#and my continued loneliness doesn't help

[kingofdorkville]

i don't know, man, but you don't spend your whole life getting ignored, rejected by everyone you ask out, and treated like some horrible Other Thing without feeling bad about it

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”��

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[thedivinetarot]

Do you really think I give a damn what I do, After years of just hearing them talking?

Your current self Vs. Your future self

☆ How to chose your pile? 🦪🦪🦪

☆ Disclaimer:

- This is a general reading. If it doesn't resonate chose another pile or don't continue. Read with discernment, if you don't think this is not who you want to be then skip the whole reading.

- If the energy check didn't resonate with you then skip to the next portion

- This reading about your current vs. Future self (after 5 years from now).

☆ Note:

Since I have done a LOT of love and Future Spouse readings I wanted do something different. Perhaps for one self and because why not change the topic?

Lots of love and care💕

Arya.

Pile 1 - The sun☀️

1. Energy check:

Oh. My. God... okay, let's say hello first. So, hello darlings? How are you?🤍. I hope you are doing well💕. Let's get back... Oh. My. God. I see that someone here have just finished an endless nightmare. And by nightmare I mean... you probably was dealing with someone who is controlling, narcissistic, emotionally unavailable but somehow they are dresses in sheep clothes. I see that you put an end to your relationship with them. You put an end to your rose-tainted glasses on them. You might have been in limerence when it come to them but when you you got actually hurt and saw them for who they are you turned your head and walked away. I see that now, you are choosing your peace. You are choosing to heal on your own. I see that you are trying to balance your emotions and tap into your creativity. I see that someone here is hustling so hard. You are actually very independent. Maybe personally or financially or both. Because the energy here is so sharp, so strong. Someone here is smart AF. They know who they are but... the self-doubt come dressed in the pretty dress of "what if?" Or to be more specific.... "am I really that good or am I like them?" Aka the ones who have hurt you and disappointed you over and over again. Also, I'm sensing... water? Maybe you are in the bathtub reading this? Or you were in the swimming pool? Or you took a shower? Anyways, I felt water on my body. Anyways, you are cutting through confusion. Through pain. Through fantasies of "what could've been" but here's the twist.... that thing happened to teach you something. Not to leave you wounded and helpless. Chose your peace pile 1. Chose yourself 🤍.

Now, for your placements:

Strong Virgo, Gemini, Leo and pisces placements. Venus and mars in Virgo, mars in gemini, sun in Leo. Dominant planets in Mars, Venus, neptune. Planets or stallium in the 6th, 3rd, 5th, 12th house in your chart.

2. Your current self:

Now, you are someone who have a lot of creativity and passion. You have a taste for art and poetry. You enjoy painting or art in general. You like surrounding yourself with beautiful things and you have an eye for aesthetic. You are someone who is very smart, very discerning and sharp. Perhaps, you have a sharp tongue and people get offended a LOT by that but you can't help it. You don't know how to wear masks so you come off a little harsh or judgemental. You know how to invest in things wisely. And you know when and how to save up your money. You might struggle to get out of your comfort zone but you see the bigger picture anyways. You are that one person who knows why things happen but you are either clueless of how to get out of your comfort zone or just... feel like the odds are stacked against them. I see that you carry the pain of rejection. Perhaps you feel isolated or you feel like you don’t belong. Someone here is like... have been misunderstood a LOT in their life but people didn't even bother to understand you. So, you withdraw and learned how to feel comfortable in that solitude. You turned loneliness into solitude and pain into fuel to keep going. I see that you might be indecisive sometimes. You might get stuck in your own head and think that you are alone. I see that you are someone who have a rich emotional inner world. You enjoy a good romcom movie but you don't get stuck in your head wanting that to happen in real life. You have a great balance between idealism/ romanticism and being realistic. You might be a healer, an artist, a poet at heart. And you seem like you never tire or get bored of chasing your dreams. Awww pile 1, the energy here is so dreamy. You are someone who is very sweet and genuine. Don't let others dim your light or make you doubt yourself.

3. Your future self:

Hmmm... yeah, I see that you'll be more mysterious and clever. You won't be fooled easily by someone's emotional unavailability. You will be more discerning. And your boundaries are ice cold. No one will get closer to you unless their loyalty be tested. I see that you will learn how to take proper care of yourself. Your eating habits might change drastically. I see someone's appearance changing significantly. You might be unrecognizable by that time. I see that you'll be more social by that time. You'll dress differently, act differently and will be more open BUT discerning and stable. You might get the game (socially)? Yes, your relationship might not all be for authenticity but they'll serve a higher purpose in your future life. Perhaps you'll have a lot of useful connections that will elevate you socially but not all of them will be deep because until that time you'll learn who deserves and who doesn't. You'll stop being indecisive and take matters into hand. You'll value finer things in life more. Like... for example, your future house or home will be a work of art. You'll take good care of your own body, house and life. You'll flourish and I see you being stable financially. Your current hustle will pay off and you'll live comfortably the life that you are currently wishing for. I see that your future self is very busy, someone who juggles a lot on their own. You might be away from your family. Perhaps, you'll move out of your parents house and heal from the trauma that they caused. I see that by that time you'll drop a lot of weight physically, spiritually, financially, and most importantly emotionally. Since you are someone with great emotional depth and empathy it'll be easy for you to yk take everyone's emotional baggage on your own and sponge up their feelings like it is yours to carry. But in the future you'll drop that habit. It won't be something you'll do anymore. You will be a boss but not a bitch. Because you'll value your peace of mind and your money more than any fake or superficial connection. Thank you for reading this pile 1💕. Take care🤍.

Pile 2 - Sunflower🌻

1. Energy check:

Hello dears, how are you? I hope you are doing well🤍. Now, let's get into your energy check. Phew, I see that something rough have just ended in your life. I'm sensing here that perhaps for a very few people here, someone just ended a very rough marriage with a narcissist or psychopath. I see that this was a very painful karmic lesson. Now, for others who never were married or didn't enter any relationship with anyone I see that you finally ended a painful chapter related to self-worth and equal give and take. You might have struggled to be balanced in your personal relationships and you were taken advantage of for so many people. Perhaps for.... 5-10 years of your life? Yeah. Because I see a karmic contract here.... perhaps there was a contract between you and those people to learn how to be more balanced in your relationships. And to start pouring into your own cup before filling people's cups. I feel confused and sleepy. Someone here needs to reduce their screen time and go touch grass. You might need meditation and listening to frequencies that clear and balance your chakras. Omg, I'm struggling to move on to the next idea... it's like you guys (because of how terrible it was) you are weary and tired. You don't want to move on. It was like a horror movie. Someone here was severely abused by a parent. And in the many scenarios that I mentioned.... it turned you into someone who is watchful and cautious. You want peace... and in order to get there you had to use your brain and shut down your heart. The heart and throat chakra are closed or blocked. Emotions are so hard to face or swallow. You might have carried more of what you have the capacity to which lead you to frequent burn out and periods of isolation but still... you rise baby, you are stronger because of this. I'm so proud of you💕. Now, your placements:

Libra, Taurus, gemini, Aquarius, Scorpio. Dominant planets in Mars, Pluto, Saturn. Planets or stallium in the 7th, 2nd, 11th, 8th House in your chart. Mars-Pluto harsh aspects in your chart.

2. Your current self:

Okay, I see that because you have went through a lot which caused you pain and hurt you became someone who is obsessed with control. You are someone who is hyper independent who can't rely on anyone for anything. I see that you are someone who is very pushy and demanding and when someone doesn't meet you where you want you just leave them. I see that you are someone who is super busy. You might be enjoying warm weather and summer. You are someone who struggle with low self-esteem and anxiety or depression. Walking away from what is not serving you became easier than understanding why or trying. Someone here is either struggling with isolation or doesn't want to be isolated. You either love your isolation so much or doesn't tolerate being alone at all. You are someone who values traditions in romantic matters. You tend to get impulsive when you are excited about something without actually seeing the consequences. You have a very strict routine or care so much about how food should be prepared or served. You might be a picky eater too. I got two knight cards, and both are impulsive and hasty AF. You might come off as someone who is rude, blunt and arrogant. You might think that you are better than most people around you. You know how to be patient when it comes to your goals. In a period of your life you might have chased external validation or approval from the opposite sex or people in general. My left ear started ringing and it got hot. Are you clairaudience pile 2? Do you hear words, lyrics and voices? If you do so then you are not crazy it might be the divine or your spirit guides trying to get your attention. You have two sides to your personality. The first one is the blunt, rude and arrogant self. And the other side might be the control and tradition freak (I'm sorry tarot cards never lie, I'm not judging, here's a chocolate🍫). You might romanticize your struggles in an unhealthy way. But under all of that you carry a heart of gold and a sweet inner child.

3. Your future self:

Okay, by that time you'll be more realistic. And by more I mean... the things you are aspiring to have in the future (after 5 years) might come but not in the form you expect (remember this is a general reading). By that time you'll have finally healed from the things that left scars on your heart. Your hasty and enthusiasm will dim a little but not in an unhealthy way. I don't see depression but you'll be able to direct your energy in a more healthy directions. You'll be emotionally fulfilled on your own and you'll be more emotionally mature. I guess by that time you'll be married. If you are a female or feminine your masculine will be emotionally mature and sweet. And if you are a masculine or male your wife will be so confident and a diva, she a baddie. Anyways, you'll embody the archetype of the queen or king, emotionally mature and confident in your own skin. Your partner might not be someone you expect, like if you are trying to manifest a soulmate or twin flame it might not be one. But in all cases it'll make you happy. You might feel like you are out of alignment sometimes and you'll want to be aligned with your higher purpose. You'll be more collaborative and you'll drop the control act/mask. In the future you'll be more trusting and open to receive help from others because you'll be healed. You'll be more strategic and smart by that time. You'll have a healthy self-esteem by that time and you'll come off as more confident instead of cocky or arrogant. Your own cup will be full of your own love and energy instead of other's. And you might be traveling the world or states or countries. I see travels and movement for you after 5 years. You might relocate or change the whole country. Thank you for reading pile 2, take care💕.

Pile 3 - Stars ✨

1. Energy check:

Now, hello pile 3. How are you? I hope you are doing well💕. Let's get into the energy check. Okay, this pile is bored lol. I mean you are here just to waste time. But anyways you are welcome to waste as much time as you need. I see that you are financially stable or you are independent but... lately... you have been feeling super lonely. I see that this pile’s energy is monotone.... stagnant. Life is going in the same direction and you are bored of how things are. You probably thought of dating someone but the dating pool is quite murky for you. Like... you don't want to know anyone. Like.. you lost interest. I see that you have been focusing on yourself so HARD that you are very comfortable on your own but your solitude somehow turned into loneliness. Loneliness is that sneaky beast who come to you when you are scrolling through TikTok or IG looking at how happy some couples are and you can't even find someone to like. I see that you are very realistic when it come to that matter. You somehow know... that people are not who they seem. You read between the line very well. That's why your social relationships are all.... formal or work related. I see that you doubt your own worth sometimes. Or you recently found out that a friend of yours was or is jealous of you and you cut contact with her. I see that you are trying to heal from that relationship or you already healed and learned your lesson. You probably don't sleepy well lately. I felt tired all of sudden and sleepy, pls take care of yourself pile 3. Your health matter so much in the long run🤍. Now, oh God the energy here is super cold and detached. The person who is reading this is quite... cold and discerning, I'm talking about you of course if that is your energy then the reading is for you. I see that you are someone who believe in karma and... perhaps something happened in your work or university or school. Perhaps, you were in a project and people ignored your instruction and made you feel jaded. I'm sorry for what you are going through pile 3🤍. Karma will get them. Now, your placements:

Cancer, Virgo, Libra, Sagittarius, Aquarius, Aries. Venus in Virgo, sun in libra and Aries, mars in Capricorn, moon in sagittarius. Dominant planets in moon, Saturn, Neptune.

2. Your current self:

You are someone who have gone through a spiritual awakening or have been or still judged by other so harshly. I see that you have been criticized a lot throughout your childhood. Someone here have a perfectionist streak to them, perhaps you are the oldest sibling? Or have a problem with an oldest sibling? Anyways. I see that someone here have mental health issues and I'm not talking about social anxiety or panic attacks (though they count) I'm talking dissociation, bipolar disorder, Borderline personality Disorder, and heavy depression. I see that life didn't go easy on you. Someone here have mommy issues or have had a mother who was or still emotionally constipated and was harsh when it came to criticizing you. My head grew heavy especially the back of my neck. You might be someone who needs a LOT of time to recover after each social gathering. You see people for who they are and you know who is a narcissist or who is NOT and when you see that someone is not good you avoid them at all costs. I see that you feel isolated and you blame that on spiritual awakening but deep down you know that you have felt misunderstood so much now you feel jaded of relationships in general. But despite all that terror that you have gone through you still have hope, you still believe that life goes on. You still think that like will be better one day. I got the lyrics from lana heroin "Life rocked me like Mötley, Grabbed me by the ribbons in my hair, Life rocked me ultra softly, Like the heavy metal that you wear" though in her lyrics it wasn't something soft at all. I see that you are still emotionally reactive and this thing is stopping you to look at things more rationally, your reactions are driven by emotions. Now I'm not saying you need to fix it, just be aware that if you are under 25 it is normal to be this way, you brain didn't develop fully yet. I see that you are juggling a lot mentally. I see that you have been hurt A Lot in the past especially from your family.

3. Your future self:

After 5 years you'll be in a better place and you know that. First you'll be healed a lot from the past and you'll be more able to forgive your family and parents. I see that you'll struggle to be more social in the future which is okay, if you still doubt that you can handle relationships. If you are considering a relocation I'm not seeing it might happen because you'll be kind of confused where or how to start. Or you might be kind of.... not sure where you want to go and this will keep you stuck in your place. I see that your past disappointments will still be in your chest. But the way you deal with them will be different. Especially on how you handle your sadness. I see that in the future you'll be more stable financially. I see a big girl job and big girl money is waiting for you. I see that you might get a raise in your salary or become a manager of some sort or an HR. Your relationship with yourself and others will be more balanced than now. You might find a couple of people who will meet you where you want but believe me it'll be worth it. I see that in the future you'll be busier and you might struggle to balance your work life and personal life. You'll be more confident and you might come off as blunt or rude to some people. Your physical appearance will be more sexy and beautiful. You'll get a sexy boost or something. And finally karma will be on your side. Now I'm not seeing any marriage or life partner after 5 years for you but remember that this is a general reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't. That's what I'm seeing for you dear, take care❤.

Post date: 14th of June 2025 - Fri

*Feedback is appreciated

2✅ out of 4

[luthiensaralonde]

Gale Dekarios and his respect for women

It has become increasingly common in certain circles of discourse to dismiss Gale Dekarios as an “incel” or to accuse him of misogyny, based primarily on surface-level misinterpretations of his demeanor, his failed romance with Mystra, or his initial "arrogance." However, such takes fall apart when you actually delve into his relationship with women throughout the game. When examined holistically, Gale’s character is not only deeply shaped by his reverence for women, but he is, in many ways, a man defined by them.

Let’s begin with the obvious:

1. Mystra

Gale’s entire identity as a wizard is shaped by his worship of Mystra, the Lady of Mysteries, a goddess who not only governs magic but also represents the divine embodiment of the Weave itself. His desire to please her is not rooted in blind servitude or entitlement, but in reverence, devotion, and a sincere need to be worthy. The rupture in their relationship breaks him (not because he was spurned, but because he failed in her eyes).

Rather than rejecting her divinity in anger, Gale continues to refer to her as his goddess. There is no bitterness, only regret and longing. He blames himself, not her.

2. Morena

Gale proudly claims his mother’s surname, Dekarios. This is not just trivia, it is narrative choice. It speaks volumes about the figure who raised him. We hear nothing about his father and perhaps by design. The person Gale claims, honors, and symbolically identifies with is his mother.

3. Tara

Even Gale’s most loyal companion, Tara, is female. Gale never belittles or dismisses her, but listens to her, even when she challenges him. Their relationship is playful, but deeply respectful.

The idea that a man would form his closest companionship with a magical female creature, one who scolds him and still follows him across Faerûn, hardly aligns with any definition of misogyny. She's basically his second parent.

4. His Dream Guardian

Gale is notably the only origin character who refers to the Dream Guardian as "she". This subtle but significant detail shows how he relates to femininity even in liminal, psychological spaces. It’s not just that he can project a female identity onto the Guardian, it’s that he chooses to.

5. His Reactions to Female NPCs

Take, for instance, the scene with Mayrina. While other characters show skepticism or even irritation toward her plight, Gale immediately expresses concern:

"She's a pregnant lady in distress, we can't just stand by and pretend she's not here."

This moment reveals his instinctive protectiveness and empathy, particularly toward vulnerable women. He doesn’t question her intelligence or her choices, he simply believes she deserves help.

Another subtle but telling scene is with Isobel at the Last Light Inn. Gale’s interactions with her (especially if you let him speak) are marked by concern and measured respect. He doesn't undermine, or try to dominate the conversation. He listens, asks questions, and is genuinely invested.

This probably isn't as important to my point, but I just want to mention his protectiveness/concern for children, most of them in the game, female: Arabella, Mol, Yenna etc.

6. His Respect for Female Companions

Gale’s interactions with the women in the party are often gentler, more complimentary, and emotionally open than those with the male companions. I could list an abundance of dialogue examples, but I'll save that for another post perhaps.

Meanwhile, Gale’s interactions with male companions (like Astarion or Wyll) are often tinged with sarcasm, rivalry, or distance. While not hostile, they lack the warmth and admiration he reserves for women.

With that said, Gale Dekarios is not a perfect man, but he is a profoundly emotional and thoughtful one. His arrogance masks deep insecurity, and his charm belies years of shame, grief, and loneliness. What is undeniable, however, is that women occupy a place of importance in his life, not as objects of conquest, but as guides, caretakers, protectors, friends, and potentially lovers.

To reduce him to an “incel” is to ignore the text in favor of a meme. At the heart of Gale Dekarios lies a deep and abiding reverence for the divine feminine.

To dismiss his love for Mystra as toxic entitlement is to misunderstand heartbreak.

And to overlook the way he trusts, follows, and loves women is to miss the deeper beauty of Gale Dekarios entirely.

[snoopyhq]

Jealous viktor + reader 🙏

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ so with my best, my very best, i set you free

(i love laufey 🗣️ her cover of "i wish you love" with the icelandic orchestra? 2:49 of heaven)

type: viktor x reader

summary: headcanons and a drabble of jealous viktor. headcanons are pre-relationship, the drabble is the established relationship ✪ ꨄ︎

word count: 2415

a/n: OMG FIRST ASK I'M SO HONORED I'M SO EXCITED YIPPEE !!! will be working on the others whenever i have the time, but TRUST i am plotting and scheming <3 any other askers, feel free to drop by! i hope i did your request justice, dear anon.

It was unfair to you, and to him, in his most miserable moments of pure self-pity

Viktor envied those who were healthy. He wished he wasn't born with the circumstances he was dealt. He would trade anything to spend one day with a respiratory system that didn't choke him from the inside out every time he took a breath

He was jealous of you, initially, when you first met

You seemed to have it so easy

Easy laughter, easy conversation, easy friends. You had an established life, you were loved, and you held yourself together with such ease that he sometimes wonders how much you're really holding back

He feels bad for assuming you were dealing with awful problems. But it was very likely. I mean, who was truly that... happy? Well off? At ease with themself and their role in the world? He was probably projecting

And then you somehow, by all the miracles a human could possibly be granted, managed to worm your way into his life and secure yourself there too

Viktor vehemently rejected you at first. He was much like a stray cat. You just gotta continuously give them love on their own terms, and often times, it was slow, and that concept applied to Viktor too

It started with small things. Brief greetings where you called him by name

"Good morning, Viktor."

"Nice to see you here today, Viktor."

"Viktor, you have a good night ok? Get home safe."

Including him in conversations. Commentary about how you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time. The library, a cafe, randomly in the middle of a bustling street

You always had that breezy way of acknowledging things. What a nice coincidence. It was all genuine

You were pleased to be surprised by his presence

Wordlessly holding the door for him, even if you really didn't have to wait. But it was never a big deal, so

He pushed it away. Brushed it off, and tried to forget about it, but those little moments kept circling through his mind like an irritating tape he couldn't dislodge from the disc player, and turning the TV off wasn't doing shit when those scenes were basically burned onto the screen

Like the natural progression of the lunar cycle, Viktor found himself unconsciously expecting you in his life

He can't remember a time when you weren't

Your greetings, your little gestures of kindness, that skill of small talk that meant so, so much to him were cherished like an altar of worship

While he was in no way, shape, or form completely opening himself up to befriending any more people, he began to feel much more natural with you and others you gave your time to

Which brought him to his current bit of emotional turbulence

That prickling in his chest whenever he saw you with other people, giving them your precious words and quality time? Yeah, he shouldn't be feeling this

You were allowed to have other friends! You had people in your life before him, and it doesn't mean you consider him any less just because you spent a moment or two with someone else!

He would tighten his grip on his cane, those mantras feverishly chanting in his mind as he walked in circles, attempting to reign his emotions into a more rational state

He had no right to feel jealous like this, but he couldn't help it

Jayce was his only real companion before, and now that he was a council member, he had less time for Viktor. He had the city to nurture and shape, a big responsibility. The loneliness of the lab was barely a noticeable shift from before

Now, you arrived as if by careless chance, giving him another glimpse, another hit of company, and it was maddeningly cruel to have those doses be in such short time frames

He was given what he needed and wanted, but never fully

Accepting that reality was going to be harder than accepting you truly wishing to be around him, in all his sardonic glory, his blunt nature that had most other people walking away. Just not you

To grapple with this selfish desire was humiliating

He was fully aware of how innately human it all was. If only it were easier. Someday.

For now, he would wait and bask in all the attention and friendship you offered him so willingly

You stood in front of your mirror, going over your carefully put together look one last time. You wanted to look good, and having the outfit fall into place like how you planned it in your head always gave you an extra boost of happiness before you left the house. Straightening the collar of your top one last time, you were finally satisfied.

Viktor was waiting for you in the living room. He stood up when you finally appeared, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek and a murmured "You look enchanting, as always."

You laughed and hugged him.

"And you're dashing, as per usual."

With your arm linked through his, the two of you went on your way. He had planned the date tonight. The winding route led to the sparkling, five-tiered fountain that marked the center of the shopping fair. The flowing water sparkled and danced beneath the fairy lights strung through the evergreens surrounding the space, and orchestral music floated up from where the quintet performed.

You two often went here after a long, stressful week, dining at one of the outdoor tables and idly chatting before hitting a couple stores. Most of the time, it would be the bookshop, the local woodcarver, and then the bakery. You had made it a tradition to buy one another a sweet treat, and it was always a delight to see if your guesses of enjoyment would be met or not.

There was certainly not a lack of other people around you, many of whom were also hand in hand. The center was a popular spot for local students and couples to unwind and spend time together.

When you both had your fill of sights and perusing your respective comforts, you made your way back to the fountain. The musicians had struck up a lively waltz, and many were dancing along now. Both of you shared a look, and moved to join in, albeit towards the edge of the crowds.

Dancing with Viktor was one of your favorite activities. He moved with such assuredness and care for your space, making him all the more captivating in his graces. The respectful placement of his hand on your waist, never going too far and risking your discomfort in public, and never straying away lest he appeared bored, Viktor made sure you were his priority.

After the song concluded, you spun Viktor around slowly to the rhythm of the music drawing to a close, dipping him into a kiss during the final note.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, both from the exertion and from your affection.

"I'm going to grab a drink. We can head home after, if you'd like," you told him, head leaning on his shoulder as he walked with you back up the steps.

"That's perfectly fine. I can hold your bag while you do that."

Oh, Viktor. Ever the gentleman.

You went inside the establishment, and ordered yourself a shirley temple with sweet cream, fully planning to share with him. You knew he had a penchant for the more saccharine in terms of taste. While you waited to order, another patron joined you after placing their order.

"Busy place tonight, isn't it?" they commented.

You turned your attention to them, surprised a stranger was making conversation with you, but you didn't mind. All harmless small talk, after all. You would be leaving soon anyways when your order was finished, so why not pass the time with pleasantries?

"It's one of the most popular cafes around here," you replied. "Friday nights always means live music, so people love to flock here. I should know. I frequent here often." you finished with a smile, and received one in return.

They continued engaging you in conversation, and you soon realized it was taking a bit for your drink. A shirley temple wasn't complicated, and you were worried something was wrong. Maybe they were short-staffed tonight? Did an accident occur in the back?

"Are you worried about your drink?"

"No, not really. More so the workers here," you were honest. Some of them were fellow students you see at the academy, and others knew you as a regular, and you had grown quite fond of the staff as they were of you.

"That's a surprise. You're very sweet."

Their order quickly arrived, and they bid you farewell before departing into the night. You walked up to the counter, asking if everyone was ok. The barista reassured you, saying it was only going to take a little while, and that everything is alright now. Relieved, you went back to your perch.

Outside, Viktor was waiting anxiously. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.

When someone emerged from the cafe, he was tempted to get up and ask them if they'd seen you in there.

Yes, my partner. About this tall, very beautiful eyes, a smile you can't miss. Have you seen...?

God. He was contemplating approaching a stranger just to inquire about you. Luckily (or was it?) for him, they must've sensed him sneaking glances at the cafe and at them, because they approached him cheerily.

"You look a little lost. Need some help?" they asked.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just waiting for someone."

At that, they perked up.

"It wouldn't happen to be someone wearing the same colored blouse as your vest would it?"

Yes. It was. He confirmed it.

"That's perfect actually! I was just talking to them, and since you know them, do you think they would be interested in exchanging contact information with me? They were quite lovely company, and I wouldn't mind getting to know them better."

Viktor could feel his heart drop and the temperature in his soul rise several degrees. What was going on? Where were you? What had happened in those minutes that you were gone?

"I will... ask them," he attempted to keep his tone even. "Mind giving me your contact information to pass along?"

The stranger happily handed Viktor a piece of paper, their messy scrawl sending a sting of irritation through him. That penmanship was not worthy of you, and would certainly not compare to the intricate scripting of his own handwritten notes and letters to you.

When you finally rejoined him, you could tell immediately something was off. You questioned him about it, and he huffed, telling you not to worry about it as you walked home. He didn't even pay any mind to the bag that hung on your arm, too caught up in his insecurities and worries.

That stranger was so much like you. So approachable. Good conversationalist. He couldn't help but imagine a scenario of you two getting along a little too well, and that made something deep inside him hurt. Clearly, he wasn't as good as keeping his thoughts off his face as he believed, or you had simply gotten better at understanding him, because you promptly asked him again.

"Come on, Viktor. Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

"If you knew the full extent of what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't be so quick to call my mind beautiful," he grumbled tersely.

"You can't judge my reaction for me. Spill."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he confessed. It felt like ripping out stitches from his tongue.

"... someone at the coffee shop. They asked me if I knew you, and then asked if you would be interested in their contact information."

At that, you raised an incredulous eyebrow. Ah. You were blissfully oblivious of the jarring events.

"Viktor, I promise nothing is wrong. We were both waiting for our drinks, and they happened to be making small talk with me. That's all. I love you with my whole heart, and no one else can ever--will not ever--compare."

His heart fluttered. He knew that was the realistic truth, but it was nice to hear reassurance from you anyways.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"I mean it," you said sincerely.

Setting your bags and drink on the nearby bench, you swept him into your arms and twirled him around beneath the streetlight's warm glow.

"I love you," you declared, hands holding his face tightly. Your thumb brushed against the beauty mark above his lip. "And if you ever need reminders of that, you tell me immediately. I will literally drop everything and make sure your doubt disappears completely for as long as I can hold it back."

He gazed into your eyes, his own now slightly misted. Their glossiness reflected warmth and adoration as he took in your face. Seeing the conviction there did something to him. He didn't know what, but he found himself giving in to the urge to just close the distance and kiss you right then and there, open street be damned.

It began to snow. He only realized when he parted from you, the taste of your chapstick still lingering. He looked up, watching the delicate flakes be illuminated by the warm, golden glow. If there was a visualization for the love he felt, it would be that he decided. It all just built and built from all the little things, and filled him with such life it almost hurt.

"We should go home," he whispered, looking back at you.

"Oh yeah, we should. I was going to tell you!" you gasped, running back for your drink and the bag. "They gave me extra cakes and rolls. The last ones of the specialty desserts before their next seasonal delights, so we can share them." you beamed.

"Really? That's quite generous of them."

He wasn't surprised. You were just so damn lovable. He would give you all the baked goods you desired and more, if only for another smile from you directed at him. His fingers intertwined with yours, fondness consuming him as you chatted about the different flavors of the desserts, which ones you were most excited about, and which ones you think he'd like.

He had to agree with your assessments. A dark chocolate and orange mousse did sound quite appealing for him. He already knew he'd let you have the last bite, regardless.

"Oh, and Viktor?"

"Hmm?"

"You can throw away the contact. I don't need it."

I already have you.

[trippinsorrows]

lessons in love + two

authors note: lord, the way ya'll love this concept blows my mind. everyone and they mama, it feels like, has been waiting on this lil' meetup, so i just hope it doesn't disappoint. and yes....if you know me, know how i write, you know some stuff in here lays down foundations

words: 4k

masterlist

warnings: brief moments of angst. also, roman is still a dick.

Solana has learned to embrace the loneliness.

And perhaps it’s less an embrace, and more of a forced acceptance. Acknowledging something that’s unchanging and unmoving. 

Over the years, she’s tried to make friends. Tried to be social. Especially after her mother’s murder, the loss of her best friend creating a large, gaping hole in her chest she thought actual friends her age could sort of help fill. Never entirely. 

Never that.

But, for every attempt she made, every girl she managed to find some sort of connecting bridge of shared interest with, there became a new target. 

A target for her father. 

In those moments of his unbridled rage, where his heavy fist rained down on her, blow after blow, kick after kick until blood would sometimes spurt from her mouth, a threat would be made.

“And if you tell anyone, that new friend of yours is as good as dead! You hear me, you ungrateful bitch! Dead just like your fucking mother!”

And Solana believed him. Believed with everything in her that he would make good on his promise. That he would find a way to end the life of her friend. Of anyone she befriended. So, the little joy she received from connecting with other kids and teens as she got older was a pleasure she had to deprive herself of. Had to deny herself. Solana pulled away. Stopped interacting. Stopped trying. Stopped being.

With herself and by herself was the only option and has been for years. 

Forced acceptance.

“Hey.”

Solana's heart thuds against her chest, her stomach tightening and dropping as she looks up from the sketchbook in front of her. 

Striking blue eyes and a handsome face. Features perfectly symmetrical, thin lips pulled into a small smile. An almost identical snapshot seen in the likes of Abercrombie and Fitch ads.  

He's so cute.

Solana struggles with conversation as it is, and the person before her doesn’t help with that one bit. 

Austin Theory stands on the opposite side of the table, football team issued backpack slung over one shoulder, gaze landed directly onto her.

“H—hi,” she stammers. Solana first “met” Austin when they were in the same group during orientation weekend. And despite sitting next to each other at various points due to assigned seating, he never once said one word to her. Not that she said a word to him. Or, anyone really. No, Austin was too busy flirting with some of the other girls in the group. Blonde, brunette, hazel and blue eyed. Skinny. The kind of girls Solana would always see walking in packs in the hallway. Who always hung out with the jocks.

The popular girls, and Solana is many things, but popular has and never will be one of them.

So, for the life of her, she can’t understand what someone like him is doing approaching someone like her.

And, then it hits her. 

She looks around the table, reaching for her textbook. “Do—do you need the table?” Without an answer, she reaches for her bag, preparing to load it up. “I can mo—”

“Move?” He finishes for her, chuckling quietly. “Now, why would I want that?” The surprises continue as he pulls out the chair opposite her, plopping down. “Then I wouldn’t be able to talk to you.”

Oh. 

“Me?” She points to herself. This has to be some sort of joke. Why in the world would he ever want to talk to her? “Wh—”

“Sable, right?”

She shakes her head, borderline tempted to not correct him. “Umm, S—Solana.” 

He sucks his teeth, making a sort of clicking sound. “That’s right.” Nodding to himself, she shifts under his gaze, his lazy smile returning. “Nice.”

Solana is almost certain her cheeks burn brighter than the red of her textbook. If she didn’t know for a fact that only celebrities are eligible, she’d swear she’s being Punk’d.

“I’ve seen you around, you know.” Her eyes widen, her chest tightening. “You’re so….quiet.”

It feels like he has another word he wants to use, but she’s still too stunned by the fact that he’s even speaking to her right now for her pick up on such things. “I dig it.”

“Oh?” The dumbest response that makes his smile widen and her embarrassment multiply. 

“Yeah.” He nods, leaning over, Solana naturally inching back in her chair. “Maybe you and I could, uh, hang out sometime, yeah?” 

What….the….hell?

The Punk’d thing seems more and more an option, Solana’s eyes darting around the library, as if searching for a camera crew or someone holding some type of recording device. She finds nothing but the boy across from her with bright blue eyes and a surprisingly friendly demeanor. At first glance, Solana had chalked Theory up as just being another pretty boy. A jock who lived for the limelight and praise. And, perhaps all that is still true along with the fact that he’s actually a nice guy.

If only she was allowed the space to see what that could look like. Where this could go. 

A friendship.

“Maybe.” It’s the safest answer she can provide. Not a yes. Not a no. Just something in the middle. 

An acceptable answer, clearly, as his smile widens yet again. “Cool.” Solana watches him stand up from the seat, adjusting his backpack. “I’ll see you around, Solange.”

It’s an interesting wrong name to use, one that makes her smile because it feels so innocent, nothing malicious. Nothing to bother correcting. He doesn’t wait for her response, just turns to walk away, Solana offering a small wave to his retreating form. “Bye….”

One of the most unexpected encounters she’s had since starting college, for sure, nothing beating the unexpected pairing of herself with Roman Reigns, of all people. 

But, a nice one, nonetheless. 

One that keeps that small smile on her face as she digs through her bag, pulling out her CD player and headphones. Some music needed to help her prepared for the arrival of Roman himself. 

She can only hope that it goes as well and nice as her interaction with Austin.

Hopefully. 

----------

It’s not hard to spot her. 

She’s sitting at a table by herself, head down, pen in hand, focused on the notebook or whatever in front of her. Roman sighs, already dreading this whole thing, but there’s something even more irritating about where she decided to sit, for whatever reason.

Second floor, in the back, near the tables where few occupy. A "dead" area to most college students, the majority preferring to use the tables and computer area on the first and second floors. Rarely do kids bother climbing up three damn flights of steps if avoidable. But, not Solana. 

Of fucking course not. 

“Hey.” He greets, sighing when she jumps, dropping the pen, clearly startled.

This girl is so damn jumpy. 

Roman drops his backpack on the table at the same time she sits up in the seat and removes her headphones, reaching to probably hit pause on the CD player sitting on the table.

“H–hi,” she stammers, moving to close her sketchbook, shoving it to the side. Roman has to bite back a smartass reply. A lot of things annoy him, passivity being near the top of the list, and this girl is the walking definition of passivity. “You’re—” She glances at the large clock on the wall behind him. “You’re early.”

He gives her a pointed look. “You want me to leave?”

Her eyes widen. “No, I just—” She stops, looking down, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry.”

Roman rolls his eyes and starts to pull his notebook and laptop out of his bag, laying them out in front of him when he notices she’s not moving. Still sitting there, looking down. “Solana.”

She jumps once more, and this time, Roman can’t hide his irritation.

“Why the fuck do you keep doing that?”

A noticeable wince and yet another, “I’m sorry...”

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, running his hand over his face. “Just forget it.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, and it’s unsurprising. She’s someone of few words unless it’s unnecessary contrition. However, something fucking weird and annoying flicks within him in sensing her guilt. And something else close to sadness. Like he hurt her feelings. 

Why he picks up on that, or why it’s even something that he considers given he’s never been one to give a fuck about anyone outside of a few folks is beyond him.

But, he senses it.

He does.

Solana remains with her head and eyes down, quietly moving to put her CD player, headphones, and an album back in her bag. An album that catches his attention, Roman finding himself asking, “is it any good?”

At that, she looks up, brown meeting brown. “Huh?”

It takes a lot for him to bite back a smart ass reply as he gestures with his chin to the CD. “Is it any good?”

Why he's even asking her is yet another 404 file not found. He doesn't care. Not really. But, there's something preferable about her not looking so....sad and dejected like she was at his objectively rude tone.

Again, the why....is beyond him.

Solana looks down at said CD, fingers running over Usher’s name, written in gold lettering. She shakes her head, clearly thinking about her answer. “Yeah, it is.” He’s partially taken back when she actually follows up with a question of her own. “You....you like Usher?”

Roman shrugs, continuing to lay out the necessary books and items needed to get started. “A couple songs.” He wouldn’t call himself a fan, per se. Just someone who, as he said, likes a couple of his songs. And since the album released this past March, he’s had his cousins and Naomi on his ass about listening to the whole thing through versus the singles that have been dropped over the summer. 

“Well, it’s….it’s really good,” she continues, Roman noticing the way the tension in her shoulders seems to melt, the way she maintains eye contact. Even the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “The—the latest single is petty good, too.”

“What is it?”

“It’s umm, it’s a duet with Alicia Keys.” Her cheeks suddenly redden, eyes darting down. Again. “Called My Boo.”

He makes a sound, acknowledging, “I think my cousin and his girlfriend were listening to that the other day.”

“I like it,” she offers, eyes shutting as she admonishes herself. “I’m sorry, you didn’t—”

“Alright, you gotta stop with all the fucking I’m sorry’s.” Because the fact that more have been offered to him in a less than ten minute timespan than what he’s received in his 19 years on this earth is quite insane to him. 

She opens her mouth as if to say something—and he knows exactly what she’s about to say—when she stops herself, murmuring, “bad habit, I guess....”

“It is,” he confirms. “Doesn’t make sense to say sorry all the fucking time if you haven’t done anything.” She says something in a low voice, something he can’t make out. It almost sounds like it’s in a different language. “What’d you say?”

She looks up, eyes widening, something indecipherable flashing in her expression before she shakes her head. “Nothing.” Solana clears her throat, Roman slightly curious what she said but also with whatever that flash was. “We should, umm, we should get started?”

He wants to say something else, wants to push her on what she was going to say, but something stops him. Mostly because what does it matter anyway? 

Knowing her in the little time that he has, it was probably just another “I’m sorry” or variation of it, and Lord knows he’s heard more than enough of that from her to last him a lifetime. 

“Yeah,” he finally agrees. Roman watches as she reaches her in her bag and pulls out a book, spine and edges worn, colorful tabs and sticky notes poking out of the pages. “Damn.”

She looks over at him, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I, umm, I marked sections I thought we could use.”

“So, you’ve read it already? All of it?”

Solana nods. “Several times.”

At that, he stills. “Seriously?” And without thinking about it, he asks, “why?” Roman doesn’t hate reading. Not at all. It’s formative and pertinent in the accumulation of knowledge, but reading a classic one time is more than enough for him. He can’t imagine reading it several times unless forced. 

“It’s—it’s my favorite book,” she answers. That small smile makes a reappearance. “They’re filming the movie right now actually. There’s already a show—”

“The one from the nineties, right?” She nods, as he offers, “yeah, I saw something about that when I was looking up stuff for it. Figured I’d just watch that instead of reading it.”

She presses her lips together, as if readying to reply, only to stop herself. But, this time, Roman doesn’t ignore it. “What?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Nothing.”

He shakes his head, pressing, “naw, tell me.”

It’s not that he cares. He doesn’t. Why should he? Roman just dislikes things that are unknown and unlabeled, and her now giving him a second instance of an unspoken truth doesn’t sit well with him. For whatever reason. 

“It’s just….” She shifts in her seat, hands on the table as she fiddles with the pages of the book. “I think….to fully understand it, you should read the book.” As if believing her words to be offensive, she almost backtracks. “I mean, the show is really good and worth a watch, but I just think the source material will give you a better understanding. Not that you couldn’t understand just from watch—”

“Solana.” Roman has picked up on the undeniable fact that this girl is either not saying anything at all or everything at once. There is no in-between. “I get it.”

He does, and while he doesn’t fully agree, he can respect her take. Disagreement or not.

“Oh.” She seems surprised, like she was expecting some other sort of reaction. Like for him to be angry or offended, which he can’t exactly blame her. Roman is fully aware of his reputation. One he’s 1000% earned.

However, being overtly pissed with someone so small and….innocuous isn’t his thing. For some reason, Roman can’t really imagine anyone being overtly upset with the girl across from him. She’s the walking definition of innocence. 

They transition into less talk of adaptations versus source material to identifying the main tenets of the assignment, subjects and topics that need to be covered as per the assignment rubric. 

It’s not often that Roman is impressed, but there’s something that takes him back about how focused and able Solana is to break it all down. Section by section, she outlines potential views they can utilize. Points out the ease, or lack thereof, for both. 

She doesn’t stammer. Not really. Only when her gaze lifts from the textbooks or notebooks that writes into, taking notes, documenting everything in her handwriting, neat and girly. When she has to look at him, or when she reaches across the table and her fingers accidentally graze against him. That’s when he sees more of her nervousness emerge, but outside of that, when she’s assignment and book focused, she’s in the zone. It’s abundantly clear how passionate about and just how much she loves this damn book. Enough to where she can step out of that hollow shell and into the light, somewhat of her personality shining through. 

He feels like he sees more of her.

“Big Uce!”

Roman turns to his left, catching the way Solana jumps at the loud, obnoxious voice of his cousin. 

Naomi sucks her teeth, hitting him on the arm. “Would you shut up, fool?” She shakes her head, arms crossed. “This is a damn library.” 

“So?” Jimmy matches her energy, waving off her warning, looking around past the group of them that includes himself, Jey, Bayley, and Naomi. “Ain’t nobody here. They all on the first floor.”

“Yeah, why ya’ll up here anyway?” Jey asks, tossing up the apple in hand. 

Roman sighs, leaning back in his chair, shirt rising up a bit. He put on about 15lbs of muscle over the summer break, and it shows in the way some of his clothes have started to fit a bit more snug. “This was where she was.”

Gesturing over to Solana brings the focus of the group onto her, earning that blushing, flustered expression. Roman seeing more of that earlier, timid, reserved version of herself reappear, something about that irritating to him. 

His damn cousins have the worst fucking timing. 

“Hey, lil bit,” Jimmy greets, welcoming himself in the seat beside Solana. Jey sitting on the other side of her on the edge of the table. “Sola, right?”

She hesitates. “S—Solana.”

At that, Bayley’s interest piques. “That’s Spanish.” 

Solana nodes, shifting in her seat, as if trying to maximize the space between herself and the twins. “Y—yeah, my uhh, my mom was Mexican.”

Roman most definitely takes note of the was. Past tense. No longer here.

Huh.

Maybe they have more in common than he realized. 

Bayley says something in Spanish, Solana nodding, responding in the same language. She gestures to the four of them, clearly offering introductions.

“Aye, now we got three native speakers in the group!” Jimmy applauds, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

“Jimmy.” Naomi closes her eyes, the bright orange tips of her nails a contrast to her deep complexion as she rubs her temple. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Being able to order your meal in Spanish from Taco Bell does not count, dumbass.” 

“The hell it don't!” 

In the midst of questioning just why he puts up with his cousins, Roman catches the way Solana covers her mouth, clearly trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.

For some reason, whatever reason, it makes him smile. Small. Subtle. So subtle. But there.

It’s there. 

Naomi gives Jimmy the hand, speaking directly to Solana. “Please ignore him. He’s fine as hell but dumb as hell, too.” 

At that, Jey snorts, taking a bite out of his apple, but not before adding, “sure is.”

Bayley rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If he’s dumb, you’re dumber, ding dong.” 

It’s the comment that breaks the camel’s back. Laughter tumbles out of Solana’s mouth, and it’s a sound that makes something calm settle in Roman’s stomach. There’s something nice about her laugh. Soothing, almost. Especially as her hand drops from her mouth, revealing her smile. 

He’d thought before that she's pretty, but there’s something beautiful about her in that state. Seeing her smile. 

Something breathtaking. However, it’s quickly washed away and replaced with that other side of her. Quiet, shy, and clearly insecure. She shifts back into being overtly apologetic. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Girl, what are you apologizing for?” Naomi cuts her off, shaking her head. “It’s—oh my God, you like Usher?” Her eyes landing on the album that sits besides Solana’s notebook redirects her attention and sentence. 

“Who doesn’t like Usher?” Bayley says, Naomi reaching for the album, the biggest smile on her face.

“He is fine as hell.”

“Hey!”

“Boy, be quiet,” Naomi dismisses, looking back at Solana. “You got good taste.”

Solana’s blush returns. “Th—thanks.” 

Bayley then asks. “Who else do you listen to?” 

“Everything.” It’s a surprisingly quick and seemingly easy answer for someone who struggles with just basic sentences. “I love Christina Aguilera though, and Alicia Keys.”

“Make that excellent taste,” Naomi revises her previous statement, gesturing between herself and Bayley. “You need to hang out with us sometime.”

“Yeah, Soso.” Jey adds, Jimmy nodding in agreement. “You seem like you’d fit right on in with us.”

“Don’t insult her like that,” Roman speaks up, breaking his silence, Solana’s gaze switching to him. “And, that’s not her name.” 

“She don’t mind,” Jimmy ignores him, looking at her. “Do you, Soso?”

“Ya’ll are irritating,” Bayley shakes her head. “Ignore them, girl. We suspect they were crack head babies.” 

“Better than being—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kick your ass right here and right now,” Bayley threatens. Roman chuckles. She’d make good on it, too. Since they were kids, Bayley has always been the one to always back up what she says. If she makes a threat, trust and believe she’ll make good on it.

It’s one of the things he likes about her.

A hard feat considering there’s few things he likes in life, even lesser when it pertains to people.

Naomi reaches in her Juicy Couture purse, handing over her hot pink, bedazzled Nokia. “Put your number in. We’ll text and make plans.”

Roman can see it. The hesitation that appears in Solana’s face. Reluctance. Nervousness, almost. It’s similar to when he’d asked her before for her phone number.

“Her phone isn’t working.” What causes him to speak up, to answer for her, he isn’t quite sure. Not even a little. “Email works better.”

“Oh.” Naomi frowns, pulling her phone back to her before shrugging. “That’s cool, too.” She motions to Solana’s open notebook. “Can I…..”

Shaking her head, as if still in shock from Roman speaking for her, Solana grabs a pen and reaches both that and her notebook to Naomi.

“Give her my email, too,” Bayley instructs as Naomi writes away.

“Ours too.”

“Shut up,” Roman mutters. 

However, Naomi most certainly writes down everyone’s email, including the twins. She starts to hand the notebook back to Solana only to stop mid-movement. “Oh my God, ya’ll are meeting like every Wednesday, right?” And before Solana can answer, Naomi is already jumping the gun. “You should join us then.”

Offering the answer and clarification clearly missing, Bayley explains, “we watch the guys practice every Wednesday, since our cheer practice is in the morning.”

Jimmy joins the persuasion party. “Yeah, come on, Soso, what you doing after this? Why don’t you come now?”

Roman’s focus is on Solana the whole time. Watching the way she shuffles between confusion, excitement, trepidation, reluctance, and finally, a sort of regret.

“Sorry, I, umm, I have plans this evening.”

With who?

It’s the strangest, most out of pocket thing to cross his mind, but the exact thing he thinks following her almost nervous answer. 

Naomi frowns. “Damn. That’s okay. There’s always next week.”

There’s that flash again, something Roman is almost certain is fear, but why?

That’s what gets him. It shouldn’t, because why does it even matter? It’s not like he cares. 

The twins jump off the desk, looking at the clock on the wall behind the table. “Damn, we better get headed to practice, or you know Coach Booker gon’ have all our asses.”

“Sure will,” Bayley agrees, a sort of satisfaction in her voice and face. “Solana, make sure you email us, alright?”

She nods, that small smile returning. “O—okay.”

“See you round, Soso!” Jey calls out, the rest of the group walking off, heading towards the steps.

“Stop calling her that,” Roman warns, standing up, having almost completed packing his backpack. Looking over, he sees Solana stand as well, two things catching his interest. Once again, he’s taken back by just how small she is. He’d be surprised if she’s even 5’0. But, beyond that, there’s something that makes him pause seeing the wince on her face as she stands. Like she’s in pain. 

His voice is even, asking, “you alright?”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening slightly. “Y—yeah, of course.” 

Roman is a lot of things. Intelligent and perceptive near the top of that list, if not at the top, which is why he knows that she’s not being honest. 

She’s lying. 

But, why?

However, before he can think about it more, can maybe even press, for reasons beyond him, Solana mutters out a quiet goodbye before turning on her heel and almost rushing out. That’s another thing. Why is this girl always in a damn rush?

A rush that, in glancing down at the desk, makes Roman realize she’s left something behind. 

Her sketchbook. The thing he saw her drawing in when he first arrived. 

Roman starts to go after her, but the watch on his wrist reminds him that doing so will only make him late for practice, and the last thing he feels like hearing is Coach B's loud ass mouth scolding him like he’s a fucking child. 

Fuck that.

Roman grabs the sketchbook, unzips his bag and stuffs it in there.

He’ll just have to email her and arrange to give it back to her tomorrow or something. 

Heading down the steps and out the library, confused but also not allowing himself to think too much about the fact that the initial irritation he had about having to meet with Solana in the first place doesn’t accompany the thought of seeing her again, sooner than their agreed upon Wednesday meetings. 

Not at all.

[muletia]

mer!megatron x human!reader no specified iteration, header is just for the aesthetic

summary: you visit your merman friend after he was caught in a drought in his lonely lake in the middle of nowhere. megatron decides to show his appreciation for the help you offered him

word count: 800

no one asked, but maybe someone needed. inspiration was this ask and reading the tags of a mutual who liked my mer!megatron

yeah, sometimes i’m that easy

When, after two relentless weeks of pouring rain, the weather finally allowed you to visit your merfolk friend, you set out for the large lake just after sunrise. Throughout the walk, a sense of unease accompanied you — was he alright? Had he made it through the two weeks? Had he managed to find food? The worry nipped at your heels, and to shake it off you quickened your pace.

You needed to know he was okay, to be sure he was doing fine, even if you knew your presence wasn’t exactly appreciated by him.

That doesn't matter now — you told yourself, determined to see him anyway.

You took the path you’d already worn down on your previous visits, now glistening and damp from the rain.

You had to know. Even if your meeting would only last a second.

The sight of the refilled lake pulls a wide smile across your face. The rain brought relief not only to the plants, the animals, and your merman, but also to you. Because now you knew he had proper conditions to survive. That what plagued him now was only loneliness, not drought.

You stepped closer to the shore, searching for a glimpse of his gray head breaking the gently stirred surface. You were just about to call out to him, to draw his attention, but you didn’t even need to open your mouth when right by the shore, directly in front of you, a scar-covered head emerged.

The relief his sight brought you wrung the deepest breath from your lungs.

He’s alive. That’s wonderful.

Megatron would never admit it to himself, but the sound of your footsteps, deep valleys etched deep in his memory, stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

Excitement.

He wanted to see you after your separation. Waited for you, impatiently, swimming around the lake since yesterday, even as the rain still came down in heavy sheets, like a restless sparkling. Waiting even stole his sleep, the only thing on his mind the feeling of your presence, no matter what false opinion you’d formed about him.

He wanted you, needed and that alone was incomprehensible to him. To act this way for a human, to lower himself to your level, when you lit up just at the sight of him.

It was ridiculous. Improper. Almost guilt-inducing, that he didn’t kill you when he had the chance. But now, even the thought of your death prickled his skin.

He doesn’t want to think about your death, wants to see you alive. To have you help him through another drought, whenever it comes. To have you stay with him. Because now, realizing he needed you more than he originally thought, there was no turning back.

You were bound to each other.

The need to show his gratitude pulls him toward the shallows. Megatron crawls through the sand, straight to you, until two strong arms drive into the ground on either side of you, allowing him to lean over you, massive torso casting a shadow across your form.

Megatron sees your fear, how it paralyzes you, how your strange, weak legs fail you and he almost enjoys it, because it means he can try something. Almost.

Resting his helm atop your head, now fully aware of just how vast the difference in your size and weight truly is, he closes his eyes, searching for focus. It had been decades since he last opened up to anyone, showed what lay hidden beneath the shell hardened by solitude and he’s not even sure if he still can.

Hears you saying something to him, your human gibberish still unfamiliar, but there is no fear in your voice. And that gives him permission to continue. Soon the air is pierced by a low rumble, a soft growl of contentment, his gratitude for the help and patience you’ve shown him.

You feel your whole body trembling, vibrations burrowing into every cell and beyond, making the ground and the lake water tremble along with you. It’s powerful and loud. As if someone had placed a massive purring cat right on your head. Strange feeling, unfamiliar too. But not unpleasant.

Which lets you stay rooted to the spot, listening to his serenade, hoping you’re reading his intention right.

It only lasts a short while, as if your siren, after realizing he could still express himself, had decided he’d already been kind enough to you for today. He pulls back his helm, studying you for a moment longer, those red optics piercing through to your soul. Massive, ancient — carrying stories you couldn’t wait to learn.

And that’s it.

Megatron retreats back into the lake, choosing to show only the top of his head again, just like during most of your meetings.

The blush lingers on your cheeks for the rest of the day.

[ac3may]

"Mountain Time"

(Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri)

F1 Requests = Open

It's not my favourite thing I've ever written, but it's been sitting in my drafts for a while. It's due a part 2 with so much further for the idea to go. But in celebration of pre-season testing and to mark the end of winter break hopefully you enjoy.

Description: "Reader tags along on McLaren's winter break team-bonding trip to the mountains, maybe Oscar doesn't have to continue being as perpetually single as he believes himself to be"

Masterlist

Who I Write For

Words: 1.4k

“Team bonding.”

That’s what Zac had called it when he’d insisted Oscar spend the first of his few sacred weeks of winter break cut off from society in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

The lack of internet was the least of Oscar’s worries, but he certainly would’ve preferred it be a conscious choice he made from the shores of Australia with his family instead.

His attitude wasn’t helped by the ass-crack-of-dawn flight he’d been stuck on. Despite the luxury of a private jet, he may have preferred crying babies to the soundtrack of Y/N and Lando’s cutesy words across the aisle.

Lando and your relationship had been going steady for over a year, and with you being a key presence in the McLaren garage over the past season the extension of an invite wasn’t surprising. He loved you and Lando separately, but with his own love life non-existent the constant reminder of loneliness was often a punch in the gut.

Rolling through the crisp snow Lando’s soft gaze hasn't left the overwhelming joy that decorated your face since the jet touched down. Pine trees and snow-blanketed mountains could be seen for miles surrounding the luxurious cabin that stood, twinkling with fairy lights.

Gaping in child-like wonder, you take in every inch of the property. Neither McLaren driver could help but chuckle at the girl before them as you clamber excitedly from the car. Footprints mark the snow below as you gaze around joyfully.

“Easily impressed?” Oscar smirks light-heartedly. A comment Lando belly-laughs at, almost folding himself in half, although his eyes never leave you. Following your lead the pair of them climb from the vehicle. Oscar, ever the efficient, immediately rounds to the boot of the car to collect his luggage. Lando however, detours to you, taking your hand and twirling you elegantly as snowflakes begin to fall.

Rolling his eyes, a light-hearted chuckle mixed with a scoff, is the next sound to leave the younger driver. Lugging his bag and beginning up the stairs to the porch he calls out, “C’mon love birds!”

Snapping your attention from your handsome man you let out a squeal of excitement. Darting across the freshly fallen powder. Lost in excitement your sense is overridden as you continue to keep pace up the wooden stairs. Before your head can catch up with your movement you feel your arms whirling, any attempt to keep your balance as your feet slip and slide from under you.

“Ahhh!” Yelping in terror, fingers fumble to grasp the handrail, the icy layer threatening your balance. Hopelessly unable to stabilise yourself, within seconds you're conceding to gravity you brace for the incoming hit from halfway up the stairs. The fall that never comes. Instead, warmth seeps through the thin layer of your sweater. A hand, in a flash, wrapping tightly around your wrist eases you back to your feet. A further hand comes to rest gently on your lower back to keep you steady.

Feeling the rush of panic depart at the safe hold you glance timidly upward toward your saviour.

Meeting a, concerningly familiar, pair of deep hazel eyes, you hope the red rushing to your cheeks can be mistaken for the chill in the air. Breathing heavily, the steam caused by the frosty temperatures provides a visual representation of the way your breath mingles.

Spluttering in shock you don't have a chance to formulate even a muttering of a word before your boyfriend claps Oscar on the shoulder heavily. His grip on you releases immediately. “Thanks, mate,” the elder of the two grins, “let’s go klutz! Time to find our room.”

“Zac! Andrea! What?!” “I know this is team bonding and all but surely we deserve at least a little privacy!” Perhaps it was the twinkle in his boss's eye, or perhaps it was the fact his PA had told him not two weeks ago that Zac had been planning the trip since Easter, but Oscar was having a hard time believing this was all a last-minute mixup.

According to their team principal, the cabin had been booked last minute and was the only accommodation available to cater to the demands of the team trip. As a result, the pair allocated Lando and Oscar to share a room. Something that wouldn’t have been such a concern if it was just Lando and Oscar.

“Come on you guys…” Extending your words with a whining tone, you disrupt the arguing of the four men. “It’ll be fun!” You grin optimistically, “like a big sleepover!”

And with that, they’re left to watch your bobble hat bounce as you hop away up the grand pinewood staircase.

You’re settled against Lando’s chest, lights dimmed and reading peacefully. Your boyfriend tangled comfortably around you, scrolling on his phone.

A beam of light floods the room, distracting you from the pages briefly as the bedroom door opens and closes. It’s the rush of Lando’s heartbeat, pounding directly below your ear, that diverts your attention entirely.

Flicking your gaze toward him you see his phone abandoned on the sheets, his eyes glazed as he stares across the room. Turning curiously it’s not hard to determine the cause of his lust-filled look.

Across the quaint and rustic cabin room, Oscar rummages through his suitcase. The towel haphazardly draped around his shoulders does little to stop the droplets of water that fall from his damp hair, accentuating the bare back muscles that flex delightfully every time he moves.

Momentarily distracted yourself, as eyes trail to the plaid pyjamas hanging low on his waist, you take a second to collect your thoughts before you pinch at Lando’s side.

Your palm reaches quickly to silence his yelp of complaint as your eyebrows dance teasingly, eyes flicking towards his teammate in jest.

It wasn’t the first time you had caught your boyfriend’s loving look towards the younger driver. He’d caught you staring many more times than appropriate too. It had become a running joke and expected practice within your relationship that if you aren’t staring at each other then the Aussie is the one who’s captured your attention.

You continue teasing him quietly in your own bubble, Lando hastily attempting to shush you. Fearing attracting any attention or questions from across the room.

Oscar, however, paid you no mind as he shook out his freshly showered hair and tugged a shirt over the messy mop before flopping into his child-sized twin bed.

“Lights out?” He questioned, finally sparing the pair of you a glance.

Oscar had been tossing and turning for at least an hour now. Not only was he stuck in the most uncomfortable bed known to mankind. But within ten minutes of his shower, he had felt the temperature drop and there was no amount of layers that could warm him up again.

“Osc, mate, I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” Lando’s grumble eventually breaks the tension.

All three of you had been trying to sleep to no avail. “Sorry,” Oscar mutters, his discomfort immediately evident to you and Lando through the lack of sarcasm.

Perhaps the tiredness was fogging your brain because your next move was braver than you had ever dared to be toward the Aussie.

Prodding at Lando’s side you murmur, “Invite him to join us.” The disbelieving look he returns is almost laughable. “What?! I can’t do that!” His tone is hushed but astonishment undeniable.

“Can you two quiet up? I’m never going to sleep if you keep smooching.” “We are NOT smooching!” Your boyfriend declares, louder than necessary. Rolling your eyes you roll into your own space and bite back, “No need to sound so offended.”

He’s immediately pulling you tighter to his body, flashing a sheepish but cheeky grin.

“We were coming up with a solution to help us all sleep actually.” You informed the boy across the room. “Oh yeah? And what would that be?” He responds, open to trying anything, but sceptical of your ability to help nonetheless. “Well, penguins use body heat to stay warm right?” Lando contributes, “We were wondering if you wanted to try a similar tactic?”

Oscar’s brain shortcircuits the second he processes Lando’s words, “as in…?” He can’t quite compute the request.

“Get over here you big lump!” You demand, whipping the covers down on the left side of the bed. “We're the only source of warmth in this stupid cabin, come to bed before any of us get hypothermia.”

And really how could Oscar possibly argue with that?

[bobur-the-berry-guy]

Omg bobur posting twice the same day??Unbelievable! also im feeding another one of my pookie bear besties

Kaoru relationship hcs!

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•🥥•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

I'd say congrats on getting him but he's too busy mentally congratulating himself on getting you

He doesn't know how he achieved this or how you're actually into him but he's not complaining

Be prepared to reassure him that yes, you do love him and yes, you do wanna be with him

Ok for the pre-relationship

He pretends he doesn't care and that he's so mysterious..

And then he's so obvious

Not only because the rest of the club is (lovingly) bullying him into next week but let's be for real it might as well be written on his forehead

He stares at you like you're the only person in the room

He's also huffing and puffing about anything you ask him for help with but not once does he tell you no

He's so trying to hype himself to be more open with you but gets nervous over actually nothing

You smiled at him in class? Sweating

A side hug? Heart attack

Your hand brushed over his? Exploded in the spot

Typa dude to talk in the mirror and hype himself to not be scared of being around you and that he's the shit and then wimp out the second you move closer to hear him better

He wanted to tell you you're pretty but he almost said you're petty instead and gave up

His sister is sick of listening about you all day every day and then having to listen to him talk himself into "being a man🔥"

She might as well already personally know you with all that Kanzaki's nonstop rambling

The phantom busters are simultaneously so done with him and still don't let him catch a bre on how down bad he's acting

He's literally delusioning himself into confessing to you

I won't say much on confessions right now because there's something in the works, stay tuned hihi (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

He'd probably be hesitant to tell you anything about the ghost he sees in the beginning, but if you reassure him and ask long enough he'd eventually crack open

And not only about what he's seen but what that has made him go trough - the fear, the rejection, the loneliness, all of it

And when you genuinely believe him instead of thinking he's a freak? Yea, he knows it's over for him

Compares everything to shoujo anime scenes

I'm not even joking you could give him your water bottle because he's thirsty and his brain will automatically go to indirect kiss scenes

On the anime note he would be ecstatic if you're actually into his favourites

He won't say it but it would be so clear

Doesn't matter if you liked these animes beforehand or found them out trough him

Now, if you start watching something just because he likes it - that's something else

In your eyes it's probably a simple action but to him? Nah, that's a lot to him

He will remember that, probably tear up over it a bit too

Seeing that something would interest you just because it's important to him really gives his heart a pang!, ok?

Anyway

Will make constant references and send you stuff of the main couple and say "us"

You'd never know if he's telling u the truth or not when you ask him a question about what happen later on in the anime or manga

He would tell you the truth every now and then but you'd never know if that character actually died or it's just an au until you find out about it yourself💔

Would also send you random screenshots from later moments to motivate you to continue watching/reading the series

Would also facetime you just to watch anime

Would also sometimes have to rewatch certain parts or whole episodes because he zoned out staring at you

And if he cries bc sometimes happened he's either pointing the camera to the ceiling or he's straigh up turning it off lmao

Will make it seems like you're the one who suggested watching the anime if it's like slice of life or romance stuff

Just let him be..

Also he'd fangirl over certain moments and then pretend it never happened

"OHMYGOD THEY'RE SO CUTE AUGHH-- yea, the scene is nice, they're finally actually doing something"

Also if you invite him on a sleepover to watch something instead of facetiming?

He's arriving with a variety of snacks, drinks and a meal from home - he is PREPARED

His sister made it, he said

Would bring his best pajama to seem cooler

He's cooking up every scenario imaginable in his head

What if he has food on the corner of his mouth and you wipe it for him?! What if you feed him by hand?! What if you say you'd have to share the bed?!

Sure, entirely possible situation, but he's overdoing it

Now if you decide to lean on him or cuddle him while watching he'd be so stiff in the beginning I'm sorry

It's like hugging a plank

Give him some time to chill out and he'd be actually a bit clingy

Now if you fall asleep on him he's definitely going back to all these shoujo scenarios

He's sweating and he feels like he's having heart palpitations but he's gonna get over that too

Might or might not take a pic or selfie of you sleeping on him all cute and cozy

He's flexing in the club groupchat

On the chat topic, he's kind of a dry texter in the beginning but at least it comes off funny

He's the meme supreme and he has meme reactions for literally everything, but he doesn't send them a lot

He prefers to keep them to himself for just the right moment

On that note @/yukkuo has these "kaoru as ur bf texts" and i need to say check them out because that's exactly what i was picturing too they have ones for moragi also

If you ever compliment him for whatever reason he can only stare at you like an idiot for a good few seconds

You?? telling him he's pretty??? What is this alternate universe he's fallen in???

Especially!! if you compliment his eyes

He takes that straight to his heart

Please be tender with him

Hold his hand, play with his hair, hug him, cradle his face and kiss him all over - he's sensetive even if he acts like he isn't

He would let you touch his scars too

He usually avoids people's touch, but how could he refuse letting you when you're so gentle with him?

When he stops being nervous about you touching him he's definitely asking you to do it more

He won't say it though, that would make him too flustered

Instead he'd take your hand and put in on his face or in his hair and let you do your thing

If you insist on him telling you what he wants he will do it red and stuttering

Remind him just how much you adore him even if he hasn't asked you to reassure him

He tends to scare people away to the fact you're not only not avoiding him but also insisting that you want to be with him? Damn, he really lucked out

All in all, despite trying to appear all scary and mysterious, he's a giant softie

Just give him a big fat kiss, he needs it

๑Requests are open btw(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)✧⁠*⁠。

[kiyofiles]

52 HERTZ WHALE. short alucard tepes x gn!reader angst.

studies suggest drowning lasts up to 1-3 minutes. however, ever since your passing──adrien has not felt himself take another breath of oxygen.

adrien dreamt of you last night─he doesn't remember much, except that you and him kept merging and blurring into each other. you were him─and he was you. great time has passed, and yet the earth remains a thieving void; this mass has long since been swallowing his cherished. it is still never easier the next time.

"true science," you muttered, fingers pressed to your neck, over your beating pulse. unconsciously. not to hide it. not out of fear he'd dip in and sink his fangs in─not out of fear he'd rip your throat out. but absentmindedly. out of habit.

"i want to learn it with you."

adrien leaned in to press cold lips against your collarbone, and a low exhale left your mouth. you never understood what made kissing such an intimate affair, except now─when your throat was bare, and instead of choosing to tear apart gore and flesh and capillaries, he chose to kiss it. "and that, my love, you shall."

study shows people that cried less are likely to have dismissive attachment styles. today, every bedroom in this castle is his. he will wait and wait and wait, but he will also keep pushing─most of all, he won't let people in close. they will remain his. but when you first shared your loneliness with him, adrien let out tears he didn't remember having. and he held you and held you and held you─close to his slow, beating heart.

there are two coexisting truths he's learned from his life with you; (1) broken individuals sew the strongest bonds. and (2) you make him question everything he'd ever learned. about science. about the world. about himself.

"if you died, what would you be reborn as?" you questioned.

"nothing. i can't do this shit again." he shrugged, unable to help the twitch in his lips when you snorted. "and you?"

"probably a whale." "why a whale of all?" "i'm just being realistic."

now it was his time to snort. "there's nothing realistic about this topic."

individuals that spend a significant amount of time together tend to reflect each other's actions and inactions one way or another. when you took interest in aquatic life, adrien followed suit. on most days the two of you would sit by the fire, reading about marine life to each other until one of you ended up asleep.

"can't you stay this time?" the constant quiet and tense whispers outside the bedroom doors never once paused. anyone barely visited you. you'd learned to pick up on the octaves and volume of voices. frustration. fear. desperation.

"i.... can't." came adrien's slow, hesitant reply. his face was twisted into a grimace. he wished he could stay, he really did. but obligations dragged him back out onto the front lines. there were two wars that the pair was battling, both of life; one inside the confines of a bedroom and the other in a battlefield.

researchers learned loneliness expands the possibility of cardiovascular diseases. the shelves on sea life continued to gather dust. when you died, you died alone.

adrien blew the dust off one before settling into an old chair.

he turned to the page you've left a bookmark on, the little bright note stating 'to read upon adrien's return'. his lower lip trembled, and his finger dragged along as he read, "52-hertz whale is a singular whale that sings in a higher frequency than other whales, making it impossible for it to communicate with its peers, therefore classified as the loneliest whale on the planet; one's calls that will never be returned."

scientists are still searching for the 52-hertz whale. but adrien swears it's here. he hears it. behind the castle where he's buried you. and you're telling him he can stop and let go.

@KIYOSWRLD ─── do not repost, retranslate or feed to ai.

[elieowlsclownery]

It's Weird Girl Time!!!

Okay so I'm trying to write an over-bloated analysis about an otome rhythm game about theater kids but I keep getting distracted by my favorite weird girl having her moment in Welcome to Demon School Iruma-kun because LOOK AT THEM!!!

Their friendship is so incredibly sweet and soft and it makes me cry and the latest chapters are NOT HELPING!!!

My favorite characters in manga has always been the weird girls that no one likes. You know the ones that regular manga reader scoff at because they see them as annoying and obnoxious...maybe because I always ended up seeing myself as the weird girl who was obnoxious and annoying. Back when I still saw myself as a girl that is. Now I'm just a proud obnoxious weirdo (gender neutral) so I'm even worse!

But what sets this manga apart from others is that this Weird Girl is treated so well! She is LOVED both by her friends and the author for her obnoxious weird girl energy and she deserves to be!

Currently though she is having a MOMENT and I am SCREAMING!!!

Like, we knew right? From the first chapter she was introduced in, we saw that she knew she was obnoxious and annoying to others, and continued to put on a smile anyway. Of course she hides her worries, of course she's more aware than she lets on. We've seen how despite her obvious clingyness and constant need to play she's always been willing to put the needs of her soulmates first.

I think what this chapter and the previous one shows is that despite it being over a year since she threw a vending machine at her bullies for pushing her around, those scars never really went away. Because she's still scared, even now, that one day her best friends and soulmates will grow tired of her. Not to mention her compounding fear that her soulmates will get hurt. That they might die.

And we only saw the earlier worries, long before the previous arc where they almost got into a scuffle with the Border Patrol, which could have gone very, very badly if not for Henri and Mephisto. Not to mention the arc where Iruma was almost kidnapped at school.

And to add a layer of pain here is that with all the worries and loneliness she hides, after the Devilculum Arc she's shown to notice the hurt Iruma's feeling instantly, and immediately placed him and Azz in a space where they can openly share their worries. Sure she joined in, but only to admit the loneliness the two already know about.

And obviously Iruma's going to tell her he loves her anyway. Of course he would! He wouldn't be Iruma if he didn't love his soulmates with every fiber of his being, even when they tie you up and put a collar on you (in fact he might even be into-you know what that's a conversation for another time-) When Clara said that they must hate her after seeing her unfun secret Iruma instinctively rushed to correct her. But knowing he loves Clara isn't enough at the moment. It doesn't erase her worries that one day they might separate. It doesn't matter that Iruma loves her because he can't control what might happens in the future. Knowing they love her isn't enough here.

But then just when we think Iruma's about to awaken another concerning interest, there's Clara's other soulmate Azz, who for the first time CALLS HER JUST BY HER FIRST NAME!

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR LITERAL Y E A R S FOR THIS MOMENT

Like I said before, knowing they love her isn't enough right now. And even with all her fears she does know at least at this moment both Iruma and Azz do love her. And it's clear to us that Azz loves Clara too. But unlike Iruma he's not as open about it.

(every time it's shown just how much Clara loves both Azz and Iruma, it's always Iruma who comments on it first, while Azz only replies to what Iruma says)

At the beginning Azz saw Clara the way most other demons saw her, which is as a nuisance. It's only because Iruma likes her that Azz accepted her and eventually grew to like her too. Although he couldn't show love the way Iruma does, which is to openly dote on Clara, hug her and go along with all her antics. Instead his main way of showing love is usually to fuss at her about her antics and worry about her safety. Also holding her head which he claims he does to keep her still but let's be honest he does it cause he wants to.

(He's currently tied up inside a place losing his mana and his first concern is if Clara's feeling well after eating the forbidden snack.)

He's shown a lot of growth in the past few arcs when it comes to how he interacts from Clara. He still mainly argues and fusses at her, but along with that fussing comes an understanding just as deep as Iruma's.

Yet until now Azz always called her "Stupid Clara." This nickname does come with a lot of fondness attached to it, and it's a drastic improvement from when he only called her Valac, but it still shows that Azz never takes Clara very seriously. Even right before that moment where he stopped Clara from eating(?) Iruma he was still treating Clara as usual, fussing at her and calling her "Stupid Clara."

And in a way Clara agreed to the way Azz treats her, because as shown by her reaction to them finding her album the last thing she wanted was to be treated seriously. Because if they treated her seriously it would show the unfun side of her she's been hiding.

But that's exactly what Clara needs, and Azz is the one who needs to do it.

This is the first time, after almost 400 chapters, that we're seeing Azz face Clara seriously. That's how important this moment is. In fact he's taking Clara more seriously than Iruma did, who's immediate instinct was only to comfort Clara.

What's he going to say? We'll only find out next week, but just this moment, him looking Clara in the eyes and calling her name, is enough of an impact.

[candy-heart-brew]

I've seen some fans theorize that the lyrics to "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" tie into Frank's developing relationship with Eddie, potentially foreshadowing a grisly end for a favorite mailman. The lyrics are incredibly emotional and poor Frank sounds like he's fighting back tears during this entire record, making it feel like there's something more going on under the surface. While it's entirely possible that this is meant to foreshadow Frank and Eddie eventually being separated, I think the song's symbolism could be pointing to a different direction...

I touched a bit on this in a different post but to summarize: the attitude that Frank displays during "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" is completely at odds to his reaction to Eddie at the party. During BaBaG he's sad but resigned to fate, he knows that hibernation is inevitable but takes a bit of comfort in the knowledge that it's only temporary and that his loneliness will only last through winter. So, he does his best to power through, keep his personal feelings out of it, and assure his little friends that he'll be alright.

By contrast, his reaction to Eddie's behavior at the party is one of panic and confusion. He doesn't understand what's happening to Eddie or why he's suddenly gone unresponsive, he just knows that he isn't acting like himself at all and he can't accept that. He refuses to leave Eddie alone even after being ignored, continuing to push until he gets a response, at which point he immediately realizes something is wrong and tries to push further, only stopping when Eddie leaves. At this point in the story they don't appear to be especially close but Frank's terrified reaction speaks volumes about his true feelings for Eddie. And if this is how he reacts to him being quieter than usual, I can't imagine that he'd be much calmer or more composed in the event of losing Eddie altogether. IMO, he's far more likely to get angry and demand answers rather than wax poetic. So while "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" could potentially foreshadow Eddie's fate, Frank's subdued reaction makes me question that interpretation. I do think there's a deeper meaning to BaBaG, that Frank is singing about something other than bugs, just not Eddie. But then who? Well, as we found out in this last update, bugs are not the only creatures in the neighborhood that hibernate...

Think about it for a moment- Julie is going to be gone for months, leaving Frank all alone without his best friend. Who's going to invite him to games now? Who's going to listen to him about his interests and laugh at his jokes? Who's going to bake gelatin monstrosities with him? Julie is practically his other half so to lose her for months on end must be very difficult for him! He knows that she can't help it and he doesn't blame her but that hardly makes it any easier. All he can really do now is just push that sadness down, wish her goodnight, and wait for her to return.

Under this interpretation, certain lyrics in BaBaG take on a different meaning to me. Lines like "I know it's for the best, I can't keep you," or "I'll be the first to tell you, you just can't stay," could imply an oncoming rift between the two of them. The recent updates have implied that Frank and Julie were written to be a couple and were perceived as such in-universe. We don't yet know how the two of them felt about that but we do know that they were very close to the point of doing basically everything together! But now Frank is falling in love with someone else, someone who may very well come to eclipse Julie in terms of importance to him. No matter how much he loves her, no matter how much they might want to stay together, there are some things you just can't fight and this play-relationship they have can't last forever...

But that's just my interpretation!

[lecsainz]

MISS HIM

parings: travis kelce x wife!reader

summary: you and travis are married and have a two-year-old daughter, but you feel tired and like you're not one of travis's priorities.

authors note: taylor wearing a friendship bracelet with travis number was the reason for my breakdown.

✩. . . masterlist !

You and Travis are happily married, raising your two-year-old daughter, Poppy, in the bustling city of Kansas. Travis, the star player for the Chiefs, leads a busy life, constantly under the spotlight. As much as you love him, you sometimes feel like you've taken a back seat in his priorities.

One evening, as you sit on the couch with Poppy, watching her favorite cartoon, you can't help but feel a pang of loneliness. Travis has been gone for a while, caught up in his training and media obligations. Your daughter looks up at you with her big, innocent eyes and says, "Where's Daddy, Mommy?"

A sigh escapes your lips, "Daddy's working, sweetheart. But he'll be back soon."

"Mommy sad?" Poppy asks, her little brows furrowed.

You manage a smile, ruffling her hair, "No, baby, Mommy's not sad."

But the truth is, you are. The weight of holding everything together has become heavier, and you long for the days when Travis's attention was solely on you and your little family. You know he loves you, but it's easy to feel neglected amidst his demanding career.

That night, as Travis returns home, you can't bring yourself to share your feelings. He's exhausted, and you don't want to burden him further. Instead, you put on a brave face and serve him his favorite dinner.

Poppy can't contain her excitement as she bounces in her high chair, giggling and clapping her hands. Travis can't help but be charmed by her infectious laughter.

"Daddy, up! Up!" Poppy reaches out towards Travis, her tiny fingers desperately wanting to be held by her father.

Travis's face lights up as he scoops her up into his strong arms. "You want Daddy to hold you, sweetheart?"

Poppy nods vigorously, her laughter filling the room as Travis raises her high in the air and then brings her down in a gentle swoop, earning more squeals of delight from their little one.

You watch the heartwarming scene, and despite your own worries, you can't help but smile at the beautiful bond between father and daughter.

He looks at you, grateful, and says, "Thanks, babe. You're amazing, you know that?"

You smile, "It's my pleasure. How was your day?"

As he talks about the game plan and the intense training session, you listen intently, even though your own worries weigh heavily on your heart.

He says, "Baby, is something wrong?"

You looked at your husband and gave a soft smile. "Nothing, just a little tired, no need to worry, my love."

Travis leans in to kiss your forehead, then your lips, and suddenly, everything seems a little bit better.

In the morning, as you watch Travis play with Poppy in the backyard while preparing breakfast for the family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. You had a deep yearning for more of his attention and presence. It was a feeling that had been growing inside you for a while, and you couldn't keep it to yourself any longer.

You decided to confide in your closest friend, who was on the other end of the call, feeling a need to unburden your heart.

"Y/N, you should talk to Travis about how you're feeling," your friend suggested.

You sighed, a heavy weight on your shoulders. "I just don't want to add more stress to his life. He's already so busy with football, and I'm afraid of being a burden."

But as the days went by, the feeling of being a second priority in your own marriage continued to gnaw at you.

Days turn into weeks, and you continue to silently bear the weight of your emotions, never wanting to be the one who distracts Travis from his career. But one evening, as you're getting Poppy ready for bed, she asks, "Why doesn't Daddy play with us anymore, Mommy?"

It's as if her innocent question tears through the walls you've built around your feelings. You hug her tight and whisper, "He loves us, baby. He's just busy with his job."

Your daughter looks at you with those same innocent eyes, "But I miss him."

You nod, blinking back tears, "I miss him too, sweetheart."

Later that night, after putting your daughter to sleep, you finally decide it's time to talk to Travis. You find him in the living room, going through plays for the upcoming game.

Travis noticed the serious look on your face as you sat down on the couch together. "Is everything okay, babe?"

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Travis, I love you, and I love our life together, but lately, I've been feeling like we're drifting apart. You're so dedicated to your career, and I'm proud of all your achievements, but I miss us. I miss you."

Travis's expression softened as he listened to your words. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted you to feel that way. Football has been demanding, but you and Pops are my top priorities, and I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt the weight of your unspoken worries finally lift. "I didn't want to burden you with my feelings, but I need you to be there for us, for our family."

Travis took your hand and squeezed it gently. "I promise, I'll make more time for you and Pops. We'll find a balance that works for both of us, because you're my world, Y/N."

[beanarie]

i never wanted water once part 3

tommy is also breakup baking, prompted by my dear @sanguinarysanguinity

tw: mention of parent death, mention of child abuse

part 1

part 2

~

Gutierrez eyes him on his way out of the locker room. "Feel like no one ever sees you anymore. You coming back to the pickup game or what?"

"Oh." Tommy gives his damp hair one last rub from the towel. "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest. Too awkward."

Gutierrez frowns. "Why?"

"You know," Tommy says, wishing he didn't have to, "Eddie Diaz. I broke up with his best friend."

"Diaz hasn't shown in weeks. Probably got injured. You know how that crew is."

And that. Well. He and Eddie were friends. They became tight very quickly in a way Tommy hasn't experienced with many people. He shouldn't have thrown a connection like that away without at least trying to salvage it.

He sends a text, a polite, generic one asking about his welfare. Worst thing that can happen is Eddie tells him to fuck off and he's back where he started. He fully expects to be left on read.

He does not expect Eddie to tell him he's moving back to Texas because he's given up on his son deciding to come home. Eddie invites him to a pre-going away dinner at a bar and grill before he goes down South for a few days to scout out homes. And, no, absolutely not. But Tommy proposes getting a drink, just the two of them. Eddie very validly explains that he can't spare the time, since he's already started packing up his life and he's working overtime to save up for a down payment. Tommy gets it. He does.

The day after the dinner, Eddie calls him. "Hey, man. I know we're like two ships passing in the night, but I didn't want to leave without a proper goodbye. I still got some more shifts before I move for good, but the time will go by quick. We'll just stay on the line, okay? Keep me company while I go through my kitchen cabinets."

"It's good to hear from you," Tommy says honestly.

"So yeah." Eddie hums. "Why'd you do it?"

"Text you?" Tommy says. "I heard that-"

"Kinard," Eddie says, unamused.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just didn't seem the type to flee."

None of you know me as well as you thought you did, Tommy doesn't say. That's not fair to any of them. "I wasn't, in the past. Well, I tried not being that. A couple times. It didn't work out."

"Oh," Eddie says. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You've got shit."

"Haven't we all?"

"Hey, I am not denying that." Eddie chuckles. "Do you plan on dealing with it, or letting it blow up every good thing you find until you die?"

"Jesus, Eddie."

"What's the point in mincing words? You did something dumb and destructive. What kinda friend would I be if I let that go without saying anything?"

"So what's the weather even like in El Paso? Does it ever get below 100?"

After a groan, Eddie lets Tommy talk about his shit, about Texas, parenthood, and chess clubs, for the rest of the call. Tommy can't say that he'll miss him. He missed him already and now he gets to continue doing so. All of this sucks.

Tommy tries his hand at gnocchi made with ricotta, lemon, and pepper that subsequently almost causes a fistfight during B shift.

Demetra favors him with a warm smile, taking in the large box in his hands. "Tom, right? Welcome! What's all this?"

"Tommy," he says easily, impressed she remembered his name at all. He hasn't been to this slightly dusty community center in five or six years. "Uh, this is garlic knots and mini calzones."

"Well, hey. You're even more welcome than before. Come take a seat."

December is a stupid time to rejoin group, many of the participants close to the edge from a cocktail of seasonal depression, missing dead loved ones, and generalized loneliness. Tommy knew it would be like this going in. He counted on it. Everyone will have so much to say that there likely won't be any time for him to open his mouth. He's not ready to spill. It will help to just soak in the atmosphere of unashamed honesty for a while.

At his third meeting, Cal, a slender guy in his mid twenties with a curly mohawk, keeps bringing up his mother. "She never wanted me to enlist," he says, "and now that I'm back home and struggling, she can't stop being all 'I told you so' morning, noon, and night. She never says it, but she is thinking it."

"Is she?" Tommy finds himself asking. "Or are you putting something on her that isn't there?"

"Maybe so." Cal pops one of Tommy's fried ravioli in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I don't know, I should probably give her a chance, think first about what she's actually saying before I react. But it's hard in the moment, you know?"

"Tommy?" Demetra says a minute later, making him feel like a kid being called on by the teacher. "How's your relationship with your mom?"

"Nonexistent. She died when I was fifteen." He crosses his ankles. "Fell asleep in the car on our way back from an away game and we couldn't wake her up. Heart attack."

Demetra frowns sympathetically. "That must've been hard for a kid to witness."

"I've seen so much worse since then. People shot in the head by machine guns, people covered in burns over most of their bodies..."

Demetra shakes her head slightly. "They weren't your mom."

He ducks his head, pressing his lips together. "True. It's just- That's not- It's not trauma. I don't fear falling asleep and not waking up."

"What do you fear?" Cal asks.

Being left, being hurt, being validated in his belief that no one will ever see him for all he is and choose to stick around. "Standard stuff, really. Clowns, taxes, drivers on the freeway."

He gets a pity laugh, a groan or two, and one outright glare. "Okay, okay." He exhales loudly. "Ending up alone by someone else's choice rather than mine."

"So you're cool with being on your own, as long as you're the one keeping everyone away," Cal says.

God, that sounds idiotic. "Yes?"

"You prefer it like this?" asks a woman about his own age wearing a green bomber jacket.

He shrugs. "It's not ideal, but as far as worst case scenarios go, it's okay. It's fine."

"It's spineless," says a gray-haired man with a Desert Storm hat.

Tommy doesn't flinch. "Yeah, that's kind of an inherent character trait. I keep thinking I got it licked, then it shows up wearing another face. Scared of my dad, so I joined the army and became someone he couldn't hurt anymore. Scared of people knowing I was gay, so I waited to come out until I was surrounded by brand new people. Scared of my boyfriend leaving, so." He pushes at the skin above his knees, kneading it. "So I left him first."

"You fall back," says Bomber Jacket. Her name is Annie or Angie. She has conflicted feelings about dating a man with kids. "It's easy to stop being scared when the thing that scared you is far away."

He hears Eddie. You just didn't seem the type to flee.

Demetra holds up a hand. Tommy's face must be doing something concerning. "No one here faults you for what you did to survive. Is it still serving you, is the question, or is that just what you're used to?"

He doesn't bake when he gets home. He drinks half the beers in his fridge and does a shockingly efficient job of cleaning his house, while drafting and deleting twenty-seven different texts. He then wakes up the next day, and goes to the pickup game.

Gutierrez scores four rebounds on him and doesn't shut up about it for the rest of their next shift. Tommy grumbles, and talks shit, and promises he won't have much to brag about next time.

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ THROUGH THICK AND THIN ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. with your kin swept away by the cataclysm, you have no one to rely on other than your wits. the curse of being immortal has you start fresh in the modern world as a citizen of inazuma, living alongside humans and yokai. throughout your life in the moral realm, you’ve met many interesting people. out of all of them, one becomes your rock and a shoulder to cry on. out of the blue, you say whatever is in your heart. they’ll reach out for your hand to let you know they're listening.

CHARACTERS. arataki itto, gorou, yoimiya

CONTENT. gn!reader. canon-compliant. immortal au. hurt/comfort. 0.5k wc. rewrite of phase six at my old main blog @/verxsyon. itto is half- immortal due to his oni blood. gorou is fully immortal due to him being some sort of yokai. yoimiya stays mortal. references to voicelines when you ascend characters to phase six, or in other words, from level 80 to 90. they’re part of the dialogue, which will be italicized.

VERA. you can tell from the old title that i’m terrible with titles. what even is phase six? good thing rewrites exist, amirite?

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARATAKI ITTO

once an oni, always an oni. that’s a farewell from the villagers when they drove him out of his home for an incident he wasn’t involved in, just because of his half-immortal heritage. the streets ridiculed him; he spent so long fending off for himself until he met granny oni. you remind him of his younger self, even the strongest people need support the most.

“this is the cliff that me and the boys go to sing our hearts out to, you know, loosen up,” he says. “if you want, make sure you’re loud and clear so the ocean can hear you. i gotta warn you though, my voice is so amazing that it’ll blow you away.”

“but in all seriousness…” he helps you up on your feet, and you’re able to see the beauty of the world down below — the ocean that is waiting to hear you sing and the unknown ahead. “just because i made it to the top doesn't mean i’m gonna forget all the things you've done for me, okay? i’ve still got your back, anytime, anywhere.”

𝄞༉‧₊˚. GOROU

top dog. the ever-victorious pointy-eared general. those nicknames are what he believed he didn’t deserve. an immortal like yourself, he has lived through and fought in countless wars for centuries to be acquainted with loneliness. most of his best soldiers are gone. that kid teppei, one of his brightest, is gone. he’s never been so afraid.

“out of all the wars i fought in, this war against the shogun scared me the most,” he confesses, squeezing your hand tightly. “i wasn’t ready to face any more casualties after teppei. i wasn’t ready to lose both kazuha and the traveler after almost getting executed by her judgment. and when i thought all hope was lost…”

“… you were there beside me to assure me that it’s not. i should be the one thanking you. to return the favor, i’m always here to listen if you need me.” his face lights up and his tail starts to wag. “with momentum on our side and close camaraderie, we are unstoppable. thank you for your guidance. this is a victory that belongs to the both of us.”

𝄞༉‧₊˚. YOIMIYA

despite being a mortal, she understands the perspective of an immortal through fireworks. mortal lives are fleeting, she had said to the traveler. once launched into the sky, they disappear. whereas for immortal lives, they can keep watching them disappear forever and ever. she knows that she’ll be gone while you continue to live on, but it doesn’t explain her rather cheerful demeanor.

“oh, why am i happy?” she tilts her head to the side. “well, it’s not because i’m about to leave eventually. it’s because you’re here with me. i’m glad to be able to spend this moment with you. whenever i look at my creations, i don’t think of them being a representation of every mortal living here.”

“i think about the enjoyment i had watching them with my pops, my friends, and my special someone. even when i’m gone, you still believe i’m here.” she stands firm and proud, flashing a peace at you. “never fear, yoimiya is here! evil begone! justice prevails! think this is a good way to introduce the powers you've taught me to the children? isn’t it cool? hehe! hey, tell me if anyone picks on you, too. i’ll stick up for you!”

[robby-bobby-tommy]

I haven't played deltarune yet and only watched some let's plays, but Tenna makes me so unwell. The comment "divorce so bad tv got divorced" Convinced me to check it out lmao.

DELTARUNE CHAPTER 3 SPOILERS‼️‼️‼️

But that's not the point of the post. I just want to speculate on smt I just thought.

Why are Tenna and Spamton on such bad terms?

It might be obvious, but I want to share my view on their relationship. It's probably a common sense, but I don't think Tenna is so pissed off and hurt by Spamton just because he left him and didn't sign his contract.

Tenna is ofc pissed because of that, I'm not denying that, but the real reason, at least for me, is a little bit deeper.

As we all know, Tenna has a LOT of abandonment issues. It's seen through his dialogue with Kris and his desperate desire to be watched, to be seen and to have the audience. It is implied that he did hear a lot of Toriel and Asgore's fights multiple times, but he may be unaware of their divorce or at least he surely doesn't know about Asriel's departure to college. So from his perspective, Tenna was abandoned, plugged out because he became obsolete. He was ultimately abandoned. And we don't know when Tenna was turned off or when he was spending time with Spamton. So he probably lived with this pain for a long time.

Now, this is great and all, but what am I getting at? Well, let's take a look at how Tenna describes the scene of their last meeting (or at least I think it was)

"He suddenly had to take the phone call...But when he picked it up his face went pale... And je ran right out of the room with the receiver hanging!.. So I picked it up. ..... But there was nobody there!"

Tenna doesn't have any knowledge of this entity that was controlling/helping Spamton. So, for him, Spamton got scared of smt that Tenna didn't hear or know existed, and ran away without any explanation. Tenna might (and does!!!) consider this an abandonment. Spamton just left him behind. And THIS Is the main reason of why he's upset. Ofc that deal and the secret to being a big shot was important to him, but losing a friend was probably even worse. (Even though I enjoy a romantic reading of their relationship, I do want to say that it's not really important if it is or isn't one. They could be just really good friends, mb they were the only ones who truly understood each other even if it was purely platonic)

So, in short, despite having a very deep relationship, which is proved by Tenna keeping the pipis, Spamton abandoned his buddy and presumably left him with no explanation to never see him again. Ofc his buddy with abandonment issues and anxiety doesn't take it well and grows to resent Spamton a lot.

In Spamton's case, in turn, he might've never wanted to leave Tenna hanging like that, but his benefactor might've not left him a choice.

Spamton was genuinely terrified by what he heard and probably didn't mean for this scene to play out like this. Whatever was said on this call shook Spamton a lot and maybe this is the moment his "luck ran out". Correct me if I'm wrong, but this might be the begging of Spamton's downfall where he lost everything. Multiple terrible events back to back and loneliness caused him to have a mental break. I assume this is when his mental state went to sh_t. Spamton might've started to envy Tenna cuz from his perspective he's got everything he wanted. And plus continuous mentions of obsolescence of email didn't help I feel. Ofc, it's not like Spamton could explain to Tenna the identity of his benefactor and why he was afraid of him. This secret became the foundation for their friendship/relationship downfall imo.

TLDR: I think it's kind of Vi/Powder situation, where both didn't mean to hurt or abandon each other, but the lack of another person's perspective and secrets lead to the ultimate downfall of their relationship imo

They're just one big Asgore/Toriel allegory/j