tight, your vision too blurry.

Then, before you could blink, she surged forward, wrapping her arms around you in the fiercest hug she had ever given. You gasped softly, but the moment your arms came around her, you broke.

"You will always be my home," she whispered into your shoulder. "No matter where I go, no matter how far life takes me, you and Dad—this—will always be my home."

A quiet sob slipped past your lips as you held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

"You promise?" you choked out.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, a watery smile on her lips. "I swear it. You’re stuck with me forever, Mom."

A wet laugh escaped you as you cupped her face, brushing your thumbs under her eyes. "Good. Because I’m not ready to let go just yet."

She grinned. "You don’t have to. You’ll always have me."

And as she leaned into your touch, warmth spreading between the two of you, you realized something.

She had grown. She was a woman now, someone’s wife, someone’s partner, but in the end—she was still your daughter.

And she always would be.

Dad! Satoru who nearly chokes on his drink when his daughter bursts through the door, practically glowing, and announces, “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, he just stands there, mouth slightly open, blinking like he misheard her. Then it finally clicks, and his brain short-circuits. He’s going to be a grandpa?! His reaction is instant—he lets out a whoop, scooping his daughter into a hug so tight she yelps. “No way! I’m too young to be Grandpa Gojo! Wait, what’s cooler? ‘Gramps’ or ‘Grand-Toru’?” He gasps dramatically, turning to Y/N. “Babe, I’m gonna be the strongest grandpa alive!”

Granpa! Satoru who suddenly quiets when he notices Y/N isn’t saying anything—she’s just standing there, hands over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. And then, with a choked sob, she pulls their daughter into her arms, cradling her like she’s still that little girl who used to run into their bed after a bad dream. She holds her close, as if shielding her from the weight of the world, as if still wrapping her in a mother’s love that never faded. Satoru watches the moment unfold, his own chest tightening, his own vision blurring. And because he’s him, he sniffs and nudges Y/N with a teasing grin, voice wobbling, “Y/N, stop crying like a crybaby.” A throwback. A full-circle moment. She swats at his arm, laughing through her tears, and he only pulls both of them into his embrace—his daughter, his wife, his entire world—holding them like he never wants to let go.

Grandpa! Satoru who, after pulling his wife and daughter into a tight embrace, suddenly pulls back with a dramatic sniff. “Hold on—does this mean I’m a lolo now?”

Your daughter raises a brow. “Technically, yeah.”

Satoru gasps, clutching his heart like you just hit him with Hollow Purple. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. I refuse.” He whirls toward you, utterly betrayed. “Babe, we’re still in our prime! Still youthful!”

You deadpan. “Satoru, your knees literally cracked when you stood up this morning.”

He scowls. “That was the floor.”

Your daughter crosses her arms. “The carpeted floor?”

Satoru ignores her, dramatically wiping a fake tear. Then, after a moment of silence, he turns back to his daughter’s husband with narrowed eyes. “This is your fault.”

The poor guy freezes. “Uh—”

“You made me a lolo.” Satoru shakes his head, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “And now, I have no choice but to haunt you forever.”

Your daughter groans. “Dad, you already do that.”

Satoru grins, unbothered. “Well, now I have legal reasons to.” He sighs, rubbing his chin. “But since I’m feeling generous, I’ll allow one compromise.” He crouches to eye level with your daughter’s stomach, clears his throat, and whispers, “Your first word better be ‘Toru’ if you know what’s good for you.”

You smack the back of his head. “Toru, stop bribing the baby.”

Grandpa! Satoru and Grandma! you who practically flew through the hospital hallways, ignoring the nurses telling you to slow down. The moment you reached the room, breathless and frantic, your eyes immediately landed on the tiny bundle in the bassinet—a new life, your grandchild, waiting to be held. But neither of you moved toward it. Instead, you both rushed straight to your daughter’s bedside. Satoru grasped her hand, his fingers shaking slightly, while you cupped her face, scanning every inch of her expression. “Are you okay?” you both asked at the same time, voices laced with so much worry that she blinked in surprise.

Grandpa! Satoru and Grandma! you who didn’t even glance at the baby again, not until your daughter assured you she was fine—tired, sore, but okay. Only then did Satoru sigh in relief, pressing a kiss to her forehead, while you stroked her hair like you used to when she was little. “You scared us,” you murmured, swallowing back tears. Your daughter huffed, exhausted but fond. “I just gave birth, not fought a curse.” Satoru sniffled dramatically. “Same thing, princess.” And finally, finally, when you both were sure she was truly alright, you turned toward the bassinet—toward the newest light of your family.

Grandpa! Satoru and Grandma! you who burst into the hospital, breathless, frantic, completely disheveled from breaking every traffic law possible just to get here in time—only to be met with the sight of a tiny, swaddled baby already resting peacefully in the bassinet.

But neither of you move toward the newborn. Not yet.

Because before anything else, before even sparing more than a glance at the newest addition to your family, both of you rush straight to your daughter’s side. She looks exhausted, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes, but she’s here. She’s okay. And that’s all that matters.

Y/N is the first to cup her face, brushing damp hair from her forehead with shaking hands. “Sweetheart,” she breathes, voice thick with emotion. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Did everything go smoothly?”

Satoru hovers beside her, arms crossed tightly like he’s holding himself back from scooping her up and shielding her from the entire world. “I swear, if they made you push too hard, I’m suing—”

Their daughter groans but manages a tired laugh. “Dad, that’s… not how childbirth works.”

He scoffs, sitting at the edge of the bed, gripping her hand. “Still. If I could’ve taken the pain for you, I would’ve.” His voice falters for the first time, and when she looks at him, she sees something raw in his expression—relief, worry, and something painfully deep.

Y/N leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to her daughter’s forehead, whispering, “You did amazing, baby.” And finally—finally—with a shaky breath, Satoru and Y/N turn their heads toward the bassinet, where a tiny bundle of warmth awaits, a little piece of their legacy, a new life born from the love that started it all.

Grandpa! Satoru and Grandma! you who stood frozen for a moment, staring at the tiny life swaddled in soft blankets, but your feet carried you past the bassinet without a second thought. Instead, you rushed to your daughter’s bedside, hands grasping hers, eyes scanning her tired face with nothing but worry. “Are you okay?” you whispered, brushing damp strands from her forehead. “Did it hurt too much? Did they take care of you?” Satoru hovered beside you, for once uncharacteristically quiet, his hand settling on her shoulder. His usual bright energy was dimmed, replaced by something softer, something so achingly tender. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on her skin, a habit he never quite grew out of. And for the first time in what felt like forever, your daughter looked small again—your little girl, your baby, exhausted but smiling, teary-eyed but glowing. “I’m okay, Mom. Dad,” she assured you, squeezing your fingers with what little strength she had left. “I did it.”

Grandpa! Satoru and Grandma! you who finally turned to look at the tiny bundle in the bassinet, and the moment you picked them up, the years caught up to you all at once. Your arms knew the weight instinctively, as if no time had passed since the last time you held someone this small. You cradled your grandchild the way you once cradled their mother, every memory flashing in your mind—her first laugh, her first steps, the way she used to cling to you after a nightmare. And now, here she was, grown, a mother herself. Your chest ached with the kind of love that had no end, no limits, no bounds. “I’m a grandma,” you whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief, tears slipping down your cheeks as the baby yawned. You traced the softness of their tiny fingers, the gentle rise and fall of their breath. Satoru stood beside you, peering over your shoulder, his eyes impossibly bright yet unbearably soft. “And I’m a grandpa,” he said, wonder lacing his tone. But then, as always, he ruined the moment in the best way possible. “But babe,” he grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “We’re still in our prime. Still youthful.”

You scoffed, swatting at his chest, but there was no real force behind it. He caught your wrist easily, twining your fingers together, squeezing once. And when you turned to look at him, he was already looking at you—really looking, like he was memorizing this moment, like he wanted to etch it into his soul. His white hair (already aged before his time) gleamed under the hospital lights, but his eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, held the same love they always had. “Can’t believe we made it here,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “Can’t believe we did this.” His voice wobbled, just a little, but he was still smiling, still Satoru, the man who had loved you so deeply for so long. You leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into you, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, familiar. Even after all these years, even as time continued its endless march forward, nothing had changed. You were still you. He was still him. And through every chapter, every moment, every breath. You had done this together. Thank you,thank you,thank you.

.

.

.

"I may not be with you, but you've got to hold on.

They'll see in time, I swear it true.

When destiny calls you, you must be strong,

Don't listen to them, 'cause what do they know?"

Credits to @enchanthings-a for the pretty divider! :3

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡꩜ ©freakycafetomoe : Do not steal, modify, tweak, translate, or plagiarize anything from my blog. Do not use / copy my template or theme. Respect my work and creativity, love u guys. 🚨

navigation. taglist. jjk masterlist. ˚ 　 ⤹ 　 ❝ ©freakycafetomoe

[brick3621]

I’ve got a slightly different take on this, and one specific to Archive of Our Own rather than fandom in general.

I will loudly defend AO3’s mission for maximum inclusivity of content. The mere presence of content that I personally dislike – like LLM-generated text – is simply a price I’ll gladly pay for a repository safe from purges, not to mention safe from algorithms that actively promote such content to me like they would on other websites.

Having said that, I will demand even more loudly that anybody who wants to exploit their goodwill to publish algorithmic slop needs to at least be honest and tag it as such so we can avoid it like the fucking plague. That is the bare minimum of courtesy I ask.

Why? Because now that the genie’s out of the bottle, slop is going to be in everything now, regardless of whether it’s “allowed” or not. Banning it outright isn’t going to make it stop – it’s just going to make people pass it off as human-made, rather than being honest about where it comes from.

Yes, I’m well aware that LLMs and text-to-image models are only capable of plagiarizing the work of existing artists, which is plainly against AO3’s terms of service, but until copyright law catches up to the present and recognizes it as such, I’m skeptical that AO3 can come up with a satisfactory justification for changing its tune on machine-generated content, let alone purging existing works as a consequence of its new position.

i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.

make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.

spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.

[oaksgrove]

please hear me out- do you see the vision of laswelll scolding price because he's too dumb to let go of one of the rare good things in his life? i just need a man like john price to fight for me (for his love) back 😩

Don’t Be an Idiot, John.

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: After pushing you away, convinced you deserved better, he finds himself on the receiving end of a well-earned lecture from Kate Laswell. And for once, he listens. Because if there’s one fight he can���t afford to lose—it’s the one for you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, second chances, Price being stubborn, but ultimately a soft, devoted idiot.

Laswell had seen John Price survive war zones, outmaneuver enemies, and command respect from the deadliest soldiers on the planet.

But right now?

Right now, he was just a complete idiot.

She sat across from him in a dimly lit café, arms crossed, staring him down like a disappointed mother. The silence between them was sharp, cutting through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs. Price, on the other hand, sat there looking like a man being read his last rites—tired, grim, and entirely too stubborn for his own good.

“So, let me get this straight,” Laswell started, voice dangerously calm. “You had someone—a good someone—who cared about you, made your life better, and for some inexplicable reason, you let them go?”

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his coffee cup. “Wasn’t that simple, Kate.”

“No, John. It was that simple,” she snapped. “And you made it complicated.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he was already haunted by the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just a soldier, but a man worth loving.

Laswell leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You can sit there and tell me all the bullshit reasons you convinced yourself it wouldn’t work, but let me remind you of something—people like us don’t get a lot of second chances, John. And when we do, we don’t waste them.”

Price let out a slow sigh, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “She deserves better,” he muttered, like the words hurt to say out loud. “I’m not exactly… an easy man to be with.”

Laswell rolled her eyes so hard Price thought she might strain something. “For fuck’s sake, John. She chose you. Despite the missions, despite the scars, despite the fact that you probably smell like cigars and gun oil half the time.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And instead of fighting for it, for her, you pushed her away. Because what? You were scared?”

Price didn’t answer. Because maybe—just maybe—that was the truth of it.

Laswell exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen good men lose everything to this job, John. I’ve seen them come home to empty houses, to regrets they can never fix.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “Don’t be one of them.”

Price looked down at his hands, his mind a battlefield of memories.

The way you had always welcomed him home with that tired, knowing smile.

The way your fingers traced over his scars without fear, without pity.

The way you had kissed him—really kissed him—like he was something more than just a soldier, something worth coming home to.

And then he remembered the hurt in your eyes when he had let you go.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts one last time.

“If you love her, fix it. Because if you don’t, John…” She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Price sat there for a long moment, staring at his coffee like it might have the answers.

Then, without another word, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Because fuck being an idiot.

He wasn’t about to lose you—not without a fight.

The city hummed around him—cars passing, distant voices in the night—but none of it mattered.

Not when the only thing he cared about was you.

He hesitated for half a second before knocking, hard enough to make sure you heard, but not so much that you’d think it was an emergency. Though, in a way, maybe it was.

Seconds passed.

Then—soft footsteps. A pause. And finally, the door cracked open.

And there you were.

Hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of those oversized sweaters he always liked seeing on you. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, surprised—hesitant.

“John?” your voice was cautious, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”

Price exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

“I fucked up.” The words were gruff, unpolished. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly, like you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. “Kate gave me a proper bollocking,” he admitted, almost like a grumble, and you couldn’t help the tiny twitch of your lips at that. “Told me I was an idiot. She was right.”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “John… you ended things. You made that choice.”

“I did.” His voice was firm, resolute. “And I was wrong.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to be angry. You had been angry. But standing here, with him looking at you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered…

It made it hard.

“You deserve better,” he continued, quieter this time. “I thought walking away was the right thing to do. Thought I was saving you from a life of waiting, worrying—” He let out a sharp exhale. “But I was just a coward.”

Your heart clenched at that. Because damn him, you knew how much it took for John Price to admit fear.

“I don’t need saving, John,” you said, voice steady. “I just needed you.”

His jaw flexed, and for a second, you saw it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I love you,” he said, simple, honest. “And if you’ll let me… I want to fix this.”

Your breath hitched. “And if I don’t?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, like the thought alone was unbearable. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” A pause. “But I won’t stop loving you.”

Damn him.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought wars and won battles—but was standing in front of you now, waiting, hoping. Fighting for you.

You took a slow step forward, then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the slight tension in his posture as he waited for your answer.

Then, softly, you murmured, “You’re an idiot, John Price.”

A beat.

Then his hand lifted, warm and familiar against your cheek. “I know.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his—when he let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer, like he wasn’t about to let go again—

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap

[f1daydreamer]

What’s the most chaotic thing you can imagine Lando Norris doing in a relationship

Lando Norris & His Chaotic Boyfriend Behavior (Totally Not Spoilers 👀)

Okay, hear me out—the most chaotic thing I can imagine Lando doing in a relationship? Definitely something like:

•Live-streaming their argument by accident – He’s on Twitch, supposedly raging over a game, but the chat quickly realizes he’s actually arguing with his girlfriend off-screen. Chaos. Absolute chaos. The clip goes viral in 0.2 seconds.

•Buying a pet without asking – Surprise! There’s now a baby goat in their living room, and he’s already named it. She’s not amused, but Lando insists they’re keeping it.

•Oversharing in interviews – A journalist asks a casual question about his personal life, and before he can stop himself, he drops an extremely embarrassing fact about his girlfriend. The group chat immediately roasts him.

•Forgetting an important date but making up for it in the most extra way – Realizes at the last minute and panic-books a literal private jet for a surprise getaway. (Totally normal behavior.)

•Stealing her skincare products – Then acting like he has no idea why his skin is suddenly clearer than hers. The audacity.

•Texting absolute nonsense at 3 AM – He suddenly wakes up and needs to know: “Would you still love me if I was a worm but like a really fast one???”

•Ordering the most unhinged food combos – Genuinely thinks dipping pizza in milk is valid and tries to convince her to try it. (She refuses. Obviously.)

•Getting jealous over ridiculous things – “WHY did you like his Instagram post from four days ago?!” It was a meme, Lando.

•Leaving voice memos instead of texting – And they’re all either incoherent mumbling, weird sound effects, or him screaming into the mic. No in-between.

•Pranking her 24/7 – But the second she gets him back? “Wow. That was mean. I trusted you.”

•The 2 AM McDonald’s Run That Went Wrong-It starts as a simple craving. Lando’s half-asleep, mumbling about nuggets. Next thing she knows, they’re in the drive-thru, him in pajama pants, her in one of his hoodies. But just as they get their order, Lando accidentally starts rolling forward… and straight into the curb. The McDonald’s employees are watching. She’s crying from laughter. He’s just sitting there, holding a large fries, whispering, “I can fix this.”

•The Time Lando Got Lost in IKEA - They go to IKEA for one thing. ONE. Yet somehow, Lando disappears within minutes. She gets a text: “Babe. I’m in the fake bedroom section. Send help.” Twenty minutes later, she finds him fully lying in a display bed, hands behind his head, rating the mattress. “Honestly, I could live here.”

•When Lando Tried to Cook and Nearly Burned Down the Kitchen - He swears he can handle it. “Pasta is easy, babe. It’s just water and noodles.” Fast forward: the fire alarm is going off, there’s smoke everywhere, and he’s standing there with a melted spatula, looking guilty. “Sooo… we’re ordering takeout, yeah?”

•The Vacation That Turned Into a Survival Mission - He planned a “relaxing getaway.” The reality? A remote cabin with no Wi-Fi, questionable plumbing, and a surprise thunderstorm. At one point, he’s standing in the rain, holding a stick like it’s a weapon. “If a bear shows up, I got this.” She’s already googling hotels nearby.

•Lando’s Genius Plan to Sneak Into a Concert (That Failed Miserably) - They didn’t have tickets. But Lando had a plan. “Trust me, I saw this in a movie.” Next thing she knows, they’re wearing matching high-vis vests, holding clipboards, and trying to look official. It works… for about five minutes. Then security spots them. “RUN!”

•The Time Lando Decided to Dye His Hair… and Regretted Everything - He was so confident. “Platinum blonde will look sick.” She tries to warn him. He doesn’t listen. An hour later, he’s staring at his reflection, horrified. “Babe. I look like a wet Q-tip.”

The IKEA Couch Disaster - He insisted they didn’t need help assembling it. “We got this!” Three hours later, there are extra screws, the instructions are ripped, and the couch is lopsided. “So… maybe we just tell people it’s modern art?”

---

(Also… confession time. 👀)

These chaotic Lando moments? Yeah… they’re actually straight from my drafts. Every single one. I may have just leaked my own work, but at this point, are we even surprised? 😆

They’re still getting some final edits (fixing grammar mistakes, tweaking details, and making sure the photos and screenshots are just right—perfection takes time, people! ✨), but they’re coming very soon.

Now, I need your help—which one do you want to see first? Drop your favs in the comments before I get too tempted to post them all at once. 🤭🔥

------

[shaiyasstuff]

sapere aude | sylus | preface/chapter one

synopsis : He promised to protect you. But guilt doesn’t protect. It confuses the living for the dead—and love for something far more dangerous.

content : light angst, slow-burn, mentions of death, 50/50 cannon!au, reader is mc’s sister, assassin/hitmen!au, evols work the same in this au

writer’s note : i have this image of sylus in glasses during his days in the HQ, when he’s not out on missions (it’s so hot omg) anywayss original idea was posted here. Wanted to make this full angst but i got ambitious yet again. Tagging my lovely: @blessdunrest because I wanna know her review🫶🏻

parts | one | two

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

It was rhythmic, almost hypnotic—the sound of boots against concrete, echoing down damp, narrow halls like a cruel lullaby. A sound that might’ve meant nothing once. A hallway. A late night. Someone going home.

But now, it was a requiem.

Every step was a countdown. Every echo, a reminder.

Your body hung from chains, swaying slightly with each shallow breath. The pain had dulled somewhere between the blows and the blood loss. Now there was only exhaustion—a bone-deep kind that settled in your marrow and refused to let go.

You didn’t cry anymore. Fear had long turned into a quiet, shivering ache. Something wordless. Something hollow.

The blindfold pressed against your skin, wet with sweat and blood, but you barely felt it now.

“P-Please,” you whispered, or tried to. The word cracked in your throat, weak and worn and useless.

The reply came sharp, a voice made of metal and contempt.

“Shut up, bitch.”

Then came the blow.

Your body folded, something hot and metallic flooding your mouth as you choked on blood. You felt it drip down your chin, staining what little of you was left untouched.

The chains groaned as you sagged forward. The cuffs bit into skin already shredded. Your arms were dead weight. Your legs had forgotten how to exist.

There was no fight left in you. Only the bitter taste of survival, drawn out too long.

Then—

The door opened.

It was just a sound. Just hinges and wood. But it broke the rhythm. Broke the air.

Silence followed, thick and waiting.

“B-Boss! We didn’t think—”

The voice cut off.

Not in silence. In a scream.

And then—nothing. Not even footsteps. Not breath. Not sound.

Stillness.

You flinched. Instinct. Reflex. The body’s last protest.

But you didn’t know why. Not yet.

Not until you heard him.

“Luke. Kieran. Free her.”

The voice was quiet. Even. Unrushed.

And yet, it carved the air clean.

You heard movement. Keys. Chains. Someone’s breath catching. The sound of metal surrendering.

Then you were falling.

But arms caught you.

Warm. Steady.

A chest beneath your cheek. A heartbeat—too fast.

“T-Tha—”

“Don’t thank us yet,” came a voice, younger, clipped. Edged.

Another voice followed. A twin reflection. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

But you were already fading.

The world tilted. Softened. Disappeared.

And just before you slipped beneath the dark, you heard it. That voice again. The one that had ordered the world to stop.

“Who is she, boss?”

A pause.

A breath.

“…A debt I’m supposed to pay.”

But even then, as sleep dragged you under, some part of you heard the truth that lingered beneath the words.

‘Or maybe… a sin I was meant to atone for.’

—•

Evening settled over the skyline like a bruise—purple and bruised gold, too quiet for a city that once knew how to scream. From the rooftop, the world looked deceptively calm.

Sylus stood at the edge, the wind tugging at the hem of his coat, a single coin turning slowly between his fingers. He always carried it. Not for luck. But because it reminded him that everything had two sides.

He didn’t hear Kieran’s approach. Only the shift in air.

“Boss,” Kieran said, voice tense. “There’s a problem.”

A pause.

Luke joined a breath later. “It’s Carson. He took a girl. She’s still alive, but it’s bad.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just flicked the coin upward, watching it catch the last light of the sun. It spun like a blade, glinting—then fell back into his palm.

“Where.”

“Sub-level two.”

He moved without another word.

The stairs echoed with the sound of his descent. Steady. Inescapable. Like judgment wrapped in leather and steel.

He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew.

Carson was dead. Or he would be soon.

The hallway reeked of old blood and mildew, the kind of smell that sank into skin. He walked through it like it was nothing. Like he belonged to it.

The door opened.

And time stopped.

The first thing he saw was blood.

Then—

You.

Hanging from the ceiling like something discarded. Forgotten. Unmade.

Your body trembled, barely. Still fighting, even in ruin.

It should’ve been a stranger. It was always strangers.

But it wasn’t.

It was you.

His breath caught, a sharp, involuntary thing that stole the space from his lungs.

Why is it her?

It echoed in his chest. Unwelcome. Unforgiving.

He didn’t allow the emotion to show. Didn’t let his hand twitch. His jaw tighten.

Only his voice broke the silence. Cold. Measured.

“Luke. Kieran. Free her.”

He didn’t glance at Carson’s remains. Not again. They didn’t matter.

Only you did.

You fell.

Kieran caught you.

Even unconscious, you looked like resistance incarnate—shattered, but not surrendered. A porcelain doll cracked by grief, still managing to hold her shape.

“Who is she, boss?” Kieran asked, quieter now.

Sylus didn’t answer at first.

He stared at you. At the blood. At the mess someone else had made of you.

“…Miss Hunter’s sister,” he said at last. The words burned more than they should have. Like ash he couldn’t swallow.

Luke exhaled slowly. “She had a sister?”

“She didn’t talk about her,” Kieran murmured.

The hallway swallowed the rest.

There were ghosts here. Too many. Too close.

They carried you back, steps careful, arms too gentle for the kind of men they were.

The medic arrived wordlessly. She didn’t speak. Just worked. Quiet and practiced.

Sylus stood outside, back against the wall, fingers curled tightly into fists.

When the medic emerged, she nodded once. “She’ll live.”

He nodded back. Said nothing. Then stepped inside.

The room was dim. Shadowed.

You lay motionless, wrapped in bandages and silence.

He moved toward the bed slowly. Each step drawn by something he couldn’t name.

And then—he saw you. Fully.

Your features were a reflection. Not perfect. But enough.

His breath stilled.

He hadn’t expected the resemblance to hurt.

And it did. Sharp and surgical.

The same jaw. The same eyelashes. The ghost of a woman he couldn’t save, buried beneath the bruises and blood of another.

You looked too much like her.

He’d watched you from afar. Always from afar. Mephisto’s footage. The corners of crowds. Rain-streaked windows in cities that had forgotten what light was.

He told himself it was enough.

But guilt has long arms.

And tonight, they’d wrapped around your throat.

He reached out once, fingers trembling in the space between your cheek and the air. But he didn’t touch you.

Couldn’t.

Instead, his hand curled into a fist and fell back to his side.

He sat.

And waited.

His presence didn’t fill the room. It pressed against it.

A vow unspoken. A promise he didn’t deserve to make.

Still, he kept watch.

Not because you needed him.

But because it was the only thing left he could do.

Light bled in soft through narrow curtains, pale and reluctant, as if even the morning wasn’t ready to face what lingered in the room.

You stirred.

Slowly. Like rising from beneath water.

Your body ached. Not with sharpness—but with the heaviness of something that had been broken and stitched back together without your permission.

The ceiling was unfamiliar—dark beams carved with patterns too intricate to be decorative. There was no sterile white light. No beeping monitors. Only hush. Only warmth.

And him.

He sat beside the bed, still as stone.

At first, you thought he was part of the silence. A shadow carved into the corner of the room.

But then your eyes adjusted. And his gaze was already on you.

Silver hair caught the morning light like something delicate, ethereal. But his eyes—

Red. Deep. Unreadable.

They didn’t flinch when you looked at him. Didn’t soften.

He was watching you the way someone might watch the final flicker of a candle—distant, resigned. As though he expected you to disappear.

Your throat burned when you tried to speak. The sound died before it found shape.

He moved, then. Smooth. Practiced. Like he’d done this before. Like he’d waited for this moment longer than he cared to admit.

A glass of water. Held out.

“Don’t talk,” he said. Quiet. Firm. Not unkind, but final.

You took it. Because your body was too tired to do anything else. Because his voice left no room for resistance.

The glass touched your lips. Cool. Steadying.

You drank, and his eyes never left you.

There was no pity in them.

No cruelty either.

Just something still. Like regret that had forgotten how to ache out loud.

Then—a knock.

Another voice. Familiar. Steady.

“Boss. We investigated.”

He didn’t look away from you.

“Come in.”

The door opened. A man stepped in. Young, sharp-eyed. Startled when he saw you—but only for a moment.

“Carson,” he said. “Tried to sell her. Took five others. Kieran’s cleaning it up.”

You saw it.

The shift in Sylus’s posture. Not movement—he didn’t move.

But something cold gathered in the room. Like breath freezing in the lungs.

“I see,” he said.

And nothing else needed to be said.

You knew then. Carson was already dust. The kind of dead that didn’t leave echoes.

Still, the younger man hesitated. “We don’t deal in that kind of business. Someone’s pushing. Instigating.”

Sylus turned to him, and the man straightened under the weight of that gaze.

“You know what to do.”

“Understood.”

And then the room was quiet again.

The man left.

The silence returned.

But now it was different.

Now, it had shape. It had weight. And it was sitting across from you, watching every breath you took as if it might be your last.

You tried again.

“W-Who…”

But he raised a hand. Not abrupt. Just enough to quiet you.

“I’ll explain everything,” he said. “But not now.”

His tone didn’t threaten. It promised.

“For now,” he continued, voice shifting ever so slightly—less frost, more gravity—“Just rest.”

You looked into his eyes then, and for the first time, you saw it.

Not safety.

Not warmth.

But stability.

And for someone who’d forgotten what solid ground felt like, that was almost enough.

“You’re safe with me,” he said.

And somehow, you believed him.

Not because of the words.

But because of the silence that held them.

—•

When you woke again, the light had shifted.

It was afternoon now. Slanted gold filtering through the narrow space between curtains, brushing the bed with a kind of fragile tenderness.

As if the sun knew how easily you might break.

You were alone.

And somehow, that felt heavier than being watched.

You sat up slowly, the ache in your ribs blooming sharp under the movement. Your breath caught. Your muscles trembled. But you moved.

You had to.

The room was too still. The silence too complete. You couldn’t bear to drown in it again.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold. Your feet were bare. The world felt far away.

But you took a step.

Then another.

The hallway was quiet—dimly lit, lined with heavy bookshelves and gold-edged sconces that cast soft shadows along the walls. It smelled like wood and old paper. Like memories.

Then—

Laughter.

Faint. Two voices, low and familiar. It reached you like a thread in the dark, something warm and fraying.

You followed it.

Not because you trusted it.

But because you didn’t want to be alone.

You found them in what looked like a living room. Wide. Open. Wood-paneled walls. Weapons scattered like afterthoughts. A fire lit in the corner, though it didn’t crackle. It simply burned.

Luke was lounging on a couch, flipping a knife with casual precision. Kieran stood by the window, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

They turned when they saw you.

“Hey—she’s up,” Kieran said, voice light but edged with caution.

Luke sat up, brows lifted. “You should be resting.”

You didn’t answer. Just stood there, gripping the doorway like it was the only thing holding you up.

“Who… are you?” Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be.

But it didn’t matter. They heard.

“I’m Kieran,” the one by the window said. “That’s Luke. My twin. Don’t hold it against me.”

Luke grinned. “Nice to meet you, I guess. Still breathing—so that’s a win.”

You didn’t smile. Not really.

But something loosened in your chest.

Kieran stepped forward. Not close. Just enough. “We were the ones who pulled you out.”

You nodded. Slowly. The words hung in the air between you, unspoken.

They saw you broken. They saw you bleeding.

You couldn’t look at them long. There was too much memory behind your eyes.

You glanced around the room instead, drinking in the details. The normalcy. The warmth.

“Why am I here?” you asked.

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because one of ours forgot what the rules were. Took you. Tried to sell you.”

A pause.

Kieran’s voice was softer. “Boss handled it.”

That word again.

Boss.

The one who didn’t smile. The one who said, You’re safe with me.

Your fingers curled slightly at the memory.

“He’ll explain everything,” Kieran added. “Eventually.”

Luke pushed off the couch, stretching with a casual groan. “In the meantime, wanna tour the place? Beats sitting around waiting for answers you won’t like.”

You hesitated.

Then nodded.

Because doing nothing meant thinking. And you weren’t ready for that.

They guided you through the halls, slow and careful. Kieran stayed close, steadying you when your steps faltered. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.

Luke talked enough for both of them—spinning stories of near-deaths and absurd luck, of missions gone sideways and rescues pulled off by the skin of their teeth.

His words danced with levity, but there was steel under them. Like someone who knew too much about endings.

You saw the way Kieran watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. Not out of curiosity. Out of calculation.

Not because he didn’t trust you.

Because he didn’t trust what your presence meant.

Eventually, they led you into a grand dining hall. Tall windows. Carved chairs. A chandelier that caught the light like frozen starlight.

It should have felt like safety.

It didn’t.

It felt like a memory you hadn’t earned.

“Don’t let it fool you,” Luke said, smirking. “We still eat like animals.”

You made a sound—something almost like a laugh.

Almost.

They kept walking. The manor was vast. Worn in places. Lived in. This wasn’t a kingdom. It was a sanctuary built out of necessity and quiet rebellion.

They weren’t soldiers. Not really. Not anymore.

Problem solvers, they called themselves.

Saviors, sometimes.

Monsters, on the worst nights.

By the time you reached the final corridor, your body ached with every breath. But you didn’t ask to stop.

Not until you reached a tall, unmarked door.

Luke knocked. “Boss. She’s awake.”

Silence.

Then—a sound. Barely audible.

A hum. Permission.

Luke opened the door and grinned at you over his shoulder. “End of the tour. Five stars or we riot.”

You didn’t smile.

But you stepped forward anyway.

Because this was the part you couldn’t avoid.

The truth was waiting on the other side.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Softly. Decisively.

You were alone with him again.

The air in the room was different—cooler, denser, like the stillness that hangs in cathedrals long after the last prayer has been spoken. A sanctuary built of shadows and silence.

Sylus sat behind a wide desk, fingers poised over open folders and screens that glowed faintly with information you didn’t understand. He didn’t glance up right away.

But you could feel it.

The tension wound tight beneath his skin.

The weight of a thousand things left unsaid.

Finally, he looked up.

Crimson eyes. Cold. Constant. And yet, somewhere beneath the surface, a flicker of something else.

Recognition. Or maybe… guilt.

He closed the folder with a quiet snap and folded his hands in front of him.

“Come,” he said. “I don’t bite.”

There was no warmth in his voice.

But no danger, either.

You stepped forward. Slowly. One careful foot after the other. The ache in your body was quieter now. Manageable. Just another scar trying to form.

You sat.

He watched.

His gaze didn’t pierce. It held. Like a question he wasn’t ready to ask aloud.

“I’m sure you have a million questions,” he said, his voice level, as if this were a meeting, not a reckoning. “But you only need one answer.”

A pause.

“I knew your sister.”

The words landed like a knife laid gently on the table between you.

Not a threat.

A truth.

Your throat closed around the weight of it. You hadn’t said her name. Hadn’t brought her up.

But he had.

And somehow, that made it real.

“How?” you asked.

It came out quieter than you meant. Fragile. But he didn’t mock it.

He took a breath. Measured. Hollow.

“We were… close,” he said. And for a moment, the mask slipped.

Just a crack.

Enough for something old to bleed through.

You saw it then—not clearly, but like a reflection on dark water. Her smile in his memory. Her voice in his silence. Something broken between them, never spoken aloud.

And maybe never forgiven.

You swallowed. “And Carson?”

His eyes sharpened, the crimson in them flickering like embers. “Gone.”

Just that. One word.

Final. Absolute.

You nodded, though the ache in your chest didn’t ease.

Then—his voice again. Low. Heavier now.

“I made her a promise.”

You looked at him, heart thudding.

“What kind of promise?”

His hand twitched—barely noticeable. Then he removed his glasses and folded them neatly on the desk.

That gesture said more than his words.

His eyes were bare now. Unshuttered.

“Before she died,” he said, “she made me swear I’d protect you.”

The room went still.

Not from silence. From memory.

You thought of your sister’s voice.

The way she’d held your hand when you were small. The last time you saw her. The way her shadow still curled around the corners of your grief.

You had cried for her in a stranger’s arms. Grieved her behind closed doors. And now here he was.

The man who hadn’t been at the funeral.

But who had carried a piece of her in silence.

You didn’t know whether to hate him or thank him.

So you said nothing.

Because there was nothing safe enough to say.

“All you need to know,” he said, voice softer now—like the edge of a blade dulled by time—“is that you’re not here by accident. And you’re not alone.”

Your breath shook.

Not from fear.

But because a part of you wanted—desperately—to believe him.

That night, you lay awake in unfamiliar sheets, the ceiling above you carved with patterns older than your memories.

His words echoed like wind through a hollow place:

I promised her I’d protect you.

You pressed your hand to your chest, as if to quiet the ache rising there. As if to keep from falling apart all over again.

You wanted to ask her what to do.

But the dead never answer.

Only the living carry their promises.

And sometimes, those promises look like men with red eyes and silence where softness should be.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke again.

His gaze dropped to the desk, to the place where his folded glasses rested—still, undisturbed, like something sacred he didn’t want to touch.

“I should have known.”

The words were quieter than the room.

You blinked, caught off guard—not by the admission, but by the weight behind it.

“I should have seen the signs.” His voice was steady, but too careful. Measured like someone standing at the edge of a confession he didn’t know how to give. “Carson was… slipping. And I let it slide.”

He finally looked at you, and for a moment, you saw it.

Not power. Not steel.

But something quieter. Guilt, raw and unfinished. The kind that carves itself into the bones and settles in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

“I trusted the wrong man,” he said. “And you paid the price.”

You didn’t speak.

Because if you did, you weren’t sure what would come out. Grief. Rage. Or worse—understanding.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers lacing together.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness,” he said, and this time, his voice wasn’t steady at all. “That would be… self-serving.”

The pause that followed was heavy.

“But I will say this—” His gaze held yours now, unflinching. “What happened to you will never happen again. Not under my roof. Not under my command.”

There was a promise in his voice. One made of steel and silence.

But beneath it, something else.

A tremor.

A flicker.

Like the moment before a dam breaks.

You stared at him—really stared—and realized something you hadn’t before.

He wasn’t just protecting you because of your sister.

He was atoning.

For what, you didn’t know yet.

But you felt it in your chest. The way his words seemed to recoil the moment they left his mouth, as if every syllable had teeth.

“I don’t expect trust,” he added after a moment, softer now. “Not from you. Not anymore.”

He exhaled.

And in that breath, you heard it.

The echo of a man who once made a promise to a dying woman.

And failed.

He sat back in his chair, gaze drifting away once more—toward the window, where dusk had begun to gather along the edges of the sky.

The silence between you stretched again. But this time, it wasn’t sharp.

It was soft.

Frayed.

Wounded.

You lowered your gaze, unsure what to say.

So instead, you simply whispered, “Okay.”

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It wasn’t absolution.

But it was something.

And in a world like this, where men like Sylus carried ghosts on their shoulders and tried to outrun them with orders and silence, it might have been enough.

Just for tonight.

Night fell slow and uncertain, wrapping the manor in a hush too heavy to be peace.

You stood at the window of your borrowed room, hands resting lightly on the sill. The glass was cold beneath your fingers. Outside, the courtyard flickered with scattered lantern light, their glow trembling against the darkness like breaths you couldn’t catch.

You hadn’t lit the lamp.

There was something comforting about the dark. Something honest.

It didn’t pretend to fix what was broken.

It simply let it be.

You thought he’d left hours ago. After the apology. After the vow laced with guilt and too much restraint.

He hadn’t lingered.

Just turned away, coat whispering behind him, and vanished into the hall with the quiet surety of someone who knew how to disappear.

And yet…

You felt it.

That strange, almost imperceptible pull at the edge of your awareness.

The weight of eyes not cruel, not curious—just there.

You turned, slowly, scanning the room as if the shadows might shift and give him away.

But nothing moved.

Only silence.

You let out a breath. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe your nerves were frayed beyond recognition, making ghosts out of memory and meaning.

You crossed the room, eased into the bed, and pulled the blankets up to your chest. The pillow smelled faintly of smoke and leather. A scent that didn’t belong to you.

You turned onto your side, facing the door. Just in case.

But sleep didn’t come.

It hovered at the edges—teasing, half-formed.

And then—

A whisper of motion.

You didn’t open your eyes.

Didn’t move.

But you heard it. The barely-there shift of air. A coat settling over a chair. The weight of someone sitting down slow, deliberate.

A presence settling like dusk in the corner of the room.

Sylus.

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

But you felt the silence curve around him, reshaping itself. No longer empty. Just… quiet.

You wondered how long he’d been there.

How long he would stay.

You should have been angry. Or afraid. But you weren’t.

Not with him.

Because his silence didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt like a vigil.

Like penance.

You let your lashes lower, heart steady but uncertain.

He didn’t think you were awake.

And so, for the first time, you saw him without the armor.

Just a man in a chair.

Posture too still. Hands clasped together as if in prayer—or apology.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the floor like it had answers he’d never find.

The light from the hall bled faintly beneath the door, gilding the curve of his jaw, the silver of his hair, the hollows beneath his eyes.

He looked tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix.

But the kind that came from carrying too much of the past without letting any of it go.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And softly—so softly you almost missed it—he spoke.

“I should’ve come sooner.”

You didn’t know if the words were for you. Or for her.

Maybe both.

He stayed there a long time after that.

Saying nothing more.

Just watching.

Just breathing in the silence like it was the only thing left that didn’t lie.

And eventually, you let yourself sleep.

Not because you trusted him.

But because, somehow, for the first time in days, your heartbeat no longer felt like a countdown.

[pinkmoontaco]

Hii its me again i think hoshi lol I'M NOT SURE IF HE FITS 🥹🥹 YOU CAN PICK ANYONE THO!!!

Welcome to the Family, Soonyoung!!! || Kwon Soonyoung

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × Choi Y/N Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Crack, Seventeen Chaos Summary: Dating your leader’s younger sister is already dangerous territory—but for Hoshi, it’s pure entertainment. Ever since he and Y/N made things official, the Seventeen members have made it their personal mission to tease both him and Seungcheol mercilessly. A.n: Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖

And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups

M.list

Seungcheol should’ve seen it coming.

The signs were all there—the way Hoshi always volunteered to pick Y/N up from the train station when she visited, how he suddenly became very invested in making sure the dorm was clean when she came over, and most importantly, the way he looked at her like she was the best thing since tiger plushies.

And yet, Seungcheol had somehow convinced himself it was just Hoshi being Hoshi.

Until today. Until Y/N casually dropped the bomb over dinner.

"Oh, by the way, Soonyoung and I are dating."

The chopsticks in Seungcheol’s hand snapped.

The entire room went silent.

Then. Chaos.

"OH MY GOD, IT'S TRUE?" Seungwan screeched, standing up so fast that his chair nearly fell over. "I KNEW IT! JOSHUA-HYUNG, YOU OWE ME 20,000 WON!"

Joshua sighed, pulling out his wallet. "I was just being optimistic for Cheol."

"Hyung," Dino looked at Seungcheol with big eyes, filled with equal parts concern and amusement. "Are you okay? You’re gripping your spoon like you’re about to throw it at someone."

"I might throw it at someone," Seungcheol muttered darkly, glaring daggers at Hoshi, who was beaming like he had just won the lottery.

"Cheol," Jeonghan grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "How does it feel knowing Hoshi might be your future brother-in-law?"

Seungcheol groaned. "Why are we already talking about marriage?!"

"Because," Mingyu smirked, "we know Hoshi. The moment he decides he likes something, he never let go. Just look at his obsession with tigers."

Hoshi, still grinning ear to ear, nodded proudly. "That's right! I love tigers. And now, I love Y/N. So basically, she’s my favorite tiger now."

Seungcheol visibly cringed. "I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that."

"Oh, you’ll be hearing a lot worse now that we’re family," Hoshi teased, nudging him.

Unfortunately for Seungcheol, the teasing did not stop there.

The members had an entire field day with this information, and it was clear they weren’t going to let it go anytime soon.

At breakfast, DK sat next to Seungcheol with a bright smile.

"Hyung," he said sweetly, "would you like me to make you some eggs? You must be so stressed about Hoshi becoming your brother-in-law soon."

"He's NOT my brother-in-law," Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face.

"Yet," Jun added helpfully, making the entire table burst into laughter.

Seungcheol shot daggers at Y/N, who was enjoying her tea as if she wasn’t the reason his life was crumbling. "You planned this, didn’t you?"

Y/N smirked. "You should just accept it, Oppa. It’s happening whether you like it or not."

Hoshi leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, Cheol-ah~ Just think, now we can have matching family pajamas at Christmas!"

Seungcheol let out a suffering sigh while the members lost their minds at the mental image.

During practice, Seungcheol really should’ve known the members would take things to the next level.

As they ran through their choreography, Minghao suddenly called out, "Hoshi-hyung, be careful! If you get hurt, Y/N-noona will scold us!"

Hoshi gasped dramatically, holding his chest. "You’re right! I have to be extra careful now that I’m a future family man."

"FUTURE FAMILY MAN?!" Seungcheol shouted.

"Hyung, you should be proud," Vernon said, straight-faced. "You’re about to gain a great brother-in-law."

"I'm about to lose my mind," Seungcheol corrected.

"But hyung, just think," Woozi said, barely hiding his smirk. "Now you and Hoshi will be tied together forever. Every single holiday, family event, weddings—"

Seungcheol groaned loudly.

"OH!" Seungkwan clapped his hands excitedly. "Cheol-hyung, when Hoshi and Y/N get married, you have to make a wedding speech!"

"I REFUSE!"

"But hyung," Hoshi pouted, batting his eyelashes. "Don’t you want to give a speech about how honored you are to have me as a brother?"

"I’d rather give a speech at my own funeral."

The final straw came when the members actually changed Hoshi’s contact name in the group chat.

Seungcheol woke up to his phone blowing up with notifications. Groggily, he opened the Seventeen group chat, only to see:

[ Seungcheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim! ☀️

[Mingyu]: LOLOLOL NOT THE ‘HYUNG-NIM’ 😭💀

[Jeonghan]: Should we change the chat name to "Seungcheol’s Family + Dino"?

[DK]: YESSS 😂😂

Seungcheol let out a scream and immediately left the chat.

After Seungcheol stormed out of the group chat last night, he had foolishly hoped they would forget about it.

He was wrong.

At exactly 8 AM, Jeonghan added him back.

And the first message he saw was:

[ Seuncheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim~!! Did you sleep well? ☀️

Seungcheol closed the chat. He refused to deal with this.

Then, his phone rang.

It was Joshua.

With a deep sigh, he answered. "What?"

"Hyung," Joshua said, barely holding in his laughter, "it’s rude to ignore family."

Seungcheol hung up.

That evening, Seungcheol finally got a break from practice—only to walk into the dorm and find Hoshi and Y/N sitting at the dining table with his parents.

He froze. "What is going on?"

"Family dinner!" Hoshi grinned. "I wanted to spend more time with my future in-laws!"

Seungcheol’s mother beamed. "Soonyoung is such a sweet boy, Cheol-ah. You should be happy for them."

"Should I?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath.

His father, clearly enjoying this way too much, patted Hoshi’s shoulder. "We always wanted a son-in-law who could bring energy to the family!"

Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. Just great."

Hoshi, the little menace, leaned closer with the most smug smile. "Hyung, want me to set your plate? I gotta take care of my family now~"

Seungcheol wanted to scream.

After the family dinner, the group chat exploded again.

[Seungkwan]: GUYS, HOSHI HAD DINNER WITH CHEOL-HYUNG’S FAMILY AHAHAHA 😭😭

[Minghao]: It’s official. He’s in.

[DK]: Cheol-hyung, when’s the wedding? 👀

[Woozi]: Should we start preparing a Family Concert? Hoshi can perform a tiger-themed wedding song.

[Seungcheol's Brother-in-law 🐯]: Y/N SAID I CAN CALL HER MOM "EOMONIM" NOW!!! 😆🎉🎉

[Jun]: Wow. He’s really securing his spot.

[Jeonghan]: Cheol-ah, you should start looking for a matching couple outfit for family holidays.

Seungcheol threw his phone across the bed.

It happened too fast.

One moment, the members were just sitting in the dorm’s living room, casually chatting after practice. The next, Hoshi had Y/N’s face cupped in his hands and—

"YAH!"

Seungcheol launched off the couch so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

The room erupted.

"OH MY GOD—" Seungkwan clapped a hand over his mouth.

Dino screamed.

Joshua wheezed. "He actually did it?!"

Jun fell to the floor in laughter. "Legendary."

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was in big brother crisis mode.

"KWON SOONYOUNG!"

Hoshi, still grinning like the absolute menace he was, turned to look at Seungcheol. "Yes, Hyung-Nim?"

"DON’T HYUNG-NIM ME, YOU JUST KISSED MY SISTER—"

"She kissed me back," Hoshi interrupted.

Y/N, completely unbothered, nodded. "I did."

Seungcheol wanted to pass out. "THAT DOESN’T HELP!"

Jeonghan, enjoying this way too much, leaned over to Mingyu. "Five seconds before Cheol explodes."

"Three," Mingyu corrected.

"TWO—"

"YAH!" Seungcheol pointed directly at Hoshi. "YOU—STAY FIVE FEET AWAY FROM HER AT ALL TIMES!"

Hoshi pouted. "But Eomonim said I can sit next to her at dinner—"

"NOT IN MY HOUSE!" Seungcheol turned to Y/N. "And you! How could you date him? Of all people?*"

Y/N blinked. "He makes me happy, Oppa."

The room went silent.

For a second, Seungcheol felt his brotherly rage waver—but only for a second.

Because Hoshi chose that exact moment to pull Y/N closer and say, "Aww, jagi~ tell him how much you love me."

Seungcheol lunged.

The members screamed.

Next day, as the members sat around watching a movie, Seungcheol turned to Y/N with a tired sigh.

"Are you sure you wanna be with him?"

Y/N laughed, intertwining her fingers with Hoshi’s. "Absolutely."

Hoshi flashed his signature goofy smile. "Cheol-ah, don’t worry! I’ll take good care of your sister."

Seungcheol exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I should be touched or terrified."

"Both," Woozi said without missing a beat.

Hoshi, completely unbothered, wrapped an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder and grinned. "Get ready for a lifetime of me, brother-in-law!"

And in that moment, Seungcheol accepted his fate.

He had gained a Hoshi in his family.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his sanity.

And most importantly—

God help him.

[straykidsnerd255]

I'm Yours, Truly

Title: I’m Yours, Truly

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo (w/system) x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff with a hint of angst at the beginning

Song: Would you fall in love with me again- Ithaca Saga Epic the musical

Rating: G

Warning(s): Jinwoo leaves for a raid that takes 15 years to complete even with the help of other National Hunters signing up to help, Jinwoo is 30, the reader is 29, Jinwoo and the reader are married with a son (Spoiler- its Suho)

Prompt: “You’re the most important thing to me”

Summary: You hadn’t seen your husband in 15 years. Your heart ached for his return, begging the gods above to bring your beloved back to you. Your son, Suho, had pointed to the man in the photos that sat on the tv stand, asking you in a small voice, “Mom, when will dad come back home?” Your heart aches waiting for the man you loved more than the air you breathe. The moment he appeared in your living room, blood soaked clothes, a tired smile and shining eyes, the simple words leaving his mouth making your heart sing, “I love you.”

Word Count: 1464

A/n: It was recently brought to my attention that Jinwoo is one word and two separate words like I have been writing in my one-shots, so I deeply apologize for my mistake on that.

Behind the collaboration: Me and @fairy-writes took the same character, same prompt and wrote. We wanted to see how different our writing styles were, so enjoy!

Her One-Shot linked HERE

Sitting in the chair that belonged to your husband, knees tucked to your chest, you stare out the window, the sun beaming down on the freshly bloomed roses. Your heart beating painfully in your chest as a fresh wave of tears filled your eyes. It had been 15 years since you last saw your husband. Months before the raid was to take place, you and Jinwoo were graced with your pregnancy. Your first child, a baby boy. Jinwoo had fused over you during the 8 months he would be with you, fluffing your pillow, massaging your swollen ankles, waking up at the most random times to get you food you were craving. All with the biggest smile on his lips. When he left for the raid, you were due a month later. 

Giving birth to your son without Jinwoo by your side was a harsh blow to your emotions. You were depressed, scared that your son would never see his father. Holding your baby, tears filled your eyes. He looked just like him. You little baby boy looked just like Jinwoo. Pressing soft kisses to your baby boy's head made your heart ache a little less but the ache was still there. Still a stark reminder that your husband was on a mission, a raid that could very well end his life. You kept your hopes up though. Smiling as the small bundle in your arms moved closer to your warmth.

“Mother,” Your son's voice pulled you from your thoughts.

Suho, your 15 year old son, stood in the doorway, his eyes swollen from crying. You stood from the chair and quietly walked towards your son. You place a hand on his shoulder and the other on his face. You watched as Suho heaved before breaking down and rushing into your arms. You held your son for a moment, your own heart breaking at the fact your sweet, baby boy had to grow up for 15 years without a father. Pulling away from your arms, Suho tried his best to stop his tears, but they would not stop. 

“Mother, when will father come back home?” His words gripped at your heart like the hands of a desperate monster clawing towards the light. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know. The raid should be over by now, we just have to wait.” You whispered, watching the pain swirl in your son's eyes. “I just want the pain to stop. I can’t take the comments that are being made towards me mom. The sick, and twisted comments about you. I just can’t.” he whispered the last words, twisting the knife like pain in your heart. Suho’s hands clenched as his body shook. 

You wanted to take your son's pain.

You wanted to take your son’s pain and bear his pain. You didn’t want your son to feel the burden that he was feeling. The pain that was eating away at the sweet, and happy little boy. The boy that had the brightest of smiles, the twinkle of wonder in his eyes. Now, the boy before you only felt dread, fear, and longing for someone that you believed had long since passed. 

Jinwoo was the first love you had ever had, the first kiss, the first real relationship. He was your first in everything. Now, he may be gone. He may have bitten off more than he could chew this time. Didn’t matter that multiple national rank hunters and s-rank hunters had gone to help, all that mattered was that this mission had most likely killed your husband and took your son’s father from him. 

You looked at your son, studied the way his body shifted, the way his eyes darted around. The pain that lay behind his gray eyes as he wiped the tears from them, trying to appear strong even though you could see right through him. You could see the pain laid bare before you, and it hurt you more than you could express in words. Seeing your son, have to hold his tears when someone asked where his father was. Your heart wailed in pain as the memories that you and Jinwoo had together before his departure.

Suho blinked his eyes, blurring you and everything for a moment. Suho wanted nothing more than to see his father in person. The photos that lined the tv stand, or that sat in the hallway didn’t do the justice he thought it would have. It didn’t give him a glimpse as to what his father was like. He loved that you did your best to tell him about his father, but not being able to be held by him made him realize he was missing his father’s warmth. 

Opening your mouth, you go to comfort your son, but a familiar feeling fills your chest. The warmth that you had been missing for the last 15 years of yours and your son's life. The warmth that melted the coldness that had once filled your heart. The warmth that made your heart soar and sing. Turning around, you’re met with a sight that nearly brought you to your knees. Your husband, clothed in tattered clothing, blood soaked and worn from the fight, stood in front of you and your son, his eyes shining with unshed tears, a smile that could rival even the sun. Your son moved faster than you and rushed to his father, slamming himself into Jinwoo’s chest, sobbing as his father was finally home. 

Suho’s hands gripped his father’s shirt tightly, refusing to let go. The fear that he could disappear before his eyes squeezed his heart. Jinwoo held him just as tightly, his muscles tense with how tightly he was holding his son. “Oh my son, how I have longed to see you. You have grown into such a handsome young man.” Jinwoo refused to let his son go. He couldn’t, not when he had missed 15 years of his son's life for a stupid mission. Suho buried his face in his fathers chest, taking in his warmth, the way it felt like a massive blanket covered him. “I have missed you so father.” Suho whispered, before moving away from his father, turning to you, a gentle smile on your lips as you watched their interaction. 

Stepping to the side, Suho smiled at you before going back to his room to give you and Jinwoo some time, a smile on his face and warmth that spread through his body. He could finally tell those who had bullied him for not having a dad, that his dad had finally returned from the raid he had been tasked to 15 years ago. 

Stepping forward, your hands drifted to his face, cupping his jaw and watching as he melted into your touch. His eyes softening even more; his body heaving a sigh as he finally was back in your arms. Your hands moved away from his jaw but your fingers danced across his face, memorizing the planes of his face, mapping out the lines of his cheekbones. His hands drifted to your waist, his thumbs rubbing your hips, comforting you as your tears finally fell down your face. Your lips trembled as a smile graced your face. You blinked softly before pulling Jinwoo closer, your lips brushing against his. 

The feeling of his body pressed against yours erased any doubt you had. His fingers brushed against yours as he intertwined his fingers with your. Leaning down, Jinwoo pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth you radiated. “This is why you’re the most important thing to me. The warmth you give, the smiles that radiate the sun, the laughter that fills the room, I missed it all. Those years spent in a cave with bloodthirsty beast were torture because I couldn’t be with you. I couldn’t be with my son.” Jinwoo wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. 

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, your body craving his warmth after being away from him for so long. The feeling of being in your husband's arms after 15 years made fresh tears fall down your face. Pulling away from the kiss, Jinwoo smiled so gently at you that your heart almost beat out of your chest with how hard it was pounding. “I love you.” He whispered, his lips brushing against yours. Your heart soared as a smile appeared on your lips. “I love you too.” You whispered, watching Jinwoo’s smile grow bigger. Your little family, after 15 years, is now complete. With your husband home and your son smiling again, the home that had lacked warmth for so long, was once again filled with a familiar warmth.

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites | Part 13

Part 1 | AO3

Conquering men sure did involve a lot of coy smiles and arm touching.

Ghost watches you. You had been working the room for nearly forty minutes. This single room held twenty tables and could have housed the whole of the shelter he, his brother Tommy, and his mom had visited a few times when he was small. From the opulence of the carpet to the exposed beams above his head added to the layers of discomfort and trickle of rage down his spine.

The back of his canines have a sharp point. He had a base dentist mention it once; didn’t know it was rare until then. Ghost used it to trigger pain and keep focused. Like now.

You had gathered a collection of four men into a conversation. They all vied for a spot next to you—their postures that of dogs begging for pets. A joke must have landed because a wave of laughter crashed over the hum of conversation in the room. Ghost catches your glance as Jeffery Dutson maneuvers to your side.

Ghost hates the man on sight. Scraping his tongue against the sharp point of his tooth is not enough to dim the drop of molten glass searing through his breastbone. Perfectly styled hair, roughly average height compared to you, his eyes stray far too often to the expansive length of leg you have on display.

Grinding his teeth is a bad habit. Ghost knows it. He gets yelled at every time he is in the chair by any of the base dentists who are willing to work with him about remaining as covered as possible. Doesn’t stop him from forcing his teeth across each other. The sound fuzzed out the scarier thoughts that rocked through his skull.

Dutson, with his ‘paid good money for a perfect smile’ smile, settled a hand on your lower back and leaned in to speak into your ear. The flinch is mostly in your hips and is instantly covered up by shifting your weight. You smile up at Dutson.

Ghost could swear he heard a molar crack as he started forward.

Your hand makes a sharp slashing movement down at your side. Ghost stands down, annoyed and watchful. He keeps a respectful distance as Duston leads you to the door to the large patio that overlooks the green.

The money rich people spend in water to keep golf courses green could hydrate five counties for three years. Any of his teammates could tell you one thing that would always set Ghost off was waste.

Ghost could be patient though. All that sniper training had taught him that waste should be eliminated at the appropriate time to achieve the greatest effect.

Thoughts drip through his mind— water collecting minerals as they slide along rocks.

Skirting the outside of the massive room dotted with white linen-covered tables, Ghost maintains a visual on you. The top of your head is bobbing down the stairs as he steps onto the excessively large outdoor space.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs you turn and gesture him forward. Dutson is crunching down the path, hollering for his caddie. The instant Dutson is out of earshot your perky smile falls from your face and disgust plucks at your lips.

“I need you to hang back. Dutson is going to take me to the lower nine. Come and pick me up in one hour. The guys at the cart shack should be able to help you borrow one. Any longer than that and I might need help hiding a corpse.” You press your fingers into the muscles of your neck, stretching.

The motion reminded Ghost of his hands on you this morning. Damn. He wanted this mission to last forever and end now. You were so off-limits, God had to be laughing at him. Soap wouldn’t be as forgiving as his God claims to be.

“One hour. No murder, you’re not qualified.”

Straightening your head you smirked.

“You’d be amazed what I’m qualified to provide big boy. Now, go. Dutson is coming back.”

“Your bodyguard is quite attentive,” Dutson tipped forward like a sipper bird to press the tee into the green.

“That’s why I pay him the big bucks,” you joke.

Standing further back you wait for Dutson, Jeffrey he had asked you to call him, set the ball on the tee. Arms folded under your bust pushed the girls up a tad more than necessary, but Dutson appreciated it. At least every glance toward you landed across your breasts before finding your face; so you could assume.

“What else do you pay big bucks for?” Dutson stood upright and lifted a brow in your direction.

“Too much, but I have a preferred standard of living. Nail, hair, waxing? All non-negotiables.” Curling your hand you show off the acrylic set.

Something lascivious surfaces like a shark in Dutson’s gaze before it dives below his politician persona.

“Good to have standards. You mentioned you’ve never golfed before right? Come on over and let me help you,” he holds out a hand.

Did all men have the same awful playbook drilled into their skulls when they got lobotomies or did they come separately? Fucker wanted his hands on you and “setting up a swing” is a perfect excuse. Skin-on-skin was designed to help bond with newborns, not grown women trying to swindle you out of your panties.

All these thoughts live below the surface. What you let out is a knowing smile and a slight lift to one brow. Let this man think he is in control. Men must think they hold the weight to tip decisions.

Too long ago men subjugated the beast of the field, the seed of the earth, and women to their whims. If they hadn’t done it when humans were all still wet from climbing from the ocean, they would had never a chance.

Setting your hand in his you ignore the bile roiling in your stomach.

Haunting your moves, Ghost catches every micro-expression of disgust, of anger. When the hour you requested has only two minutes remaining, he keys on the cart and heads toward you. The not-so-sedate pace he uses gets him lifted brows from all around. Between his glare and the security logo on his shirt, no one says shit.

Dutson has his arms around you, hands atop yours ‘helping’ you with your swing. If he wanted to help he would have set up your swing and then let you move. Bastard had his groin tucked against your ass. Ghost wonders if Dutson got any closer could he be absorbed into your body like an angler fish?

You are shifting for a swing.

“Bunny.”

The ball goes flying with force normally only seen in professionals and women with murder on their minds.

Good.

“What?” You turn to snarl with crazy eyes at Ghost.

Dying under your hand might be the closest he can get to an orgasm from you.

“Bunny?” Dutson lifted a brow, a smile toying at the corner of his Botox-filled lips.

“I pay him big bucks because he is good, but he works with my brother.” Taking a deep breath you tug the collar of your shirt and quirk a smile at your target. “My brother calls me bunny, a childhood nickname, and his teammates use it when they urgently need my attention.”

Flicking your eyes to Ghost, expression chilling, you continue. “What is so urgent you needed to interrupt my time with Mr. Dutson?”

“Jeffery,” Duston cuts in.

You look back at him with a smile. The contrast between how you look at the men starts an itch behind Ghost’s breastbone.

“Jeffery,” you correct. A hand reaches forward and squeezes the one that hangs at Dutson’s side once. Your eyes don’t leave the man.

The itch starts to ache.

“Your next appointment called. They need to move up the meeting to two.” Ghost does his level best at playing a professional.

Damn, acting must be some innate skill for you. No plan had been made for how Ghost was supposed to extricate you from this situation but you caught the lob and returned it like you had been playing baseball your whole life.

“Today?” Mild alarm settles in your brows. “Jeffrey, do you have the time?”

The doe like blink up at the man you were here to swindle swallowed any questions the man might have have.

Flipping his left hand and lifting it he read out the time, “It’s twelve fifty-eight.”

Your lips pull into the cutest pout.

“And here I was finally getting the hang of this game. Jeffrey, thank you so much for your time and your help.” Stepping into the man’s space you press fingertips to his chest. Pushing up to your toes, you lay a kiss on his cheek. “I hope I see you again soon.”

The steering wheel in Ghost’s hands creaked. Both men watch as you move back and head for the passenger seat of the cart. As your legs settle on the bench seat Ghost glares once at the man who received your affection and presses the pedal to the floor.

He slaps a palm to your thigh as you twist in your seat to wave goodbye to Dutson. Once the curve of the path hides him from view you decompress, an inflatable arm man with its air cut.

Shoulders dropping, head lolling, your thigh goes loose and pliant under his hand. If he were a worse man he would have tested your flesh beneath his fingers.

“What fake appointment are we rushing to now?”

Ghost watches out the side of his eye as you stare at his hand on your leg.

“Massage.”

There it is, that devious smile that torments him.

Looking at him pointedly you flex under his touch.

“I knew you wanted to see me naked.”

The eye furthest from you is the one that twitches.

Thinking of Soap, burying him up to his neck in the woods, and coating his head with honey is enough to delay a bigger, more visible, reaction.

“Seen enough at the club.”

“Sure will be a shame for you to know I have seven piercings then huh?”

Ghost gets a faceful of a man-eating grin when he glances at you.

Two holes in each ear, a total of four. Where the hell could…

“Christ almighty,” he breathed out the words.

Your laughter trails after cart, wild and free.

Part 12 | Part 14

Bunny Masterlist | Masterlist

Cute divider from @/jimzittos

@leahnicole1219 @notsochillnerd @darling006 @harperstyles @lucienofthelakes @redkarmakai @demothers-empty-blog @cheese-pull @itsmeamysworld @fluffysmiko @w0ede @skeletonsucker @defronix @lilynotdilly @whisperwispxx

[pomegranate-theater]

You and Phainon share a bedtime routine, when a simple lip balm gets in a way ♡

Maintaining the good condition of your skin was important to you, which is why it was a strict discipline for you to have a small beauty routine before bed. Just a quick washing, moisturize here and there, and the last crucial step — applying lip balm onto your lips, so they shall never be cracked.

However, tonight was the first time where you’d do this next to Phainon, having officially moved in with him. You found it rather adorable as he was watching you smear yourself with all the products, an interest on his face.

“Can I have some too, please?” he asked eagerly, schooching closer to you in the bed that shifted under his weight. You giggled at his eagerness, endeared by the fact he found something as simple as moisturizer to be in wonder for. “Sure, I don’t want to look at your crusty cheeks anyway,” you teased, making him pout petulantly. “I’ll let you know my skin looks naturally fresh and glowy. I receive praises for it incessantly.”

“I’m sure you do,” you sighed softly and gently spread the cream over his cheeks. “It’s cold,” he grumbled. “That’s a Chrysos Heir’s limit? A cold face cream?”

“I don’t have to like it anyway. I’m home, relaxing, not putting myself through icy waters for a sake of some mission,” he rebutted. You laughed, noticing how his eyes were closed, clearly enjoying his small repose. “And I don’t want you to not be any less content when with me.”

A moment later, “There, pretty cheeks, totally not dry— not now, at least,” you joked and placed the cream away, next gasped as he suddenly has tackled you down under him.

“Great,” he grinned. “Now I can be graced with a goodnight kiss.”

Like a prince in a fairy tail, he closed his eyes again, this time with a longing look and slightly ragged breathing, ready to deliver a wonderful kiss. After a smaller surprise, you shut your eyelids too, anticipating a warm and fuzzy gesture meant to grant you sweet dreams—

Only to be met with Phainon’s cough and sour face going up, just a millisecond after brushing your lips. “What do you have on your lips?” his voice was actually offended.

“A lip balm?” you replied with confusion. Somehow, he was really sensitive about these smallest things — sure, maybe beeswax and animal fat are not prone to be tasting great, yet…

“It’s tart,” he muttered with a scowl, and you burst into another laugh. “Well, my apologies for wanting to always keep my lips so soft. How else do you think they stay this way?”

He shook his head, a determined look on his face. “I won’t let some stupid lip ointment get in the way of my respite.” Before you could tell him to leave you and your precious lip product alone, Phainon was quickly wiping your chapstick off with a back of his hand, soon attacking your lips with a proper kiss.

You whined with indignation at his disrespect, yet when he stroked your face so carefully, you gave in to his love and returned the gesture. Withdrawing, you observed his warm smile and rosy cheeks. “I win,” he said cheekily. “Was that a good farewell before tonight’s dreams?”

“Sure, you kiss well, but now my balm is gone,” his heart trembled at your darling pout, and not able to ever deny or sadden you, he reached and searched from that product on the bedside table, guessing which it was by the shape. Swiftly unscrewing the metal container, he then patted his fingers inside, and applied the oily cosmetic onto your lips; enjoying the shape and texture of your lips at that.

You hummed at his decision, observing how meticulous and focused he was, as if not comfortable with the idea of messing up with anything about you — ultimate reverence.

After he finished applying the product, he tapped your lower lip with his thumb, engrossed by them still being swollen from the kiss; before you had to bring him back with a clearing of your throat.

“Right, you’re good,” he said with self-pride, and laid down back next to you, quick to pull you in his arms. Another kiss was given — on your forehead. “Finally, sharing our lives together…” he yawned. “You have no idea how serene all this feels…”

“Tell me about it…” you murmured in return, eyes heavy as you snuggled closer to his side.

You two slept like babies that night.

[daydreamabout]

Annoying [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: A rare moment of Tim annoying you for once.

You’re standing outside the precinct, a rare moment of peace before you dive back into the chaos of the day. Your coffee is warm in your hand, the sun is just beginning to dip lower in the sky, and for once, everything seems… almost calm. Almost.

That is, until Tim approaches.

It was too good to last. You should’ve known.

Tim is usually the type of person who keeps to himself. Grumpy, quiet, always focused. He doesn’t go out of his way to annoy anyone, but that’s not what’s happening today. Oh, no. Today, he’s absolutely relentless, and he’s making it his mission to mess with you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his voice loud enough for you to hear, but with a slight edge of mischief you don’t quite trust. “What’s that look on your face? You finally about to crack under the pressure?”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I’m fine, Tim. Thanks for asking. Just trying to get some peace.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you like you’re some kind of puzzle. “Yeah? You sure about that? Because you look like you’re about to explode.”

You exhale sharply, the last thing you need right now being Tim’s unnecessary commentary. You turn your back to him for a moment, focusing on your coffee, trying to regain a little bit of composure. But Tim has other plans.

He steps closer, and you can feel his presence looming behind you like a quiet storm. There’s a pause, and then…

“Are you mad at me?” his voice is playful, but there’s a note of teasing there, something that doesn’t quite fit with his usual vibe.

You whip around, shooting him a glare. “I’m not mad at you, Tim. I’m just… tired.”

“Well, that’s an understatement,” he says with a smirk, leaning a little closer than necessary. “You look like you need a nap. Maybe even a hug.”

Something sarcastic almost leaves your mouth, but the words stick in your throat. You can’t help it; despite your annoyance, the thought of a hug from Tim, of him softening just a little bit, makes your heart do a weird flip. You fight to hide the smile creeping onto your face.

“I don’t need a hug,” you mutter, pushing him lightly in an attempt to regain some space. “What I need is for you to stop being so damn… Tim. You’re annoying me. What's up with you today?”

But he doesn’t back off. Oh no, instead, he steps even closer.

“Annoying you? I thought we were partners, Y/N. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Annoy the hell out of each other?”

You can feel your resolve starting to crack, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips against your will. Quickly you turn your head to hide it, but it’s no use.

Tim’s smirk deepens. “Ah, I see that look. You can’t fool me, Y/N. You like when I annoy you.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bat his hand away when he gets too close, but for some reason, your hand lingers near his. You don’t pull it back. Your fingers brush his, just for a moment, and you freeze.

Did that just happen?

Tim doesn’t seem to notice at first, too focused on your growing annoyance to care. But when his eyes flick down to where your hand is, just resting on his, something shifts in the air between you. He clears his throat, almost awkwardly, but doesn’t pull away.

“You, uh, seem to be… holding on to me there.” His voice is lower now, less teasing, and he’s obviously trying to hide a grin.

You jerk your hand away like it burned you, but not without a trace of a smile creeping onto your face.

“No—” You stammer, trying to play it off. “I wasn’t—ugh, I’m not some softie who likes—stop annoying me, Bradford.”

You cross your arms defensively, but the smile you can’t quite contain makes it obvious that you’re not as annoyed as you’re pretending to be. The fact that you’re still standing there, your heartbeat a little faster than it should be, tells you everything you need to know.

Tim raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Uh-huh. Sure, Y/N. Keep telling yourself that.”

Before you can respond, he shifts slightly, his shoulder bumping into yours in that casual, not trying to be intimate way that only he can pull off. His touch lingers just long enough for you to feel that familiar, electric warmth.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping without warning. “You’re impossible,” you mutter under your breath, though the words have no weight behind them.

“Yeah, but I think I’m the kind of impossible you like,” Tim teases, still standing way too close, his voice low and steady. He gives you a knowing look, one that’s warm and uncharacteristically soft.

The tension in your chest eases just a little, your annoyance melting away as you try—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way your heart skips a beat.

Shaking your head, you step away. “Whatever, Tim. I can’t even be mad at you for more than five minutes.”

He grins at that, fully aware that he’s won. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, sharing the kind of quiet, easy moment that’s become so familiar. You’ve been partners for what feels like forever, and in some weird way, you’ve gotten used to him annoying you in the best possible way. It’s… comfortable.

“Well, now you’ve got me curious,” Tim says, as if he’s reading your thoughts. “What would you do if I just… didn’t stop being annoying?”

You look at him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in a while. His teasing expression is gone now, replaced with something a little deeper, but you’re still trying to make sense of it. You shift your weight, crossing your arms again, trying to act like you’re not a little flustered by the way he’s looking at you.

“I’d probably punch you,” you say, the words coming out more jokingly than you intended.

He chuckles, a sound that’s soft and real. “I’ll take my chances.”

And just like that, despite your earlier annoyance, you can’t stop smiling. Maybe you did need a hug after all, even if it’s from the one person who drives you crazy more than anyone else.

For some reason, you’re okay with it.

[blueseasfanfics]

Friction - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you're targeted by a violent stalker, Sam Wilson hires Bucky Barnes to guard you in an isolated safe house. This causes tension as you both get on each others nerves in an increasingly dangerous situation. But, you slowly come to realize you're more alike than you thought. Will it be too late when you finally let yourself trust him?

Word Count (for Part 1): 2.3k

Tags: Slowburn, reluctant attraction, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, bodyguard, hired to protect, fluff and angst, nightmares and comfort, eventual smut, reluctant attraction.

T/W: Some non-graphic depictions of violence, guns, eventual smut.

A/N: Hello. This will be just a few parts. I'm envisioning 5. Who knows though. Will be posted on my AO3 as well (linked here). Also, feel free to send short one-shot requests. I may not answer them all but if one inspires me, I'll write. Enjoy!

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to sprint down the hill into oncoming traffic.”

“There is no oncoming traffic.”

“I’ll keep running until I find some.”

“Good luck.”

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking another swig of your coffee. Bucky Dumbass Barnes leans against the porch railing, watching you. You flip him off and he rolls his eyes, looking instead at the dirt road ahead.

The day is calm and cicadas are buzzing loudly. You draw your knees up to your chest as you watch the wind play with the grass, making it flatten and swirl into ever-changing circles.

It’s so incredibly boring out here, away from the city. There’s no coffee shops, or long walks down busy streets, or movie theatres. The lack of movie theatres hurts the most. All you want to do is sit with people, too many people, anonymously sharing a laugh or a cry in a dark room. Free people don’t appreciate the amount of community that is shared within the walls of a theatre. The insight gleaned from hearing their murmurs to their friends about the attractiveness of the actors or the stupidity of the dialogue. You miss connecting with them and feeling, finally, like one of them. Anonymously. With the ability to leave afterwards, free to go about your business.

But now, all you do is watch the grass as Bucky watches you. Solely because of one stupid person with an obsession.

You chug the rest of your coffee and get up, limping past Bucky and letting the screen door slam behind you. He huffs, but you couldn’t care less.

The safe house has a rudimentary kitchen. Though, fancier than your own due to the coffee machine Sam brought as an apology for forcing you here. As you start another cup of coffee, you tap the counter with a finger. Sam said this would only be for a month. Just until they found out how He was tracking you. Then you could go back to your blissful anonymity in New York.

That is, if they could even find who He is.

That’s the flip side of the coin. You can disappear, until someone wants to find you. Then, it’s all that much easier for them to never appear to you at all, except when they want to. The little voice in the back of your head whispers his name to you, but you close your eyes and silence it. He’s gone. He must be.

The coffee drips from the machine. It’s been overworked the past two weeks, both from you trying to cling on to whatever sense of normalcy you’ve cultivated outside of this house, and from Bucky trying to stay awake.

How long did Bucky say he was going to stay here for? Couldn’t have been more than a month. He’s always been sick of you within the hour in past missions. It’s a miracle he’s still around two weeks in. Once he’s decided he’s done, you can go back. Or when whatever Sam bribed him with is gone. And then, who else does Sam trust enough to know where the safe house is? He barely let you know. You’ll be going back in no time.

Sure, there’s a homicidal maniac after you, leaving traps that have caught you twice already and broken your leg both times, but now that you know his M.O. you can catch him. You’ve handled yourself before, who’s to say you can’t again?

The coffee machine beeps, and you take a sip from the cup. Your bad leg twinges, angry at supporting you for this long, and you grit your teeth. Your own body doesn’t believe in you. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

The screen door slams again as Bucky comes inside.

“There’s no more coffee.” You mutter, and he reaches into the cupboard by the door and pulls out a bag. Opening it, he comes over to the machine to refill, and you move gingerly out of the way. He doesn’t notice, or care, and continues.

“This is the last bag, though. We’ll have to go into town to get more.” He says to the coffee machine.

“I don’t think it’ll answer you.” You say.

“You don’t want me looking at you. I’m happy to grant that request.”

“I don’t want you watching me. That’s very different.”

“You’ll have to get used to me doing that.”

“Not for much longer.”

“Thank god. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know who’s stalking you, but it must be the only person in the world who could put up with your bullshit.”

“At least someone can put up with mine. I don’t think anyone can handle this long with you.”

“I’m okay with not having a psycho leaving bombs on my doorstep.”

“My balcony. He left them on my balcony.”

“Touchey. Or however the fuck you say it.”

“Touché.”

He rolls his eyes, not answering you and instead methodically glancing over the sparse living room. After two weeks you know what he looks at. The boarded up back door, the windows with trip-wires stretched across the sills, the cameras blinking red and pointed at every egress point. If he wasn’t such an ass, you’d be impressed by the level of care he’s putting into his job. You know it’s just about the money, though. Money that’s quickly running out.

“How much did Sam pay for?”

“Coffee? Two months supply. You’ve been drinking it like the damned Energizer bunny, though.”

“No, your money. For your ‘services’, or whatever you call the peeping tom bullshit.”

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. His neck muscle flexes beneath his collar. You’d think it was attractive if it wasn’t his jaw.

“That was one time. I knocked, and you didn’t answer. I told you to always answer. I didn’t ‘peep’ at anything, anyway.” He finally says after a minute of counting.

“You’re not my keeper.”

“For the next two weeks, I am. And then it some other poor idiots job to watch you.”

That makes you freeze, putting your coffee down.

“What?” You say, and he glances over at you.

“What, you want me to stay now?”

“No! What do you mean someone else will be watching me?”

“Well, if Sam and them don’t find Him, you’ll still need to stay here.” He’s talking slowly, as if talking to a particularly dumb child.

“That wasn’t the agreement. Sam said a month.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Sam. Besides, you want to go back there? Back to your apartment, that He knows about? Hell, He knows the security camera blindspots. And you want to waltz back in like everything is fine?” Now, he’s looking at you. You really hate it when he does that. He seems to always be studying you, picking you apart with his ice-cold eyes. It makes your heart jump into your throat.

You break the eye contact by looking into your coffee.

“I just want to go home.” You finally say into its dregs. You swallow the rest of it, putting it on the counter harder than you meant to. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to come in, weirdo.”

“Easy enough.” He mutters as you walk up the stairs.

- - -

That night, you’re running.

You don’t need to look behind you to know He’s there. You’re barefoot again, running on the rough cement of the lab, scraping your bare skin against the walls as you round the corners of the never-ending basement prison. The burn from your wounds is nothing to the one in your head. It’s making your vision blurry and your eyes red-hot, and you know he’s closing in on you.

Sprinting now, the lights behind you close one by one with an electric thud, like a giants footsteps getting closer to stomping on you by the second.

Thud. You’re blinking back fire. Thud. Your heart is giving out.

Thud. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he finally-

Crash. You startle awake, a scream still ripping through your throat. You grab the closest thing to you -another coffee cup- and throw it towards the door that just smashed open. It narrowly misses a barely clothed Bucky as he ducks backward.

“Fuck!” He shouts, “Don’t surprise the guy with a gun! Gun safety 101!”

You notice now that he is holding one, its metal nose glinting off the moonlight coming through the bent blinds. His steel fingers share the same gleam.

“Don’t break into a sleeping woman’s room!” Is the only thing you can manage to yell back, turning away from him to wipe hot tears from your face quickly.

“I think the fact you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead is reason enough to come in here! I told you to not lock this door, by the way, so the whole breaking and entering thing is your fault.” He barks.

“Shut up, Bucky.” You whisper.

“Is someone in here? Why were you screaming?” The floor creaks under him as he steps into the room, looking around the corners.

“No one is in here, just go back to bed.” You’re gripping the mattress now, trying to calm down. He’s not making it any easier as he stops to stand behind you. There’s a soft ting of a bullet hitting the ground as he uncocks the gun, but he doesn’t leave.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes I did.”

“There were two questions.”

“I’m glad you know how to count.” You need to breathe. 1, 2, 3- shit. 1, 2- shit! Do you know how to count?

He’s quiet for a moment, and you almost think he’s left until he speaks again.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?”

“Because I need to be.” You say breathlessly. Running a hand through your hair you stand up shakily, moving around the bed and going to the door. He’s standing in front of the doorway, not moving. In the dim light of the moon, the only part of him not shrouded in shadow is his metal arm. You try to avoid looking at it, knowing somewhere deep down that he hides it from you for a reason, with long sleeves even in the harshest sunlight. But the only other place to look is his chest or his face, which makes your cheeks feel hot even now. You settle on looking down at the bullet on the ground between you both.

“I need some water.” You murmur after a moment of him staring down at you.

“You need to answer me.”

“Please, Bucky.” You plead. Your defences fall for just a moment, but your lungs are starting to collapse. The world is starting to swim, and you’re not sure if its panic, tears, or the pain in your leg screaming at you to sit back down. Whichever one, you really don’t want Bucky to see it.

“Go back in bed. I’ll get it for you.” His voice is calm now. Quieter. Exhausted, the only answer you can manage is a nod, doing as you’re told and laying back down. You stare at the crack in the blinds and try to blink away tears as you listen to him rummaging in the kitchen.

He comes back too soon. He sets the glass on the nightstand behind you, but you don’t hear him leave. Sighing, you turn around, and finally look at him in the face.

His eyebrows are knit together, and as he looks at you, you can feel him studying you again. This time your stomach flutters.

You break eye contact again, sitting up and sipping the water quietly.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sorry for crashing in.”

“Sorry for screaming.”

“Not for the coffee mug?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that.”

You flick your eyes up at him, and you think for a moment you see a smile, but it quickly falls away once he looks in your eyes. You both look at each other for a second, two, three, before its his turn to break contact. He runs his metal hand through his tousled hair, glancing down at his gun, the bed, the window, anywhere but you.

“When I, hmm.” He takes a deep breath. “When I have a bad night, I have to ground myself.”

“Ground yourself? Like a naughty kid?”

“No.” He pinches the skin between his eyes. “My senses. Y’know. Five things I see, three things I hear, one thing I feel. Until I calm down.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still on edge?” He glances down at your free hand gripping the mattress. You loosen it.

“I guess.”

“Do you want me to stay in here?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to stay in here. To...watch over you.” He’s still looking away from you.

“Aren’t you already doing that? Hence the gun?”

He rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just-”

“Yeah. If you can. Stay here, that is.” The permission comes from a part of you that you’ve shoved down. Or thought you shoved down. Now, it’s speaking from the middle of your throat, stealing any breath you have with it.

He finally looks at you again, then slowly nods.

“Okay. I can. Let me grab a blanket.” He walks out of the room, and you’re finally able to breathe again.

Laying back down, you try to ground yourself. You see the armchair across from the foot of your bed, the window, the bent blinds, the broken patch of ceiling above you, the barely touched glass of water on the nightstand. You hear the croon of an owl outside, the orchestra of a grasshopper, the creak of the floorboards as Bucky comes back in. Closing your eyes, you try to focus on sleep.

You feel Bucky’s warm hand brushing against your skin as he pulls your blanket up to cover you, leaving you cold when he moves away.

Your muscles relax as you hear him settle into the armchair. Inexcusably, your brain tells you, he calms you. Happily, your heart slows, letting you fall into a dreamless sleep.

[lily-sofii]

hiiii I don’t usually request stuff (this is like my first time lol I’m trying to get better at asking for things. social anxiety go brrrr)

anyways I’d like to request a yandere Caleb one shot where mc keeps trying to leave so he forces her to stay w his evol

it’s not too specific, but I hope I at least gave you room to do what you want with it

💕⭐️

(anon is so real with the anxiety of requesting)

Yandere Caleb x reader fluff/hurt (idk)

Just Caleb

Warnings(?): drugging attempt, being forced to stay against your free will

A/N: Idk if it was supposed to be smut, but it’s not. Kinda took inspo from Caleb’s canon where he drugs you. (The name is a joke on the DDLC song "Just Monika")

Caleb sips on his drink as the clock on the wall keeps ticking, feeling as if each quiet click was insulting him. He lets out a tired sigh and puts his colonel hat on, putting the mug he was drinking from into the sink. Getting ready to leave for his night mission he gets stopped suddenly upon hearing the door to your room open, your gazes meeting the second you reach the dark kitchen, washed in the moonlight.

“Pip-squeak? Why are you awake? It’s 2 am.”

You narrow your eyes, cursing yourself out internally for not waiting just a few minutes more. He looked like he was on his way to leave, but you just couldn’t wait anymore. You needed to leave.

“I- uhh…just woke up because I was thirsty, y’know? It isn’t easy to sleep in the thunder outside anyway”

Before you can even attempt to reach the sink, Caleb is already handing you a small drink in a black cup, his other hand reaching up for your forehead.

“Pip-squeak… I’m worried about you. Ever since I took you here, to Skyhaven, you haven’t had any rest. You’re burning up. Here, take this.”

Caleb lowers his hand from your forehead as you take the cup from him, seeing him bring pills to you with his Evol. You look at them and snatch them from the air, taking out a single pill from the packaging. You place one on your tongue and take a sip of the water, making sure you don’t accidentally swallow the pill. You didn’t trust the pill, nor Caleb.

“R-right… Thanks Caleb. Good night”

Caleb smiles and places the, now empty cup, next to the sink, the pills levitating back into the cupboard thanks to his Evol.

You go to your room and sigh, sitting down on the bed, spitting the pill out immediately and grabbing a bottle from your bedside table. You wash out your mouth before spitting the water back into the bottle, being scared that the pill dissolved in your mouth and did something to you.

Caleb fixes his coat as thunder roars outside with a flash lighting up the room and goes to your closed door. He locks you inside, the soft and quiet click of the key locking into place seeming like a bomb going off in the awfully quiet house.

You gasp quietly when you hear the door lock, going to it and pressing your ear against it. You hear Caleb’s muffled voice coming from the other side, his speaking and footsteps slowly moving away, fully quieting down when the front door closes, indicating Caleb has left for his night-time patrol.

You sigh and wrap your fingers around the cold-feeling knob, tugging at it in an attempt to open the door, unsurprisingly failing at the task. Have you expected it to magically open because you want it to?

Slowly you approach the closet where you’ve laid your hunter uniform after bathing, taking out the gun from its holster. Gun in hand, you go back to the door, pointing the muzzle of it at the doorknob considering taking out a silencer.

But what use is it now? Caleb’s already gone anyways, isn’t he?

You grab onto the gun’s grip tightly, your index fingers hovering above the trigger. Taking a deep breath you prepare for the loud noise, your fingers applying pressure to the trigger.

The loud scream of the gun’s shot feels like it echoes in the quiet house for forever, the knob that was initially on the door falling to the ground with a loud clunk. You drop the gun and slightly touch your ears that are ringing from how loud the gun was.

Slowly walking up to the door, your hands push, creaking it open.

Is this it? Can you finally leave?

You smile faintly as you feel your heart ache, making your way to the living room. It was painful to have to leave, but this felt like it was no longer Caleb. The ache in your heart persists as you approach the front door.

It has to be done, you do not feel safe with him anymore.

You touch the knob of the front door, being able to hear the soft pounding of the rain outside. Gently twisting the knob you open the door with a soft squeak, the rain already reaching your feet.

You look back into the dark house before turning back to the outside. Not bothering to put your shoes on from the fear of wasting time you rush outside into the cold air. You barely make it 5 steps before your legs get stopped in their tracks, almost making you fall over. You feel pressure collect around your body as you get lifted 3 feet above the ground.

You get moved back into the house, your clothes dripping from being in the rainstorm for only a few seconds. The pressure around you becomes tighter as you get set down on the ground, the force still keeping you from moving.

“Tsk tsk… Pip-squeak, I thought I could trust you. I told you that you’re burning up, did you even take the pills?”

You shake your head and glare at him, attempting to move under the pressure of his Evol surrounding you. Caleb lets out a sigh and releases the pressure around you.

“Do you remember the injured cat we used to have as kids? Do you want to end up like it? If you don’t stop attempting to run, I will put you on a leash, along with a collar with a bell on it.”

You freeze and look at him, the pressure that kept you bound to the ground slowly disappearing. Standing up on shaky legs you back away, your back hitting against a window after a few steps.

“Pip-squeak, c’mon. You need sleep, and I need to go to work. Now, will you go out of your free will or do I have to use my Evol again?”

You look out of the window, watching the rain fall outside. You want to get out… wait, why doesn’t the window have a sash?

Caleb groans from behind you, his Evol springing back into action.

You gasp when you feel pressure build around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The pressure subsides when he holds your hand, but it is stays there quietly. Threateningly.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

You whine softly when he leads you to his room, softly laying you on his bed. You feel disgusted from how cold his bed feels. He looks down at you as you lie down, his hands bringing a soft blanket over you. His fingers reach for your cheeks, wiping away a tear you didn’t even realize left your eye.

“Is something wrong? Hey… how about I stay with you tonight? The fleet can take care of the stuff I needed to do tonight.”

Caleb smiles and takes his uniform off, putting on his pajamas. He lays down next to you, his arm resting itself on top of your stomach.

You’re never getting out of here.

You’re never getting away from him.

[psilliguykai]

And now I present to you…. The power hour OC absolutely nobody asked for…. Chonny Superstar !!

[general + character info under the cut]

I’ve been completely hyperfixated on Jesus Christ Superstar for the past few days [I think I’ve looped the album like . 7 times by now ??] BUT !! still got my CJ fixation going on in the background too so here’s the product of that lol.

Chonny Superstar is his name for now because honestly I’m not great at naming characters and have no other great ideas 😭 if anybody has suggestions feel free to put them in the comments :3

Info !! [putting it in the post rather than the sheet so I can change it later if I need to 👍] [WARNING: long. Also very mild mentions of death I guess??]

Character/story-related notes:

- Chonny Superstar

- He/Him [Bi, cis man]

- 28

- Hair is messy and greasy. Probably hasn’t been washed in months lol.

- Partially based on Tim Minchin’s Judas from the 2012 UK Arena tour [both in design and personality]

- I hate this guy so much /aff

- Very independent/sticking to his personal mission [whatever that is in the moment] but overall well intentioned and a good person in the end. He wants the best and is sometimes just shitty about it 👍 somewhat social, but mostly when he has a purpose (which could just be that he hasn’t talked to anyone in a while or wants to make some he knows happy !! Just doesn’t really like . Hang around people). also a cunt. Very important

- Doesn’t actually play a particular role in JCS, nor do I have a solid story for him at the moment. I’ve got this loose idea that he just kind of lives in an endlessly looping production of JCS which has gone on for so long that the people involved switch and meld roles with each loop or smth ?? But I might change this later we’ll see …

- Some thought was put into the order, but there really isn’t that much rhyme or reason to the tracklist apart from “I like it” and “it fits his vibe”. That said I want to make it known that “Hosanna” and “Gethsemane” would both be the 2000 movie lyrics and not the original concept album - as much as I love the originals “hey JC, JC, won’t you DIE for me?” and “thy will is hard, but you hold every card” hit hard imo [and fit Chonny Superstar better]

- Would probably never meet the other canon jashlings but would totally either get along very well or have massive beef with Ego [bc Tim Minchin and all that]. He’d get on fairly well with Devil [they share the “fuck you all” and “society is messed up” energies]. Jouse/Mori would probably freak him out but I could see him chilling with CJPH.

- lives/is from the sorta vague anachronistic time period most productions of JCS take place in. No phones for him.

- Has never heard a song apart from the ones in JCS and would probably be really freaked out by anything else lol

- Has probably died multiple times and will die many more 👍

Design-related notes:

- Scarf patterns can be inconsistent and aren’t required. Based on the thing Minchin wears in his performance 👍

- He can and does take the scarf off, just not during musical numbers since it’s a little awkward to deal with on stage lol

- Heavy eyeliner + some eyeshadow

- Crop top and netted shirt are from the Laplaces’s Angel video

- Jacket and jeans are based on the ones CJ wears as “Green” in TFFTT.

- Temperature-confused apparel. What are you wearing a crop top and netted shirt with a massive coat for?? Are you cold or not boy tell me???? /silly

- clothes are worn but not super dirty apart from mild food/drink stains. The result of living on a stage in a time loop 👍

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 5/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

PART FIVE

                Javy needs a drink.

                It’s not even eight in the fucking morning.

                Fucking Jake and Bradshaw and their complete and utter fuck-up of a relationship that is all starting to make more sense to him because Bradshaw is an idiot. An even bigger idiot than Javy was giving him credit for, and he’d definitely given him a lot of credit. He wonders if there’s an appropriate emoji for idiot, of a poop emoji that looks like an idiot rather than a little bit gormless. He stomps to his car, wants a shower and a change of clothes. Then he can figure out the other shit. What that other shit might be he has no idea, because this time yesterday he didn’t think his best friend would suddenly lose ten years-worth of memories and somehow by back in love with his ex-boyfriend who he now thinks he’s married to.

                Oh… Jake’s going to want to go home with Bradshaw.

                Fuck.

                It isn’t his problem.

                Except it sort of is.

                He and Jake are sharing, so he has access to all of Jake’s things.

                Just.

                How far is he willing to buy into this, to go along with the lie that Bradshaw is spinning because Jake is… being Jake. Fucking Bradshaw making this all so much more complicated. He couldn’t have just been an asshole and broken up with Jake as easily as he did ten years ago. Although… fuck. He should probably talk to Phoenix. Knows she’s the closest to Bradshaw, unless that fact has changed, and he doesn’t think it has judging from their interactions with one another. He pulls out his phone and navigates down to her number, steels himself for a potentially difficult conversation, considering they used to be friends before their best friends imploded their loyalties.

                “Hey Phoenix.”

                “Coyote…”

                “Look. This is going to sound really fucking bizarre but can you answer a question for me?”

                “Sure?”

                “Is Bradshaw still in love with Jake?”

                There’s silence at the end of the line and he wonders if that’s his answer right there.

                “Why don’t you ask Bradley that?”

                “Because I don’t trust what he says. What he does? That’s…”

                “More telling than what he says.”

                “Yeah. He’s… fuck. Look. Jake’s got amnesia. Lost ten years. He thinks him and Bradshaw are now happily married.”

                “What?”

                “You heard me. And Bradshaw’s going along with it.”

                “Oh that fucking idiot…” The vehemence in her tone pulls him up short, because she sounds truly angry, not just annoyed, which seems her permanent state of being a lot of the time, but truly furious. He’s glad that it’s directed at Bradshaw and not him. “He’d do anything for Hagman. He’s the fucking noose around Bradley’s neck and he’s going to hang himself…”

                “What?”

                “I’m guessing Jake needs to be kept calm and relaxed and Bradley’s playing into this to ensure Jake heals as best he can?”

                “Yeah, but…”

                “But nothing. Bradley would walk over hot coals and bleed himself dry for him.”

                “Then why did he break up with him?”

                “Because he thought Hangman deserved better!”

                “Fuck… what an idiot.”

                “Hey!”

                “You… you just called him an idiot yourself. And don’t think breaking up with someone you love is idiotic?”

                “He’s… okay. Yeah. But Jake didn’t fight for him either…”

                Javy isn’t going to touch that with a fucking barge pole, because Jake hadn’t had anger and bitterness back then, had been too hurt and stunned to do anything, let alone fight. He’d been broken hearted and Javy is pretty sure Jake’s only here and alive through Javy’s own sheer pigheadedness that dragged Jake quiet and sullen through the best part of a year. It would be a different story now, although not with the Jake of old. Fuck this is a mess.

                “Did you know he had wedding rings made?”

                “What.”

                “Yep. Brought them to the hospital this morning and everything.”

                “Oh my god. What an idiot…”

                Javy lets out a sharp laugh, glad at least that he no longer feels as alone in this as he did before. And she agrees with him. Bradshaw is definitely the idiot in this whole thing. Bradshaw and Jake have their own thing going on, but he’s pretty sure him and Phoenix can sit there and drink and bitch to their hearts content.

                “Okay. What do you need from me?”

                “I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know.”

                “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you at work I guess.”

                He ends the call and works quickly, packs up all of Jake’s things, including his toothbrush and toiletries. He can have it ready to give to Bradshaw if he wants it. He knows he’ll want it, because if the man is prepared to pretend to be married he’s no doubt willing to pretend a hell of a lot more and he’s worried about what’s going to happen if or when Jake gets his memories back.

                At least the base accommodation isn’t too personal. He stops. Thinks about it. Bradshaw hasn’t been staying on base. He’s somewhere else. He’d never paid attention because it hadn’t fucking mattered. Now it’s important. Shit. Jake is definitely going to expect to have his shit all over Bradshaw’s house because he’ll be thinking it’s their house. Fuck he hopes Bradshaw has a plan that’s more than go with the flow. He put Jake’s things into his car and heads back to the hospital.

…            …            …

                “Bradshaw…”

                “Hey Coyote.”

                “What’s up? You’re looking worried… is Jake okay?”

                “Yeah. He’s… he’s fine. Well…” he shrugs, face pulling into a grimace and Javy supposes that sums the situation up pretty well. Jake is alive, but he’s also still missing a chunk of really key memories.

                “Okay. Same status quo. Got it. What about you?”

                “What?”

                “How are you doing?”

                Bradshaw blinks at him, like he wasn’t expecting the question and Javy supposes his days of caring about Bradshaw’s wellbeing are long behind him. He’s right to be surprised.

                “I’m fine.”

                “Bradshaw. You are not fine. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you had fucking wedding rings made for a guy you weren’t even with. The same guy who is in hospital right now and you… You obviously still care for him. I get not telling him because he needs to rest and heal, but… it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass and I’m not going to stop it.”

                Bradshaw blows out a breath, stares up at the ceiling, and then nods once, sharp.

                “Yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

                ���Well, have you thought about the fact that Jake thinks he’s going to be going home with you. To a place where you’re meant to live together?”

                “Yeah… I…”

                “You made this fucking web of lies…”

                “I know. I know. I just… he’s…”

                “Really fucking happy. I’m aware,” Javy says, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

                “Think I can make my place look like it’s ours? Or at least… not just mine?”

                “Well. You have two options – either you take him back to your place. Or you get a base accommodation and have that with both your gear…”

                “That would be smart except…”

                “Except what?”

                “Jake knows I have a place here.”

                “Since fucking when?”

                “It’s my parents’ old place. We talked about doing it up…”

                Javy looks at him sharply, already knows without even asking because the man had rings.

                “Oh… oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

                “What?”

                “I would bet good money right now that you’ve been doing it up and every little thing Jake suggested you’ve done…”

                Bradshaw stands there, mouth shut but not denying anything and Javy shakes his head in disbelief. Fuck, maybe Jake is a noose around his neck after all.

[misfxtteam]

Bucky is quiet for a moment, smiling at the waitress as she poured his cup of coffee, and then again as she brought his water. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes, this topic was hard for him. It was hard but not impossible, not yet. It’s strange, even if it was very difficult to speak about these things, he wants to be as open as he can be with Tony. Partially because it felt like the best way to build a foundation to possibly build a friendship moving forward, but also because it was easier to talk about it with him than anyone else. He could never talk to Steve about these details; that would be completely impossible. Steve might as well be his brother and it would just add to the guilt he already seems to have about Bucky’s capture by HYDRA. He has already had to stop bringing up most things to do with HYDRA even if it was something that affected him currently because as much as he loves Steve, it more often than not turned into Bucky having to downplay his trauma and possibly comfort Steve.

He absently pours a couple creamers and sugar into the mug, stirring as he listens to Tony, “You saw me as the assassin, and it’s not your fault that you did, because how else could you have seen me. Even if you tried talking about this with me earlier, before today I wouldn’t have opened up as much about it. I felt guilty about it and I didn’t blame you for how you felt, but if we hadn’t already been extremely vulnerable together today, I don’t know that I would be able to talk about all this with you. So it’s just..I’m glad we’re talking about it now.”

He glances up to meet Tony’s eyes at his questions about his parents and the answer is harder to explain than he would like. “One thing you have to know about what it was like when I was the Soldier, I was barely conscious and when I was, it was from the very back my head, locked away. Especially if they used the trigger words, put me into that state of only obeying orders, my body’s actions were never my own. It was like there was someone else in my head controlling my body, while I was strapped into a chair and forced to watch. I couldn’t even close my eyes or look away from it. Anytime i was on a mission, no matter how hard i tried I..I couldn’t stop anything. When it was your parents I..” he has to look down into his coffee mug because looking at Tony is painful and he realizes that his metal hand is curled into a tight fist. He forces it to open slowly, moving to hold the mug with both hands before he continues, “I didn’t recognize him at first. I was thrashing internally against it because I didn’t want to kill anyone else. But then he called me Sergeant Barnes and..and I realizes who it must be. And..and I still couldn’t stop it, no matter what I did,” his voice has gone so quiet, as if he was worried that this explanation was not enough. Maybe Tony would tell him he should have tried harder, should have found a way to make it not happen even if it meant disarming or incapacitating himself. Or maybe it would be too much and Tony would get upset to hear all this?

Bucky smiles faintly, of course Tony started building bots like that wen he was 15, and the mention of Steve. He shrugs, “Stevie is…he’s a black and white type of guy with most things, so yeah he’s not going to understand how we go from how we were behaving yesterday to today, but he’ll wrap his mind around it eventually.” He does nod in agreement that the concrete floor hadn’t been the most comfortable. He thinks for a second about the question before shaking his head, “No, honestly I really enjoyed everything we did,” he says with a faint blush.

He listens to Tony’s explanation about what the government had made legal, torture against suspected terrorists, the evidence that some of it was sexual in nature. He looks a bit uncomfortable, staring down at the creamers and taking one to just toy with on the table, something to distract himself from some of the worst of the memories in his head. He nods almost imperceptible, glancing up at Tony with a sort of pain in his eyes that he usually made sure to keep hidden, “You..aren’t far off. It didn’t..it didn’t happen often back in the beginning. But once they had me conditioned with the trigger words, they would use them sometimes to make me do things. Nothing rough or anything like that, just..mainly for oral,” he says quietly, looking back down at the creamer and thinking more on how he felt about it, whether it would be an issue in future. “It’s not that I think I can never do that again, I just..if I wanted to try, I would need to do it at my own pace. Meaning it would have to be a time when I’m in control and I want to do it to make you feel good, I don’t think I can handle it yet if it’s the other way around, at least not right now.”

He is quiet for a moment, contemplating something, “I liked when you were rough, I know with my super strength I could easily fight back but..but I didn’t want to. It felt…it felt really good just knowing that I was allowing it to happen by not fighting back. With them, no matter how hard i tried to fight back in the beginning, before the conditioning set in, I…they were always able to subdue me. Whether because they had a bunch of people all at once fighting me, or they would use taser-batons, and use the electricity to incapacitate me. But with you earlier it was like I..even though I wasn’t in control, it felt like I was because I knew i would be able to fight back if I wanted to, but because I knew that it felt like it was..more enjoyable because I didn’t feel weak or anything but more like I was making an active choice to allow it,” he realizes.

He had never thought about sex like this. It was always in the context of what he or his partner liked, what was enjoyable, and taboo things were always more intense but he had never thought about how it related to his trauma. In his research, he had seen that many kinks could often be rooted in a trauma or PTSD response but he had always shut down that train of thought. The idea of processing those things alone, and with no experience to connect it to, it felt like it would be an endless road of hypotheticals that would just lead to spiraling down into the tortured memories. He liked talking it out this way with Tony, with someone who had their own trauma so talking about it didn’t feel like a pity party or like Tony felt sorry for him

He looks up at Tony when he mentions stepping over the line, “No, no you aren’t stepping over the line with that. And if you want to ask about your parents Tony, you can. I..I honestly don’t mind trying to answer. But any of my HYDRA assignments I..I don’t know much outside of what I actually did. So if I don’t know something, I hope that’s okay. And..I don’t think it’s necessarily going to undo the work that we did, not when it’s a conversation like this. When we’ve talked about it in the past, we’ve always been on edge, adversarial about it, i felt the need to defend myself. I’m going to try and not think like that, I want to be able to be open to at least hearing the questions without assuming that you’re being accusatory,” he explains, looking down at his metal hand and just tracing the seams between the metal plating absently as he speaks.

[kaiyunsim]

supercute —

pairing : bf!jake x gn!reader

summary : april 1st, the perfect day to plan a prank, and on who else but your boyfriend who gets pouty and sulky when not given attention?

warnings : FLUFF. established relationship, jake being sulky, minor guilt

a/n : yk i had to do my mans good when april fools comes by. enjoy the short oneshot ! (i miss writing short oneshots)

queueing : supercute - nct wish, your eyes only - enhypen, one and only - boynextdoor,

— wc : 1.2k — not proof read —

you start the morning with a mission: give your boyfriend, jake, the silent treatment for as long as possible.

it's april fools’ day, and you figured it’d be funny to see how he reacts. maybe he’ll get annoyed. maybe he’ll get frustrated. maybe he’ll start pleading with you dramatically. either way, you’re determined to hold out for as long as possible.

except… you forget one crucial detail.

jake sim is unbelievably clingy.

it starts the second you wake up. normally, you’d greet him with a sleepy mumble and a nuzzle into his chest, but today, you roll over and say nothing.

jake blinks at you, confused but still smiling as he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“morning, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. he presses a lazy kiss to your cheek, waiting for your usual response. when it doesn’t come, he leans back slightly to look at you.

“babe?” he says again, poking your side gently.

you blink at him but remain silent, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.

jake tilts his head. “did you not sleep well?”

you shake your head.

he frowns. “you had a nightmare?”

you shake your head again.

his brows furrow, concern flashing across his face. “are you mad at me?”

you don’t respond.

now jake is wide awake. he sits up, pulling you with him, cradling your face between his hands. “baby, what’s wrong?”

you give him the most deadpan stare you can manage.

his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften. “did i do something?”

you fight the urge to coo at how cute he looks, his messy bedhead, his pouty lips, the way his thumb strokes your cheek so gently.

instead, you just blink at him and stand up, heading to the bathroom.

jake follows. of course he does.

“wait, babe—" he tries, but you close the door before he can step inside.

you take a deep breath, covering your mouth to suppress your laughter. if he’s already acting this desperate, this prank might not last very long

jake spends the entire time you’re in the bathroom standing outside the door, knocking every few seconds.

“baby, are you okay?” knock.

“do you want me to make breakfast?” knock, knock.

“are you mad at me?” knock, knock, knock.

you don’t answer.

when you finally open the door, he’s standing there, arms crossed, lips jutted out in a deep pout. his hair is still a mess from sleep, and he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes big and round.

“why aren’t you talking to me?” he asks, voice slightly whiny.

you just step around him and head for the kitchen.

jake gasps. “wait, wait—” he rushes after you, grabbing onto the hem of your hoodie like a lost child. “baby, talk to me.”

you shake him off and continue on, though your resolve is already crumbling.

he makes a distressed sound, like you’ve just personally ripped out his heart. “oh my god,” he breathes, stumbling after you.

as you start making toast, he stands right behind you, practically pressing himself against your back. his arms snake around your waist, and he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“i’m sorry for whatever i did,” he mumbles. “i don’t know what it is, but i’ll fix it.”

you glance at him out of the corner of your eye but say nothing.

jake dramatically lets his head fall against you. “babe,” he whines.

you focus on buttering your toast.

“this is so cruel,” he mutters. “you know how much i love your voice.”

he starts swaying you side to side, squeezing you tighter. “just say one thing. anything. insult me. call me ugly. i don’t care, just talk to me.”

you almost break right then and there.

almost.

instead, you finish your toast, grab a plate, and move to the couch. jake follows immediately, plopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. he dramatically flops against your side, making himself comfortable with half his weight on you.

you do your best to ignore him as you eat.

he buries his face into your shoulder. “you’re so mean,” he mumbles.

you don’t react.

he shifts, lying down fully across your lap, looking up at you with big, pleading eyes. “please?”

you bite your lip to keep from smiling.

jake lets out another loud sigh. “fine. i’ll just text you, then.”

you watch as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. a second later, your phone buzzes on the table.

jake: are you okay? :(

another buzz.

jake: do u hate me

another.

jake: i miss u even though ur right here

he peeks up at you, eyes hopeful. you don’t respond.

his lips wobble.

another text.

jake: babe pls just say something ur killing me here

when you don’t react, he groans loudly, shoving his face into your stomach.

“this is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” he mumbles against you.

you finally crack a little smile but quickly hide it before he can see.

he sighs again, dramatically rolling onto his side. he looks so genuinely sad now, lips still in a pout, his brows furrowed like he’s deep in thought.

you stare at him for a long moment, fingers twitching with the need to reach out and soothe him.

and then he mumbles, “maybe you finally realized i’m too annoying to love.”

your heart absolutely shatters.

that’s it. prank over.

you put your plate aside and immediately grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “jake, oh my god,” you blurt out, breaking your silence.

his eyes widen, but instead of the smug grin you expect, his lips press together tightly. he blinks once, twice. then a single tear rolls down his cheek.

your stomach drops.

“jake—”

he sniffles dramatically. “you really weren’t gonna talk to me all day?” his voice wobbles slightly, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

“wait,” you narrow your eyes, scanning his face. “are you actually crying or are you faking it?”

another tear falls, and jake doesn’t even bother wiping it away. instead, he just lets out the most heart-wrenching sigh, draping himself across your lap again. “you tell me,” he murmurs.

guilt crashes over you in waves.

“oh my god, baby,” you whisper, frantically cupping his face. “i’m so sorry, i was just—”

his lips suddenly twitch into a tiny, barely-there smile.

your hands freeze.

his teary eyes peek up at you, and then, just like that, the grin breaks through.

realization smacks you in the face.

“jake,” you breathe.

he sniffles again, blinking innocently. “yes, my love?”

“you’re such a little—” you push his shoulder, and he bursts into laughter, rolling onto his back as you glare down at him.

“i knew you’d break first,” he teases between giggles, wiping at his damp cheeks. “but hey, i really did get emotional for a second.”

“i can't stand you.”

“no, you can't,” he sings, sitting up and tugging you onto his lap. “you love me, which is why you gave in.”

you huff, crossing your arms, but the warmth in his eyes softens you.

he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “admit it,” he whispers. “you’d never last a whole day ignoring me.”

you want to argue, but… he’s right. you roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “yeah, yeah.”

“so,” he tilts his head, eyes twinkling, “can i have a proper ‘i love you’ now?”

you pretend to hesitate, but when he gives you that soft, lovestruck look, you cave.

“i love you, jake.”

his grin stretches wide, dimples appearing. “love you more, even if you’re mean to me.”

you flick his forehead which is met with a small whine but he just laughs, pulling you closer.