#desperate for guidance as they are and he's like no. leave. go away

[aldisobey]

Lichfic 🌚🌚🌚🌚

hehehhehehhe you know I can't say no to you. (@by-ilmater @crowofstarlight same fic ya asked about! I'll answer last a tidbit later.)

But since lichfic is taking me way too long to release I want to show off my 'theory' or no 'direction' you helped me with. Or at least the way I'm taking it. Thanks for pointing out shapes when I had to throw spaghetti at a wall.

The Lich Lords DIDNT MAKE SENSE to me. This is part of my attempt to figure out these lich bitches—Emmrich included—and how they could work in Thedas? Keep it true to some form? This is Worne's epilogue.

Because when I finished Veilguard my gut was twisting. Rook is still going to die. Emmlich is going to live forever. How to solve mourning forever? How to solve LICH LORDS even letting that happen? Don't the other Lords see that? Don't they know?! They call Rook "Volkarin's Beloved" at the ritual? They're fully aware. So why let it happen? Knowing the tragedy and pain that await?

What if it's necessary

Emmrich dropped the letter. It sounded wet when it landed. And like a whip-quick gale through a small-leafed tree—thick and full—the bones of his body shushed.

"No..." and his voice dropped low like stone.

"It..." his fingers fumbled—a moan timbre climbing higher—his voice echoed in the room.

"He!" The first Lich Lord he knew. The one he... found? Found him? The one that taught. The one that guided. The others met only in ceremony. He only really knew—the eldest. They had met alone when... the choice... and something like a groan left him. A sound akin to glacier—ice cracking taking inch verse stone.

But the noise didn't stop. Didn't stop. The truth read. The letter left. This.

Lich Lord Volkarin,

Firstly. Condolences. On the loss of your Beloved and your name. Please cease reading should your name appear in this letter. It is one of the first things we lose after the tether's departure. After our Beloved's death. The Necropolis takes it. There is no prevention.

You are free of all duties until your Beloved's death. I suggest you bring them here.

DO NOT TRAVEL.

You are free to do as you please—as you must—but do come visit me it is a thing to be shown.

If you read now your name, Emmrich Volkarin—do yourself a kindness and fold this letter. Tuck it away. Live a full happy life with your Beloved.

HERE.

Read on after your second death. Nothing will be between the lines.

—Emmrich Volkarin—

And here the trembling lich had to unfolded.

It is my deepest regret to inform you, that I have mislead you—in part. Everything we have spoken of is true. We are desperately needed here. At least three. There is not much work to be done so long as we remain. But remain we must. This much you knew.

But there is worse.

I am tired, young Lich Lord, I do not know my age, I do not know the current age. What need have I for that? It passes. But I am tired of trying to remember. I am tired of trying to work. The only memory that matters is her. I study more how she looked. I could tell you, the hairs on her head, the number of them at the hour the minute. The length, the cut, the braid. But I could not tell you if today is in summer or winter.

The stars move Volkarin. And seasons as well.

I can tell you she was born in our summer. And hated heat, but loved taking everything. Nothing was enough. And she smelled of saffron, dry wood, and sage. Young Lich Lord I study every memory of every day. I hope you and he remained. We traveled so, and lived in sun. And still and I cannot leave, I. I am tired of it. I would like to rest with her—in flame.

I intend to 'retire' sometime after your Beloved passes. There will be some centuries of training and guidance. But soon young Lich Lord. Soon I will need you to watch and guard and keep the other two bound here.

You see they have gone quite mad. Or started that way.

They never had a strong tether such as you, such as I. They tried other methods. I tried other methods with them, guiding, helping. I did not want another to live... live as I. It is all too much now and you may not forgive me that is your due. But I am tired young lich lord and the Necropolis would fail should I depart without true heir.

Do not trust the other two. One never loved. Only took. Ensared and brought in a tether to hold him in place. I might explain why a soulmate is necessary later, but anything around her is difficult for me.

But one took and the other gave all, or thought they did in obsession. They received naught. Received condemnation, a spurned attention a wicked fascination—not love. I was willing to try anything, Lich Lord, but pieces were missing.

Their tethers did not know them whole.

Some of what their tethers believed stayed with them. Coated the souls hue during ritual. Not for the better. They are a success for base Necropolis demands, but ultimately my failures.

You are what the Necropolis needs.

Young Lich Lord I write this after your ascension and I name you successor. We watched. He paced, he shook, he stood, and all that time never... he is a soulmate tether. Beloved said then and true.

I will bear your curses. We were the same once. When you exist to my time... we both know what's at stake Lich Lord. This is the service. This is the cost. A watch made in mourning.

There was no signature. Simply an end.

Dread.

[calicosturns]

tw/cw: masturbating, phone sex

⎯⎯⎯⎯

you hate being away from matt. hate the distance between you when he's in boston, but he always makes it up to you. always, but not now. not when he's on this damn tour, states away from you and all you can do is hear his voice on the phone call.

it's suffocating; the way you have to wake up in your shared bad alone, him not walking to you from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist while you make breakfast, him not kissing you in the morning. you hate it.

and you hate how you miss him sexually. his hands holding your waist, squeezing it with ease while he pounds into you with incredible pace. or when he whispers sweet nothing in your ear, making you go dumb on his dick. or when—

"babe? you there?" a voice snaps you out of your thoughts. matt's voice. god, you were too deep in your thoughts about him, you completely forgot you're on line with brunette.

"yes, oh—," you shift on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position while feeling a pool to form between your thighs, "sorry, got distracted with a cat outside"

and matt lets you get away with this pathetic attempt of an excuse. he keeps talking about his day, how annoying chris has been for a whole day, how nick has been bitchy, but you cant focus on anything he's telling you. his voice makes you some kind of way, you instinctively slide your hand down your stomach, playing with the hem of your shorts.

little "mhms" and "yeah" leave your lips as you're trying desperately to pay attention to whatever matt's telling you, but you fail miserably. one hand already down there in your panties as you work your fingers on your clit, trying not to give yourself away.

and matt notices; he always does. the change in your voice, the heavy breathing. he goes quiet for a minute, letting you realize that you're in complete silence now and he can perfectly hear everything.

you swallow thickly, trying to maintain some confidence like you're not getting yourself off by the sound of your boyfriend's voice. "so, uhmm.. how— how's chris?" the voice is strained, a little shaky even. you try to sound nonchalant, giving matt topics to talk about.

"actually," he speaks up after a while, "i want to listen to your day, sweetheart. how was it?" a hint of mischief in his tone that goes unnoticed by you.

words stuck in your throat, you clear it and take a deep breath before speaking quietly, "it— it was good.. to be honest—" you cut yourself off, a loud sigh escapes your lips as your fingers working deliberately on the clit, not actually sliding into your entrance.

"to be honest... what?" he smirks to himself already picturing you with your hand in your shorts, touching yourself to his voice. the idea of it is actually amusing to matr, "c'mon, pretty girl, use your words. i wanna hear everything about your day"

and you know he already figured you out, that he heard everything and wants more. another little whimper escapes your parted lips, your fingers caress your clit slowly in a teasing manner, phone pressed against your ear. "matt—," his name on your lips, needy and desperate, makes him grin. matt's hold on his phone only tightens as he shifts on the side of a hotel bed.

"touchin' yourself to my voice, aren't ya, pretty girl?" he teases, his voice quiet, sending shivers down your spine, "keep touchin' like that, lemme hear your little sounds," he encourages you, making you feel more confident as a little moan leaves your lips. the pace of your fingers increases as you pant heavily into the call, whispering matt's name as a damn mantra.

brunette is enjoying this way too much. he stares at the ceiling, whispering the words of guidance and little praises. matt can pick up of the sound of your breathing, how ragged it is when you touch yourself and he cant help, but grins like cheshire car.

"let it go, sweetheart, you can come. only f'me and my voice, yeah?"

⎯⎯⎯⎯

a/n: not proofread. english isnt my first language.

© calicosturn, 2025

[gaintsnowflake]

❆ THEIR EYES

PAIRING : tim drake x gn!reader

ONESHOT : thru everyone else eyes, as they slowly realize that tim cares for you more than he'd care to admit.

A/N : theehee

masterlist

     WHEN Dick agreed to go out for ice cream with you and Tim, he was expecting to pay. However, he wasn’t expecting you to wander off on your own. He wasn’t sure how he lost the two of you. He seemingly looked away for a second and was left with nothing but silence when he called your names.

     He groaned as he ate his ice cream and began to search for the two of you. The streets were dark and quiet, you weren’t in Gotham, in a small town on the outskirts that Tim claimed had the best ice cream ever. Which was proven true with each lick Dick took.

     And as he went to rest on a lonely bench behind the ice cream store, he heard your voice. 

     “Please, Tim, mine is so terrible,”  you whined through a laugh, words laced with playful frustration.

     “I told you you wouldn’t like it. You hate everything involved with that flavor, and you still got it,” Tim’s voice was all so familiar, too annoyed to budge it seemed. Bringing a light smile to Dick’s face as Tim hadn’t changed from the months they spent apart. 

     As dick took a few, slow calculated steps forward, planning to scare the two of you, is when he heard something that he expected less.

     “Fine. We can trade, only if you stop whining like a dog,” Tim gave in to your eyes. Something Dick wouldn’t imagine. 

     “Thank you Timothy,” your voice was like chores as he watched you switch your ice creams.

     “Yeah, yeah,” his response was short and seemingly aggravated. 

     Yet as Dick looked forward he could see something different. A twitch of Tim’s lip as he looked down at you. Not his normal dead, tired stare. No, it was a stare that Dick was unfamiliar with when it came to his younger brother. 

     It was something more, something of admiration and care. A softer look that one could even mistake for love. That’s when Dick decided to leave you too alone, as some things didn’t need a witness— just time.

    DAMIAN hated Tim. Well, hate might be too strong of a word, much to Damians dismay. He pretended he wanted Tim dead, never hiding the illusion that he wouldn’t know what to do if the boy truly did leave his life. 

    So when the two ended up sparing together in the cave, Damian did not hold his punches. He never did when it came to Tim. Yet maybe the third time Tim fell to the ground without much effort Damian began to realise something was different about him.

   “You’ve somehow managed to get worse,” he scoffed, circling

    “Wow, thanks,” Tim grumbled as he moved to get up. “Can we take a break for a minute? I need to check on something.”

    “Breaks are for the weak. But if you’re that desperate, I’ll allow it.”

     What caught Damian off guard wasn’t the break—it was the speed with which Tim snatched up his phone. Or maybe it had been the way he let out a breath as he checked his notifications. Or the way his shoulders seemed to untense when he typed.

     It only caused Damian to question his softened stare more. Curious to who was whittling down Tim to an actual person than an asshole who ran on nothing but annoyance, caffeine, and spite. A flicker of something else behind the usual apathy. Even Tim’s silence seemed less guarded.

     “I have to go,” Tim muttered, grabbing his things, already halfway out.

    “Skipping training?” Damian quirked a brow. “That’s a new low. What might it be this time? Fathers company failing under your guidance?” No response. “A new case you might be able to solve?” Not even a blink. “Your best friend need help with something?” A short pause. That was it. You. You needed him.

     Damian was quick to put it together as Tim muttered an annoyed goodbye and left to go see you. Yet his attitude wasn’t as damp as it typically was. 

     Something had changed. And the cause had your name written all over it.. One he wasn’t sure he could welcome just yet.

    TIM WASN’T responding to Barabra’s messages. 

    Intel was coming in from every corner of the city. Red Robin was needed. Chaos had taken root. But Tim had stopped moving—feet planted just outside an apartment building Barbara didn’t recognize.

    “I’m okay,” was all his message said.

    Then radio silence.

    She tried not to worry. She tried harder not to be angry. But when she tapped into the lenses in his cowl—tech meant for worst-case scenarios—her anger fell to confusion.

    She saw you.

   Tears in your eyes. Hands trembling slightly. And Tim—he wasn’t moving. He was just… waiting. Steady. Still.

   Whatever you said, whatever passed between you, Barbara never fully saw. Only a burner phone exchanged, and then Tim was gone again. Back into the shadows.

   She didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t understand what could be more important than a mission.

   But she felt it. Knew it.

   Whatever it was between you and Tim—it was real. More real than she expected.

     JASON didn’t know what he expected when you showed up at the manor that night. The whole family was torn to shreds after a particularly rough patrol. Blood. Bruises. Too many near-misses. 

     But you? You just walked in, barely saying a word, patch kit in hand. Straight to Tim.

     Maybe it was the way you leaned onto him, close enough to feel his breath, yet not close enough to be overbearing. Maybe it was the way your fingers gripped his face as he began to fight your help, yet not moving an inch away from you as you showed as lack of response. Maybe it was the way you apologized everytime he winced too hard. 

     Or maybe it was the way Tim looked at you. 

     His voice tells you the opposite of his eyes. As they searched your face up and down. Not like a soldier. Not like a vigilante. But like a man drowning in every ounce of peace you gave him. Like he’d been walking through fire and you were the first drop of rain in years. A sense of happiness. As if you were the sun that rose in the morning. A sense of hope. As if you were the boat that came to save him from the sea. 

     He looked at you like you gave him the will to live. And you in return patched his wounds so he could keep living. 

     Jason wasn’t sure what episode of the show he was on, but he knew that it was a shitty rom-com that he would watch to relearn what it was like to love. 

    YELLING crowded Tim’s room before he heard the slam of the front door. Bruce never left his room to see you leave, instead he left to watch the aftermath. He just watched the silence that followed swallow Tim whole. No anger. No fight. Just… silence.

     Tim was a ghost after that. Tasks unfinished. Coffee cold. Eyes flicking toward his vibrating phone every time it buzzed. Waiting. Hoping.

     Bruce didn’t understand it until hours later—when he passed Tim’s room and saw the laptop screen. A photo of the two of you. A photo where you were smiling. so brightly it hurt to look at. Tim, beside you. But Tim wasn’t looking at the camera.

     His eyes were on you.

     There was something there. Something Bruce hadn’t seen in him in years. Tim Drake was in love. Hopelessly. Maybe that’s why Bruce said nothing. Why he just nudged his son away from the screen. Sat him down. Distracted him with reports, intel, chess. Anything. Because maybe—just maybe—if Bruce kept him busy long enough… Tim would figure out what he needed.

     And he’d go find you again.

[daryldove]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend (I'm Bored)

daryl x fem!reader

nsfw, no use of y/n, jealousy, cheating, under the table teasing, public sex, 2.5k

You barely contain a grimace as Daryl's obnoxious, bimbo-bitch of a girlfriend whines dramatically across the table. Honestly, if you have to listen to her rambling any longer you're going to stab yourself in the eye with your fork. It's a dramatic and petty thought, but definitely not the first time tonight you've entertained it. You don't know what he sees in her. (And it's more than being jealous and bitter, as jealous and bitter as you are). You've seen how she treats him, like she hates him more than anything. It makes your blood boil and your chest tighten.

When you first heard that Daryl had started seeing one of the new residents from Woodbury, you couldn't believe it. It was hard to picture Daryl with anyone, and only harder to accept after seeing how little she cares for his boundaries. Whether it's how she shamelessly flirts with other men or belittles everything he does, it makes you feel ill to just sit by and watch. Never would you accept that Daryl, of all people, would put up with someone like her. At first, you concluded that he's just as lonely and desperate for companionship as the rest of you, but Merle's return made some things click. Daryl was used to this, used to following someone around like a stray animal, lost without guidance. Their dynamic was strained and strange, not unsimilar to how his girlfriend treats him now.

You realised then, with a heavy heart and wet eyes, that Daryl simply didn't believe he deserved better.

You try to bring it up a few times, hopeful he'd open up, even if not to you. Yet each time he only offers a noncommittal grunt, and that would be the end of it. Eventually, you bite your tongue and leave it be. You can lead a horse to water, or something. Who knows, maybe he'll grow and learn from it. You try not to lose sleep over the fact you're powerless to pull him from the cycle of abuse, and life goes on.

The prison falls, and for a while, things aren't easy. It feels like an eternity of pain and suffering, so Alexandria is a much welcomed fresh start, for some. You watch, expression empty, as Daryl follows his girlfriend into a home just for them. Their rocky relationship persists, much to your dismay. Like a cockroach surviving nuclear fallout—annoyingly stubborn.

The group continues to chatter around you as you push some dubious vegetable mash around your plate. The idea was nice, gather everyone up for a social weekend lunch and distract yourself from how uncomfortable things feel in Alexandria. But the constant buzz of conversation and the scrape of cutlery against ceramic makes your skin feel two sizes too small. You feel itchy, agitated, and you're not entirely confident you won't snap at the next person who touches you. Daryl's girlfriend leans against his shoulder as she cackles at something someone says. They're sitting directly across from you, which certainly isn't helping your predicament, and you spend all dinner wondering when you became so pathetic.

Eventually, it becomes too much. Your head and ears feel stuffed with cotton, muffled and heavy, and you barely manage to mutter out a low excuse no one listens to before shoving out of your chair and rushing out the room. The rest of the house is quiet, thankfully, and you rub your arms to try and shoo away the sensation of insects crawling under your skin. Wine bottles catch your eye as you find yourself roaming into the kitchen. The distant chatter still feels too close, and something impulsive urges you to grab a bottle by the neck and take a swig. Whatever fancy shit it is, it's disgusting, but as you try to focus on the taste, the overwhelming hum starts to feel more drowned out with each sip. You remain in the kitchen to let yourself breathe, and drink, for what feels like hours. Although the clock above the fridge tells otherwise. Expectantly, your thoughts drift to Daryl.

By the time you return to the table, dinner is mostly finished as people focus on drinking and letting conversation flow, Daryl looks up as you sit down, the look in his eye has your stomach doing flips. Curiosity, perhaps? Concern? You try not to think about it too much. Daryl's girlfriend makes some snarky remark towards the person next to her, and your prior annoyance is relit. It mixes with your bitterness until you're conjuring up all sorts of bad ideas. You feel like being bold tonight, reckless. To act out and make a mistake. Your eyes flick up to Daryl's face, but he's already staring.

His foot lightly taps the side of yours. It's a small, almost shy action, as if he's asking ‘you okay?’ You give him a small nod in return, empty reassurance. Someone down the table mentions something about dessert, but your mind is elsewhere; the warmth of his leg near yours is painfully distracting. At this point, you're not sure if Daryl being seated across from you is a blessing or a curse. The wine that was once your escape, your sanctuary, now swirls with those bad ideas. Your gaze hovers on the hunter while he's not looking, your body feeling increasingly hotter as you admire his broad shoulders and tanned skin. Your fingers curl against the table cloth, all you want is to get his attention, pull it away from his cruel girlfriend. Thinking about them triggers something in you.

Fuck it.

Daryl's gaze snaps back to yours as he feels the ball of your foot running over his leg. At first, he innocently thinks you just need something, but his expression morphs into confusion as you make a show of ignoring him. Biting back an amused smile, you continue moving your foot up the side of his calf. His eyes flick to his girlfriend, who's not even close to paying attention, as if he's wary she'll suddenly be able to see under the table and know exactly what you're up to. When you slide your foot up higher again, he almost knocks the cutlery off his plate. After finally building the courage to look over, you're enamoured at how he's both glaring back and subtly blushing in a way you've never seen on him. The look in his eye is more like disbelief than irritation, and there's a nervous edge to his posture, like he's not quite sure whether to snap at you, or how to even do so without drawing unwanted attention from everyone.

Still, he doesn't push you away as your foot finally reaches his lap. In fact, the tips of his ears turn red, and his thighs part subconsciously, allowing your foot to instead rest on the seat between. It's such a subtle, submissive action. Now, you definitely can't contain your smirk. Dessert is brought out, although neither of you care. The urge to see how far you can push him grows. Daryl is a stoic man with an amazing poker face, and you're tempted to test it. He glances at you suspiciously through his lashes as your foot remains completely still between his thighs as you turn your attention instead to your plate. You can practically see his mind swirling, and you wouldn't be surprised if he manages to gaslight himself into believing he read everything wrong, that somehow, your intentions are entirely innocent.

Just as he looks like he's relaxing, his shoulders finally untensing and gaze falling to his own dessert, you lightly press your foot against his crotch. this time, he does knock over something, barely catching his wine in time as he chokes in surprise. His girlfriend makes a mocking comment about Daryl being clumsy, and he has the audacity to look frazzled—visibly tensing as if just now remembering that she's sitting next to him, completely oblivious to your little game under the table. But he doesn't even attempt to seem regretful, just bites his lip to swallow back choked grunts as you continue to rub your foot against his growing bulge.

You can't take your eyes off him. Unmasked lust flickers in your gaze as he shivers beneath your foot, shooting you occasional glares that only makes it harder to suppress a wicked grin. This was even more satisfying than you anticipated. His whole reaction, the underlying hints of submission in his eye, the way his jaw clenches and biceps stiffen, it's driving you crazier by the minute. The table full of what has come to be your family remains forgotten around you, and all you can think about is getting him alone.

Reluctantly, you slide your foot away from his hard on, purposefully catching his eye when he looks up. He looks curious yet wary, unsure of what you're plotting. You murmur something about needing the bathroom and rise to your feet, making sure to shoot Daryl a look that tells him exactly what to do.

Upstairs, in the bathroom, you try to focus on counting as your heart hammers in your chest. One minutes… forty seconds…

The door clicks open. Daryl's expression is unreadable as he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You've spent almost 2 minutes imagining all the things you want to do to him, you're beyond being patient. Without hesitation, you pull him into a kiss. The sensation of his lips against yours sends waves of shivers rippling down your shine. Neither of you are thinking about Daryl's clueless girlfriend downstairs as your fingers drift lower, seeking the old leather of his belt. You try not to let your actions seem frantically eager until suddenly he pushes you back against the sink, stealing your focus. While you're momentarily distracted, and without breaking the kiss, he starts sliding your jacket off your shoulders.

You feel warm all over. Mind racing yet somehow empty at the same time. All you can think is him. His scent, his touch. The firmness of his bulge that's pressing against you in an agonisingly teasing way. When you finally pull away to catch your breath, his lips continue downwards, placing tantalising kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, until you feel utterly dizzy.

“You're a fucking tease, ya know that?” He mutters roughly. It's the first thing he's said to you all night, and god, does it send heat to your core in a way that's borderline humiliating. (Everything this man does is sexy, it's not like you can help it).

You want to reply with something witty, equally rile him up, but your brain short circuits as he shoves down your top and takes a nipple into his mouth before you can respond.

“Shit, Daryl–” Clearly, he's not one for wasting time, kissing and biting at your breast like a man starved. You hiss in tender pleasure as his teeth graze over your sensitive skin. It only adds to the heat pooling in your gut. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles, practically thinking aloud. He runs his thumb over your hardened nipples, slow and deliberate, before his hand finds your neck, and he forces you to look up at him. “Gonna fuck ya right here…” His voice is low and raspy, accent slurring the words together more than usual. “That what you want, girl?” It is. God, it is. But you're too mesmerised and overwhelmed and desperate to answer. You just stare up at him with a hypnotised expression.

He seems to catch on to your silent struggle, a small smirk makes its way onto his lips before he spins you around fast enough to make you gasp. Now you're facing the mirror, fully on display, with Daryl's warm body pressing against yours. The contrast between you, and the heat in both your eyes, makes your head swim. He's so broad in comparison. “Gonna let the whole damn group hear ya?” He holds your jaw steady, forcing you to take in the reflection as his free hand starts to work your pants down.

You wanna tell him to hurry, partially because surely someone has noticed how long the two of you have been gone, but mostly because you're achingly desperate for him to finally be inside you. To fill you up like you've secretly been fantasising. Once he discards your pants, he wastes no time sliding his thick fingers through your slick folds, earning a relieved moan from you. He grunts against your ear, “such a dirty little thing...” And the roughness of his voice sends another wave of heat south.

You whimper shamelessly as he pulls away to finally undo his own pants “I know girl, I know.” His reassurance does little to quell your impatience. Finally sliding his hip against yours, the head of his cock catches deliciously against your entrance. At this point, if he doesn't fuck you already–

He interrupts your train of thought by nudging you further against the sink. You're too preoccupied to care about how the edge of the bench digs into your skin. Thankfully, he seems just as needy as you as he doesn’t waste a second, a soft grunt leaving him as he drags your hips down. The stretch is intense, heavenly, you've never felt so full. You bite your bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper into your tight heat, savouring the way you clench around him. You can practically feel every vein, every throb, it’s overwhelmingly good. And judging by the way his breath shudders, he thinks so too.

You're addictive, he's beginning to realise. And fuck, if he isn't in trouble…

The reflection in the mirror catches your eye, and you can't help but admire how good you look tangled together under the dim, almost romantic bathroom light. Daryl's hand slides up to rest just under your breast as he bottoms out, his hips pressing flush against yours. For someone with a girlfriend, his reaction is like he hasn't had pussy in years.

Even as he continues to thrust and pull euphoric gasps from your lips, you can't quite pull your attention away from Daryl's reflection. The dim light accentuates the way his muscles tense and dimple, it catches your breath more than the feeling of him inside you does. He thrusts particularly rough, as if telling you to pay attention, and it shoots an intense, distinct shiver of pure ecstasy up your spine that makes your eyes flutter shut.

Shit. You love him so much. You love him. And it's probably not the best time to realise it, but as you reopen your eyes, all you can focus on is how perfect you look under him.

You place a hand against Daryl's hip, alerting him to stop, and he does, with a small frown. You know what he must be thinking—that you changed your mind halfway through, and suddenly realised how fucked up it is to partake in this affair while his girlfriend is downstairs. You feel him pull back gently, the absence leaving you feeling empty in more ways than one. But before he can say anything, you spin around and throw your arms around his neck to pull him into a searing kiss. It's a little needy and messy, but full of everything you can't say. And as he melts into your arms, you realise that maybe he loves you too.

[linnea-parker]

Shinichiro is a loser begging for pussy

Warnings : Scent Kink, Pussy licking, Oral, Pussy Drunk Shin', Footjob.

Character : Shinichiro Sano [Tokyo Revengers]

I had this draft for a while, I decided to add a few more things to post so it wouldn't be short-

Shinichiro was desperate for a girlfriend, He had been rejected countless times, and it was humiliating to an extreme level to be twenty-one years old and a virgin, Wakasa constantly teased him about it, he just wanted to at least get a glimpse of a girl in his life. His friends decided to give him a little push, a blind date, Wakasa found a girl and told him where they would meet, he agreed, even though he was afraid it wouldn't work out.

At the meeting he was immediately surprised and shy, you had such a confident and dominant posture, very different from him for example, everything went well, you made the conversation flow smoothly, and you even had good things in common, as soon as the meeting ended, Shinichiro was surprised that you invited him to your apartment, his heart felt like it was going to come out of his mouth, anxiety consumed him, as he listened to her proposal, There was just one catch to all of this: He would have to obey everything you said and would be submissive.

Of course he said yes, no matter what would happen there, he would be happy doing whatever you told him to do, the older Sano would do whatever you said.

You accepted Wakasa's proposal out of pure boredom, and after all, it had been a while since you had gone out with someone. Shinichiro was more pathetic and desperate than you had imagined from your friend's description. But it was adorable in a way how desperate he was to please.

All the way to your apartment, his demeanor was anxious and nervous, a shyness mixed in his flushed face, and as soon as you unlocked the door to your place, and Shinichiro felt you grab his hand and pull him to your room, and just enter it, reality hit him, it was the first time he had entered a girl's room other than his sister.

You sat on the edge of the bed in front of him, and he swallowed hard as he blushed, looking away.

_ Get on your knees for me Shin'.. - The voice dripping with sweetness and lust makes him tremble, but he quickly obeys her command, falling to his knees in front of her, his dark eyes looking up and awaiting her commands.

The needy boy focus on you, as his knees go weak and his lower lip trembles, Shinichiro was so excited, would you touch him? Would he be able to see you naked? Could he maybe touch you?

As your soft hands fly to his black hair, a soft moan escapes him as he lets you grab his strands and pull him between your legs. And with his other fingers he watches with anticipation as you unzip your jeans, the white lace panties leaving him completely red. And as your clothes are pushed down, he can catch a glimpse of what a real vagina was, labia, hidden clitoris, and soaking wet, aroused smell from your entrance making him dizzy

_ Stick your tongue out.. that's it.. good boy.. try to lick it slowly.. - Your guidance helps him gather the courage to lean in and run his wet, eager tongue over your liquid-glossed pussy.

He moves his shy mouth over your intimacy in a slightly desperate way. The suffocating smell of your pussy pressing against his face made him feel intoxicated. So this was how it felt ?

_Fuck... Keep it up Shinichiro, and I can cum in that pretty little mouth of yours - At your mention he tries harder, sucking up any sticky arousal that escapes

_P-please.. cum on my face - Shinichiro begs softly, sucking on your clit after pulling the light cover over it with his tongue.

When you calmly move your leg and gently rub your foot against his forgotten erection, he widens his eyes and groans between your spongy walls, making you let out a buzz of pleasure.

Shinichiro grinds his hips against your foot shamelessly, while panting against your pussy, his tongue swirling inexperiencedly inside you. The faint sparks of pleasure running through his cock as its tip presses into your calf.

He was completely drunk on your pussy, the delicious taste, the strong smell, feeling your thighs wrap around his head and his cock leaking precum as he rubbed against you.

Looks like you found a new favorite toy, and it really felt good to use Shinichiro's tongue <3

[r0-boat]

ZZZ Alpha!Von lycaon ramble

Zenless Zone Zero Omegaverse AU

Alpha!Lycaon x Omega gn!reader

Cw: breeding, Omegaverse, knots, no sex but suggestive

If you thought normal heats and ruts were bad then, then you are not ready when a Thiren goes into heat or rut; they are already part animal. It's like those dormant instincts become active once again.

Lycaon doesn't even want to think about ruts; He already has too much on his plate. He can't trust that his rut will come early or not, so he must prepare at the right time. And he cannot afford a day, let alone a week off, other than his regular schedule. It is just easier to take suppressants and or take injections to suppress his Alpha hormones.

He only stopped doing it recently when the medication started getting him sick, And not only his colleagues but his master was telling him how unhealthy it was to constantly keep suppressing ruts.

Von Lycaon is a little insecure with his second gender; He was a very rowdy alpha in his youth, and ever since then he's been on suppressants till recently, apparently his scent is very overwhelming It took him a month before he got used to his own. He also start picking up habits that alpha's usually have He keeps forgetting that humans can pick up how he's feeling based off his scent he still learning to control that. he is very gentle and extremely protective with Omega's.

If there's any Alpha he sees harassing an Omega, he won't hesitate to throttle them, elegantly, of course. He believes that alphas protect, not dominate. Omegas, even betas, come to alphas for protection, even guidance, and any Alpha abusing their authority should be punished.

He had been controlling himself very nicely, Even ruts yes I'll be at very bad in the beginning started to mellow out to become manageable. It was all peaceful till he got into a relationship.

His carefully crafted self-control around his Thiren Alpha instincts carefully built brick by brick, and you just took a sledgehammer and smashed it.

Protective. And fiercely so, The closer he gets to his rut He becomes the more protective he gets as well as some possessiveness. He wants to scent to you so bad, But it's improper for him to just do it in public, but that doesn't stop him from trying to find excuses or trying to find ways around it. Like having you wear his clothing or scenting your clothing, sending you in private "for protection."

He will never admit it out loud of how much he enjoys scenting your things. But he will only do it if you explicitly ask.

It doesn't happen very often but sometimes when you're talking to someone he has a bad vibe with he will act calm as if nothing is bothering him but his thick cocoa vanilla scent is radiating off him telling this person to go away.

When he realized what you were doing to him the realization hit him like a train, Lycaon is extremely afraid that he might lose control and hurt you in some way. He is much taller and stronger than you and you were an unclaimed omega that put your trust and love into him.

He decided to leave you unclaimed. He wants it to be your choice when you are in your right state of mind, not your heat. Even if you ask him, he'll still be hesitant. It's not that he doesn't want to claim you, and trust me, thoughts of sinking his fangs into your neck haunt him from when he wakes up till he goes to sleep. Lycaon look at his fangs in the mirror and try desperately to convince himself that he will hurt you if his control slips for even a moment.

As a wolf thiren they can smell everything, everything, You're in preheat And he's definitely being affected, And he's trying so hard to control it. He's supposed to be a civilized man in high society, and the slightest change in your scent or his hormones close to rut turns him back into a beast. It's not his proudest moment, but he does start being noticeably distant during a few ruts and heats. He tries not to touch you as much. He tries so hard not to be in a room alone with you. It's something that he regrets,

To his Alpha Thiren brain, You're an unclaimed omega, nice small easy prey, perfect mate to knot, perfect mother for pups. and that's all he can think about.

There are two words you must never say to him; one of them is Alpha. Just imagining His omega mouthing those words makes his teeth clench. It's just a word He doesn't know why he gets so worked up when only you alone say it. He doesn't care when others say it.

If he does finally claim you (separate post later ;) ) He picks up the habit of licking your bond mark on the back of your neck every so often.

He can't help but smile a little bit when you try to bite him back, only to get a mouth full of fur and no skin to break. It is very easy for Thirens to mark humans because of their sharper teeth, hence why he was so afraid to mark you in the first place, but it's harder for humans to mark Thirens because some have thicker skin and or fur. If you want to mark them as a human you would have to bite down really hard.

[knnichs]

RISK

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life.

c. kinich x gn!reader

t. childhood friends to lovers, mild violence (abyss attack, but very short,) no use of y/n, cliche tropes YES i know is it really a knnichs work if theres no cliche stuff, wc: 3.4k

merry christmas, @papiliotao !! i was your secret santa 🧑‍🎄 this is a bit lengthy but i do hope you like it 🧡

Kinich certainly isn’t the type to befriend others.

Not unless it was something formed out of a transaction–or a commission. In this case, his friendship with Mualani was only formed because she was looking for a battle advisor to train Kachina against the wilderness, she said. In the end, he had grown rather fond of them, and gained two new acquaintances that day.

Outside of that, Kinich doesn’t exactly recall when he befriended other people. Sometimes a few people would pass by him while he walked around the tribe and greet him, it is quite embarrassing to say that he doesn’t remember half of their names, if they had never become one of his clients.

You, on the other hand, haven't disappeared from his mind a single day ever since middle school.

BEFORE THE NIGHT FALLS

He remembered the exact moment he got to know you. When his parents had left him as a kid, Kinich went to find a place to live and settle down as he did his work. He had just found shelter in the Scions of the Canopy, and under Elder Liek’s guidance, he was to go to school. Even if he hesitated, he was eventually forced to, the Elder wouldn’t let him help out around the tribe without it. There, he learnt about heroes and their morals–I mean, he questioned it: why would they do something when they wouldn’t profit from it?

In those classes, the other kids would make fun of him. Point at his ragged clothing made out of animal-skin, comment on his dirty feet, since he was always barefoot. You, always his knight in shining armor, called out their behavior and told them that they weren’t being nice. 

Truly a reason of all time, he thinks. Those kids would surely quit their teasing simply because they weren’t being nice.

But he appreciated the gesture. You stood in front of him–arms on your hips, you were determined to drive them away so they could stop picking on people smaller than them. He just looked up at you, (with what he hoped it wasn't a blank expression) curious why you decided to defend someone like him. He had nothing to offer you–he had no mora, no luxurious items. So, why? 

He wanted to ask you before the day ended. Following your footsteps until you were in the middle of the bridge. From there, you would learn his name was Kinich, and he would know what yours was (along with the reason why you decided to ‘protect’ him from that group of kids.) From there, you two would grow quite fond of each other over the years.

He knew he had always adored your kindness, even if it was towards people you barely knew–you somehow always managed to bring a smile to their face and a full heart to come home with. Once, he saw you help a crying child find their play sword–you knew nothing of her, aside from her name, of course.  You found that their sword was thrown all the way down to the river below, it was far from saving–the wood was scratched and torn into halves. So, ‘as any normal human being would do’ (in your words,) you spent the next few hours creating a makeshift sword for them, one that had star stickers and a ribbon wrapped around its handle. 

The kid came home happy to their parents, of course. Boasting about how wonderfully made their new wooden sword was and how this was the first step for them to join the pilgrimage. Her parents only shared a look that was saying ‘thank you.’ You simply smiled and waved, leaving them to enter their home as the kid rushed inside. 

That was all you got, simple two words anyone can utter, and you were happy. You didn’t get mora, you didn’t get any sweets, nor did you get any special treatment. Thank you, it was all you’re going to get for something you spent hours on.

It would be a lie not to say Kinich wasn’t puzzled by your behavior. Somehow, even after he had long graduated from Elder Liek’s class he doesn’t understand. Why do you do these things for free? If that were him, he would have charged them an enough amount of mora just because the work took hours already.

Later on, he would realize you did this simply because you think some things in this world are worth doing–no matter how much it would cost you. And a few years after, just before the next pilgrimage, there was an abyss ambush that almost ended with you hurt.

The sky was dark with a purple fog sabotaging your vision. The smell of smoke from a fire slowly starting to grow, its ashes filled your lungs and burned your eyes. You take another shirt and ran—ran from your home, and the tribe. 

Kinich was away at the time, blissfully unaware of the attack until it was already resolved. He doesn’t quite recall what he was doing before it. All he remembers is the feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach as he heard the fellow tribespeople say you were missing. Had a rifthound laid its claws on you? Where were you?

He would grapple across the forest, letting the branches scratch his skin as he travels, his heart rate increasing at the thought of you getting trapped, wounded—or dead, even. He can’t let that happen, not when he hasn’t told you everything.

Thankfully, he found you seeking refuge in a cave nearby. A few saurians found their way in your arms, a baby yumkasaur fast asleep on your lap.

“Are you hurt?” Kinich steps towards you, observing you quite intently for any injuries you may have gotten. You shake your head, petting the yumkasaur on its head. 

He finds a spot beside you, slouching as he can finally relax, at least a little. He still has to help out later with the damages. Fix a few tents that were broken, check up on the other tribespeople—but you were his top priority.

“I’m fine. Are you seeing this little guy? So. Cute.” You say, only sparing him a glance in his direction before focusing on that yumkasaur once again.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Cute.” 

FEAR

His friend group which consisted of only two people (excluding the dragon he carries around,) were only Mualani and Kachina. Those two were the only ones who truly understood Kinich’s method of maneuvering around the battlefield, pricing commissions, haggling–really, a few tricks in the book he has, they know about it. You’re no fighter, nor are you an errand person, you don’t know how to do any of these, so seeing Kinich do it himself may be surprising enough for you–but it’s really something he does normally.

You do know how Kinich thinks. How the little gears in his brain move, the quick shift in expression before it turns back to his resting face, how he truly feels in each situation–you’ve learnt how to read him. It may just be because you have good observational skills (which he dreads, for multiple reasons) or the two of you have spent enough time with each other to know what the other is feeling with a single glance, either way, Kinich isn’t as comfortable with it.

You can read how he felt, and he’s never felt that vulnerable in his entire life. He felt like no matter how much he tried to run from you, somehow–there's always a somehow with you–he still can’t hide anything from your ‘prying’ gaze. You know what makes him tick, what makes him smile, to the point that he wonders if you know how he truly felt about you. 

If you can read minds (and gods, Kinich hopes you can’t,) he wonders if you’ve already heard of the things he mutters to the moon at night, and the sun at day. Have you heard of the sacred promises he keeps close to his heart? That he would guard you until his dying breath? That under the moonlight, there was nothing he would wish for more than your presence beside him. Grounding the poor boy's heart in the moment only you two share. 

If you somehow have the power to look at someone's past memories, would you see the times he would pick up the guitar collecting dust in the corner of his room, play a cheesy love song from years ago and hum along to the tune thinking of you? There are far too many times he somehow finds a way to make a situation about you. It could be when he’s about to bungee jump, he finds himself tightening the harness a little more because he knows you wouldn’t want to live in a world without him. A few times when he’d go on commissions and look at the flowers, sit on the top of the cliff and watch as the sun set thinking how much more magical the moment would be if you saw this with him. Would you think it was pretty? How would the sun’s rays reflect on your eyes? Will it glow the same bright color that you bring to his monochrome world?

Sa isang munting harana, para sa’yo.

This meager serenade, just for you.

He can’t offer you anything. Nothing but his entire soul—his vow, to protect you, no matter the cost. Even as he bears the name Malipo, just a smile coming from you would already be more than enough for him.

And maybe someday, one day, he would have the courage to tell you the truth he’d been hiding all these years.

‘PRESENT’ TIME

“Kachina, there’s a few stockings on that table over there. Could you get it for me?” Mualani sat atop a chair, trying to hang decorations for your group’s Christmas party. It's not anything big, it wasn't meant to be that extravagant. All of you would just celebrate the holiday as it was, like what you did every year. 

The fireplace burned through the night, its flames becoming the main lighting of the room. It was bright enough for Mualani to see what she was doing exactly, and warm enough that it felt like a normal sunny day in Natlan. It was often cold during the winter, and although it doesn’t snow, the temperature does drop a little colder than usual.

“Here you go!” The girl handed four stockings–all personalized with your names embroidered on them. In green was Kinich’s name, yellow for Kachina, blue for Mualani’s, and yours in purple. With that in mind, you noticed a light green line of thread that resembled half a shape–curved at the top, and straight at the bottom. Kachina had a few sparkles on hers, and Mualani had the shape of a shark. You shake off the detail, deeming it unnecessary anyway.

Mualani gave her thanks and hung up the stockings all in order–her’s, Kachina’s, Kinich’s, and yours.

“This place is definitely starting to look lively. How much time do we have left until midnight?” You asked, sitting down on the world’s comfiest couch. 

“About an hour, we still have time to set up the bonfire outside too.” Kinich looked at the clock–it's frames decorated with reindeer antlers and a small yellow bell. You smiled at him, whispering a small thank you, and looking back at Mualani (who you were quite worried about, since you’re sure she might fall over the chair at any point.) Kachina was also quite occupied, scouring the place to find… something. 

After a bit more adjusting–the stockings were set up, the cookies are almost done, a few dishes have been spread out on the table already, and the marshmallows are just on the table. Perfect, there was just one more thing left.

“Shoot. Hey, uh, can you and Kinich go get the fairy lights? It’s by Altahua’s net.” She climbed down from the chair and faced you, “You know her, right? Yelafath?” 

“Sure do, I’ll just leave my bag here–watch over my stuff!” You say, placing your belongings by the place you sat on the couch. “Kinich, let's go?”

Outside, it was much, much colder than usual. The wind blowing accompanied by the amount of water that was near the tribe was enough to make you shiver. You and the boy made your way to the shop, you’ve only conversed with Yelafath maybe two or three times? But so long as you mention Mualani’s name, you’re sure that it’ll go okay. You rubbed your hands together and brought them to your mouth, huffing it in hopes that it'll magically turn warm. Hearing the sounds of clothes shuffling, you turn to your side and see Kinich already handing his jacket to you. 

“Quick, before Ajaw gets sick of being locked up,” He muttered. 

“Afraid he’ll tease you? Oh, what a softie you’ve become!” 

“Just take it.” He stands behind you, stretching out the fabric to make it easier for you to slip right in. You were getting warm because of the jacket, it definitely wasn’t because of him.

And it all falls back to silence once again. Save for the sounds of waves crashing and the occasional gust of wind. You don’t mind the quiet, actually, and Kinich wasn’t the type to keep on talking all the time either–preferring to be blunt and straightforward. But this is different, it wasn’t because he had ended a conversation too early that you don’t know what to say so it would continue, because you loved hearing his voice, you loved hearing him talk whatever was on his mind. His attitude towards it sometimes made you upset, feeling a little distant with him every time it happened, but you do know it was just the way he does things. The quiet that falls upon the two of you is comfortable.

All of it has to come to an end, eventually finding the shop. You hopped to the counter, calling for the girl who was arranging things in the crates.

“Evening, Yelafath! Mualani mentioned that she had fairy lights with you?” 

“Fairy lights? Oh, I don’t think she gave me any, sorry.” She looks around the shop, looking for something to give you, but shrugs instead. “I wish I could give you something similar, but we have nothing, we’re also closing for the day.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. Thank you, and merry christmas! I’ll just tell her.” You smiled, giving her a wave. Kinich simply nodded, crossing his arms and following you behind. She greeted you back, and you faced the house once more, the lights of the shop behind you dimming before turning off–leaving you and Kinich in the complete darkness of the night. Some stalls were still open, the only few things really illuminating your way were the lamp posts and lanterns scattered across the platforms. 

“Where will we celebrate the next Christmas?” You shuffle with the jacket again, raising the sleeves upwards to bring your hand out. The stars were so bright with the mix of blue and purple from the galaxies above, 

“It’s our turn next year, we’ll be the ones hosting it. I hope you’re not sick of me yet,” He chuckles–albeit quite softly. It’s rare to hear him laugh let alone smile with or to other people. But with you, oh, everything is just so easy with you. He can always let his guard down without any fear of you trying to make fun of him. Even on days when he comes to you battered and bruised from a particularly rough commission, you take the time out of your day to care for him. To treat his wounds, focusing your attention on him that he shies away from your touch, insisting that you were doing too much and it could heal on its own. 

One step after the other, letting the salt air brush against you. 

And it once again, falls into silence. 

Ajaw does come into the picture once more after his 15 minute jail time was lifted, and thankfully fills the air with random and the most unnecessary comments.

You ring the doorbell to the house, tapping your feet impatiently in a not-so-coordinated rhythm while waiting for anyone to answer the door. 

“Mualani, Kachina–” you shout, “HELLO? The lights are on, I know you guys are in there!”  

“Seems like your so-called friends abandoned you two. How long until something goes wrong? Oh, I can already smell it! I, K’uhul Ajaw, will ensure that this world will know exactly what loneliness feels like, starting with you two!”

Your arms lay slack on your sides, breathing a heavy sigh. You knock again, one more, twice–until you just start slamming your fist on the door calling them repeatedly. You shiver from the cold wind and eventually give up. Backing away to face your friend, who was unusually, still quiet. 

“Kinich?” You say his name, ever so soft. His eyes dared not to look at you, in fear of showing exactly what he shoved deep down in his chest for the past few years you two knew each other.

“Ew, that’s gross! Don’t give him those lovey-dovey eyes! You’ll give him ideas, you hear me?! Quit that, you’re both so annoying!” Ajaw says, all while retching, “You know what? You’re both insufferable. I’m leaving!”

Some part of Kinich does wonder what exactly needed to happen for you to fall with him. He deemed it unlikely for three years now, saying that you couldn’t possibly. Not with someone like him–blood stained on his hands for his entire life, not for someone with rough, calloused hands that can expertly wield a claymore. Kinich has never felt something as delicate and gentle as you. The moment you tried to defend him from those immature kids–he knew. You would never hurt him, not once in a million lifetimes. With your gentle soul? You were filled with nothing but kindness and innocent hope. You were that glimmer of light he needed in his darkest time, the feeling he needed in his chest to keep going forward–to keep fighting, all for your smile.

Your eyes dart to where he was looking at, curious enough to ask yourself what exactly has him so speechless at the moment.

Oh.

Oh.

A cheap wreath with that familiar red bow, and the two of you just happen to be standing just right under it.

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will take it. He will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life, and hold it tightly, sure not to let it go.

Being in his arms was nothing new, he’s done this several times as a way to comfort you when you were down, or vice versa. This, however, is different. As if an orchestra directed a symphony of a familiar and comforting tune–one that he used to hum you to sleep during those restless nights. As if you were brought back to the times you sat with him under the starry sky, pointing at bright white dots. The universe is vast and magical, and somehow, somehow, it gave him you. The only sun he ever needed in his bleary sky, the only drops of rain he needed on a hot day, the gust of wind during humid afternoons, the flower that bloomed through the cracks of the concrete. 

He pulls away. Gently, he repeats in his mind, this was a high-risk situation. 

But for you, he would gladly take it.

Kinich looks at you, worry filling his heart–is this the right choice? Even with this amount of hesitation, he pushes through. No matter the outcome, he will live knowing he had you at least once in his life. Gods, you looked angelic. The lampost from the porch illuminates you in a warm orange–exactly the color you had filled his monochrome world with. He brings a hand to your chin, tilting it upwards, muttering only two simple words.

“Can I?” 

“I told ya it’d work,” Mualani said, proudly huffing as Kachina hides in the corner of the room in embarrassment. “Now, I’ll be taking my mora from the traveller right after this. Not a word, Kachina, got it?”

She only nods in agreement.

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

HI REI! merry merry MERRY christmas <3 i had so much fun writing this & i hope that u liked it as much as i did ! :D you’re such a kind n awesome person i hope i managed to incorporate some similarities between u and the “y/n” of the fic cause i wanted to make it as self indulgent for u as possible BWAHDHAJHA IF THAT EVEN MAKES SENSE!! im glad i got to be close w u these past few month(s) & i hope we continue to get closer!!

[scribbledghost]

Hi!!! I just want to say i am obsessed with your work!! I love all the polyvessels fics ahd the headcanons about each vessel!! I was wondering if you are open to this particular idea i have for vessel and reader.

What if vessel has to go away for a bit for whatever reason (maybe sleep sends him on some kind of mission or he goes in search of something, I'll leave that bit up to you) and reader is super upset and misses him so bad. And when vessel finally comes back to the manor, reader runs into his arms and is so happy he's home but at the same time is like, "What took you so long? I was worried sick!" And there's so much cuddles and kisses and clinging to each other. I would LOVE to read something like that.

Thanks for all that you do!!

Note: are you kidding reunion tropes are some of my favorite I am SO down for this. Also, side note: how we feelin' about Even in Arcadia my dears?

He has been gone for too long.

Sleep had tasked him with a journey, something that would take him far beyond the boundaries of the manor and far from the rest of the vessels.

Far from you.

His travels took him away from the forest, but not beyond its borders. Another pocket in reality, much the same as where the manor resided. However, this one was larger, filled with various chasms, waterfalls, and buildings.

Sleep told him it that was named "Arcadia". That, despite its massive size and structures, there were no people. Only echoes of war between soldiers and creatures long gone.

Vessel's task had been to go and tend to the few nonhuman residents that remained: the flowers and the flamingos. Chief among the latter being a large black flamingo with pink eyes that commandeered the place.

It had taken him longer than expected - at least, that's the impression he was under. Time seemed to work differently in Arcadia than it did in the manor; it seemed less linear. Night would fade into day, only for it to return to night in a matter of minutes, and vice versa. The light seemed to simply change based on what was beneficial to those who were present there.

Through his time in Arcadia, he found himself disquieted by... well, the quiet. His thoughts were solely his own, only sometimes accompanied by Sleep itself giving him guidance or reassurances that you and the others were still well. He desperately missed the background noise of having the connection between himself and the other inhabitants of the manor.

But his mission has been completed. The vegetation is healthy, as are the birds. Sleep informs him that it is time for him to return home, and Vessel is all too eager to comply.

As soon as he steps foot back onto the manor grounds, he feels the shift in the others. He can feel that they sense his presence, and his chest constricts with affection as he senses their elation at his return.

And, as fate would have it, it is you that finds him first.

You run to him, nearly knocking him over as you crash into him. Your arms envelop him in a constricting hold, though the pressure matters little to him as he reciprocates.

"Where have you been!?" you say, no anger to your voice. "I was worried sick!"

"I apologize, beloved," Vessel says softly. "Unfortunately my tenure in Arcadia lasted longer than I had anticipated."

"Yeah, no kidding," you say with a laugh. You pull away from him slightly, just far enough for you to move your hands to his jaw as you bring him in for a kiss.

The others find him (and you) not long after, joining in the embrace until there is one large circle of them on the manor lawn. III has extended his arms to wrap around the entire group, further squeezing the five of you together.

As the day extends on later, the others make many inquiries as to his time away. He hides nothing from them - he has no reason to - instead choosing to answer as best as he is able. Through it all, you are tucked into his side. The two of you cling to each other, grateful for his safe return.

That night, as all of you pile into the same large bed, Vessel shares quiet conversation with you once the others fall asleep.

"Words cannot describe how much I missed you, my heart," he whispers in the dark. "Had it not been for Sleep's reassurances that you were alright, I don't know how I could have managed."

"We worried about you, too," you reply. "Sleep kept telling us you were okay, but you were gone so long..."

"I know. It was not my intention. I simply kept finding things that needed to be uncovered and tended to before I could return."

"I understand. Still, I'm really glad you're home."

"As am I, my love."

Vessel kisses you again, drawing you close to him among the resting bodies of the others. Daylight will find the two of you still entwined, with neither of you making any move to change that.

[seneon]

ESCORT ──── shinji hirako x fem! reader. ib chase atlantic's escort. fluff + mentions of alcohol. wc of 600+

thinking about captain shinji hirako who would most definitely bribe or pay or do whatever it takes just to have you in the fifth division. he'd be so desperate about it, even go on his knees just to recruit you into the squad that he takes charge of. and for what reason?

the mere sole reason that you miraculously stole the heart of the captain while he came down to shin’o academy to demonstrate kenjutsu for the students. you just so happened to be one of the students that the hirako had to personally teach.

as beautiful as you can be and as bright your smile can shine, it only took a few hours for the blond-haired male to fall under your spell. but you never even put a spell on him in the first place. all you did was breathe, exist, and learn as shinji teaches.

as pathetic as the man can be, he doesn't ever show it. in fact, he does the opposite. he'd go all “oh look. it's the student girl whom i taught that sucks at swordsmanship.” like bro you did not just get on your knees to beg yamamoto to put the ‘student girl’ in your division…

he wants you to work for him and be under his wing, so he watch whatever you do. even better if he's seeing you make such a drastic change and progress ever since your academy days. not that he's a weirdo captain or anything that fancies a student of his, but your ages weren't that much of a difference. in fact, shinji is the one who ended up becoming a captain at such a young and admirable age.

“i can give you love for free, y/n…” shinji said during one messy night where the word sober left his vocabulary. all on his mind are fuzzy images of you.

“trust me, sir, she'd appreciate your love one hundred percent,” a voice said as they took away the bottle of sake in their captain's hands. the man simply looked up at the figure and looked back down, snuggling his drunken face into his arms. “you're kinda... pretty.. not any more beautiful than y/n though.”

“woah sir, thanks for the compliment. i honestly agree too, she's very cute, captain.”

the hirako glared at his subordinate who's helping him get up from the table so he can finally leave the pub with some guidance from someone of his barracks. “you keep her name outta your mouth, pink!”

“it's punk, sir. not pink.”

“shut up. only y/n can tell me what's right or wrong,” shinji's head wobbled just as his division member sighed and draped his long arms around their shoulders. they were oddly smaller than the fifth division captain.

“come on, captain. time to go home. y/n wishes that you return home safely.”

the voice of his subordinate is gentle and soft, so similar to his crush’s voice. he couldn't even tell what is going on right now, but he just lets his subordinate escort him home, not really in the correct state to think of anything else. although, his squad member uttering the name y/n made him all sweets and butterflies on the inside.

after such a night, the man wakes up in a frenzy, struggling to remember whatever happened last night and however in the world he ends up in his soft comfy futon without ever remembering how he got back into his bed.

he stares at a bone china vase for a few good minutes, attempting to search and dig for anything that has been buried by the headache that he currently has. but the more he stared at the reflection of the vase, the more he caught something at the corner of his eyes.

shinji shot his head at the few bags of items that laid beside his futon, a note of instructions on the items written down. he knows this writing. he out of anyone would've recognised this immediately. it belonged to you.

then a flash of memories became visible in his vision.

“THAT WAS Y/N?!?!?”

note. requested by @imaginingbleach. tumblr murdered me on the inside when i lost your request ask... i'll write an aizen piece soon trust

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[little-diable]

Kinktober 6 - Carlisle Cullen

Finally time for the next Kinktober drabble! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🖤 Priest 🖤

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, talks of sinning

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader (800 words)

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

header by my love @theanythingbuthuman

"I barely remember the last time I’ve seen you here, (y/n).” His voice was soft, calling to her like it did in her dreams. Sinful dreams that would leave her gasping for air as she woke with sweat pearling on her forehead. 

“I am sorry, father. I fear I’ve lost my trust in His guidance.” She didn’t dare look at the man, the priest she had known for years on end by now. Father Cullen had joined the church when she had been a teenager, forcing her to develop a heavy crush on the man who had always looked at her with those golden eyes that perfectly matched his fair contrast. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He sat down on the wooden bench next to her, gaze focused on the altar he had stood behind for the morning service. With his hands interlocked in his lap, the priest allowed (y/n) to think over her choices for a moment, wondering how much she could tell the man without being judged.

“There isn’t much to say. I’ve strayed from my path and now I can’t find my way back. But this is on me, I doubt anybody can help me.” (Y/n) dared to shoot him a quick look, admiring his handsome side profile before looking away again. Her breath hitched in her chest as he reached for her hand, holding onto her with a strong grasp that managed to momentarily ground her. 

“I am always here for you, (y/n). I’d like to listen, but perhaps this place isn’t what you need at the moment. Why don’t you come by and visit me at home tonight, and we can talk about whatever it is that keeps you distracted?”

……

Perhaps she should have known that the second she’d cross the threshold of his home, she’d lose all sanity. Her body had been guided by some higher power she couldn’t understand. And now, as she found herself with her back pressed against the mattress and her fingers tugging on the cross necklace dangling from his neck, she couldn’t even remember how she had ended up here - tangled in the sheets of the priest she had been crushing on.

“Keep your eyes on me, love. Darkness has no power over you here.” His voice didn’t tremble, it didn’t even drip with any emotions besides the clear lust thumping through his veins. (Y/n)’s thoughts were silenced, merely focused on the handsome priest who was about to fuck her after years of teasing her.

“Father, please, let me feel you.” Her desperate words hallowed through the room, filling a momentary silence. The priest didn’t reply, at least not with any words, all he did was finally push into her, forcing her body to welcome him. A blinding sensation buzzed through (y/n), leaving her trembling while he began to build a toe curling rhythm. 

Her thoughts were racing, reminding her of the sin she was committing, offering her body to a man of God, forcing Priest Cullen into darkness's open arms. But she couldn’t pull back, she couldn’t find it in herself to care as he fucked her harder and faster with every shaky inhale of air. 

“No word of God will ever be able to teach you about a sensation so strong, but it’s a proof of His love. He knows you were made to find me.” The priest’s words reassured (y/n)'s racing thoughts, finding hope in his guidance while he fucked her closer towards the edge. With their eyes holding contact, he dipped his head down, kissing her softly almost. 

One of her hands tugged on his golden roots while the other found her pulsing bundle. She was desperate to let go, to choke on his name as he fucked her through her high. A high that followed moments later, pushing her into the soaring waves of her orgasm. 

Gasps and moans ripped through (y/n), sounds that rang in his ears while pride simmered inside of Father Cullen’s stomach. His hips kept snapping against hers, burying his cock inside of her again and again before following her down the edge with a groan of his. 

“Are you sure I won’t be punished for sinning yet again?” (Y/n)’s whispers filled the room as he laid down next to her, pulling her against his side before pressing a kiss to her hairline. 

“You won’t, because I am a servant of Him, and He trusts my actions as much as I trust His guidance.”

[yuoimia]

I GUESS IT WAS UNAVOIDABLE

summary: turns out you got a cold - not to worry, your boyfriend is here!

characters: alhaitham, diluc, kazuha, wanderer.

notes: new year, new theme. wc: 1.2k total, gn! reader, petnames, angsty in diluc but it fades into fluff, thought i was real funny in wanderer’s, you’re sick.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

alhaitham

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You shoot him a stern look alongside your words, taking a generous sip of the warm honey water swirling in your favourite mug. Its comforting warmth immediately eases the sharp pain in your throat down to a low throb, as its aftertaste proves sweeter than the concoction yesterday night.

Alhaitham assesses you from the foot of your shared bed, his face a mixture of contemplative, exasperated, and amused. How rare, your predicament must be concerning enough to expand Alhaitham's devastatingly frugal palette of emotions. What an honour.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he mutters, letting out an exasperated sigh. “It’s up to your interpretation of how I look at you, actually.”

Despite his sharp tongue and the knowledge that he’s pickpocketed this debate, leaving you nothing but suffocating gloom, the anxious face staring upon yours shows nothing but genuine worry.

“Your fever is easing,” Alhaitham notes, his voice trailing off as he watches your body shake from a particularly violent cough. “Although, I strongly suggest that you go back to sleep.”

If the cold hadn’t snatched your usual, more energised self, leaving this crippling state equivalent to lying on your deathbed (it really wasn't), then you wouldn’t have second’s hesitation in replying with a sharp response contrasting whatever Alhaitham just said.

But right now, with the decorative array of warm lights illuminating the room, it casts a spell on your tired senses as the slow song of sleep cradles you away.

diluc

No amount of your most persuasive chants is able to coax that stupid idea away from him.

Dawn Winery was one of the many sponsors for Monstadt’s annual winter markets, an exquisite yearly event composing of streets after streets lined with cosy stalls lit with soft fairy lights, late nights sprinkled with the frosty taste of freshly fallen snow as everyone stayed up as late as the moon’s guidance, laughter and cheer dancing through the night.

Wasn’t it only obvious that the stall’s demand was going to skyrocket?

Wasn’t it obvious that you would think of assisting, even if it led to seeing the cracks of dawn?

That’s what you argued earlier, about twenty minutes ago, as if you were more concerned with his rationality than your spiralling fatigue. Which, to be frank, you were.

His hand was intertwined with yours, desperately tight, strong like the gaze falling from those eyes, rimmed with the reasoning for empty tissue boxes. Those hands were squeezing an ailment into the emptiness of your veins, leaving his desolate. And that’s when you snapped. How could he give it his all if he gave it all away?

Even when you cried, even when you yelled, even when you were on the verge of giving up, Diluc never once faltered; he adapted each time to defy what gnawed you, and perhaps he will go with these silent battles to win the golden hope restorative for you both.

Midnight. That same hand clambers up, searching for yours, finally finding it and squeezing it once, for you. Only this time you squeeze it back, twice.

kazuha

Those lacy curtains awaken a myriad of joyous senses, the strengthening sunshine warmly caressing the surface of your skin, leaving a glistening glow, while the tickling breeze drifts away the last of your drowsiness through the window.

What a beautiful day, you notice as you stretch the aching muscles in your neck and shoulders. The simple sight of sunshine releases a blossoming feeling of positivity that is likely going to be engraved into the roots of your day.

As you finish up with the basic stretches and shuffle on to tackle your shared bed, taking the covers in hand and connecting them to their respective corners, something on your bedside table catches your eye.

You were mere thoughts away from the impending decision to investigate, and this part you’d like to blame Kazuha for his chosen timing to start prepping breakfast.

Not just any typical breakfast, you might add. Your favourite.

It’s instantly recognisable from the first delicate wafts seeping into the bedroom. And it’s not exactly an exaggeration when you admit that your body and mind halted. Completely ceased, flabbergasted personified.

That peculiar guest on your nightstand was all forgotten the moment you stepped foot into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sunshine,” a particular poet smiles over as you take a seat opposite the counter.

“Feeling better? I left the last of your cough medication on your bedside table so you’d remember to take it.”

He passes the plate, the masterpiece of the morning by far, almost too perfect to eat.. but then it all comes flooding in. Starting off with a few waves in the form of muffled words, and then the tsunami hits, the biggest wave, the recollection of memories.

"Ah..." is all you reply with.

Kazuha lets out a good-natured chuckle, subtly surveying you as he does. “Well, it doesn’t look like you need it, anyway.”

wanderer

One of the most eminent traits about your boyfriend was his determination—no, stubbornness—when it came to things that really shouldn’t concern him, especially if they sincerely nettled him so much. So simple that it confounded you why it never occurred to him to try and mind his own business for once. You frequently muttered under your breath how his behaviour reminded you of some toxic grandma living down the street.

Additionally, he should consider that you’re a human. A human who experienced things every other human did, for example, colds. Inevitable and terrible, but everyone had them.

Therefore, he shouldn’t treat it too seriously.

Yet here he is, sleeping in the same bed, under the same covers, just a ghost of a touch away. Promptly declining your polite request that he should spend the night in the spare bedroom as you felt particularly sniffly and probably needed a tissue permanently attached to your nose for the night.

Sleep was playing an eternal game of tag, teasing you. You don’t know what time it is, but it must be late. You’ve finished many seasons of your delusional scenarios and are now left bare of anything to entertain until dreams pulled you into its whirlpools.

The rims of your eyes water as you attempt to hold in that itching cough, blinking the tears back, but it felt like a million deluxe feathers each performing acrobatics in your throat.

“You should probably let out that cough. You’re starting to look like you’re having a breakdown.”

With more strength than anticipated, you snap to face him, but not after letting out that wheezing cough that more or less rearranges your skeletal structure. His pretty face nodding sombrely into yours.

“I’m fine,” you burst.

“And I’m the Dendro Archon,” he acknowledged, passing you a tissue. “Have you not slept at all?”

“It’s playing a game of tag,” you sniff, with a tone that conveyed, you’re not going to get it.

“Just run faster,” he recommended, pulling you into his chest before you even have the chance to process what he just said.

[purplewitch6666]

Rhysand's SA of Feyre UTM is real, and the way it is brushed aside is hard to reconcile. So let's talk about it (inspired by an amazing fanart of Feysand UTM).

1. "Drink, you'll need it." "No." "Drink."

The faerie wine is a way to control Feyre, stripping her of her ability to resist or even fully remember the SA she endures. By forcing her to drink against her will, Rhysand takes away her awareness and her consent, putting her in a position where she can't defend herself, can't remember, and can't even process the trauma of what is happening to her. The fact that she loses entire chunks of time under the influence of the wine, along with his mind manipulation, is incredibly dark. He exploits her vulnerability in the worst possible way, taking advantage of her defenseless state to make her an object of display and control.

And the blackouts likely make it easier for her to excuse his actions later because she can't fully recall the details—her memories of the abuse are fragmented, which makes it hard for her to confront the reality of what happened. By removing her memories of the trauma, Rhysand essentially robs her of the ability to even begin healing from it, which is both abusive and manipulative on a profound level. That line where Feyre admits to looking forward to the faerie wine is heartbreaking and reveals the depth of her trauma and desperation. She's so overwhelmed, so physically and mentally trapped UTM, that she starts viewing the wine as a reprieve.

When Feyre clings to the chance of escape, even if it means blackout oblivion, it's clear she's developed a trauma response—a desperate coping mechanism to endure her circumstances. She craves that brief numbness, however forced, to escape the horror of her reality, even though the wine also strips her of her autonomy and memories. This moment does not show her acceptance of what is happening to her, but rather how deeply damaged Feyre is, to the point where the very thing that is hurting her becomes something she grasps onto for a sense of relief.

She's left with only the tools of her abuser, clinging to the one thing that allows her to survive, even if it means blacking out parts of herself. And that's one of the saddest aspects—she's forced to use the very method of her exploitation as her survival mechanism, and it reveals how utterly trapped she feels. It's incredibly troubling to see this suffering reframed as some sort of prelude to romance, especially when her trauma responses, like craving the oblivion of the wine, go unaddressed later.

2. "From the neck down, I was a heathen god's plaything."

Dressing her up like that is another layer of control and degradation. Rhysand doesn't just make her a spectacle, he strips away her agency and autonomy in how she presents herself, reducing her to an object—"a heathen god's plaything." It is a costume designed to sexualize and dehumanize her, reinforcing his control while robbing her of any in how she looks or is perceived. Feyre is reduced to a pawn in his game, forced into a role where her dignity is actively stripped away. And that lack of choice over her appearance isn't a small detail—it shows how calculated his cruelty is, how every element is crafted to control and humiliate her while leaving her feeling exposed, objectified, and powerless.

Fast-forward to the Court of Nightmares, and it's disturbing to see Feyre wear a similar costume with Rhysand's approval and guidance. In ACOMAF, it's framed as Feyre's choice, as part of a scheme they're in together, but the undertone is still there—that her body, her appearance, and her sense of self are manipulated to play into Rhysand's strategy. While she consents this time, her "consent" is given within a framework that echoes her previous trauma, with Rhysand guiding her actions in a place where she once felt utterly degraded. This creates a troubling dynamic, as she's stepping back into a role of objectification and sexualization, one she didn't initially choose. It's like Feyre is reenacting her trauma in the name of strategy, and Rhysand, rather than considering the impact of such an act, almost seems to encourage it.

The narrative attempts to pass this off as empowering, but it feels unsettlingly manipulative. Feyre is using her own trauma against herself in a sense, allowing herself to be dressed up, touched, and paraded in a way that directly mirrors her exploitation UTM. Rhysand's involvement in this scheme blurs the line between a partnership and a twisted repetition of his control over her. What's especially disquieting is that it’s framed as something clever, as if allowing herself to be objectified is her best option, which glosses over the ways this echoes her previous abuse. The lack of self-reflection or deeper acknowledgment from Rhysand about how disturbing this could be for her is another glaring omission. It's treated as if the past doesn't matter, as if she can simply step back into this role and play along.

3. "As soon as his finger left my skin, the paint fixed itself."

Rhysand deliberately puts Feyre in degrading positions, like having her sit on his lap or by his feet, dance between his legs, turning her into a kind of possession to flaunt in front of everyone. That sort of physical control and forced closeness is a form of SA, plain and simple, and it is deeply violating for Feyre. But let's talk about the non-consensual touching that Rhysand engages in that is frequently excused because it is on Feyre's waist and sides. Let's look at this scene when Rhysand demonstrates how the magical ink on Feyre's body works:

I braced myself as he ran a finger along my shoulder, smearing the paint. As soon as his finger left my skin, the paint fixed itself, returning the design to its original form. "The dress itself won’t mar it, and neither will your movements," he said, his face close to mine. His teeth were far too near to my throat. "And I’ll remember precisely where my hands have been. But if anyone else touches you—let’s say a certain High Lord who enjoys springtime—I’ll know."

What is particularly alarming about this is Rhysand's ability to fix the ink that he smudges with ease. This suggests that he might be touching Feyre anywhere on her body without leaving a trace, only choosing to smear the ink in a way that is minimal and non-incriminating as a deliberate tactic to create an illusion of consent and innocence to ensure that Feyre believes he isn't crossing any boundaries, while the reality is far more sinister. Since Feyre is blacking out each night, she has no way of knowing the extent of his actions.

This creates a disturbing dynamic where Feyre is left questioning her own experiences. The boundaries Rhysand establishes through selective touching serve to confuse and trap her, making it easier for him to maintain control. The knowledge that he could be touching her inappropriately without her knowing adds a layer of psychological torment. It underscores his power over her autonomy and reinforces the idea that she is never truly safe from him. The smudged ink is merely another tool of deception, allowing Rhysand to manipulate her perception of what is happening to her body.

4. "I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine... to escape the humiliation I endured."

Yes, this line is important because it reveals just how deeply broken Feyre feels UTM, using sleep to escape the horror and humiliation forced upon her by Rhysand. Her days blur together in a haze of faerie wine and sleep, a desperate attempt to shut out the reality of what she is enduring. Sleeping through the pain, drinking away the humiliation—these are raw trauma responses, the signs of someone who feels so trapped and powerless that unconsciousness becomes her only refuge. It's not a choice born out of comfort or peace, it's survival, an act of shutting down just to endure the next day.

This level of psychological exhaustion—using sleep to escape humiliation—shows the depths of what Rhysand's SA does to her. Each day, she wakes to a fresh cycle of abuse and trauma, so she retreats in the only way left to her: shutting her mind and body down. Even without full memories, a part of her mind understands the darkness she is facing and tries to find any means of survival. Yet, that's the last we see of Feyre's trauma responses to her SA by Rhysand.

In ACOMAF, we see Rhysand haunted by nightmares of his SA by Amarantha. His distress is severe enough that Feyre even helps him through one of these episodes when she is staying with him at the Townhouse. It's clear that his trauma around the abuse he suffered under Amarantha is still raw and unresolved. But it raises an unsettling question: why does Feyre no longer seem to exhibit any nightmares or trauma responses tied specifically to her SA by Rhysand?

Feyre's lack of nightmares surrounding her experiences with Rhysand, especially given her coping mechanism of sleeping off the humiliation, feels absurd. It implies a troubling erasure of her trauma, suggesting that either she is suppressing these experiences or the narrative chooses not to engage with them. Instead, we see her nightmares focus on other parts of her trauma UTM—like the faeries she killed to save Tamlin—but the specific horror of being abused by Rhysand is conspicuously absent.

5. "Don't get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain."

When Feyre tries to bring up her SA in ACOMAF, it's dismissed with barely any meaningful confrontation or healing process. Rhysand's near-breakdown and avoidance make it seem like his feelings take priority over Feyre's trauma—a strange and uncomfortable narrative choice. Feyre deserves closure, and readers do too. It's painful to see the story shift to make him the hero without ever fully grappling with that past harm. The lack of acknowledgment or accountability not only undermines Feyre's agency but also misses the chance to explore the complex journey from trauma to healing.

What's even more disturbing is how Feyre's SA by Rhysand is recontextualized to excuse his behavior as somehow protective or necessary. It creates a twisted narrative where his cruel choices are somehow reframed as noble or sacrificial, without ever allowing Feyre her rightful anger or trauma over that experience. The absence of a real, open discussion about this later on in the series—one where Feyre's trauma isn't overshadowed by Rhysand's guilt or anger or avoidance—is a glaring gap.

In failing to fully address the impact of Rhysand's SA on Feyre, the narrative ultimately deprives her—and the readers—of the resolution and healing that her trauma demands. The fact that her suffering is left unexplored while his is highlighted skews the focus, suggesting that his redemption and guilt matter more than her recovery. This imbalance not only erases her experience but distorts her journey from survival to empowerment. A truly powerful narrative would allow her to confront him and reclaim her voice, addressing the harm he inflicted.

There's so much more to unpack here that I'm sure I'm missing—like the nightmare fuel that is Chapter 54. Anything else you guys would add?

[mrsimpurity]

pairing: fem!reader x satoru gojo

cw: angst (with comfort? kinda?), gojo is a sucker for reader tbh

it was like clockwork. your gentle, albeit drunk, raps against the door. the porch’s dim light illuminates your face - your cheeks are flushed, stained with those pitiful mascara stains you so often wear with something akin to pride. 

he knows he shouldn’t answer but all the tiny, desperate shadow at his front door wants is to come in. and he can’t deny you, not when you pretty much jump in his arms, stumbling along the way as you hold onto his forearms for support. your words are almost always incoherent, slurred, and tonight is no different. 

“y-you know i still love you, right? what i did was so fucking stupid. i regret it s’much, toru. so much.” your speech never changes. it’s something along those lines each night. yet satoru feels like he can’t get enough. like maybe one night (each day he prays it’ll be tonight) you won’t be drunk. you’ll say something different and you won’t come begging him for sex.

it’s always like clockwork. he leads you to the couch with gentle guidance, makes sure to look you in the eyes while you speak so you don’t get mad. you’re feisty tonight, he can sense it, but you still comply - you sit in his lap and let him stroke your hair, kiss the top of your head and rub soothing circles on your back as you stray further and further away from sobriety.

“baby, you know i can’t do it. can’t do this shit to you. you’re drunk.” he replies, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. he does it so slowly, like he’s savouring the feeling of your precious locks in his hand, basking in your warmth and the smell of your vodka-drunk breath.

“you don’t fucking get it! nobody fucks me like you do. please. p-please, toru. ‘m begging you.” you’re alternating between moans, anguished sobs and frustrated screams. it’s hard for your hazy mind to decide whether to lash out at him, jump his bones or cry your heart out.

and all satoru does is take it. he watches you go through all possible stages of grief and all he can do is hold you tightly, restraining you so you don’t hurt yourself.

“just tonight. just this one night. and you’ll never see me again. please, satoru, please.” the words you speak inflict actual pain on him. is that what you truly think he wants? for you to disappear? 

he feels his heart sink at your assumption.

you’re a nuisance, you’re a cheater, you’re a liar. there’s no denying you broke his heart into a million pieces, wrung him dry and physically destroyed him (god forbid you find out he hasn’t even tried to get it up for anyone else).

what can satoru possibly do when your shaky body is slouched against him and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt? 

he’s a good man. he’ll never fuck you like this. not when you’re in this state. it’s the one thing he’s certain of.

but he’ll never tell you this. not when he knows you’ll keep coming back, crying at his porch and begging for comfort. not when that’s his only chance to have you in his arms, to press gentle kisses on your cheeks and lull you to sleep as your pathetic sobs die down.

you’ll leave in the morning, long before he’s awake. but it’s okay. satoru knows you’ll be back tonight. you do it like clockwork, don’t you?

a/n: this is different from what i usually write omg i genuinely pulled this out of my ASS... but i'm tired of writing for innocent goody two shoes reader (jk i'll be back tmr)

[eve-dawntower]

Treasure (Rafayel x MC)

Rafayel used to have all your attention, but now a rival has arrived. Who would have thought that the most formidable rival he'll ever get is his own flesh and blood?

Warning: None

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Tags: Fluff

Rafayel was truly happy when he found out he was going to be a father. I mean, a child is a combination of a small bit of him and a small bit of you, right? He was genuinely ready to become a father despite whatever nonsense Thomas was spouting. But what he wasn't ready for was you focusing all your attention on the half-merman toddler the two of you had created.

Rafayel glared at the small being splashing in the swimming pool in the middle of the baby room. The water in the pool was actually seawater and at the same temperature as the deep waters. Normally, Lemurian children could withstand the temperature above the sea, but babies and toddlers can't. It was all thanks to the protocore technology that they were able to create a baby room appropriate for a half-Lemurian and half-human brat. Brat. That's right. That's what he called his own spawn.

The toddler giggled as you tickled him, making Rafayel pout more. Why was he getting all your attention? The first few months after the baby was born were fine, but he's already eight months old! Isn't it about time for you to turn all your attention back to him, the father?

"At what age will he be able to learn to change his tails to legs?" you asked, not taking your eyes off your son. See? You can't even spare him a small glance, even though you're asking him questions!

"Around three or four. I still need to teach him how. But it's still up to him if he'll be able to master it or not. Not every Lemurian is capable of doing it. Only the talented ones," he replied sullenly.

Noticing that familiar tone, you turned to look at him, and for the first time, you realized he was pouting.

"What's the matter?" you asked him.

"Nothing," he turned away and stomped out of the room.

You look back to your son who was playing around the pool, oblivious to his father's mood.

Days turned into weeks, and Rafayel's frustration lingered. His days were now filled with a mix of responsibilities and longing for the attention he once had. The house echoed with the occasional splash from the baby room, where your son continued to explore his aquatic abilities under your devoted guidance.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found Rafayel brooding in the dimly lit living room. The soft glow revealed the depth of his emotions, and you couldn't ignore the strain on the relationship.

"Rafayel, we need to talk," you said, settling beside him. He sighed, reluctantly turning to face you.

"It's just... I feel like I've become a background character in my own story. Our story," he confessed, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

You took his hand, reassuringly squeezing it. "I understand it's been an adjustment, but our son needs our attention. We can find a balance."

He nodded, but the ache in his eyes lingered. The following days, you made a conscious effort to involve Rafayel in the daily routines with your son, trying to bridge the emotional gap that had grown.

However, the problem with Rafayel was that he's very stubborn, and no matter how hard he tried, it was difficult for him not to be salty about how much attention his son was getting from you.

One day, you were suddenly called into a mission. Normally, Thomas takes care of your son when you're away, but Thomas is away for now, and calling a babysitter is obviously not an option. After all, you can't let anyone know about your half-Lemurian child. Left with no choice, you have to leave the child in Rafayel's care.

"Rafayel, please take very good care of him," you said, looking at him with a comically desperate expression.

Rafayel gave you a very offended look. "What do you think of me?! Incapable of taking care of my own child?!"

The conversation you had regarding what he was feeling about your child having all your attention lingers in your mind, but you decide to shake it off. Rafayel dislikes cats, but he took good care of one for you back then. What more if it's his flesh and blood? Despite what he was feeling, he wouldn't be irresponsible, right?

You nodded and planted a small kiss on the child's temple before leaving.

Rafayel stared at the doorway with an offended and exaggerated expression of shock.

"She didn't kiss me goodbye!"

The toddler giggled, making Rafayel turn to glare at him.

As Rafayel continued to glare at the toddler, the little mischief-maker seized the opportunity and splashed a handful of water in Rafayel's direction, prompting an unexpected reaction.

Rafayel dramatically recoiled, clutching his heart with mock horror. "Assaulted by a baby! This is outrageous!"

The toddler found this uproarious and burst into giggles, thoroughly enjoying the water-based escapade. Rafayel, however, continued his theatrics, staggering around the room as if gravely wounded.

"You've wounded me, my aquatic progeny! I'm a victim of watery aggression!" Rafayel declared, sinking to his knees in a theatrical display of defeat.

Your son, finding this turn of events entertaining, crawled over to Rafayel and patted him on the head. Rafayel seized the opportunity to cradle the toddler in his arms, feigning weakness.

"Ah, the betrayer himself consoles the wounded party. What a world!" Rafayel exclaimed dramatically, earning more giggles from the toddler.

The baby room transformed into a stage for this impromptu comedy, with Rafayel playing the role of the aggrieved victim. Despite the initial frustration, the absurdity of the situation broke the tension, and laughter echoed through the house.

Rafayel sighed after a few moments. "I wonder if your mommy still loves me. It's unfair! I'm the first! Why does it seem that she loves you more?" He whined as he poked the baby's nose, making him laugh. "Yeah, keep laughing at me. Pour more salt on your father's wound." He sighed. "I don't really hate you or anything. I mean, how can I? You're my son. Your mommy's and mine's son. But it really makes me sad how I ended up being shoved aside when you arrive in our life."

Just then, the child dragged himself off his father and slowly pulled himself towards the drawer. Rafayel watched him and mentally compare him to a seal.

The baby then looked at Rafayel, then back to the drawer, babbling.

"What is it?" Rafayel approached his son questioningly.

The child babbled as if trying to communicate with him.

Rafayel sighed. "I really don't have any idea what you're trying to say."

Pouting with a pout that resembles his, the child tried to reach and pulled lower the drawer handle.

"Hey, don't!"

Rafayel grabbed him away from it, making the child look at him in displeasure.

Rafayel groaned. "I guess Thomas is right. You really do look like a spitting image of me, especially when you're unhappy. Fine. You want to open this?"

Rafayel pulled the bottom drawer open, where he saw a book. He took it out and inspected it.

"What's this?" he muttered as he sat on the couch with the baby on his lap. He flipped the first page and realized it's like a diary. Only, it was a diary of your pregnancy.

When you were pregnant, you decided to write all your thoughts in it and how you felt at that time. Rafayel was unaware of it.

He started to read what you wrote.

"Rafayel is always childish and insufferable. He always annoys me, and sometimes I really want to choke him..."

"What the heck?! Is this all about her complaints about me?!"

The baby chuckled as if understanding what his father was saying.

Rafayel glanced at him. "Your mother... Seriously..." He shook his head and flipped to the next page, reading the contents.

More complaints about him were written. The farther he got, the harsher her words became. By the time he was halfway, he was more than ready to burn the diary. But then...

"Rafayel might not be the most mature guy out there, but he is really trying. Despite my mood swings and weird cravings, he was there, never leaving my side. Even if he always ends up receiving my anger, he never retaliated. Well, after I cried when he talked back once, he stop with his sassy remarks. I guess my cries traumatized him. Haha. If you gave me a chance to exchange him with someone else, I'll never do it. Because he's the only man I ever loved and will always love. He is also the one who gave me my treasure. My child."

As Rafayel read the diary, the realization dawned on him that, during your pregnancy, you had poured your heart onto those pages. The entries spoke volumes about the emotional journey you went through, and he found himself becoming a central figure in the narrative.

In the heartfelt words, you described how Rafayel was your pillar of support, always there to ease your fears and celebrate every milestone. The diary chronicled his late-night runs to satisfy your sudden cravings, the countless moments of reassurance, and the joy he brought into the preparations for the baby's arrival.

As Rafayel continued reading, a mix of emotions played on his face—astonishment, gratitude, and a touch of humility. It was a revelation that he had been a vital part of your pregnancy, more than he had realized.

He glanced at the baby in his lap, who seemed fascinated by the unfolding drama. Rafayel couldn't help but smile, a newfound warmth settling in his heart.

"I had no idea," he murmured, a genuine appreciation for the role he played during those months.

The entries continued to paint a picture of a loving partnership, with Rafayel actively participating in creating a nurturing environment for the upcoming addition to the family. He discovered how, despite his initial grumblings, he had been a source of strength for you.

Closing the diary, Rafayel looked at his son with a newfound understanding. The baby, sensing his father's softened demeanor, reached out and touched Rafayel's cheek, as if acknowledging the unspoken connection.

He hugged the baby. "If she consider you a treasure that I gave her, it makes sense how much she cares about you." He kissed his son's temple. "I also care about you but I guess I just felt so left out, I started seeing you as a rival. I promise it will never happen again."

With the diary in his hands, Rafayel felt a newfound appreciation for the bond he shared with you and the significance of his role in your life. As he embraced his son, a sense of warmth enveloped the room, dissolving the remnants of frustration that had lingered.

In that moment, the past frustrations and perceived rivalries faded away. The baby room became a sanctuary of reflection and realization. Rafayel embraced the depth of his role, not just as a father in the present but as a constant support throughout the journey of bringing their child into the world.

_____

After the particularly challenging mission, you returned home, exhausted yet relieved to be back. Opening the door, you realized it was too quiet.

"Rafayel?" You called out, worried about your husband and child.

You receive no reply and so, you went to the baby room.

Just then, you were greeted by a scene that melted away any residual weariness.

In the dim light of the baby room, you saw Rafayel peacefully sleeping on the pool, the baby nestled on his chest, both in a serene slumber. The sight was heartwarming – a testament to the newfound understanding and unity that had blossomed in your absence.

You couldn't help but smile at the peaceful tableau. Gently, you approached the sleeping duo and planted a soft kiss on Rafayel's kiss. He stirred, slowly waking up with a dazed expression.

"Welcome back," he whispered, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You nodded, savoring the tranquility of the moment. "What happened while I was away?"

Rafayel grinned, gesturing to the peacefully sleeping baby on his chest. "Well, we had a little water-based escapade, a dramatic showdown, and a realization that we're all in this together. Oh, and I read your pregnancy diary. Turns out, I played a more significant role than I thought."

"What?! Where do you find it?!" Your cheek reddened in embarrassment. You almost forgot about that diary.

"Well, a little fishy showed it to me," Rafayel gently shifted, allowing you to join them on the poolside. You gave him a look, annoyed that you wanted to get in the pool and have your hunter outfit get wet.

Sighing, you got in the pool.

"It's my real feelings, by the way," you said, referring to the diary's content.

"Yeah. Sorry for being so childish. I guess I just got used to having all your attention. I mean, I'm used to having everyone's attention. As a child, everyone fawned on me, and even when I became an adult, being the artist that I am, everyone looks up to me. So now, having another being get the attention of the person that I love the most made me anxious. I promise I'll never try to compete with my own son for attention."

"I also want to apologize, Rafayel. I guess I really did neglect you." You kissed his lips, as if apologizing for the times he felt neglected.

"It's fine. But promise me, once our child is old enough, I'll be the number one again."

You chuckled at that and snuggled to him.

"I promise."

"And I'm sorry for being a bit of a drama king," he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes.

You chuckled, "Well, I wouldn't have it any other way. Our story may be a bit dramatic, but it's uniquely ours."

The three of you shared a moment of quiet happiness, basking in the love that bound your unconventional family.

With your son sleeping peacefully between you, the challenges of the past were replaced by a sense of unity and understanding. As you leaned in to share a tender moment with Rafayel, you knew that every twist and turn in your story had led to this beautiful chapter of shared laughter, love, and the promise of a bright future together.

As the moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow on the room, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the journey that had brought you to this moment. 

END

MASTERLIST

[runninriot]

You're So New (never had this taste in my mouth)

written for @steddiesongfics

inspiration: 'New' by NoDoubt | rated: E | wc: 4.982 | tags: sexual content, pre steddie, love confessions, friends to lovers | read on ao3

Eddie is caught in a free fall. That, at least, is what it feels like.

Down it goes, fast but somehow too slow at the same time. Down, down, no end in sight. Feels like he should’ve crashed minutes ago, but still, he keeps drifting, floating, falling. Swiftly swaying like a feather in the wind, violently twirling like he’s caught in a hurricane.

Lost in contrasts – no sense for where is up and where is down, caught somewhere in the middle of a blissful nightmare. His insides churning, heartbeat out of rhythm – he feels cold and hot and it’s all too much.

But then why can he hear himself begging for more?

There’s a gentle beast eating away at his insides while angels sing a song of damnation, underlining this heavenly torture that makes him giddy; giggles and cries fighting for freedom in his throat.

This is fucking crazy, Eddie is going fucking crazy.

It shouldn’t mess him up the way it does; he’s had sex before, this isn’t new. He knows the way deft fingers map out his skin, searching for the spots that make him wince and whine and wiggle. He knows the feeling of cool air and hot breath mingling on his spit covered nipples, sending sparks of pleasure into his nerve endings. He knows what it’s like to have need coiling in his gut, desire expanding into desperation that makes his body feel too small for all the sensations it houses.

And yet, everything about this is new. New and different and so much better than anything he’s ever felt before because it is their first time together like this. The first time he has Steve’s fingers digging into his sides so deep, his nails might break skin if he keeps going. Might leave bruises if Eddie wishes for it hard enough.

It’s not the first time they’re both shirtless but it’s the first time they’re shirtless on Steve’s bed. And while they’ve been kissing for some time now, it still feels new to open his mouth to let Steve’s tongue inside, summoning Eddie’s inner demons who oh-so-willingly accept this dirty dance request, blindly following his moves.

Maybe it’s the fact that, after all this time starving, Eddie’s suddenly served up the perfect dish to satiate his hunger, despite him being the one presented on the silver platter, waiting to be devoured.

Undecided if he’s hunter or prey, Eddie is helplessly chasing himself, trying to catch a breath while he’s grasping for hold, fumbling, flailing. Tumbling down a rabbit hole, where it’s warm and bright and the world is alight with invisible sunbeams setting him ablaze from the inside out.

Maybe he’s dying. Maybe this is what being reborn feels like.

And maybe he’s said that out loud because Steve chuckles, the smile on his lips leaving a ghostly imprint on the side of Eddie’s neck where they linger, placing barely-there-kisses on this soft shell of his body that does fuck all to keep his soul from oozing through the cracks he didn’t even know were there.

   “Steve, I-“

There are words trapped somewhere in the back of his mind but they’re written in a foreign language Eddie doesn’t know how to read, let alone speak, so he breathes instead, lets out this pitiful noise, this fragile little half-whimper, half-moan that doesn’t sound like him at all. Or maybe it does now because-

Because the old Eddie Munson is dead. Long live Eddie Munson – the new one, the reborn one, the one who gets to touch Steve in ways he never thought possible.

The one whose hands don’t burn in shame but rather tingle in excitement when they trace the curve of Steve’s perfect ass. Whose fingers don’t need to ask for permission to grab and play.

The Eddie, who is allowed to let himself go, to shut off his mind and let his body develop one of its own under Steve's guidance. Losing himself in the lovely, teasing way Steve moves on top of him – feline and snakelike, somehow both at the same time – curling around him, face buried deep in the crook of his neck, nosing at his skin, licking his way down the long line of it just to make Eddie squirm. Leaving dampness behind that causes him to break out in goosebumps with each exhale that tickles his skin.

   “Steve, baby-”

    Baby.

How easy they’ve been sharing this name. As if they had never called each other anything else.

   “Can you-“

Breathless, he waits for the other man's eyes to find his, hands coming up to cup Steve’s face on either side. He isn't sure what he wants to say, not sure what he's about to do, only that he needed a break, needed Steve to stop the trail of his mouth for just a moment, or else he was going to break, combust, fly too far away to find his way back down.

   “Everything okay?” Steve asks, voice ridden with concern that reflects in his eyes, too. Suddenly looking so soft  despite how hard he still is where their bodies absently grind and move, seemingly unwilling to stop what they've started.

   “Y-yeah, sorry just-“

Head empty, brain malfunctioning, heart racing so fast it must be unhealthy, Eddie struggles to find the right words to say – what is he even sorry for?

It's not his fault that he’s so fucking high on adrenaline right now, that the can barely keep himself from vibrating out of his skin. He feels itchy, wants to shed all of these outworn layers that cover his flesh and bones, wants Steve to slice him open and rearrange his insides to make space for all the new, divine things he makes him feel.

Throw out all the old and banish the dark, paint him with light and decorate him with roses – bright-pink and with heart shaped petals. Something soft to contradict the surge raging where he feels too much at once, for too little room.

   “I just... needed a moment,” he offers, smiling shyly at the beautiful man in his lap.

His beating muscle can't keep up pumping blood through his veins, down to where it’s demanded. Where Steve’s straining against him. Where they are mirror versions of each other, unable to hide what their bodies are longing for. Heat and arousal pooling in his lower half when he welcomes Steve's downward grind as he leans in for another kiss, a slower one, almost chaste compared to the ones before.

The taste of shared cigarettes and soda is still clinging to both of their tongues, and Eddie wonders if he'll ever be able to smoke or have a coke again without getting a hard-on, because that flavour will forever remind him of Steve now.

   “Sorry, am I going too fast?” Steve asks and before he even finishes the question, Eddie’s already vehemently shaking his head.

   “Want you,” -so much it scares me.

Eddie keeps the second half to himself, would rather choke on the words than say them out loud because he doesn’t know if this is too much to admit. If they’re at the point yet, where they can just drop truths of the heart so easily. They’ve barley even-

No. They haven’t made any real confessions at all. Not the wordy kinds, at least. Didn’t have time for that kind of conversation because it all happened so unexpected and fast. Words haven’t really been much of an option since then so they let their bodies do all the talking.

    “Want you too, Eddie. God, I want you.”

With his lips back on Eddie’s, Steve doesn’t give him the chance to say more, and maybe that’s good. Maybe they don’t need to speak right now.

If Eddie is really lucky, and this is not just a glitch in the matrix, they’ll have time to talk later. After. When Eddie’s brain is back online and his thoughts stop revolving solely around the pulse in his cock, still trapped inside his boxers and jeans, yearning to break free.

-----

continue reading here

[cherie-doll]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DROP NEW KEEGAN HEADCANNONS !!! 🙏🙏

i decided to make a sfw hc alphabet js for keegan!! (the template i used is here.)

hope u like it <33

𓆩♡𓆪 Keegan SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Lots of casual affection and quiet acts of love. Placing a hand on your back while sharing an umbrella. Laying his head on your lap while on the couch. Anywhere you want to go, he’ll take you. Always has a hair tie (if you have long hair) and a jacket in case you get cold.

When you were dating he’d always walk you to your front door no matter what time of the day or night it was.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a friend, he’d be the type to constantly tease and bother you. Always finding a way to make you laugh and have a good time when you’re over. But he won’t hesitate to call you out on your mistakes or wrongdoings and will give guidance when you need it. (Sort of Mr. Knightley and Emma typa chemistry)

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He likes cuddling when in bed. Nudging into the crook of your neck as he returns your ardor with equity.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

At some point, yes. He really does. Keegan isn’t very skilled at cooking other than the basics like eggs and the like. If you have the patience to teach him how to cook you’ll find he’s a fast learner. He is very good at keeping clean after you scolded him once for leaving his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

You’d have to be on the last straw for him to end things. He’d be so desperately hoping there is at least a silver linen of hope between you two. You’re slipping through his fingers and he feels as if it were a mistake. But he values your happiness over his.

With eyes downcast, and heart ready to close he’d start preparing himself to move away from you. He’d tell you late at night, outside in the dark. His heart burns as he starts getting used to the faded feelings.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget you”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Keegan isn’t afraid of commitment and he’s not brash about it either. Once you got a some months of dating in, maybe even a year he started bring up marriage or living together. He doesn’t see himself not devoting his life to you after a time of dating.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He has his gentle moments where he cherishes the quintessence of you; you in your purest and crux form. He’ll restrain his ardent love to feel you with the tip of his fingers.

To have someone understand you and your mind is the hardest form of intimacy to perform and is never finalized. You have made a slave of him as he strives to discern you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

In public, no. In private however, yes. He loves spooning you in bed and just coming up behind you at random times of the day to embrace you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Perhaps shortly after he realized it. He didn’t say it until you looked into his eyes, gazing deeply, beautifully and perhaps a bit strange. He read the same thought in them and the words only seemed to naturally flow.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s not the type to be all over you when there are other people around but he doesn’t like anyone touching you. There is no reason to doubt your loyalty to him as a partner yet he knows how little regard some people can have towards you.

He never looses you in a crowded place so he’ll notice right away when someone has malicious intentions towards you. If he observes that you are not left in peace after turning someone down he’ll silently appear next to you, slide in between you, shielding you and protecting you. And he won’t hesitate to throw hands if he has to.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Lots of soft neck kisses in the morning and at night. Sometimes they’re fluttering like a butterfly kiss but most of the time they’re deep and passionate. He lets his lips linger on your neck a little, in idyllic silence basking in the warmth of your body.

When you’re lying bare in bed, he likes it when you place delicate kisses on his shoulders. Despite his intense kisses he adores your silken touch.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Keegan doesn’t have a paternal impulse within him when he encounters children but he doesn’t hate them either. Perhaps will pat one on the head or will tell them a story if he has to entertain a group of kids.

He’s got more of that cool uncle vibe ngl.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Most mornings he has to leave you a lot sooner than he wishes. But if it’s a slow morning, he wants nothing else than to stay entangled within the sheets with you. Stares, sleepily as the golden haze from the sun enters through the window and casts an aura around you. He’ll ruffle your hair to awaken you, greeting you with softened eyes.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It doesn’t matter what you want to do because he always falls asleep before you. He’s content if he could just hold or be held by you whilst reading, watching tv on the couch or in bed.

In a moment of tranquility, he yearns for you; his deadly desire. In the silvery-toned light of the moon, he wants nothing more than to be close to you and contented by your caress.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’ll open up slowly, everything at its proper time.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Keegan has the patience to explain things if you’re naive. However, if you show stubbornness and obstinacy he can become annoyed rather quickly.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Most everything you tell him he retains. Even things you don’t remember telling him or haven’t told him. It’s startling almost, how much he picks up on you just off your mannerisms.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Being in the military, he has his slumps and despite his lack of fervor you make him feel better. You hadn’t stopped being passionate, shown resentment or stopped seeing him when he felt he had been neglectful of you or your needs. That’s how he knew you were the one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Due to him being constantly exposed to cruel human nature, he’s reasonably protective of you. He’s not paranoid when you’re alone but sometimes he can’t shake off that tingling feeling that sharpens his senses and has his body on alert, attentive to his phone in case you call in need of protection.

To him, being protected means being loved. So long as he has you by his side he feels secure and set for life.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He is attentive to detail, never has been dismissive not even in the smallest subject. It doesn’t even have to be on your anniversary or a special date for you to open your front door and find a fresh bouquet of flowers awaiting next to a jewelry box.

Even in everyday things, he’s reminding you of things you said you needed to do or buy and so on.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His devotion to you can sometimes border on the line of obsession. The thing is you wouldn’t notice. With his stealth and quiet personality it can be difficult to know what intentions lie behind those eyes.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s good looking and he knows it. It’s a good thing at least that he cares how he presents himself to others and he’s not overly self-absorbed either but he knows how he bagged you.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. That man very much needs you in his life.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Whenever you’re doing laundry he’ll offer to do it himself, he does this so he can smell your clothes before throwing it into the laundry. Why? He’s got a little bit of a thing for smelling.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Keegan would not be able to deal with someone who is careless. That attitude demonstrates a lack of better sense and rationality of which cannot be compatible with his character.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

A heavy sleeper. It’s one of things you bicker over constantly. He tends to clutch whatever is within his grasp and it’s impossible to get out of his death grip. Other times he’ll drape a heavy arm or leg over you and you can forget about getting out of bed until he wakes up.

(to everyone else who has submitted an ask i see them and i am working on them!!)