#THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES.... AND I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN........................

[princesssmars]

so...we can all agree vi is an ass girl, right?

modern!au. 18+ content ahead. post contains lesbian sex and dry humping. inspired by this video from love and deepspace. i didnt know they got down like that. wc : 3.081.

she didn't show it often before, but lately violet could quickly become so achingly desperate for you.

she didn't show it often, but violet could become so achingly desperate.

at the start of your relationship, she tried to play off her need for you in a casual way, brushing it off as just being a very attentive girlfriend. you never had a problem with, always open and accepting of whatever little bits of attention she would give to you.

but then one day she slips, and she can feel your dynamic shift as soon as it happens.

she was away visiting her family for the holidays, body snugly tucked under the covers in her childhood bed as she held her phone above her face. the house was quiet, the air was cold, and she was having an internal battle with the reasonable part of her that told her to call it a night and drift off to sleep already...

and then there was the other side. the one that suddenly brings to her attention the steady heat that’s been building beneath her stomach after you sent the prettiest photo of you all dolled up in your parent’s guest bathroom. the one that made her bite her lip as she observed every inch of you through the screen before instantly liking the photo and sending back a flirty message. the one that now gravitated her fingers to calling your phone in the middle of the night and hoping and praying you’d pick up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you did.

"vi? are you alright?"

loaded question, she thinks to herself. in perfect health? of course. of sound mind? debatable, but for the most part yes. alright? no, definitely not at the moment.

"yeah, yeah, i’m alright princess. just wanted to talk to you."

"aww, you're such a sweetie. how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

and yes, she does appreciate and silently adore the sweet sentiment. but the sound of you cooing at her with just the tiniest hint of a rasp in your voice from tiredness only cements her fate, having to use all of the rational energy she has left to stop whimpering.

"tell me how your trips been. wanna hear your voice for a little longer."

"no problem. well im fine, everyone here is good. besides my aunt nat, she's still moody because no one allowed her in the kitchen again-"

you go on about your family and their shenanigans, and she cant help but quietly laugh along when you giggle about some of the stories and memories you've made. but the 'conversation' takes a turn when you start to talk about her.

"you know i miss you, right?"

she feels a subtle pang in her chest, half longing and half desire. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. rolled over in bed this morning and kept trying to find you till i realized where i was. it's weird not waking up with you."

she hums, hoping you cant hear her stuttered breaths through the receiver. she doesn't know why hearing about you subconsciously looking for her embrace is what does it for her, but she can only give a short response as one of her hands trails down into boxers.

"wish i could've been there with you, baby."

"mmm, me too. missed your warmth, swear you're like my own personal heater. wish you could be here with me now."

her breathing stops and her eyebrows raise. "oh yeah?"

"yeah. missed your hands, too."

fuck, fuck fuck fuck. she's taken off guard, mind racing at your words and tone and before she knows it she has two fingers stuffed inside of herself while she quietly whimpers for you to keep talking to her.

"fuck, just a little more baby, please, 'm so close-"

"aww, you're such a good girl for me, aren't you violet?"

she swears she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds when she cums, walls clenching around her fingers and eyes rolling back into her head as she reaches her peak while you talk her through it.

the next week when she picks you up from the airport she can see it, a glimmer in your eye and quick in your smile that wasn't there before. she tries to ignore it when she pulls you in for a long-awaited embrace but then she just gets so enveloped in your warmth, your smell, the feeling of your body pressed hers. she's only yanked out of her lovestruck stupor when you whisper a sly little comment in her ear about how long and tight she's been holding you.

"call me crazy but if i didnt know any better i'd say you're feeling a little desperate for me."

so the cats out of the bag. she's super attached to you, so what? it's not like you ever complained about it, instead constantly using her neediness to your advantage to get what you want from her. you'll likely never have to beg and convince her to get up from bed to change the thermostat again, only needing to graze your hand across her chest and press a lingering kiss to the space beneath her chin before she's leaping out of bed and speedwalking down the hall.

and don't even get her started on her libido. the both of you had an amazing sex life already, able to almost instinctually tell what brought the other the most mindblowing pleasure possible. but ever since that night, it's like her desire for you only increased tenfold, barely able to go a day without getting her hands on you or vice versa.

it only reached a head when you decided to truly test her limits.

she had taken up a later shift to help out loris who had a date, which meant by the time she returned home she was too tuckered out to have her way with you. but during times like these, she could always count on the early morning sun waking her up just in the rich window of time for morning sex. but when the light rays peek through her bedroom window and she uses her arm to pull you closer she finds you absent, your side of the bed cold.

after a brief search through the house, she opened her text messages just to find your sent a sweet text only an hour before she’d woken up to tell her your friends had invited you on a last minute girls day around the city the night before, and you didn’t want to wake her from her sleep since she seemed exhausted when she got home.

vi groans and falls back into the pillows, lousily texting you back a short message to tell you she loves you and hopes you have fun with your friends. she’ll be alright, she can go a few more hours without you near.

but only an hour later after she’s showered and eaten a quick breakfast she feels the ache start to build in her chest, eyes darting up to the clock on the wall and groaning when realizes just how long this day is going to feel.

everything she tries to do to keep her mind off of you fails miserably. doing chores? she's thinking back on the time when the both of you first split up household duties when you moved in together, feeling giddy at sharing something so menial with the girl she was enamored with. making herself a protein shake for the gym? now she's stuck in a daydream about all the times you've been in this kitchen together, sharing sweet baked goods and sweeter kisses as you settle into domestic bliss.

she has got to get out of the house.

jayce understood her problem as soon as she called inviting her down to the gym for a few hours to work off any ‘pent-up energy’ she’s currently... unable to get out in her preferred method.

it works for a while, the familiar smell of sweat and the slight ache in her muscles grounding her back into reality as she makes casual gym talk with jayce. she's just starting to feel like the absence of you is off of her mind when she hears your text notification on her phone, accidentally leaving her place as jayces spotter to open up her phone.

as soon as her brain registers that you’ve sent her pictures she makes up some lame excuse to get to the bathroom, tuning out her friend's groan of disapproval as she speed walks to the restrooms and locks herself in one of the stalls.

the first few messages are sweet, little selfies of you and your friends as you enjoy your day together as you get some sweet treats together at one of the malls concession stands. a lovesick smile involuntarily grows on her face, always happy to see you smiling and enjoying yourself with the people who care about you. but her eyes start to squint when you start to send pictures of you trying on various outfits from some of the outlet stores, posing demurely in front of the trying room mirrors.

but then her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when suddenly shes getting photos of you in her vagina's favorite enemy - lingerie.

even before vi started acting so eager about your body, it wasn't hard for you to catch on to the fact that the woman was so clearly an ass girl. even on five hands, you wouldn't be able to count the number of times you’d caught her staring or sneaking small glances at your behind, not to mention how she thought she was being discreet about her affection for it with the numerous times she’d slap it when walking by you. she tried to laugh it off when you brought it up in conversation, assuring you that she loved each and every part of you and could never pick a favorite.

but now you were determined to really see how much she wanted you, using every dirty trick in the book you could think of. she feels her face get hot as she looks down at her phone, the image of you in lacy lingerie, back facing the mirror as the magenta fabric (nearly the same shade as her hair, jesus christ,) stretches across the swell of your ass and crisis crosses across your back.

her brain short circuits. before she can think about it she’s saving the pictures to her phone and calling you at the speed of light.

“hey, violet. how’s your day?”

“you are so… evil. amazing and beautiful and evil.”

your giggle rings through the receiver, melodic and teasing. “what's the problem? you don't like the set?”

“don’t even joke. when are you getting home?”

“mmm not till late, the girls wanted to go to a club tonight.”

“oh you’ve got to be kidding me-”

“do you want me to send you the address?”

vi hasn't been to a nightclub in months, at first harshly avoiding the hard party scene in favor of her sobriety before feeling no need to indulge in the party scene once her life became more stable, especially after she met you. but she never stopped you from going out and having fun with your friends, tagging along once in a blue moon to sip on a mocktail while she chatted up the bartender and stared at your ass while you danced.

tonight was an extremely necessary blue moon.

the air is hot, and the feel of her drink burns her throat as vi waits at the bar, blue eyes wide and aware as she stares at the club’s crowded entrance like it owes her money. the bartender asks if she’s alright, scared she’s waiting for someone to arrive to jump them before she assures them she’s fine. they slowly nod and get back to making drinks, nearly dropping a glass out of fright when she slams her glass on the bar and quickly makes her way over to you.

if she wasn't so laser-focused on finally getting her hands on you she might've been a little cocky at the fact that you look like you were about to salivate at the sight of her, knowing she made the right decision to wear the tight pants she knew you loved on her. in only a second she’s got her hands settled on your waist, not caring that your friends are laughing at her clear excitement over seeing you in your club outfit, a tiny dress so she can see the wide expanse of your legs, your arms, your shoulder - fuck, the straps of the pink bra aren’t even hidden by the strapless dress-

“wanna dance with me?” your voice is nothing short of flirtatious, and you already know your answer by the way you start to walk past her to the dance floor, already predicting how she follows you like she’s on a leash.

as the both of you grind and dance in the middle of the club every thought racing through vi’s head is centered on you, physically and mentally unable to focus on anything else when she finally has you so close again after what felt like years. she feels a familiar sense of euphoria when her palms glide up and down your waist, smirking to herself when she feels you shudder when her hands reach up to cup and discreetly squeeze your breasts. she’s feeling happy about finally starting to turn the tables back on you before you arch your back into her, your ass pressing into her as your hand reaches up to her head, nails dusting along her cheek before reaching into her hair and pulling.

it’s only to be expected that that’s her breaking point, dragging you through the dancing bodies and into the back of the building until she can find anywhere to get you alone, thanking any god that exists above that she finds an open storage closet and drags you inside, pressing you face first towards the door. a little voice in her head reminds her not to be too rough with you, but it’s quickly silenced when she sees just how much you crave it, how your back is yet again arching and your hands are clenching into fists from their places on the wooden door.

it's nice, to remember that you want her as much as she wants you.

in only a few seconds she’s given into it, pressing you further into the door by pressing her body against yours and grinding her crotch into the fat of your ass, eyes lidded and head dropping to rest on your shoulder from the rush of pleasure she feels below.

“vi, oh my god-” your voice is light and airy, every word almost choked out as you struggle to prevent yourself from moaning out and alerting every person in the bar about what the two of you were up to.

“i know, fuck, I know, baby. i just-” she cuts herself off with a groan when she lets her hand travel down your front and under your dress to your panties, face running hot when she feels just how wet you’ve gotten. she’s all but rushing to ruche up your dress, mind going fuzzy yet again at seeing the pink fabric covering your ass and how it feels under her when she begins humping you yet again.

“nngh, knew it. knew you were an ass girl.” you giggle.

“god, please stop talking-”

whatever snarky little comment you were going to make dies in your throat when her arm comes up and around your neck to hold your jaw, turning your head around and smashing her lips onto yours. you whimper and moan into her mouth, violet greedily eating the noises of your pleasure as she takes you up against the door.

you pull back for a few seconds to catch your breath, both of your eyes drifting to the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips together.

she can feel it, then. an almost electric charge that runs form her body into yours. you lean into her touch, arch into her further like you’re trying ot merge your bodies into one. when her other hand tightens around the pushed-up fabric of your dress and she gets that absolutely adorable scrunch between her eyebrows you know what she’s asking, and you gently nod your head.

and so she presses her lips back to yours, her crotch further into your ass, and rides you in the cramped nightclub storage closet. she's grateful that you seem to be enjoying it just as much as she is, her mind completely focused on getting closer and closer to her peak. she can feel it building quickly, a growing heat below her stomach reach to burst at any moment. all it takes is you, sucking on her tongue before mumbling muffled words into her mouth begging for her to finish against you. she cums with a stifled moan into your mouth, only amplified when she feels you shudder and go loose in the legs beneath her.

you’re both panting, sweaty, and tired as you stare at each other. it’s a comfortable silence as you help each other adjust - vi fixing your dress and you attempting to put her hair back in her signature style.

“so,” your voice lilts up as vi’s busy fixing her jacket, debating if she wants to take it off to cool down or not, knwoing she’ll probably just wrap it around your arms outside anyway. “you gonna admit it yet?”

she rolls her eyes, looking at you with an exasperated but fond look in her eyes that makes your stomach flip. “you just love being proven right, don’t you?”

“absolutely.”

“fine, you were right. are you happy?”

“very. now, let’s go home annnd maybe,” your fingers hook into the loops of her pants and tug her closer,”you can show me a little more just how much you need me, yeah?”

maybe, vi would show her neediness for you more often. just a little.

[wcnderlnds]

bae bae | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: after a night out at club pentagon you end up in bed with your friend who has zero shame ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, thanos is rough. swearing. mentions of drugs, female reader. ・❥・ authors note: ... this is pure filth, im so sorry. also this is pre-squid game <3 i also havent added my taglist in case people dont want to be tagged in smut but if you do let me know!!

The whole night had been a blur. How you’d ended up back in your own bed you had no idea but thankfully you’d made it home safe. The music from Club Pentagon still echoed through your ears like an anthem constantly playing in your head. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to rub them with the palm of your hands. What time was it? You leaned over, grabbing your phone off the bedside table to see it was 3am. With a groan, you buried your head back into the safety of your pillow making a mental note to yourself to never drink so much again. All you could remember was that it had been a rough day, so bad that your friend Su-bong had decided a night out at his favourite club was the perfect remedy. So much for listening to him. That was on you, really. None of his ideas were ever good. They mostly consisted of drowning feelings in alcohol or taking one of his colourful little pills to forget what was going on.

As your thoughts drifted to him, a quiet groan filled the room causing you to perk up. It was coming from next to you so you just had to assume it was Thanos making noises in his sleep. He did that often – his nightmares coming frequently. If he was next to you that meant he had been the one to bring you home. A big thank you was in order for him in the morning when you could handle being awake. If your pounding head was anything to go by, you were going to have one hell of a hangover. Your eyes closed once again as you tried to drift back off to sleep. Just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard a grunt.

Okay, what was going on here?

You turned around, sitting up slightly as you took in the scene before you. Yeah, there Thanos was. Everything seemed normal until you saw his chest rising and falling rapidly, movement under the blankets catching your eye. Your brows furrowed. This man wasn’t doing what you thought he was doing in your bed, was he? Only one way to find out.

Maybe it was your hungover mind but the thought of what you might find excited you. The way he was biting his lower lip to keep quiet only fueling your intrusive thoughts. Your fingers grasped the blanket, pulling it off. Well, you were right.

There he was, hand wrapped around his cock as he jerked himself off. Your eyes fixated on his hand that began speeding up, his hips bucking off the bed for more friction. Oh, he was really into this. How had he not realised you’d caught him? Part of you wanted to watch him finish, the throbbing between your legs thinking for you more than your brain. You hadn’t even realised how into this you were until you caught yourself slipping. There had been moments in the past where the two of you had almost hooked up but it had never gone past making out. Something always got in the way whether it was his friend Nam-gyu interrupting or his need to take another pill – it never led anywhere.

You cleared your throat deciding it was better to let him know you’d caught him than let him carry on. His eyes flew open, his hand still as he looked at you. He wasn’t embarrassed – you were certain he didn’t even know that emotion. He just looked at you expectantly, pushing himself to sit up slightly, his erection still standing for the world to see. 

“What?” He asked unbothered, annoyed even that you’d stopped him.

“I just caught you jerking yourself off and you don’t care?” You blinked at him. This was Thanos, of course he didn’t care. He had no shame.

“Why the fuck would I? Now, you gonna let me finish or help me out here.” He gestured towards his cock, his hand slowly stroking himself again.

As you watched, you couldn’t help but be transfixed. He knew what he was doing and it was working. The cogs in your brain were working overtime as you fought with helping him or ignoring him and letting take care of himself. He could see it, the smirk on his face making him look even more attractive. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. 

“Fine, you’ll owe me one, though.”

“No problem, Senorita. Now get those pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

You didn’t have time to react before his hand came up to your head, pushing you down towards his hardened length. Your tongue darted out, teasing the head but he wasn’t having it. He was too horny for teasing. He needed to have his cock stuffed down your throat or he was going to go insane. So, without warning, he pushed your head down onto him. It took you by surprise, almost choking but you steadied yourself, hands gripping his hips as you finally found a rhythm. Your lips moved up and down his length, tongue flattening out against the underside of his cock.

“Mhmm, just like that, pretty girl,” he rasped in that deep voice of his, his fingers tangling in your hair pushing you down onto him. You felt him hit the back of your throat almost gagging on him before he pulled you back up. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise was turning you on more than you’d like to admit. Your lips wrapped around him again, taking him as deep as you could without choking but it wasn’t enough. His hips bucked up into your mouth, his hand firmly tangled in your hair. You decided to give up and let him have his way. He felt your mouth slacken, the feral grin on his face letting you know he was more than willing to fuck your mouth stupid.

His grunts and groans filled the room as he thrust up into your mouth at a rapid pace. You could feel his cock twitching each time he hit the back of your throat. Tears sprang at the corner of your eyes as you gagged on him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Just as you were sure he was about to finish, he yanked your head off him, pushing you back down onto the bed. In a frenzy, he pushed the skirt up you were wearing, pulling your panties to the side. He slid his index finger along your pussy, almost groaning at how wet you were when he hadn’t even done anything. You were so damn desperate, he loved every second of it. “Wanna come inside this sweet, little pussy. You gonna let me, baby?”

He dragged his cock along your folds coating himself in your slickness and that was game over for you. Frantically, you nodded your head. That was all he needed. He pushed himself inside you in one deep thrust. The loud moan you let out surprised you, Thanos’s eyes almost rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of finally being inside you after all this time. No interruptions, no need for a high. This was the only high he needed. He’d been missing out. He pushed your legs up and over his shoulders, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting inside once again. His pace was anything but gentle, the tight grip he had on your hips sure to leave bruises. Your hands gripped the bedsheets below you as he pounded into you. There was no way you were going to last long if he kept this up but then again neither was he. You could tell with the way his eyebrows scrunched up that he was holding back. At least he wasn’t selfish in the bedroom.

“Su-bong,” you moaned, back arching as you felt your orgasm fast approaching. The moaning of his name was almost his undoing.

“Yeah? You like that, huh? Like being fucked stupid by your best friend?” He panted, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing off the walls of the small room. The bed occasionally banging against the wall with the intensity of his thrusts. Your neighbours were definitely going to have something to say about it in the morning. “Come for me. Wanna feel you squeezin’ the life outta me.”

One particular hard thrust and that was it. A loud, almost pornographic moan fell from your lips as you saw stars. Your fingers pulled at the sheets, legs quivering as your orgasm washed over you. Thanos didn’t let up his pace, his eyes drawn to where your bodies were joined as he fucked into you. The feeling of your walls squeezing around his cock bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, fuck. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up real good.”

It took one, two more thrusts when he stilled inside you, his cock twitching as he came harder than he had in his life. He was sure he saw the whole damn universe, throwing his head back as he groaned. His hips shallowly thrust into you, pulling out once he’d finished. Did he clean you up? Nah. He flopped back down next to you, grabbing his vape off the bedside.

“We should’ve done that a long time ago,” he chuckled, taking a puff. He handed it over to you, his lazy eyes meeting yours. “Do I still owe you one?”

You took a hit of the vape, nodding your head as you passed it back to him. “Oh, hell yeah you do. Not getting out of it that easily.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he winked at you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bringing you into his side. It wasn’t cuddling but it was something to show you his appreciation. Better than nothing.

[heliosunny]

thank you for feeding us with your yan content please continuing writing for more (no pressure btw)

also more yan phainon pls ): my life is yours

Yandere!Demon King Phainon x Reader

Your sibling was dying. The sickness had come like a curse, your younger brother’s body growing weaker each day. You had gone to healers, priests, alchemists—each shaking their heads, saying there was nothing to be done. His once bright laughter had faded into weak, pained whimpers. You had sat by his side, clutching his frail hand, praying for a miracle that never came.

Until the summons arrived.

"The Demon King Phainon has called for you."

The words alone sent a chill through you. The Demon King? The ruthless conqueror of the underworld? You had heard the stories of how he razed kingdoms, how his power was beyond comprehension. Why would someone like him want you?

You almost refused. But then you looked at your sibling, their chest barely rising, and knew you had no choice.

The demon realm was unlike anything you had ever seen: vast, dark, otherworldly. The sky churned with violet and crimson hues, casting an eerie glow over jagged mountains and blackened trees. The air thrummed with power, with something ancient and dangerous. And at the heart of it all sat Phainon.

He was unlike any demon you had imagined—tall, regal, with hair white as snow. His blue, a piercing, glacial blue, colder than the heart of winter gleamed under the golden crown. He sat lazily on his throne, watching you approach as though he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

"You care for your sibling deeply, don’t you?" he mused, his voice smooth, yet carrying an underlying menace.

You fell to your knees. "Please… if there’s anything you can do…"

He leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. "Anything?"

The weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

"Yes."

His smirk was slow. "Then you are mine."

You hesitated for only a second. then nodded. If it meant saving your sibling, you would endure anything.

Phainon kept his promise.

Your sibling’s illness vanished overnight. You had sobbed in relief when you heard their laughter again, clutching them close. But you never got the chance to say goodbye.

Because by then, Phainon had already taken you away.

You had expected chains, dungeons, cruelty. But instead, he placed you in a grand palace, one crafted of obsidian and lined with glowing runes. Servants bowed at your feet, offering silken robes, jewels, exotic foods you had never seen before.

He never forced you to stay by his side, not physically.

Yet, his presence was inescapable. He was always near, watching.

At first, you had kept your distance. You had no illusions about your situation, Phainon was the Demon King, and you were a mere human caught in his grasp.

But time had a strange way of softening walls.

It started with small things.

One night, you were wandering the halls when you heard movement from his chamber. The doors were slightly open, and inside, you saw him seated on the edge of his bed, shoulders tense, breathing uneven. His usually composed face was shadowed by something dark.

A nightmare?

You hesitated. Then, against your better judgment, you stepped inside.

"Your majesty?" you called softly.

His eyes snapped to you, sharp as a blade. But the moment he registered your presence, his expression softened ever so slightly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

"I was getting some water and heard you. You looked… troubled."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"I do not dream" he murmured. "But sometimes… memories return in ways I do not like."

You weren’t sure why, but your feet moved closer on their own.

"Bad memories?"

His fingers clenched around the sheets.

"Assassins. Betrayal." A bitter smile. "You wouldn’t understand."

Maybe not. But you understood pain. So you did something you never thought you would—you reached out, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. He tensed immediately, as if startled by the touch. But he didn’t pull away.

"You’re safe now" you said softly.

Phainon’s gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. His breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

"…Stay" he whispered.

One evening, he asked you to accompany him on a walk.

"You enjoy nature, don’t you?" Phainon asked.

You looked up from the book in your hands, arching an eyebrow. "I do, but there isn't much of it around here."

"Then let's take a walk."

You were surprised by the offer, but you didn’t refuse.

The forest he led you to was nothing like the gardens of your homeland. You expected a garden filled with roses, maybe a balcony with a scenic view. Instead, it was dark, ancient, and filled with creatures that shouldn’t exist. The ground pulsed faintly beneath your feet, as if the earth itself was alive.

"Why here?" you asked, glancing warily at a tree whose bark seemed to shift.

"It’s cooler" Phainon said simply. . "And I find the creatures here... fascinating."

He wasn’t wrong. You had never seen insects with glowing wings or mist that moved as if it had a will of its own.

But then something massive stirred in the shadows. A creature with glistening black scales slithered forward, its multiple eyes locking onto you. It let out a low, threatening growl.

Before you could even think, you stepped behind Phainon, gripping the back of his cloak.

His laughter was soft but unmistakable.

"Oh? Seeking protection from me now?"

"Shut up and kill it!" you muttered.

With a flick of his wrist, the beast was instantly reduced to a pile of ash.

Phainon tilted his head at the remains, his amusement fading slightly. "Strange. Normally, they obey me."

You gave him a look. "Yet, you took me here."

His gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

"Would you rather I let them come to the palace?"

You frowned. "That’s not what I meant."

Phainon only smiled. "Then let’s continue."

He reached for your hand. And though you hesitated, you let him take it.

"Maybe visit places like... demon market next time." You suggested

"And why is that?"

"I'll buy something to cook for you, the food at the palace didn't suit my taste."

He smiled and nodded. "Sure."

Phainon’s palace had an army of servants consists of demons who prepared extravagant feasts daily. Yet, one evening, as you were passing the kitchens, you saw the Demon King himself standing over a pot of something that smelled… absolutely foul.

You froze.

"Are you… cooking?"

Phainon glanced at you, stirring the pot with a lazy expression. "Trying to."

You hesitated, peering into the pot.

It was black.

"What… is that supposed to be?"

"Something edible." He scooped a bit onto a spoon, lifting it to taste.

You watched in horror as he swallowed without flinching.

"How did you survive before I was here?" you blurted.

He smirked. "I’m a Demon King. I can eat pretty much anything."

"That doesn’t mean you should." You sighed and rolled up your sleeves. "Move. I’ll cook."

He blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me. Or would you prefer to poison yourself?"

Phainon chuckled but stepped aside, watching with genuine curiosity as you worked. You cooked the way you had at home- simple but warm, flavors balanced with care. When you finally served him a plate, he took a bite and paused.

You shifted nervously. "What? Is it bad?" He shook his head slowly.

"No."

You were startled to see something unfamiliar in his expression. Softness.

"It’s warm," he said. "Like you."

Your heart stuttered. "Shut up and eat" you muttered, flustered.

He smiled—but this time, it wasn’t mocking.

You had been holding it in for so long. But one night, when Phainon was away, one of his subordinates, one who clearly resented a human in the palace—cornered you.

"You don’t belong here" they sneered. "You think because the King favors you, you are one of us?"

You didn’t argue. What would be the point?

But when they tripped you, making you stumble against the stone floor, pain flaring in your ankle, the dam broke.

You curled up in a quiet corner, hugging your knees.

You missed your family.

You missed your home.

For all Phainon’s kindness, you still felt alone.

And then—he found you.

"You’re hurt."

You looked up to see Phainon staring at your ankle, his expression dark.

"Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to make things worse. But Phainon wasn’t an idiot. He knelt beside you, gently lifting you onto his back.

"What are you—?"

"You need treatment" he said simply. "And I’m not letting you walk."

So you let him carry you. As his warmth surrounded you, you realized something. For all his power, for all his cruelty, Phainon wanted to be cared for, too.

This was a mistake.

Because when the truth came out, when you realized everything had been a lie, you weren’t just betrayed.

You were heartbroken.

You had grown close to him, despite everything. Then you overheard the truth.

"It was all a lie. She was never here out of love."

The words hit you like a dagger to the chest. You stood frozen as the demons gossiped, unaware of your presence.

"He manipulated everything. She was always meant to break the seal for him."

Everything.. the kindness, the protection, the gentle moments—it had all been a carefully woven deception. That night, you locked yourself in your room.

Phainon found you.

He smashed the door open, eyes wild with panic when he saw the blood dripping from your palm. You had cut yourself, trying to undo whatever magic bound you to him.

"I don’t speak to people who lie" you said, voice shaking.

For the first time, Phainon looked truly afraid.

"I never lied about loving you."

At first, he endured your silence.

But when a subordinate attempted to brain wash you in his absence, Phainon intervened violently, slaughtering them in an instant.

You saw the horror in his eyes, not at what he had done, but at the thought of losing you for good. In that moment, you understood, his love was selfish, consuming. But it was real. And in the end, you let him in once more.

But Phainon was not one to leave things to chance.

That night, while you slept, he branded you with a sigil, a binding mark ensuring you could never leave him again.

"Who knows how long you'll stay?" he murmured, tracing the mark on your skin.

"I can't risk losing you again."

[lucysarah-c]

I'll just say, I may be here posting about Mounting Spring, asks etc... But I'm cooking... I'm cooking something everyone asked me for lol

“I like this! This 3D flower pattern is so on trend right now.”

Levi’s eyes were glued to the screen as a freshly painted nail was shown up close.

“Oh, hi! Thank you,” her voice popped up again, and like an animal in pure confusion, he tilted his head to the side.

What are those things popping up? He was completely lost.

“Isn’t it too late for coffee?” she read aloud before grabbing her cup and taking a sip from the straw. “There’s no such thing as too much black or too late for coffee. Plus, it’s girls’ night! What’s a girls’ night without iced coffee or a glass of wine?”

This feels wrong now, Levi thought, taking a sip of his own drink, lazily sprawled on his bed. But when she started showing off her pajamas, that’s when he lost it.

Holy shit... it’s the little shorts doing it for me.

“This is why kids these days have their eyes glued to this shit,” he muttered, almost offended— as if his own mouth wasn’t slightly open and his eyes weren’t stuck to the screen as she vibed to the song playing in the background.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” She winked at the camera, arm in the air, hips moving in a way that Levi quickly guessed was meant to simulate riding. Over the kitchen island.

…I’m definitely not better than a 12-year-old boy.

The chat flooded with messages about how much they loved the song.

Whose song is this?

“Oh! I love that! Ugh, my heart is divided, I want all of them to win! Birds of a Feather is so good, but Hot to Go?” she gushed, listing more names Levi didn’t recognize.

Who are those?

“And the dance?”

What trend? What song? What dance?

Levi felt lost. Completely lost.

“Oh, thank you for the donation! Here, a heart for you!”

She pressed two fingers together in the shape of a heart. Levi tilted his head again, frowning.

How the hell is that a heart?

But before he could keep questioning his entire existence—or, perhaps, his age—her expression shifted. The usual bright smile faded as she read something from the chat.

“Look, if you’ve got a problem with me, just keep scrolling, buddy. Can an admin ban him from the stream, please?”

That made Levi do the exact opposite. He scrolled up through the rapidly moving chat until he found the comment in question. Some idiot had said she owed it to him if something happened because of what she was wearing and doing on screen.

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” Levi whispered, clicking his tongue. “If a woman has never even touched you, don’t say it so loudly.”

His fingers moved on their own, pressing the guy’s username, looking for a way to reply—until he suddenly let the phone drop onto his chest and stared at the ceiling.

“I need to calm down,” he muttered. Being in this live stream was already too much for him. Getting into an online argument was not the way to go.

How long had he been watching? He wasn’t sure. But in that time, he’d learned that ASMR meant tapping on objects with freshly done nails and whispering, that people voted on live which designs she should do next, and… a whole lot more.

“Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s me, espresso…”

She sang along to the music, and he felt hypnotized.

“…Did I just spend two hours of my life on this?”

The “Love ya!” came through the speakers as she blew a final kiss before ending the live.

“For fuck’s sake…” Levi muttered, almost offended. “You can’t be that stupidly cute.”

Maybe pop songs were popular for a reason. Maybe that’s why Levi never downloaded any apps on his phone or used it for anything beyond strictly necessary texts. Because explain to him why the hell he was humming at work.

“Since when do you know Sabrina Carpenter?”

Hange appeared out of nowhere, catching him off guard.

Levi had to come up with an excuse. Fast.

“What? Is it illegal for me to know new songs?”

“No…” Hange dragged the word out, squinting at him in suspicion. “But since when do you?”

“Give me a break. I’m not that old. I can get to know new artists,” he brushed it off while brewing himself a tea.

Hange let it slide, but their mind was already working, scheming. They kept talking, mostly about work. But as Levi finished his tea and was ready to leave, Hange casually dropped:

“Espresso?”

Levi frowned. “What?”

Hange repeated the question immediately, as if he hadn’t heard them the first time. But of course, he had.

“Fuck no. You know I hate coffee. Black tea,” he grumbled.

To his shock, Hange chuckled, shaking their head, biting their lip as they held back a knowing smile.

“Aww, Shortie… don’t give yourself away.”

“Huh?”

“Espresso. That’s the song you were humming.” Their grin widened. “I’m starting to think you’re not just listening to new artists—you’re watching new people.”

Levi stiffened.

And for the first time, he couldn’t hide the subtle embarrassed blush creeping up his face.

“Get off my ass,” he muttered, already walking away.

But Hange wasn’t done.

“And I think it might be Erwin’s cute little influencer friend!”

I won't say anything else, let the readers figure it out.

[sturnlsstuff]

Heyyy, loving the new theme and I can’t wait to see what you’re cooking with the new au.

In the meantime, could I maybe request ghostface!matt going absolutely insane because the reader suddenly goes missing (in reality she just went to a cousins wedding or something and failed to tell him just to test him, a little bit toxic I know). Please feel free to make it as smutty, angsty or soft as you like.

Still making my tumblr addiction worse but I still love you for it, keep cooking:)

ghostface!matt would definitely somehow find out about an event like a wedding!! even without the reader knowing, cuz he honestly knows everything 😭 so i changed it a bit!! & sorry it took me so long and is short afff

there was no surprise to matt when he woke up around two in the afternoon. whenever he was out all night, taking care of his business— which is probably already being talked about by everyone in town, TV and the internet stuffed with informations after how many victims matt has left this time, he would always sleep long, needing some rest. being a ghostface can be tiring, after all.

that's when he first texted you.

only after taking a shower, eating lunch and getting ready for the day, he realized that he didn't get any response from you. he wanted to see you today, so he sent you another message. still nothing. not even a quick check-in.

you never do that.

his stomach twisted with unease, but he didn’t let himself panic. not yet. he typed out another simple text: "what u up to sweetheart?"

then, he waited.

minutes passed. then minutes stretched into hours that felt like an eternity. his fingers drummed on the edge of his desk as his eyes flickered over to the camera feed on his second monitor.

your room— still empty.

matt’s throat tightened. wherever you were— maybe library or your favorite cafè, or even shopping, you were supposed to be home by now. he was sure you didn't have anything important to do that day, he would know about this.

he stood up, pacing the small space of his apartment, checking the clock again. he keeps sending you texts, more urgent with each time: “just answer me i wanna know where you at".

no reply.

he ran a hand through his hair, then pulled his jacket on. he decided to go to your place, maybe you just fall asleep on the couch in your living room? sounds a lot like you.

though, once he got there, you didn't open the door and no sound could be heard from inside your apartment. which almost send him into a spiral, he tried to convince himself that he had control of the situation as always, but the pit in his stomach was growing.

panic started to claw at the edges of his mind as matt drives home, with one hand checking your social media again, but there was nothing new. now he was sure he's not dramatic. where the fuck where you?

it wasn’t like you to go quiet for this long. the silence gnawed at him sending waves of unease, crashing over him as for the rest of the day matt keeps staring at his phone, eyes burning with frustration. his thumb hovered over the screen, but nothing came through. the messages he sent you, the ones begging for a response, just sat there— unread and unanswered. he tried to convince himself you're just busy, but the thought barely stuck as he knows your routines and habits, and most importantly, you never ignore him.

he paced back and forth, the apartment suddenly too small, the walls closing in. his heartbeat thrummed in his ears, the more he waited, the more his thoughts splintered. what if something happened to her? what if she’s with someone else?

the idea struck like a bolt of lightning, and he couldn’t shake it. what if you didn’t want him anymore?

no, he thought, trying to calm himself. that's insane, he knows you wouldn’t just leave, you need him as much as he needs you... right?

or maybe you snitched on him and now hide somewhere?

"fucking idiot," he curses at himself as his thoughts were becoming a frenzy, a vicious loop of worst-case scenarios and insecurities. he paced faster now, his shoes scuffing the floor, his mind spiraling further.

he ran his hands over his face, trying to push the panic down, trying to breathe. she's probably just distracted, she’s busy, she’ll come back, it’s fine… the mantra didn’t help. nothing helped. his hands were shaking now, his vision blurred.

around 9 pm, when he made his nails bleed from how hard he was biting on them, his phone buzzed. matt grabbed it so fast, he almost dropped it.

he sees your name on the screen, and a wave of relief washes over him.

[bluevaractyl]

Cozy Vibes - stargazing

Something had woken Sky, but he wasn't sure what. The echoes of his dream were fading, chased away by the brisk chill of the night air.

Sky rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes. He sat up and looked around blearily, counting. He came up one short. Who…? The fireplace crackled. A breeze shivered through his sleep clothes. His gaze finally caught on the cracked door.

Sky tugged on his boots and stepped carefully between his sleeping brothers-in-arms. He pushed open the door, closing it behind him. The stars were bright enough to see by. Without conscious thought, his feet carried him down the familiar path to the skydiving platform.

Sky sat down, legs dangling comfortably over the edge. Breathing in deeply, he leaned back on his palms and waited.

Beside him, Hyrule was quiet. His shoulders moved in a soft sigh. "It’s so pretty here,” he said softly, like a confession. “I’ve never seen so many stars in my entire life.”

Sky’s heart ached a little at that. Centuries from now, these same stars would be dimmed by smoke. Ganon’s monsters had burned and ravaged the forests of Hyrule’s time, leaving the land barren and the waters polluted. While Demise’s forces had wrought similar destruction on the Surface, Skyloft had been safe and untouched high above the cloud barrier. Enough time had passed that the Surface was again green and vibrant, but Hyrule’s world still bore the scars.

Sky asked, “Does your era have any legends about the stars?”

Hyrule shrugged. “Not really. There are a couple of constellations, like the Rabbit and the Boar, but I don’t know of any legends.”

Sky hummed. “We have a few legends in my time. It’s said that the stars are the spirits of everyone who has yet to be born and everyone who has already died. Every time a star dies, a person is born.”

Hyrule stared up at the sea of light and whispered, “That’s a lot of people.”

Sky agreed, “Yes.” He paused, then carefully added, “You know, there’s lots of stars in your era too. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t still there, watching over you.”

Hyrule’s eyes shone with the reflected glow of a thousand points of light. “…Do you think you’re up there somewhere?” he asked. “In my era?”

“I don’t see why not. Me and Four and Time and Legend, and probably all the others too. They wouldn’t let a little thing like a split in time keep them away.”

Hyrule shivered. Sky shifted closer and lifted his arm in invitation. Tentatively, Hyrule leaned in and let the older hero pull him in against his side, sharing warmth. He slowly relaxed.

Sky arranged his sailcloth to cover them both. The Traveler gradually leaned more and more weight on him. When Sky dared to look down, Hyrule’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was deep and steady in sleep.

Soon Sky would bring him back. Whatever anxieties had brought him outside seemed to have been soothed. For now, Sky held his brother close and watched the stars.

[sheeezu]

It's my first time seeing DPS shifter!! That movie is such a comfort for me (I know haha). I even got matching tattoos with my sibling based off of it with "Make your lives extraordinary". I would love to hear you talk more about it if you're comfortable with that. Do you maybe have any stories from that DR? Do you have an S/O there or made it different from the source material?

Hi :) I actually got a similar ask, asking about my dps society, it got lost in the drafts.

(I hope that person sees this)

(What fun boys they are)

My dead poets society dr

It was mostly based on the source material but a special someone does not die. Also I couldn't fit a girl in an all boys school, nor did I wanted to, so I went in as male.

It also took place in 1989, I wasn't going back that far.

I love Neil Perry, I wasn't going to leave him alone so we ended up as roommates, and adjusted Todd with Knox.

My S/O was my unassuming Neil Perry (ofc)

I actually have a lot to talk about, but I'm just going to break down how each character was like, kind of like a storytime which could fit in one post (if you're unsatisfied, you can always ring my inbox again, even disguise yourself by changing your tone of writing a bit)

Neil Perry

I'd like to say, this guy has no object permeance. If he get's excited then he becomes a literal hazard. One time, he pulled me so harshly by my wrist, to the point of dislocating my shoulder. disclaimer, he will vent out to you all night long if he's upset, not realizing it's 3am and you both have classes tomorrow, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Otherwise he's really sweet, and nice class participation as well. (idk why i mentioned that)

Todd Anderson

Todd, even though he claims "he can take care of himself", he can't. He's always lost, and childishly likes to ignore social cues. He's actually very gullible, at least with me. Other than that, for no reason at all, i'd sneak into his room to read his personal diary; like it was simply an interesting novel and not an invasion of someone's privacy, he wrote about every single social interaction he had that day.

Charlie Dalton

CHARLIE, CHARLIE, CHARLIE. other than his usual obnoxiousness (as seen in the media) he will get serious when required, personally for me, he had been the person I could tell ANYTHING to. He's responsible for writing inappropriate words in the bathroom stalls (this is the dr where i removed urinals, because excuse you, i am not man-ing like this; instead there were stalls) Sleeps with his mouth open, hits on every breathing things, but doesn't have interest in anyone.

Mr. Keating

I ASPIRE to be this man. Honestly throughout the lectures, when they took a weird turn, i was very much the "I'd like to be excluded from this narrative" type of guy.

He would never get mad if any of the student were to visit him, no matter the time, whether it was late at night, he never got mad at all!

I ended up having an entire convo on the multiverse with him, and he agreed and patted me on the back, saying "you're onto something, pal."

...

This was getting long, but tbh I enjoyed writing this (this had been in my drafts for weeks) im pretty sure their are only a handful of dps shifters, a handful of people shifting for THE BEST MEDIA EVER.

i get that your ask, requested a storytime, and this isn't that, i'm sure i'll make one, that'll actually be in the form of a story.

(also of course, some people are left out, will come to them later ..?)

...

[whosscruffylooking]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ The Beginning of Us- Chapter 7 ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Joel Miller x Fem! Reader warnings: violence. mentions of weapons and death. descriptions of wounds and blood. word count: 4k a/n: I can't stand the beginning of this, but my brain is too fried to write anything better. Series Masterlist

The atmosphere in the truck feels lighter, though not entirely free of the burden you all carry. There’s a newfound ease between the three of you. Ellie chatters now and then, her voice filling the silence with youthful curiosity, but it’s the quieter moments that linger. The way Joel’s eyes glance to yours in the passenger seat, uncertain yet inviting. The way his hand rests on the gearshift, pinky lifting every so often, as if drawn by some unseen pull—reaching for even the tiniest connection, just an inch closer to you.

You’ve finally breached one of the most forbidden subjects: Sarah. For so long, the unaddressed pain between you had been like a rusted blade buried deep, poisoning your thoughts and staining every step forward. You had both swallowed a grief so consuming it reshaped you, hollowed out the people you once were, and left jagged edges where softer ones had been. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years of blame, festering and misplaced.

But while the ghost of resentment still remains, clinging stubbornly like smoke after a fire, there’s movement now. It’s delicate and gradual like the first uneasy thaw after a long, punishing winter. Every breath feels like it could tip the balance toward healing or fracture it all over again, but for the first time, there’s hope. It’s frightening, really—the way it creeps in, tempting you to believe there’s still something left to save.

“That’s enough for today. I’ll pull off here,” Joel declares as he guides the truck offroad, weaving carefully through a forest of trees until he finds a suitable spot.

As the three of you settle in for the night, the sun melts into the horizon, casting long amber shadows through the trees. Joel busies himself with arranging the sleeping bags, his movements methodical, deliberate. It doesn’t go unnoticed—by you or Ellie—that he places yours closest to his. A quiet statement that is undeniable. 

Later, he leans against a tree, the rough bark pressing into his back as his eyes track your every movement. He watchesthe way you laugh at one of Ellie’s jokes, a rare flicker of brightness breaking through the cracks of everything you’ve endured. It’s fleeting, but it catches something in his chest, grips him tight. For a moment, he sees you as you once were—before the world collapsed, before you were both hardened by loss and time. It stirs something deep, something he thought had withered away long ago.

Still, unease gnaws at the edges of his thoughts, restless and insistent. Tommy had told him you left that night. He said you had disappeared and never looked back. But then, why return if you had already gone? You said you were hurt, lost, searching for help—why go back? Why risk everything? The pieces don’t align, jagged and ill-fitting, teasing a truth he isn’t sure he’s ready to face.

It’s a conversation for another day, but the questions press in like splinters beneath his skin, threatening to tear open wounds he’s barely stitched closed. His fingers graze over the cracked glass of his watch, the lantern’s glow catching the fractures like veins of light. A relic of another life—one he’s never truly abandoned. He wonders if you’ve clung to the past the same way, if it’s been your anchor in the same relentless storm.

But the unease coils tighter, a vice around his ribs. He knows himself well enough to recognize it—this feeling won’t let go, won’t quit, not until he has the answers. And though the truth might cut him open, he also knows he won’t turn away. It’ll fester otherwise, like everything else he’s tried—and failed—to bury.

»»————————-««

As you nestle into your sleeping bags, the rhythmic hum of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl weave through the night air, a fragile lullaby against the quiet tension between you. You focus on the sounds, willing them to drown out the awareness of just how close Joel is beside you.

He, however, keeps his gaze fixed on the stars, their cold glow offering little solace. His mind churns, restless and unrelenting, grasping for anything to quiet the unease stirring deep in his chest.

“Can I ask you guys a serious question?” Ellie’s voice breaks the quiet, snapping both you and Joel out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” Joel groans, already bracing himself.

“Why did the scarecrow get an award?” she asks, another pun from that Will Livingston book she refuses to stop quoting.

Joel sighs heavily. “Because he was outstanding in his field,” he deadpans, his tone flat as a board. It’s clear he wants this over with as quickly as possible.

“You dick! Did you read this?” Ellie laughs, her voice full of mock betrayal.

Her laughter is contagious, and you can’t help but chuckle yourself. Ellie notices, and that only makes her laugh harder, her giggles bubbling up like she’s struck comedy gold.

You glance at Joel, and his expression is priceless—a mix of exasperation and pure defeat. He looks like he’s contemplating how far he could drive before they’d notice he’s gone.

“Shhhh,” you try to stifle your laughter, though it keeps slipping out. “Ellie, come on, or he’s gonna lose it.”

But Ellie’s laughter only grows louder, and for a brief moment, the heaviness of the night lifts, replaced by a rare, fleeting lightness. Even Joel, despite himself, seems less tense, though he’d never admit it.

»»————————-««

The next day, you make it to Kansas City. It’s your turn to drive when the road ahead suddenly narrows into a blockade. Stacked cars and an old semi-trailer block the way forward, their rusted hulks leaning precariously.

Joel leans forward in the passenger seat, assessing the situation. “Pull over,” he says, his voice calm but purposeful. He grabs his gun, opening the door. “Stay put, but move over to the passenger seat.”

You slide over as he steps out, moving carefully around the obstacle, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. After a few tense minutes, he returns, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary.

“Blocked pretty solid,” he confirms. You hold up the map, tracing a route with your finger.

“If we go around the tunnel and take the next ramp, we should loop back to the highway.”

Joel nods, glancing at the barricade one last time before driving the truck away. Once in the city, he navigates the truck through the crumbling streets, the maze of abandoned buildings growing denser with every turn. The eerie stillness is unnerving, and you can feel Joel growing more restless beside you.

“Stop,” Ellie says abruptly, her voice cutting through the suspense. Joel’s hand shoots out instinctively to the dashboard as you brake.

“Is that the QZ?” she asks, pointing out the window. “Where’s FEDRA? There’s supposed to be guards and checkpoints.”

“She’s right,” you agree, scanning the empty streets. “It’s way too quiet.”

Joel’s hand twitches toward his gun. Before either of you can act, a voice calls out from the shadows.

“Stop! Help me, please!”

A man stumbles into view, clutching his side, his gait uneven. Blood stains his shirt, and his face is twisted in pain. He looks desperate. Too desperate.

You grab Joel’s arm, your grip firm. “Don’t stop,” you instruct. Joel glances at you, then back at the man.

“Put your seatbelt on, Ellie,” Joel orders, his voice cold.

“What? We’re just gonna leave him?” she asks, her tone tinged with disbelief.

“He’s not hurt, Ellie,” you answer, your voice tight.

Joel slams his foot on the gas, the truck surging forward. The man dives out of the way as a loud crash shatters the windshield—a cinder block falls from above. The truck jolts violently as spikes shred the tires. Joel curses under his breath, gripping the wheel as the truck fishtails.

From the corner of your eye, you see a man step into the street, raising a gun. Three sharp cracks ring out. Pain explodes in your shoulder, hot and blinding. You cry out, your hand shooting to the wound as blood begins to seep through your fingers.

“Shit!” Ellie screams, lurching forward, her hands hovering helplessly over you. “You’re hit!”

Joel’s eyes dart to you, wide with panic. Without a word, he jerks the wheel hard to the right.

“Hold on!” he yells, pressuring the gas pedal to the floor. The truck barrels forward, smashing straight into the front of an old laundromat. Glass and debris explode around you as the truck crashes through the building, coming to a screeching halt amid the rows of rusted washing machines.

Gunfire continues to rain down outside, bullets pinging off the truck’s metal frame. Joel doesn’t waver—he’s out of the truck in an instant, his gun drawn as he moves to your side. He tears the door open, his movements frantic but precise.

“Ellie, stay low and follow me!” Joel barks, already helping you out of the truck. His arm wraps around your waist, steadying you as you stumble, your legs weakened by the pain in your shoulder.

“They’re still shooting!” Ellie yells, ducking behind the truck for cover.

“Go! Move!” Joel shouts, dragging you toward the back of the laundromat where the machines provide better cover. His grip on you is firm but careful, his body shielding yours as bullets shatter the glass and ricochet off metal.

Inside the dim, dusty room, Joel lowers you behind a row of washers, pressing his hand firmly against your wound to staunch the bleeding. His face is pale, his breaths ragged as his eyes dart toward the shattered front window, tracking the movement of the attackers outside.

“I’m fine,” you manage to choke out, though the pain in your voice betrays you.

“Bullshit,” Joel snaps, his voice breaking slightly. “Stay down. Don’t move.”

You nod weakly, your vision blurring as Ellie crouches beside you, her wide eyes darting between you and Joel.

“What do we do?” she asks, her voice shaking.

Joel glances at you, something raw flickering in his eyes before he turns back to Ellie. “Stay here. Watch her. I’ll deal with them.”

“You see that hole over there?” You motion toward the jagged hole in the wall, your breath shallow, the edges of your vision blurring slightly.

Ellie nods, her wide eyes darting between you and Joel.

“You go squeeze through. Stay there. Whatever you do, don’t leave, okay?” Your voice is weaker than you’d like, but it carries enough weight to make her nod, even as fear flickers across her face.

“Joel,” you say, your voice trembling now, “Cover her. She’s gonna go through there. And hand me my gun, will you? It’s not like I have much else to do.” You try to summon a smirk, but it falls flat. The pain is taking its toll.

Joel hesitates, his jaw clenching as though he wants to argue, but he complies, handing you your gun with a look that says he disagrees with this plan.

“When I say go, you run,” Joel tells Ellie, his tone firm and steady.

Ellie’s lip quivers, but she nods. “They’re not gonna hit you,” Joel reassures her, his voice softening. “Look at me! They’re not gonna hit you.”

Your heart clenches, watching him ground her in the chaos. She trusts him—more than anyone else in the world—and it shows in the way she steels herself under his gaze.

And it plays out just as planned. Joel fires cover shots, his aim sharp and unwavering, while Ellie sprints to the hole in the wall, slipping through to safety. He tosses your gun to you.

With trembling hands, you drag yourself behind an overturned washer, positioning yourself as best as you can to provide backup. You’ve been through worse, you remind yourself. You’ve survived worse. The sharp, burning pain in your shoulder isn’t enough to stop you—not yet.

The chaos quiets, but heavy footsteps echo in the distance. Joel does away with the last man with practiced precision. Relief flickers through you—until he rushes to your side and sees your paling face and the way your eyes start to lose focus.

“Stay with me,” Joel urges, his voice rising in desperation. “Don’t go to sleep. You hear me? We can rest later.”

His hands press hard against your wound, and the sharp surge of pain pushes you to the edge. Your vision darkens, the sounds around you muffling. You fight to stay present, but it’s too much—the pain, the blood loss, the sheer exhaustion.

The sound of a door slamming open jolts you back, even as you hover on the edge of consciousness. Joel’s hands are ripped from you.

“Joel!” Your voice is hoarse and weak, but panic fuels it.

What follows is a cacophony of sounds—a brutal struggle, fists meeting flesh, the crash of objects falling, and then gasping—Joel’s gasping. You can’t see him, can’t help him and your heart seizes with fear. You feel utterly helpless.

A gunshot rings out, piercing the air. The sound startles you, and then you hear a voice—a stranger’s—crying out in pain, pleading for mercy. His words are garbled, but it’s not Joel. Relief floods you, though it’s quickly overtaken by dread.

Joel says something to Ellie, but your hearing is fading in and out. The gunshot came from Ellie? Then, her small frame suddenly appears beside you. She buries her face in your shoulder, her trembling hands clutching at you.

You force your shaking arms to move, weakly covering her ears. “It’s okay, shhh, it’s okay,” you whisper, though your words feel hollow. You’re barely hanging on, your mind fighting to stay present for her.

Another scream cuts through the night, followed by silence. It’s over.

Joel’s hands return to you, his grip steady but shaking. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you closer.

You let yourself take one last deep breath, your body finally succumbing to the darkness.

“Joel! Joel, what’s happening?!” Ellie’s voice pierces the haze, frantic and scared.

“She’s okay!” Joel barks, though his voice trembles with barely contained panic. “She’s just passed out. She’ll be fine.” He looks at Ellie, desperate now. “Go clear that door over there. I need to get her in someplace safe.”

Joel moves with a frantic precision, his hands steady even as his thoughts spiral out of control. He lays you down on an old, splintered desk in the back room. Blood seeps through the torn fabric of your shirt, spreading fast, too fast, and it makes his stomach twist violently.

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing a rag from his pack and pressing it against the wound. You flinch slightly even in your unconscious state, the movement barely there but enough to let him know you’re still fighting. He clamps down harder on the cloth, praying it’ll stop the bleeding.

He pulls a bottle of alcohol from his bag, uncapping it with one hand while the other keeps pressure on your shoulder. His chest tightens as he remembers the way you looked at him earlier, like you trusted him completely. He doesn’t deserve that trust— not after the way things ended, the way he’s been holding onto every ounce of resentment like it was armor.

When he pours the alcohol over your wound, you let out a low, unconscious whimper, and it nearly shatters him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice barely audible. His hands shake for a fraction of a second before he forces himself back into focus.

The memories hit him like blows as he threads a needle, the trembling lantern light reflecting off the curved metal. Tommy said you left, his mind insists, a bitter refrain he’s held onto for years. But you didn’t, did you? Not entirely, not the way he thought.

Joel’s jaw tightens as he starts stitching the wound, his hands steady despite the storm in his chest. Every stitch feels like a penance, a punishment for the years he’s spent hating you, for not asking the questions he should’ve asked, for letting pride and anger fester where understanding should’ve been.

His gaze flickers to your face, soft and vulnerable in the dim light, and a pang of guilt settles deep in his gut. You didn’t deserve this—not the wound, not his coldness, not the years spent apart.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, almost pleading. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

The words come unbidden, bare, and unfiltered, slipping past the walls he’s built so carefully. He doesn’t know if you can hear him, but saying it feels like a small release, like loosening a band that’s been wrapped too tightly around his chest.

By the time he finishes stitching you up, his hands are covered in blood, and his heart feels just as stained. He sits back on the chair next to the desk, his head falling into his hands for a brief moment.

The sound of Ellie shuffling nervously in the doorway brings him back. He straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans and looking at her with a weariness he doesn’t try to hide.

“She gonna be okay?” Ellie asks softly, her eyes red-rimmed and wide with fear.

Joel nods, though his throat feels too tight to speak. “She’ll be fine,” he manages, more to convince himself than her.

But as he looks at you again, unconscious and pale, he knows this isn’t over. The wound might heal, but the questions won’t. Not until he gets answers. And even then, he’s not sure the guilt will ever go away.

»»————————-««

The night stretches on, endless and unrelenting. Joel stays propped up against the table, his eyes fixed on you, watching the faint rise and fall of your chest. Ellie is fast asleep, curled up on the floor nearby, but Joel can’t afford to rest. Not with the weight pressing down on his chest like a vice.

He fights exhaustion, forcing himself to stay awake. Every time his eyelids droop, he snaps them open again, his focus returning to you. You look peaceful, even with the makeshift bandages and bruises. Peaceful in a way that pulls at something deep inside him. He’s reminded of a morning long ago, of you lying beside him in bed, tangled in the sheets after a night where neither of you could get enough of each other. You’d fallen asleep against his chest, your breaths steady, your body warm and safe in his arms. You’d looked like an angel then. 

You look like one now.

The memory soothes him, softens his tense shoulders, and before he realizes it, his head lulls back against the table, and sleep drags him under.

He’s back in Texas. The sky is gray, heavy with storm clouds, the streets eerily quiet. He knows this place—it’s the town where his world ended. Where everything fell apart.

Then he sees you, standing alone in the middle of the street. Your back is to him, and something about the way you stand makes his stomach twist.

“Y/N!” he calls out, his voice loud in the empty street.

You don’t respond.

He moves toward you, faster now. “Y/N!” he yells again, his voice cracking.

When he reaches you, his hand grips your shoulder, turning you toward him.

You scream.

His eyes lock on yours, and his heart stops. Blood coats your clothes, dark and endless, pooling beneath you. The shrapnel protrudes from your side, the bullet wound gapes in your shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, filled with pain and something he can’t bear to name.

“You keep leaving me to die, Joel,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible.

“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “No, I—”

Your body begins to crumple, and he catches you, pulling you into his arms.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

“I didn’t leave,” you gasp, blood staining your lips as you struggle to breathe. “You left me.”

Your body goes limp in his arms.

“No,” he whispers, his chest heaving with sobs. “No, no, no—please! Come back! I lo—”

He jolts awake, his heart pounding so violently it feels like it might burst. His breaths come in shallow gasps, and tears streak his face, hot and unchecked.

For a moment, he’s disoriented, the nightmare clinging to him like a suffocating shroud. But then he remembers. You’re here. You’re alive.

He scrambles to his feet and rushes to your side. His hands tremble as he presses two fingers to your neck, searching for your pulse. There it is—steady and strong. His eyes flick to your chest, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. Relief crashes over him so forcefully his knees almost give out.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, barely audible. “Stay with me. I know you didn’t leave. Just…stay now. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand lingers near yours, so close he could touch it, but he pulls back, afraid of how much he needs you. His head dips, his shoulders trembling as he fights to compose himself, to push down the storm of emotions threatening to overtake him.

But in the dim light of the room, with Ellie still asleep and you lying motionless beside him, Joel allows himself this one moment of vulnerability. He allows himself to grieve what he thought he’d lost, even as he clings to the hope that you’ll wake up and prove him wrong.

»»————————-««

Joel startles awake at the faint sound of your stirrings, the soft rustle of fabric snapping him out of his restless haze. In an instant, he’s by your side, his knees hitting the floor as he leans over you, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused at first, but they slowly settle on him. The face you see is raw with worry, the lines on his brow deeper than you remember.

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice weak, barely audible.

“I’m here,” he chokes out, his voice thick with relief. “Oh, thank God, I’m here.” His hand cups the side of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as if grounding himself in the reality that you’re alive.

Last night, he’d begged—something he hadn’t done in years. He’d bargained with whatever higher power might still exist, offering up every part of himself if it meant you’d open your eyes. He’d have traded places with you in a heartbeat if it guaranteed you’d be okay.

“How long have I been out?” you murmur, attempting to push yourself up, only for your body to betray you. Pain shoots through you, forcing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“All night,” he replies, his hands quickly bracing you before you can strain yourself further. “But you’re patched up. You’re gonna be alright.” His voice trembles ever so slightly, betraying the storm of emotions he’s fighting to contain.

Your eyes drift closed for a moment, overwhelmed by the effort of staying conscious. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Joel’s grip on you tightens. “Don’t apologize. Not ever,” he says firmly, the meaning of the words wavering in the air between you.

For a moment, you see something flash in his eyes—something finally unguarded. He looks at you like he’s still afraid to blink, like if he does, you’ll disappear again. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he struggles to keep it all in, but the emotions claw at him, desperate to be let loose.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he admits, his voice rough and unsteady. His gaze drops, and for the first time, you see his armor crack. “I thought—” He stops, inhaling sharply, his fingers brushing against your temple. “I thought I...we lost you.”

His breath shudders, his whole body taut with the effort of holding himself together. Tears threaten, burning at the edges of his vision, but he refuses to let them fall. Instead, he hovers close—too close—his forehead nearly brushing yours before he catches himself.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he rasps, his voice barely more than a breath, fractured and desperate. “I can’t—I can’t lose you. Not again.”

It’s not a plea. It’s not a command. It’s the unguarded confession of a man who’s spent too long burying what he can’t bear to feel—until now.

»»————————-««

Taglist: @si1versamurai @eaterof-concrete @mysteriouslyperfecttiger @daybleedsintonightfa11 @rosey1981 @eaterof-concrete

[lale-txt]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 (𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

♫ Soko - See You in the Dark

Pull you closer just to feel you breathing, try to memorize the lines // Of your skin and your heart beating, two fragile lives collide // Wanna see you in the darkness when I close my eyes

word count: 2.2k

✰ 𝐜𝐰: brief mention of non-sexual nudity (bathing together)

⭅ back to m.list

Kuroo learned to love the rain. It reminded him of the day he met her. 

Now, on this night a few months later, it is pouring again. The weather bureau urged everyone to stay home if they could to avoid getting caught in the monsoon, therefore the antique shop didn’t open its heavy wooden doors and Kuroo’s job at the delivery service called everything off for today as well. It was a blessing in disguise because it meant a rare day off for both of them around the same time. It’s not as if they’re not spending every free minute they got together, but there was something special about having a day off all responsibilities. 

They didn’t get up until noon, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain and Jiji’s soft purrs at their feet (after he woke Kuroo at 5AM for a can of wet food–an unfortunate habit he established with the cat), sharing kisses and secrets in her canopy bed. It was rare for them to sleep alone these days, most of the time they did so only when one of them got sick, and even then they’d often prioritize comfort and shared warmth over not catching the other’s bug. They’ve become inseparable over time and lately Kuroo found himself struggling to remember what his life was like before her. He takes it as a good sign. 

While Kuroo’s apartment was somewhat neat and tidy, paired with the struggle to fill up all the empty space and the high ceilings, hers seemed like an extension of the antique store below them. It’s lived in, an almost sacred space to be invited into. There’s bookshelves up to the ceiling, stacked with heavy and old art books and poetry in languages he doesn’t know, dried flowers in vases and hanging from the walls, a story attached to each. The wooden floor has uneven colors from ornamental carpets that barely get moved around, the sun and time working together to create unique patterns. Withered lines adorn the door frame from a time when her grandmother inhabited this space and carved a mark every time her granddaughter grew an inch or two.

It’s as if he’s discovering a new secret in every corner, like turning a page in his favorite book. 

Jiji rubs against Kuroo’s legs when they’re in the kitchen together, meowing up at him till he puts him on his shoulders while he stirs the pot on the stove. The cat seems to enjoy the view from so high above and Kuroo gets to bask in her soft laughter every time she sees them like this. 

“This cat is manipulating you to no end and you let him,” she huffs with a smile and looks back down at the broken fragments of a plate in front of her on the old kitchen table. Some parts of them are already glued back together, the former cracks now filled and held together by gold. Kuroo never gets tired of watching her work, of fixing things others would’ve thrown out by now. Not her though. Never her. Her hands hold all the patience of the world, tending to the shards as she pours love back into them.

Sometimes Kuroo catches himself thinking that maybe–maybe that’s exactly what she did to him, too. 

The faint rumble of a thunder in the distance causes both of them to look out of the kitchen window. It is only early evening but the sky is pitch black, the storm and rain picking up and rattling against the old windows. Spooked out by the sounds of it, Jiji leaps down from Kuroo’s shoulders and retreats to the safety of his cave underneath the bed, eager to sit this one out. She seems calm though, which rubs off on Kuroo as well. He places a steaming bowl on an empty spot on the table close to her before pulling out a chair for himself, watching how she puts her work aside to pick up the spoon. She pauses as a thought crosses her mind, a small frown on her face.

“Did we remember to bring the laundry inside this time?”, she asks, already halfway up to check. Kuroo reaches for her wrist and gently pulls her back, urging her to sit. He smiles gently, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. 

“Already did that earlier when you were absorbed in puzzling the pieces together,” he reassures her. The heavy laundry basket sits on the stairs connecting their apartments. Kuroo vividly remembers the last time it was pouring and they both ran outside to grab the clothes from the line in the backyard, already too late and getting soaked just as much in return. They sat an hour in his clawfoot bathtub together afterwards, trying to warm up again so they wouldn’t catch a cold. Her laughter was still ringing in his ears when she leaned back against his chest, nestled between his legs with her eyes closed as the hot water engulfed them, his hand splayed across her stomach. He remembers thinking that this might be the closest he ever got to heaven.

The storm outside picks up by the time they’re finished with dinner and the dirty dishes are left to soak in the sink for later. They find themselves huddled together in bed again. All the attempts of coaxing Jiji out from underneath it failed, but he seemed content with knowing they were closeby. He’d get his fair share of cuddles and treats once this passes. 

“You still have gold dust on you,” Kuroo points out and brings one of her hands to his lips, kissing the shimmery fingertips gently. 

“No way,” she protests with a small laugh, her expression softening underneath his caress. She rolls over to her side, head resting against his chest. His heartbeat picks up slightly. “I washed my hands a dozen times.”

“Then I guess you’re just that golden,” he retorts, his arm wrapping around her form and pulling her closer, wanting to feel more of her. He could never get enough of having her like this, her body heat seeping into him, their legs tangled together underneath the covers. 

Another crashing thunder drowns out her reply, and then with one last flicker all light in the apartment dies down. The power went out. This was to be expected. Both of them are quiet for a few seconds before Kuroo presses a kiss to her crown, mumbling “want me to check that for you?” against her hair. Always in fix-it mode, like muscle memory to him.

She shakes her head and only inches closer to him, her hand slipping under the hem of his shirt to feel his warm skin. Kuroo lets out a quiet hum in return.

“No use in plugging the power back just now,” she mumbles and for a brief second the bedroom is illuminated from the lightning outside. “We’ll let the storm pass first. Plus, I don’t want to let you get up and go right now. Stay with me.”

Her last words seem to be laced with something else; a silent question and pleading. The unspoken desire to let the world spin without them for a while, enjoying these dead hours of the day when it can be just the two of them in perfect unison.

Kuroo tips her chin up with one finger. In the dark he can barely make out the silhouette of her but it doesn’t matter, he has memorized every inch of her with his fingertips alone a long time ago. He catches her lips with his, a gentle kiss exchanged between them, lasting for a few heartbeats.

“You don’t even have to ask”, he mutters against her lips, smiling when she steals another kiss from him. He lets her. She can have them all, all of him, his heart served on a silver platter if she wished for it. It baffles him sometimes, thinking how much of his life has gone by without getting to kiss her, until the sun, the moon and all of the stars set the waves in motion that lead to him finally meeting her. 

When he told her back then that it all felt like a dream, one he’s scared of waking up anytime soon, he meant it. Sometimes it felt too good to be true, the way his life turned upside down only a few months ago. It’s in these moments that she’ll cup his face, not letting go until she covers every inch of it in kisses, one reminder at a time that he, too, deserves nice things. Great things, even. And the most miraculous one was right here in his arms, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and mumbling the sweetest words against his skin while the world outside is coming down. 

Kuroo loves her. 

He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he feels it with every fiber of his heart and soul. He loves her, more than anything or anyone before. Some days it feels a little too big, a little too overwhelming, quite literally taking his breath away, and then she’ll call out his name and slip her hand into his and it drowns out all these loud thoughts again. She grounds him. She gave home a new meaning. 

There’s this warmth about her that draws him to her like a moth to the flame–and he knows it’s not just him. The way she manages to bring people together in the shop never fails to amaze him, her quiet presence a lighthouse in the dark. He always laughs when she describes herself as some kind of hermit, spending hours alone as she sorts and catalogs whichever box of antiques washes up on her threshold that day. It’s almost as if she doesn’t recognize that she’s the center of this universe she built around herself; the bridge between the dead and the living. The one preserving love, till it’s ready to find a new pair of loving hands, cherishing these otherwise forgotten memories.

Then there’s her quirks, adding even more reasons to the endless list of why he fell in love with her. Whether it’s her grumpy expression whenever she has to do something on the computer (an ancient one in her back office which takes twenty minutes to boot up) or her habit of unprompted infodumping about a specific trinket that caught her attention–Kuroo loved all of it. It’s all part of her.

And while the big words still won’t fall from his lips just yet, he has his way of showing her, leaving no doubts that what he feels for her was true, unadulterated love. It’s in the sound of their shared laughter when she rides behind him on the bike, her arms wrapped around his middle and her face pressed against his broad back. It’s in the warm blanket thrown over her form after carrying her to bed when she fell asleep while reading on his couch. It’s in the kisses he trails down the side of her neck after she pushed a strawberry from the backyard between his lips.

He knows it’s only a matter of time till it feels right to put his feelings into actual words. It’s not like there’s a rush or expectations to do so. They do things in their own time, and right now there is not much to do except waiting for the storm to pass, till the sun brings a new dawn and they’ll pick themselves up again, hands intertwined. 

Kuroo presses a soft kiss to her temple, one hand in her hair, the other on her thigh, keeping her pressed close to him.

“Sleepy much?”, he mumbles with a quiet laugh, feeling her breathing getting more steady and her body melting more into him. It isn’t late yet and it's not that long ago since they crawled out of these sheets earlier, but he doesn’t mind. His girl deserves all the rest she craves. 

“You’re just so warm,” she mutters, her voice drowsy. Her fingertips draw small patterns against his collarbones. “Makes it hard not to doze off. Maybe I’m not so different from Jiji after all.”

This draws another laugh out of Kuroo. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, pulling the blanket up a bit higher to make sure she’s fully wrapped up in it. 

“I’m nothing but a fool for both of you, that’s for sure,” Kuroo agrees with a soft chuckle, his head sinking against hers. The sound of the heavy rain drowns out everything else–his greedy heart, the overthinking, the words on the tip of his tongue. He feels content, safe; like he belongs. Like coming home after being on the run for too long. 

“You know what they say about the fools,” she whispers back without lifting her head. Her fingertips dance across his chest now, until they find his stumbling heart against his ribcage. Her palm comes to rest right above it and in this moment Kuroo feels as if gold is poured in the cracks of his heart as well. Mending it, putting the pieces back together; not like something broken but something that’s worth being tended to with all the gentleness of the world.

“The fools, they’re the lovers and the lonely, knowing everything and nothing about love except that they’re full of it.”

a/n: i love writing Kuroo POV so much and i'm so excited to write the last two chapters to this

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @kameyyy @grassbutneo @kentocalls

@jellychannie @starry-magicshop @anonymity-222 @rriwyu @loveyislost

@stargirllost @boosyboo9206 @wyrcan @weezerbby @nekozaki

@beaniesweets @romantiicaa

taglist open! fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[mugentakeda]

i just loveeeee the idea that there was a big gap of understanding between lu ten and iroh the same way theres a big gap of understanding between zuko and iroh. mistakes that iroh didnt realize he made with his son he then also made with his nephew and still not realizing it. a whole world of things about lu ten that iroh didnt know about, and will never know about. im gonna talk about it though because i am insane so look away from my cringe

lu ten had gone to his father with problems before, and iroh cant help but wonder, now, if his son had ever been trying to imply deeper things in between sugarcoated words because there were things you just didnt say in the palace, and irohs head had been so far up his ass he hadnt seen it. despite it being waved practically right in his face by his son, desperate for sound advice from his father, whos brain was too waterlogged by thoughts of how he was going to pull off his next bloody conquest. like how zuko was always howling for help, hurt and confused like a cornered animal, hidden deep under his fits of rage, and irohs head was Still so far up his ass that he kept meeting zukos silent begging for straightforward guidance with convoluted proverbs. he can sit here and bury his face in his hands in shame over the sheer amount of times hed failed his nephew without realizing, and how much convincing it'll take to get his nephew to understand that yes, iroh did fail him so many times, and he couldve prevented so much suffering simply by holding himself to the same standards he held his nephew to. all those times during those three years before the avatar returned that he couldve done something. sit here and think about how sad it is that he has to even try hard to convince his nephew such a thing, how sad it is that he finally got zuko to stop seeing ozai as some all-wise god that can do no error as a father, just for zuko to start seeing iroh as some all-wise god that has done no error as an uncle. but he can at least go and do something about it. he can never do something about what he did to his son. the things he knows he did, the things he doesnt know he did, and everything in between. he will never find out what lu ten truly thought about him. he will never have that reconciliation, that silent scream of relief and violent shiver in the crook of his neck that zuko gave when iroh yanked him in close after their separation, with his lu ten. he just has to hear about his own son through word of mouth and somehow be content with that. and worst of all, its all his own and his god damned family's fault. no amount of healing and learning by trying to do right by zuko and the world he helped nearly ruin not much more than a half decade ago can act as a balm for the agony that brings him. he knows healing his guilty conscience isnt supposed to even be a reason for why he helped the avatar, but god- it's when the rationality leaves him and he realizes that this is something he cant seem to make himself be the bigger person in. he knows its his own fault, that there are hundreds- thousands, maybe- of earth kingdom sons he personally stole from earth kingdom fathers, and only gave up on his siege when the consequences of his war came into his own backyard, but he cant help it. doesnt want to help it. hes still angry and hateful anyway. his son should still be here. his son should still be here. his son should still be here. and if he tells zuko about how much he still hates himself as both an uncle and a father, zuko will definitely rush to reassure him, all the while he is chained to his desk and meetings day in and day out, fixing this uncles mistakes best he can, losing sleep and forgetting to eat. none of it will mean anything to zuko, if it means he can make his uncle feel better. and if that happens, iroh might actually vomit in front of his nephew.

[finalgrrrl]

you kicked and cried like a bullied child a grown man of twenty-five he said he'd cure your ills but he didn't and he never will

[moony4pads]

*voice of a girl that zonned out 2 hours ago and does not now what is going on*: I Sleept 0 hours last night and is totally functioning

[monstersholygrail]

Vampire bf spooning you in the middle of the night, nuzzling into you so roughly that it causes you to slowly wake up. As soon as he senses you’re not completely asleep, his arms curl around you and he bury’s his face in your neck. Groggily you bare your throat to him, thinking he might be hungry.

But instead he simply whines and cuddles in closer. It’s only then that you notice he’s shivering. A soft “What’s wrong, darling?” croaks past your lips. He doesn’t respond, letting his actions speak louder as his hands slip under your shirt and brush along your soft stomach as if trying to steal up all your warmth. You hiss at his touch, his usually cold skin even colder for some reason. “You’re freezing,” you can’t help but exclaim the obvious.

Your vampire bf whimpers, nodding his head within the warm fold of your neck. “Need your warmth. Need your heat, baby please,” he says in a soft whine, one hand tugging at the seam of your shorts and giving you an idea of what he means.

As soon as you’ve pulled your panties down, he’s sliding himself between the warm supple flesh of your thighs. He hisses in the space of her neck, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Your lips part, feeling his throbbing cock push its way through your legs, so close to where you need him. His tip bumping up against your clit with every snap of his hips. Arousal pools within you till it drips onto his cock. Your bf growls, hips moving faster.

“Ah, fuck! More. Please,” you beg, baring your neck once again. Your hips tilt, craving the feeling of being filled by him.

“My heart, I could devour you whole and still crave more," he rumbles, his hips bucking to catch every drop of your essence on his length.

His hand tenderly cups the underside of your neck and brings it to his lips. You sense the heat of his breath and goosebumps rise along your arms a second before you feel the sharp prick of pleasure caused by his fangs. You shiver as he slowly sinks them all the way in.

The combination of his fangs inside you and the way he slows down the rocking of his hips causes your eyes to droop as you begin to drift back to sleep. His hand massages your plush thigh, gently shifting it back over his own, legs intertwining.

With your thighs open, your bf has easy access to slide his length inside your eager and dripping walls. You both moan as he pushes past your entrance, his girth carefully stretching your precious pussy as he takes his time stuffing you full of him. Bringing a delicious dull ache to the apex of your thighs.

He settles in once he’s buried his length to the hilt, your hips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. He relaxes against your body and wraps every limb that he can around you. Cocooning your being in his protective embrace. Making you feel exactly as treasured as you are.

“That’s better,” he slurs contently in an attempt to speak with his fangs in your neck. Soon after you start to feel his skin warming back up against your own. You smile softly, finally falling back asleep and happy you were able to help him.

Never finding out that Vampires have full control over their body temperature.

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your Mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually, I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[wriokitty]

The heater’s out. December’s cold is unforgiving as it seeps between the cracks of your doors and through the windows, forcing you to huddle closer.

Sukuna grunts as your freezing, icy feet press against his calves. “Your feet are fuckin’ cold. Get’em off.”

“No,” you whine, “You’re warm.”

Just to prove your point, you press them harder against his skin, making him hiss in irritation. “Quit it! It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yeah? Why are you wearing nothing but boxers in this cold, then?” You challenge, raising a brow as if you’ve sufficiently turned the tables on him. He glares at you—a bit cutely at that, given that his tussled hair and the blanket tucked beneath his chin both make him look far less intimidating than he hopes.

He pulls his legs away as he mutters, “Because I’m too used to sleeping like this.”

Your feet follow them as they move away from you, pressing them against his heated skin once more stubbornly. “To used to what, sleeping half naked? I wonder what that says about you.”

Money has been tighter. Enough that when you and Sukuna shower together, it really is to save water and not as an excuse for…well, other things. You don’t buy your little goods from the bakery on your way home sometimes anymore. He doesn’t go through his cigarette packs as quickly when stocking up on more isn’t as simple as it used to be. Things aren’t as easy as they used to be, but never hard.

It’s never hard with Sukuna.

Sure, the heater’s out. And December feels like a harsh, unrelenting reminder of that. The apartment is cold, but Sukuna is warmer, so maybe, when you count your blessings, you’re not doing all too bad.

“We should get the damn heating system fixed,” you say softly, smiling as he curls under the blanket further. He glowers over the edge of the comforter, just the tip of his nose peeking out as his muffled reply comes.

“Yeah, as if I hadn’t already thought of that. We ain’t got the funds, idiot.”

“Maybe I can pick up a few more shifts,” you murmur. He frowns at that—because really, that means more late nights where you’re not home where you should be. Safe and sound and not out there.

“Nah,” he mutters, clicking his teeth. You fight back a grin as he pulls you closer and tangles his legs with yours, grimacing when your painfully icy toes torment his poor legs again. This time he lets you, though. “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s okay. You should use your money to get some clothes, or something. Sleeping naked in winter is not doing you any favors,” you giggle cheekily.

He raises a brow—that familiar, smug, almost nauseatingly handsome smile erupts across his lips as he chuckles lowly. “Yeah? You’re sayin’ you don’t appreciate the view?”

“Well, I guess that would be a pretty harsh loss,” you sigh deeply, pretending to wipe a tear. He rolls his eyes. You wink slyly. Heat trickles along your body from under your ribcage where the heating system could never reach.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” He says gruffly, and a large hand comes to grab your face gently and press your cheeks together. Your puffed up lips make him crack a small smile.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning (as much as you can through squeezed cheeks) before offering a muffled reply of, “I keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“More like on my deathbed,” he snorts.

You don’t answer—it’s too cold to think of a reply right away.

You let out an involuntary shiver as a small wave of frigid, chilly air breezes through the room. You shuffle closer, and his arms are wide and open and waiting. He smells like cologne and coming home. Feels like warm flesh and your favorite place. You lean in and kiss him to share your body heat, pressing your lips against his and letting his tongue invade your mouth briefly. He tastes like mint mingled with cigarette smoke and oddly enough, that’s all you need.

“We kind of suck at this adulting thing,” you whisper as you pull away.

“What gives you that idea?” He hums as rough, callused fingers stroke the skin of your back under your shirt. You shiver again—this time from heat igniting your skin instead of the cold, though.

“We can hardly afford to stay warm,” you shake your head, “What does that say about us?”

“That we’re victims of this stupid fuckin’ economy. They should compensate us for our suffering.”

You roll your eyes and grin. You’re cold, but not devoid of heat. Sukuna is warm, and so are your toes against his calves, and so is that place in your chest that happens to do a squeeze here and there. You think it might be your heart—think he may have found his way to that weird, necessary organ in your body that keeps you going. But the difference is now that he’s here, you’re alive and not just living.

And yeah, the heater’s out. December is as cold as it is every year, and nothing’s going to change that. You can’t make yourself warmer, but you can be cold with Sukuna. That’s more than enough to make things bearable.

“I’ll keep you warm,” you offer, batting your lashes sweetly. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his cheeks in a flurry of kisses.

His face does a small, red flush.

“Quit it,” he snaps. He doesn’t mean it because his arms grip your hips tighter as if to keep you firmly in place. Right there where you are and where you belong and where he needs you to be.

You shouldn’t be anywhere else but here, keeping his body warm in this sorely harsh weather.

“Why? It’s already working—you’re overheating,” you tease.

He pulls the blanket up and between your faces to create a barrier as you come in for the next kiss, and when you laugh, bright and warm, he forgets he was ever cold.

————————————

Wrote this bc my place is freezing. Not because the heater is broken though it’s just because I’m too lazy to get out of bed and turn the heat up so I am suffering the same problem yes, but I do have a solution. That doesn’t mean the solution will be used though. I fear I am but just a girl

[lemonlover1110]

Sylus

Summary: Sylus struggles to put your baby girl to sleep.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

You’ve never thought you’d find Sylus in this situation. You’ve pictured your husband doing a lot of things– But this? Never in a million years. 

You want to step into the room, but you can’t allow yourself to interrupt. The scene fills your stomach with butterflies, and reminds you why you fell for him all over again. The man really has a softer side that many don’t get to witness. You see it often; but no one will see it as much as her.

“Twinkle, twinkle– I guess you don’t like it.” Sylus’ singing is cut off by his baby’s cries. He’s rocking her back and forth, hoping to get his baby girl to fall asleep. He promised you that he’d take over so you could take the night off, but tonight his babygirl is as energetic as ever.

Though the singing stops, the crying doesn’t. He shushes her before telling her, “I promise I won’t sing again.”

The shrill cries stop, but his baby’s eyes are still wide open. She’s a difficult one to fall asleep, and he knows exactly who she got that from. Offering money won’t work with her yet, so he’s forced to play a waiting game. 

“I’m trying to spend time with your mom, love. C’mon, help me out.” She laughs at the tired look on her father’s face, and Sylus can’t help but smile. She’s laughing at his misery, but at least it’s a cute laugh.

“I’ll get payback one day.” Sylus says as he lifts her in the air before blowing a raspberry on her tummy. Another laugh comes from the little one. He kisses her chubby cheeks, pure joy overtaking him. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, I’d be mad otherwise.” He tells her, earning a coo from the energetic girl. He chuckles.

“I can handle her.” You finally step into the room, cutting off the sweet moment between Sylus and your baby girl. You don’t want him to get frustrated with her, even when he looks overjoyed to just hold her.

“It’s fine.” Sylus assures you. He’s smiling down at her. “I can handle my little sweetheart.”