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

[ebitenpura]

Thoughts incoherent cuz it's too early for me still but hc that during Onslaught + Echoes Eight returns to the Empire but mostly to manage Jadus' financials and other garbage that he can't take care of all the way over in solitude, so he just returns to tend to his property and other shit, all the while playing the role of bereaved widower whose husband hasn't come back from the war so he can pretend he's too melancholic and aggrieved to get involved in current conflicts (liar). This of course, makes a lot of Sith fall for it bc when he starts swiping at his tears it gets really awkward, and it's a bad look if you ask someone's weeping spouse to fight for you instead when they're wailing about how they feel so unsafe and alone and they're just a weak little officer who needs a big strong Sith to protect them yet they will wait an eternity for Lord Jadus to return and oh woe.

The minute they leave, he drops the act.

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 10 | You're Supposed To Know

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, angst, verbal argument

Synopsis: When an argument between Terry and Havana sends them into a spiral, love is the last thing on their minds. Terry’s inability to see the situation through Havana’s POV becomes the single catalyst for a bomb that's ready to self-destruct.

Now, Terry must come to terms with the fact that this may be the end, and it’s all his fault. In a moment of desperation, Terry returns home and seeks advice from his parents. His parents give him raw and unfiltered guidance that shakes Terry to his core.

“Will Terry’s indiscretions ruin everything he and ‘Vana have built, and is forgiveness even an option?”

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 6 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 7 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 8 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 9 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“’Vana, don't you walk away from me!” Terry yelled behind me as I stormed out of the bedroom.

“No, fuck this! I'm going home! You’re acting like I'm the problem!” I yelled back. I continued to walk into the living room without slowing my pace.

I was on fire. My mind was going 100 miles a minute, and nothing was going to calm me down. I didn't want to talk anymore. Terry's lack of understanding could only be tolerated for so long. He was letting his pride get in the way.

“Come here!” Terry said, grabbing my arm.

“Let me fuckin' go! I'm not doin' this anymore. I'm sick of explainin’ myself!” I yelled as I snatched my arm from Terry.

“Aight, ‘Vana. Calm yo’ ass down. We've been at this all day, and I'm tired. What the hell are you still mad for?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

What was I still mad for? Terry couldn't be this dumb or naïve.

“What am I still mad for? What kinda dumbass question is that? You don't see what you did wrong?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“Watch it! You gettin’ beside yourself, mama. Keep it civil,” Terry said, eyeing me. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Anger was the only emotion present in the room as hues of red dominated our auras. Red was all we had the capacity to see at this point. Our eyes veiled in our pursuit of blood. Lacking empathy and compassion in every word we spewed out of spite. There were no white flags in our future.

We were no longer seeking a resolution, instead, we were now struggling to declare a winner. Who was right? Who was wrong? Who did this? Who did that?

Ears were no longer listening as we were too focused on responding. Quick, sharp tongues leave no room for gentleness. Battling it out like two wordsmiths who hate each other, finding value in inflicting pain with the same lips we used to express the deepest depths of love.

Unknowingly, we both wanted it to stop, but that meant someone had to lose. Unfortunately, I was stubborn, and so was he. Neither set of lips yielded long enough for a reprieve. This was nothing more than a senseless act of immaturity. Both of us were unaware of just how fierce and passionate the other could be when we felt unheard or misunderstood.

“Civil? Keep it civil?! You can't be that dumb, Terry? You don't see nothin' wrong with what you did… Better yet, what you didn't do?” I asked, poking him in the chest.

“Don't do that!” Terry said as he lightly grabbed my hand. “Just stop it, ‘Vana! Use your fuckin' words and talk!” he said, putting my hand by my side.

“Don't fuckin' touch me! You obviously don't care! I've talked all damn day. I've used my words. I've cried. I've… I've… I'm done!” I said, turning on my heels.

“What did I just say?! Stop walkin’ away and talk!” he yelled again.

My movements stopped. I was beyond exhausted. We had repeated the same conversation over and over. Each time getting an even worse result. This fight would not end tonight or maybe ever.

With a heavy heart, I decided for both of us.

At this moment, I would rather walk away than continue to fight. Even if I felt like I was right, we were too far gone. There was probably no coming back from this. Trust was gone. Communication was broken. Feelings were hurt. Lines were crossed. Too much was said, and too much was left uncertain. My heart was damaged. Maybe, I wasn't built for this.

“I'm not repeating myself again! If you think you're right, fine. Fuck it. I don't care anymore. There's nothing more for me to say when you're supposed to know…. Hell… How don't you know?” I said, opening the front door.

I walked out the door, half expecting Terry to stop me. When he didn't follow me, it only reinforced my decision.

After all of that, I was forfeiting this battle.

I conceded. He won.

“Son, tell me what happened?” Rochelle, Terry's mother asked earnestly. She leaned over and kissed Terry's head, hoping to comfort him.

One thing Ms. Rochelle didn't play about was her baby boy Terry. She had yet to meet Havana, so this was a bit of a problem, considering her baby had shown up teary-eyed and distraught over a girl she had never met.

“She found out about what happened between me and Taylor. I was gonna tell her at first, but then I didn't see the need to. It ended right there. It ain't like I kept communicatin’ with her,” Terry said, leaning back in his seat on the couch.

“What you mean by that? What happened wit’ you and Taylor? Mae Ann told me Taylor said she saw you a few days ago. Is that it, or is there more to this story?” Rochelle said, rubbing Terry's back.

“I mean… yes and no,” Terry shrugged.

“Son, spit it out,” she said, rolling her eyes. She could see straight through Terry. He was trying his hardest to repress his feelings, but Rochelle knew Terry was at war inside his head. What she didn't know was that Terry’s internal monologue was growing more chaotic by the second.

“I met up with Taylor after she texted me. She asked me to go with her to Eli’s grave. I mean, we were together when he died. So, I felt like maybe she just needed a friend. So I went—,” Terry said.

“Terrence Richmond! I'm starting to see why this woman was pissed off. You met up with your ex, and didn't think to tell her that? Even if nothing happened, that leaves way too much up for interpretation. Use your brain, baby!” Rochelle said, crossing her arms.

“Well, I didn't want her to get mad at me or get the wrong idea,” Terry said, sinking into the couch.

“And how did that work out, huh?” she said, leaning up to grab Terry's face and forcing him to look at her. “Look at me,” she continued.

“I just thought it would be best if she didn't know. I know ‘Vana. She woulda tried to kill Taylor. Hell, she'd probably woulda tried to kill me, too!” Terry exclaimed. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Terry tried to figure out the best way to tell his mother the rest of the story. “To be honest, Mama, that ain't even the worst part. Taylor kissed me, and… uh… tried to… uh… touch… y’know,” Terry said, nodding towards his groin.

“Unh unh! Terrence, did you at least stop the girl?” she asked loudly. The more her son talked the more she understood Havana’s sentiment. She would wring his father's neck if he didn't tell her about something like this.

“Yes, of course I did. We were in my truck which made it worse. I pushed her off and held her back as best I could, but I was driving. Plus, she kept tryin', so I dropped her off at Julie's. I promise, Mama. Nothing happened. I just honestly didn't know what to do after that,” Terry said, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Nothing happened, my ass! So, you mean to tell me that you let this girl kiss and touch all over you, then expected your girlfriend to be okay with it? Wait a damn minute… I thought you said you didn't tell her,” Rochelle said, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I didn't… She did,” Terry mumbled under his breath.

“Who did? Who is she? What are y—. Terrence! I know damn well you didn't let Talyor tell her first. Come on, honey. This ain't right, and you know it. You should've known this wasn't gonna end well,” she said, popping Terry upside his head.

“Rochelle!” Terry’s father, Franklin, yelled as he entered the room.

“Go ‘head. Tell your father about the mess you done got yourself into. Franky, you gotta hear this,” Rochelle said, shifting in her seat.

Franklin sat in his recliner, facing Terry. “Boy! Talk! Ain't no sense in hangin’ ya' head,” he said, leaning up to get Terry's attention.

Terry sat in silence for a moment. He started the story over, telling it from beginning to end. The more he talked, the more he realized how disappointed his parents looked and the worse he felt. It was becoming more evident to him that he fucked up. Havana had every right to be mad.

“Chelle, can you give us a minute? I think this might be one of those conversations, baby,” Franklin said, rising from the recliner.

“Alright. Please, talk some sense into this boy,” Rochelle said, standing.

Franklin approached Terry's mother kissing her on the cheek. Rochelle left the room and left the two men alone. Franklin knew that this was a conversation that needed a Father's touch. His mother could only understand to a certain extent.

“Son, listen. Before I even start speaking, do you even know what you did wrong?” he asked as he sat back in his recliner.

“Yes. I just… I just didn't think it was that serious. I never wanted to hurt ‘Vana. I love her too much. I thought I was protecting her,” Terry said, looking at his father.

Franklin stared at his son. The look on Terry's face was all too familiar. This was the face of a man who knew he messed up but didn't know if he could fix his mistake. He knew his son well enough to see that whoever this girl was she had Terry's heart— all of it.

“That’s a start. At least, you know you were wrong. Listen to me, son. When it comes to women…., or better yet, when it comes to love, omission is lyin’. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. You let another woman tell your woman something she didn't know about. What makes it worse is that Taylor ain't some random woman, she’s a woman you gotta past wit’. That’s gonna immediately throw some doubt in there no matter how much she trusts you. I can only imagine how Taylor spun that story. So, of course, her initial thoughts are gonna be all over the place. She’s gonna question why you weren't the one to tell her, and if nothing happened, why'd you hide it? You left too much unanswered, son. Then, you let another woman answer for you,” Franklin said. He could see the wheels turning in Terry’s head.

“I know, Dad. It’s just that I don't even think she wants to see me, let alone talk. ‘Vana was more than pissed. She looked hurt. I shoulda followed her. I shouldn't have let her leave. She was right there—,” Terry said, sniffling.

“Son, what I'm about to say is gonna hit you like a shot of whiskey with no chaser. Stop thinking like a man and think like a lover. Don't you dare call that woman tryin' to talk over no phone. Go find her, and let her know how you feel. Meet her wherever she's at, pour yo’ heart, hit yo’ knees. Do whateva you need to get yo’ woman. But before you go over there, you gotta come to terms with something. She don't have to listen, and she for damn sure don't have to forgive ya’. All you can do is let her know how you feel. Hell, show her how you feel. You want that girl bad enough; you won't give a damn about how you look in that moment. Look at me, Terrence! When you get done, her heart should be full, and yours should be empty. Do you understand me?!”

A/N: Remember, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

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[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!!

[adieutristana]

fem reader x jinx, that reader puts jinx, isha, vi, caitlyn and Warwick on an airship and they go to be happy before something bad happens

of course! thank you for the request <3

summary; jinx and fem!reader putting the family on an airship and escaping together.

characters included; jinx (romantic), isha (platonic/familial), vi (platonic), caitlyn (platonic), warwick (platonic)

tags/warnings; fluff, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, in-laws(?), but you and jinx aren’t married, mentions of war/combat, s2 spoilers, canon divergence (everyone is alive), one mention of jinx trying to khs, caitvi

men dni.

getting jinx and isha to agree to this plan wasn’t too difficult. one of jinx’s most prominent flaws was her pride, being unable to admit when she was wrong most times and when she needed to just step away. but after isha nearly dying, being thrown in jail, almost killing herself, and hallucinating her dead father figure, she decided it may actually be a good idea to just… leave. start over.

isha was at the age where she did begin to think things through more thoroughly. despite being a child, she still had feelings and wants, so you wanted to give her some say in your decision. when you first presented her with the idea, explaining it in simple terms, her brows furrowed and her eyes squinted, as she went into thought. she turned on her heel to sit down and color, but you could tell that the question was still playing on her mind. it took a few hours for isha to return to you with an answer, but she decided yes, she was okay with this.

convincing the rest of the people in jinx's life to do this anything but simple. caitlyn had a legacy, even if she was no longer commander. she had a desperate, war-torn city looking to her for guidance. for security. vi's pride as a zaunite, her family ties, the memories that zaun held made her want to stay. zaun held the stone with the heights of her and her powder as children. the memories of her ragtag crew as a young teenager. warwick couldn't bear to leave his home, either. he had spent so long as an unofficial leader of the undercity, fighting against the brutality of topside. in-laws or not, even though it was for jinx, they couldn't.

but somehow, all of them eventually came around to the idea. caitlyn took the longest, citing her father as a reason. she'd already lost her poor mother, how could she bear to leave her father? after seeing the destruction of piltover, the destruction her girlfriend's people faced, realizing just how badly she fucked up, she decided it was time to step down from any political position. her father knew she was debating winning, her mind swinging back and forth like a pendulum, an internal battle. but what fully convinced caitlyn was her father giving his blessing.

"go, caitlyn. make a better life for yourself. your mother wouldn't want you to stay somewhere you're unhappy."

vi decided to leave as soon as she realized exactly how blind she had been to the suffering of her people. to what her sister had been put through. her baby sister, who she spent 7 years in stillwater thinking about, who she treated so poorly. all for caitlyn, being pulled by the strings at the hands of ambessa.

warwick simply wanted to be with his family. after thinking it over, cutting his losses and being with what was left of his family, his girls, was all he needed. so many years separated, wondering where they were, if they were even alive, the kinds of people they turned out to be. how long had even passed? at least 7 years, by the looks of things.

the road to redemption was a winding, confusing one with so many twists and turns, so many obstacles, but sometimes the best thing to do is simply walk away.

long nights spent by jinx's side, her sat in your lap, figuring out exactly how she's going to pull this off. it's not like she had any experience flying airships, her grumbling as she tries to read the millionth instruction manual you picked up for her.

"this is stupid."

she'd groan, tossing her head back in that dramatic way you always found amusing.

"you're the one flying the ship, aren't you? it's just some reading."

"yeah, but you know me! i like to learn by doing. what are words gonna do for me?"

"you can't really chance it with an airship, babe." you'd say, trying to ease her nerves and pulling her closer to you.

"ugh. damn you, being all rational..."

and then she'd return to the manual.

loading everyone onto the airship wasn't an easy job, either. jinx shouting out orders-

"everyone make sure you have all your shit! i'm not turning around!"

"don't bring anything cold! i don't have a cooler and it's gonna stink up the place!"

it was kind of cute, honestly. seeing your girlfriend take on a position of leadership, even if it was for an escape operation. just a while ago, she had been so reluctant to accept her status as a symbol, and while she still is, she can at least feel comfortable to voice her concerns with the people she's comfortable around.

you're sat with your knees to your chest, close to your girlfriend at the wheel. looking up at her every now and then to check her nerves, and the girl shooting down smiles at you. god, that smile. vi checks out the last of the mechanics on the airship, coming up behind jinx to announce that everything was okay. and making her poor sister jump in the process.

"all looks good. you ready?"

"gods, vi! you scared the shit out of me!"

vi just puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head, letting out a little huff. a lighthearted one.

"not the first time."

jinx just scoffs. "what about your girlfriend?"

"passed out. she's exhausted from packing every single thing she has. seriously, i'd say it's overkill, but she'd have my head."

you let out a chortle at that, and look back up at jinx. warwick is also sleeping- a journey like this will be strenuous for him especially. but he's there, at least.

"so where the hell are we going, anyways?"

you ask, eyes fixated on jinx's own. her short hair, her body covered in paint, her voice, it all makes your heart flutter- but this is a journey. you have to stay focused.

"dunno. wherever the wind takes us."

she replies, voice light and matter-of-fact. you groan in response, a slight pout forming on your face. tugging your knees closer to your chest. damn, jinx could be spontaneous, but the least she could do is tell you where you're going to build your new life. she giggles, and quickly squats down to your level. ruffling your hair with a smirk.

"relax, toots. i'll take us somewhere real nice, okay? somewhere you and i can start over."

she accents her words with a gentle peck to your temple, prompting you to lean into it. as brief as it was. you snake your arms around her waist, and lay your head on her shoulder, just savoring the moment. these are your final few minutes in valoran, the nation that holds so much of your past. your milestones, your hopes, your childhood dreams. the same could be said for everyone on the ship. jinx lets you embrace her, humming and leaning into your touch.

"i don't mean to interrupt the moment, but it's gonna get dark soon."

jinx groans.

"sorry, lovebirds."

[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?

[italktoomuchxd]

SimonRileyXPainter!Reader

The difference was evident even from Simon's childhood in his great attachment to art. As a little boy, he spent hours in his notebook, playing with colors and shapes. In school, too, art was the most dear subject to him because only there did he find his home. His art teacher was a nice woman who was encouraging, noticing his talent and fostering it with soft guidance and constructive criticism. Many times, she stayed behind after class, helping him to develop his talent further by fostering creativity and his level of confidence. He did get older, but now the thought of continuing his formal education in art would be both thrilling and scary.

But a feeling of irrepressibility-to get out of where he was and head to other horizons-pulled at his heart. He often fantasized about running away in search of inspiration in uncharted places, believing that a change of scenery might unlock the full potential of his artistic journey. So, when he met you at the train, where you were walking toward him holding a drawing of him, he knew you were the one.

One very specific Saturday morning, considering he started from bed at just past 5 AM, Simon groggily threw himself out of his bed. The emptiness that remained inside him just about reminded him of his week at work and the stress and frustration within those blurry days. The heat of his blankets was slowly leaving him, not tugging a shirt on into the cold breeze.

"Darling?

He called out, the voice gruff and coarse from a night of sleeping, as he padded through the darkly lit house. Through the window, streetlights allowed soft illumination inward, which translated into long, stretched shadows on the floor. He wandered from room to room, his heart aching just a little with his search for his dear human plushie-the only thing capable of bringing him solace. He was desperate-he hoped to find it, so that he could be reunited with it and snuggle up, allowing the cares of the week to drift away into the warmth of sleep.

As he entered the living room, he couldn't resist the chuckle that tugged at his lips because of you, sleeping peacefully on the table. Your head had been laid gently onto your arms, and your wide-open sketchbook lay in front of you, showing a set of pages filled with the artwork. Among them was a certain drawing-the one where she captured his likeness with exquisite detail.

A playful grin spread across his face, the decision not to wake you already made. He leaned down, hoisting you with ease over his shoulder and walking softly back to the bedroom.

Once he had you in the bedroom, he carefully laid you on the bed to avoid waking you from your sleep. As he turned to go back to the living room, an idea occurred to him. He hastily snatched one of your charcoal pens on the table, feeling mischievous and inspired.

On the way out, he waddled a little, like a duck, holding the pen in one hand while having a tinge of smile play on his lips. But then, by the time you finally came out from your deep slumber, a nice surprise met you in the form of a new and unexpected drawing present in your favorite sketchbook-a fun rendition of yourself caught in the contentedness of your sleep by that one person you love the most

[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.”

[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

[five-and-dimes]

I have no idea where this came from but I’m never going to turn it into a full fic so I’m releasing it into the void.

Dream is some sort of fae creature whose son died, so he sneaks into a mortal village and kidnaps a young boy around the same age his son was.

(Part of his heart hurts because he never took part in the traditional changeling child/fae kidnapping thing because he couldn’t bear to leave his son with some stranger, he loved him too much, and he knows deep down he shouldn’t do this to someone else but he’s desperate for something, anything, to dull the pain of his loss).

When single dad Hob wakes up and finds his son Robyn missing, he’s fully prepared to go scorched earth to find him. When it becomes clear he’s not in the village, he going charging alone into the woods, too impatient to put a party together to help him. (He’s terrified- he’s heard rumors of fae in these parts, but there was no child left behind. What could have taken his little boy?)

After a few days searching, he hears Robyn’s voice up ahead. He’s got a sword at his side, but for now he draws a bow and arrow, moving forward slowly. Eventually he comes to a clearing, peeking forward and preparing to shoot down whatever took his child. But then. He pauses. 

Robyn is smiling, and laughing, and has an abundance of flowers adorning his hair. He is plucking some berries from a bush and popping them into his mouth under the guidance of the most beautiful creature Hob’s ever seen. As he listens, he realizes that Robyn is talking about him, telling stories of how his papa taught him to identify the things that are safe to eat in the forest, and how tall he feels when he sits on his father’s shoulders, and how his papa has a terrible singing voice but sings the loudest anyway and so Robyn loves it. 

“I think papa will like you lots!” Robyn declares, and the creature smiles sadly.

“I… doubt that… but he sounds lovely.”

Hob is so confused by the whole situation that he doesn’t notice he’s taken a step forward until a branch snaps under his foot. Robyn looks over and immediately bursts into a wide smile, even as the creature lets out a panicked series of chirps and bolts in the other direction.

“Papa!!” 

Robyn throws himself into his father’s arms, and Hob drops his weapons to hold him, beyond relieved to have his son safe in his arms, unharmed. He spends a few minutes just peppering his son’s face with kisses and telling him how worried he was before finally looking at the spot where the creature had disappeared into the woods. Robyn follows his gaze, smiling and tugging on Hob’s hand to guide him into the clearing as he calls out.

“It’s okay, Dream! Papa is super nice to everyone, you don’t have to hide!”

Hob’s sees two bright eyes in the shadows before the creature- Dream- hesitantly steps forward. He looks sad and scared and ashamed and Hob is smitten almost immediately.

Robyn explains that when he woke up he had been scared, but Dream had hugged him (almost as good as his papa’s hugs, he claims) and told him he would keep him safe and take care of him. Then Robyn had been sad because he already missed his dad, and when he told Dream about him he had immediately realized the error of what he had done and resolved to return Robyn. It had taken some time because Robyn had insisted he was too big to be carried (it’s one thing if he was sleeping, but he was a big boy he could walk home just fine, really!) so they had traveled together, Dream never feeding him anything that would bind Robyn to him, instead just pointing out food and water for him to gather himself. 

Dream is still standing a bit aways from them both as Robyn tells the tale, looking at the little boy with aching fondness.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly to Hob, “I just... miss my son so much,” he smiles weakly at Robyn, “I believe you and Orpheus would have been great friends.”

And oh, Hob gets it all of a sudden. He had been fully prepared to do all sorts of questionable things to get his son back, he can’t imagine what he might be compelled to do if he actually lost him. And Dream was bringing him back, so he finds it very easy to forgive him.

He finds it even easier to invite Dream to finish the journey back with them, and then invite him to stay, and then invite him to build a home in the woods together, and share kisses and a bed and a life. 

Robyn is very smug.

He told Dream his dad would like him.

[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!!)

[bloogers-boogers]

Exorcist Lucifer Au

Lucifer doesn't get banished from heaven. But does in Eden.

Adam is banished from Eden but still ascended to heaven.

Both Lucifer and Adam got their heart broken by Lilith who firstly rejected Adam to be her husband and seduced Lucifer to fall in love with her, abandoning Adam and getting Lucifer banished from the garden, eventually she leaves him for Eve who Lucifer caught together making love before trying to offer the apple to Eve. Lucifer in a fit of jealousy and betrayal tricked Adam to eat the apple instead to get even with Eve for stealing his first love. But Adam was pardon for being tricked by a angel (being someone Adam had no choice but to trust, a 'superior'), Lilith and Eve got tossed to hell for disobeying and rejecting their roles and obligations. Lucifer got pardon but was punished with a curse to never experience true love, having no one be able to fall in love with him to prevent further incidents like this to happen again; he was allowed to fall in love but would live knowing it would never be reciprocated which was his punishment.

The exception was Adam who they had not yet know why he is ineffective with the curse, they found no need to worry as they assume the first man would never develop romantic feeling for Lucifer. With time though Lucifer does develop an interest in Adam, not romantically at first, it was more of the need to protect the one thing that could love him freely. Heaven took notice of that.

This gave heaven power over Lucifer: God's perfect and favored angel.

Lucifer did everything to make sure Adam ascended to Heaven, preventing him from sinning too much on earth and giving discreet guidance in form of bird messages to guide Adam to the right path. It was hard work but Lucifer's efforts weren't in vain.

Adam ascended and Lucifer was the first to greet him.

Somehow Lucifer manage to befriend Adam even after everything that happened in Eden. They hangout and talked a lot only when Lucifer wasn't busy with all the amount of duties he had, which was a lot. Normally every a hundred years. He'd do anything to keep in touch with the first man at least through messages, letters or calls and every second with him was worth the wait, Adam genuine love for him gave him hope that someday he will be worthy to get his curse broken and be able to experience what love truly is.

Things take a huge turn though when Sera and the archangels were now forced to take notice of the growing percentage of sinners in hell. They feared the possibility of hell creating a army and become a threat to heaven.

In an act of desperation a seraphim suggested exterminations, Lucifer, who was also in the meeting rejected the idea immediately knowingly Adam would never approve of such thing and would most likely be upset if angels started killing human souls. But he was shut down by all of those who started agreeing it was the best solution for their growing issue. Lucifer sat their speechless and shocked that they would have to resort to this.

He threatened them he would go speak to God if they refused to consider other possible and more peaceful solutions, this of course caused worries to everyone in the room, but they knew God wouldn't believe Lucifer for everything after the Eden incident. So Sera and the archangels pulled a card making Lucifer sit down and take it. They used Adam's safety as a threat to keep Lucifer to back down and simply obey. Which worked.

Out of all angels Lucifer ended up being put in charge of the exorcists. The only two rules they had was that no one was allowed to tell Adam or the winners about the exterminations.

The more work Lucifer was given the more time apart he was from Adam. But every time they did reunite it was magnificent and worthwhile. With each extermination Lucifer became detached from heaven and it's winners, the only thing that kept him away from falling was Adam. Lucifer didn't like sinners but with each time he visited hell during exterminations he became fascinated with the environment and places it had, he liked the hellborns but from a distance. It was all entertainment in his eyes and he loves a good show.

He also was not able to realized that he was repressing deep feelings for the first man. The feeling of guilt, fear, shame and unworthiness of Adam stopped him from ever opening to that possibility. However Adam was very opened in how much he loved Lucifer never verbally affirming it, maybe even clueless about it but with his actions spoke volumes. They both love each other a lot.

But Lucifer knew Adam would be disappointed and heartbroken if the truth reveals about what he did every once a year. He was also pushed into doing a lot of the ugly and dirty shit heaven refuses to do now that the council had him on a leash so he couldn't fight back. Lucifer cannot count how many souls he has taken out, he only knew he was completely bathed in blood, stained forever. And he would still take out if that meant protecting Adam but also keeping his dirty secret from coming out to light.

The years keep going and Lucifer starts giving zero f*cks about killing; murder became fun and a stress reliever, his anger was lashed on the not so 'innocent'. So he kept refusing to feel guilt over it. No one cared of what he felt, no one loved him except one, no one values his work so why care back?

At that point all the angels feared Lucifer's wrath. No longer the cheerful dreamful angel he once was (he was broken, he was different, he no longer belonged), they now knew him as someone very dangerous and cold blooded. The only times you could genuinely see him being his angel self is with Adam. And that was becoming a rarity to see, them together was becoming impossible to happen when Lucifer was overwhelmed with work.

It worsen when Lucifer was stuck having to deal with the knew issue in hand and it was Lilith and Eve's spawn: Charlie First. And the beginning of a new chapter.

[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.

[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.

[moonstruckme]

Could you write about poly!marauders and how fem reader and the boys dote on Remus during his cycle? If you’re not up to it you can disguard:) love your works

Hi, thanks for requesting honey! To be real with you, I don't know much about how Remus' werewolf cycle works, but I did my best! Love you :)

poly!marauders x reader ♡ 564 words

Sirius won’t stop bouncing his knee. You and James have told him half a dozen times to stop, but he can only seem to quiet himself for a few minutes before the incessant bump bump bump of his heel against the floor picks up again, seemingly without his notice.

You’re about to give him a nudge, but you don’t get the chance. 

“Sirius,” Remus growls into his pillow, and the dark-haired boy goes immediately still. Remus sighs, some of the muscles in his neck visibly relaxing. 

Sirius looks to you with wide eyes. He’s awake? he mouths. 

You shrug. Apparently. 

What do we do?

You’re looking between each other helplessly. You’d think after all this time you’d be used to it, but you and the boys still act like chickens without your heads in the absence of Remus’ guidance. There’s an air of desperation about the room, each of you wanting to do something to help your boyfriend but none knowing what. Remus doesn’t tend to respond well to being coddled, especially when he needs it most. So close to the full moon, you know he’s hypersensitive and likely sore all over, but anytime one of you offers to help he only snarls at you to go away. You’re not going to leave him, but it’s difficult to know how to care for someone who insists they don’t want it. 

I don’t know, you mouth back. Be quiet?

James moves to sit on the edge of the bed and holds up his hands to the both of you, signaling that he’ll handle it. 

“Rem.” James’ voice is as quiet as it ever gets, and he’s being careful not to use the nickname that would be a sore spot at this time of the month. “Do you want something to eat, my love?”

“No.” 

“What about a hot chocolate?” you pipe up, doing your best to sound casual but unable to keep the worry from your voice. “Maybe that would help?”

“What would help is if you all left me alone,” he says, words muffled as he turns his head even more deeply into his pillow. Silence falls over the room. After a moment, Remus sighs. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you say gently, and you mean it. You’ve long gotten past taking anything he says before the full moon personally. “I get it, honey. Or well, I don’t, but, I…I know it’s hard.”

“Can we touch you?” Sirius ventures. “Or would that make it worse?”

Another sigh. “I don’t know. You can try.” 

That’s all the encouragement Sirius needs, slipping into the bed and curling his body around Remus’ as best he’s able. Remus removes his face from the pillow, allowing Sirius to tuck it under his chin. 

“Okay?” Sirius asks. 

Remus' voice is quiet, but its edge has dulled. “Yeah. Thanks, Pads.” 

James scoots closer on the bed, beginning to massage delicately at the tensed muscles of Remus’ shoulders. You shoot him a commiserative smile, your gazes meeting with matching concern. 

You crouch beside the bed, voice soft and tentative. “What can I do that will help?”

The quiet stretches on a moment longer, and then Remus sounds almost sheepish when he replies, “Hot chocolate sounds nice, actually.”

Sirius chuckles into Remus' hair, and you grin, standing. “Coming right up, lovely boy.” 

Remus’ thanks is muffled into Sirius’ chest, but it brightens your smile anyway. 

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 3rd: School | Bad Reputation - Joan Jett and The Blackhearts | Combative

cw: pre-steddie (vaguely set s2), weed, migraines, un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

It’s 1985 and the boys bathroom smells like weed.

Interestingly, the boys bathroom smells like weed before Eddie ditches his last period to smoke in the little cement block room, window cracked and far less obvious than whoever’s in there ahead of him.

Probably a Freshman who doesn’t know any better, or some first-timer who hasn’t learned the ropes yet, he thinks to himself. 

What he doesn’t expect to find when he pushes the heavy wooden door open is recently dethroned King Steve, sitting on the disgusting tile floor smoking a poorly rolled joint in the corner of the bathroom. Wedged between the sink and the wall, he looks… small, sad, lost, even. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d recruit him for Hellfire. He certainly looks the part of lost sheep. 

Steve startles when the door opens and, in what may be the only time in Eddie’s many years at Hawkins High, relaxes when he sees Eddie. Steve’s eyes widen and then look away, back down at his hands. His shoulders clench and drop. His entire body seems to move to defend itself before retreating back into whatever stupor he’s smoking himself into. 

Eddie has no idea what the fuck is happening that Steve Harrington doesn’t take him as a threat after his years of proving himself to be just that. Nor can he imagine what the fuck Steve’s experienced that’s caused it. Seconds pass and Eddie just stands there, door closed behind him, unsure of what to do. Hotboxing the bathroom with Steve hadn’t been his plan, but he’s been desperate for just a few drags off the joint sitting heavy in his pocket all day. 

“You uh, you know that window opens, right?” Eddie asks, gesturing toward the window with his chin. 

Steve doesn’t look up. “Sure do.” 

“Got it. Cool. Okay, uh—” Eddie sputters. He’s had very few interactions with Steve, each one civil enough to leave no bad blood besides the company Steve keeps. Or, well, kept. But none have been long enough for Eddie to get a handle on Steve, not in the way he usually can.

Steve sighs and begins to stand. “I’ll get outta your way, man.” 

Something in the way he moves, the way he grips the sink edge tight and rocks once to gain momentum before Eddie stops him, reminds Eddie of Wayne. Veteran Wayne, who works a harsh manual job and is no less than 25 years their senior. That can’t be normal, he thinks. 

“Hey no, I’m uh, actually here for the same reason. Mind if I just,” Eddie trails off as he locks the door and wiggles his joint around, holding it between his pointer and middle finger. “I’ll crack the window so we don’t get busted.” 

“Yeah, I don’t care, but leave the window closed. It’s too fucking loud.” Steve shrugs and Eddie stops mid-stride. 

Eddie looks back down at the spot Steve has settled back into, his head carefully resting against the painted cinder block wall with closed eyes. It’s easier to watch him like this, long eyelashes spidering across his cheeks and brows furrowing. A tiny line appears between them, vertical, and Eddie holds himself back from smoothing it out. 

“Alright, just know we’re probably gonna get caught.” Eddie compromises as he sits on a toilet, the stall door open, and lights up. 

The flick of his lighter brings him a moment’s comfort, followed by the familiar warmth curling into his lungs. His throat burns and he coughs once, then twice, before exhaling. Little puffs of smoke leave his lips in one long, continuous breath. Immediately, the frustration of his meeting with the guidance counselor, the anger at his English teacher for failing him when he was fucking trying, the shame and disappointment of having to go home and tell Wayne he’s being left back– again– vanish. He knows it’s temporary, that it’ll all come rushing back to him in an hour or two, but for now, his brain is quiet. 

For now, the bathroom is silent. Long moments pass in surprisingly comforting stillness, just Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington in the strangest show of camaraderie imaginable. 

Eventually though, Eddie’s lips loosen.  

“Why are you in here anyways? Shouldn’t you be like… I don’t know,” Eddie starts, miming the act of dribbling a basketball. “Doing some sport thing?”

“I do more than play sports, Munson.” Steve’s eyes roll and he shakes his head, grimacing at the movement. Eddie can’t quite put it together, what that reaction means. 

“Huh. Coulda fooled me. And probably like, the rest of the school’s population. The rest of your Kingdom,” Eddie teases, gesturing widely with both arms. 

“There’s no Kingdon, you ass. Much as you pretend to stay outta the gossip, I know you know what happened. And I’m glad it did, so drop it, okay?”

Steve has a bite to him, an attitude that Eddie admires and can’t help push a bit further. 

“So you fall from grace and now you sit on grungy bathroom floors to smoke? Alone? That’s sorta my thing, just say–”

Eddie’s words get drowned out when Steve interrupts. “I’m down here smoking, alone, because I have a fucking migraine. If I have to see one more fluorescent light or hear one more high-pitched screech in the hallway, my brain is going to leak out of my goddamn ears.” 

Even stoned, Eddie puts it together all at once. The closed window. The cool tiles. The struggle to get up. He doesn’t know the full story, but he remembers Steve walking around with his face beaten in and the rumors that it’d been Billy’s doing during a fight, and the time before that, when Jonathan had gotten a few good shots in. Damn his bleeding heart, but Steve suddenly feels more like a lost sheep than he could’ve imagined.

Someone Eddie feels the urge to protect. 

Eddie stands carefully, all too aware of the sound of his own footsteps as he finds the hidden switch to turn the lights off. There’s still a tiny bit of light filtering in from beneath the door and through the window, but it’s darker. Safer. 

“I can be quiet.” 

Steve looks up at him, brows drawn tight in confusion, and Eddie’s chest aches. How infrequently does someone care for Steve?

“I’ve been in classes with you. I’m not so sure you can,” Steve retorts, a little less sarcastic now. Eddie makes a show of sitting back down on the toilet and mimicking zipping his lips and throwing away a key. It gets an actual laugh from Steve, and goddamn him, Eddie loves the sound of that. 

Eddie watches as Steve’s eyes close again, this time with a relaxed forehead, and stares at him while they  finish their joints. Alone, together. Maybe they could actually be friends, Eddie and Steve. Steve and Eddie. There’s a ring to it that Eddie hates because of how good it sounds. 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a rattling at the door and subsequent pounding. Steve’s eyes open and dart between Eddie and the door. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

Fuck is right, Eddie thinks. If he wasn’t already getting held back again, he would be now for what he’s about to do.

He crouches over next to Steve and takes what’s left of his joint from his fingers. “Do you have anything else on you?” 

Steve shakes his head No and opens his mouth, only for Eddie to press a finger against his lips. “Get in the stall and flush the toilet when I open the door.” 

“What–”

“Get in the stall,” Eddie whispers harshly, helping Steve to stand and all but shoving him in the stall he’d been in previously. 

“Dude, they’re gonna know I’m here, it’s fine,” Steve resigns. 

“Not if you have nothing on you, just say you had to take a piss and I was already in here. I’ve got a reputation, you don’t. Who are they gonna believe? Besides, I’m not graduating and you are. Consider it a graduation gift.” 

Before he can open the bathroom door, before he takes the fall as planned because of course, the principal believes the story they’d concocted, Eddie feels Steve place a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks.“

As he’s dragged to the Principal's office and suspended, an all too familiar setting, he hopes it’s not the last time he gets to smoke with Steve Harrington.