#it makes me so sad that he's never mentioned again

[keikikait]

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.8k

summary: you're just one of his many conquests, so why does he need you?

warnings: ANGST, friends with benefits, mild yearning/pining, rafe cannot handle his emotions, ward mention, slight jealous!reader, not proofread

a note: idk if i ate. i'm sorry that it's a little short. :( also, my stalker!rafe fic needs SERIOUS work, so i decided to upload this instead. i am very unhappy with it.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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Sometimes you think you aren’t meant to be loved. 

It’s almost comical, the way you just sit there and take it. The way you let him walk all over you, taking bites out of you just to toss you aside for later. He cut off slices of you when he needed, never taking the full thing. Always little samples, just to keep you hooked. He would chew you up and spit you out, and you would always come crawling back.

You watch as Rafe dresses himself, eyes landing on his ass as he pulls up his boxers. He always dresses so quickly, not even handing you a towel as he paces around your room, gathering his things. At first, you thought he just didn’t like your apartment. You were a Pogue, after all, even though you were lucky enough to move to a nicer area of The Cut. You spent a lot of time redecorating, trying to make it a little bit nicer. A little bit cleaner. Anything to get him to stay.

Your apartment was small. Cozy. Quaint. 

It reeks of you. And that’s why Rafe won’t stay.

Rafe turns around, catching your eye. He can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips as he pulls his jeans on. “Admiring the view?”

“For as long as I can.” You say.

Your response surprises him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact. “You’re too sweet for your own good.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his socks on.

“I wish you would stay.” You mumble, aching to reach out and touch him. But you don’t.

“I know you do,” Rafe sighs, tying his shoes on. “But I can’t, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do.” Your voice is soft.

“So why do you keep asking me to stay?” It comes out angrier than he intended. But maybe you needed that.

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“My answers always no. Why do you keep askin’?” Rafe stands, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the bedside table. “Shit’s starting to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, sitting up, holding the duvet to your chest. You feel like you’re always telling him that. 

“Quit being sorry. Just stop fucking asking it,” He turns to face you. “Jesus. It’s not that hard.”

You don’t know what to say. You nod, looking down.

Rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t deny, he loves when you look like that. Sad. Vulnerable. It drives him wild. His gaze lands on your neck, bruised and marked by his teeth. Possession looks good on you, He often thinks. 

But that was it. He could only take so much of your submission. He couldn’t take you asking him to stay, too.

“I won’t ask again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

His jaw tightens and he stares at you. He wants to take you and claim you. To show you were his, and only his. But he didn’t want to keep you. Why would he? “Good.” Rafe walks around the bed and stands in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing it up. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You nod, looking up at him, mascara still smeared on your under eyes. 

Rafe studies your face. God, you always looked so beautiful like this. Broken and upset. The sight had him wanting to take and claim you all over again. But the look of submission in your eyes makes him want to push you even more. “You look pretty like this.” He murmurs, pushing your neck to the side and looking at the hickeys on your neck. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” You say, although you don’t like it. You didn’t like this version of you, the pathetic girl who would do anything and everything for one iota of his attention; but it got him into your arms, so that’s really all that matters.

“I wonder why that is? Why you look so pretty when you’re crying?” His fingers lightly trace over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He knows that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You were addicted to him, craving his attention more than you craved anything else. You’d take whatever he gave you. That was the only thing Rafe loved about you.

“Because my lips get all pouty, and my eyes get all red?” You guess, resisting the urge to lean into his palm.

Rafe almost laughs at your answer. It was cute. “Hmm,” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently brushing them. “Yeah, probably.” His eyes meet yours, staring at your face. You were so easy to break. So easy to control. You’d let him do whatever he wanted, no fight or protest. Just endless submission. It was addicting.

You’re getting restless. “Have any plans today?”

Rafe’s hand falls from your face, and his jaw tightens. You always did this. You always try to make small talk, try to create some type of emotional connection between you, even though you knew deep down that he didn't give a shit about you or about your day. “Yeah. I do.” He picks his jacket up from the bed. “Have to go visit my dad's lawyer. Then I’m meeting some friends.”

“That sounds fun,” You say, although meeting with Ward’s lawyer must have something to do with life insurance. “Uh, being with your friends later, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, shrugging his jacket on. He grabs his keys from the bedside table and glances at you. It’s hard, watching you try to connect to him. He knows that you want more than this. You want to be his girlfriend. You want the world to know you’re his. 

But that couldn’t happen. And you knew that.

“Are you, um…” You shift on the bed, the duvet falling just a little bit. “Are you gonna come back over tonight?”

Rafe glances at you, eyes falling to the duvet. God, he loved how you were always trying to keep him around. He loved watching you try and fail to keep his attention. He lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his buzzed head. “Do you want me to?” He already knows your answer.

“Only if you want to,” You say, trying to not come across as even clingier than you already are. “You know my door’s always open for you.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. You were always so predictable. So needy. So willing. He starts to wonder when he'll get sick of it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He grunts, picking his phone up off of the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet. Might be with Sofia tonight.”

Your soft smile drops, just for a second, and you hope Rafe doesn’t notice.

Sofia.

Sofia?

Who the hell is Sofia?

You knew everyone he hung out with. Every girl. You had tabs on all of them, shamefully. You didn’t know who the hell Sofia was. Had you missed someone? How had she managed to slip through the cracks?

Under the covers, you dig your nails into your thigh. You had to act casual, as normal as you could be. You were always treading thin ice with him, and you couldn’t risk losing him over this. Your smile returns and you give him a nod. “Cool. Just text me.”

Rafe watches as your smile falters for a moment. He knows it. He knows that you’re jealous. There was no way that you weren't. It didn’t take much to make you jealous. He could make one passing comment about a girl, and you’d spend the rest of the day worrying, wondering who she was. That's why he brought up Sofia, and why he always mentions his other girls to you. Something about the idea of you laying in bed, terrified and anxious to lose him, really excited him.

He smirks as you quickly regain composure, knowing that he got to you. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” He says, turning to leave.

“Drive safe.” You say.

He stops as he stands in the doorway. Something about you telling him to drive safe always made him… feel guilty. It was that damn softness you always had and used against him. He glances at you over his shoulder, swallowing whatever sentiment he was feeling. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ��──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You hate Sofia.

After a bit of sleuthing, logged into one of your many burner accounts, you finally find her. She’s a Pogue, like you, and for some reason you find that it stings more. She’s gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, the sweetest girl around, and you fucking hate her.

Rafe had a roster. A rotation, the same few girls on repeat until he got bored, where he would swap a few out for fresh meat. You don’t know how you managed to stay on the roster for this long, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe Rafe thought you had another guy out there, filling your cunt and your bed when he was gone, but you didn’t. You’re too busy being Rafe’s to fall for somebody new.

You used to not care about the other girls. The more and more he mentioned them, though, you got curious. You started looking them up on Instagram, stalking their profile through burners and analysing every post. Every story. None of the girls ever looked like you. None of the girls were like you at all. Why did he like them, and why did he like you?

You wonder if he treats the other girls as poorly, or if in some twisted way, you’re special. You could handle being the only girl that Rafe treated like shit if that meant you stood out to him in some way. You wonder if he fills their necks with hickies, too, if he grips their hips too hard and leaves bruises, if he spanks them until his handprints form welts on your ass cheeks.

You hoped to God you were special.

You tried to distract yourself, running errands and tidying your apartment, but you kept thinking about him. About his stupid baby blue eyes, and his stupid pretty face, and his stupid hands and the way they felt around your neck. You didn’t want to be in love with Rafe fucking Cameron, but you feared you were already in too deep, and soon you would drown, falling below the surface, hand outstretched, hoping just this once that he would pull you up.

You sit on your bed, in the dark and the silence, staring at your phone, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for him to text you, to need you.

The hours pass. Midnight. One and two. Three. Before four o'clock rolls around, you still have nothing. You know that you should just give up and go to bed. He probably passed out at his friends’ place, too drunk and too tired to text you, but you keep telling yourself that he's just busy. That he's gonna wake up any moment now and shoot you a text. 

You're praying that something happens, that something keeps you up and keeps you waiting for those messages that you know he most likely won't send. You want him to finally fucking want you in the way that you want him. You didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t fun to constantly torture yourself, but is it not fun to feel many other ways? If it wasn’t Rafe, it would just be someone else. Another man, someone else’s son, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you just aren’t meant to be loved.

Why don’t you do it for him? Why aren’t you enough to get him to stay?

You tap the screen, and it lights up. No new notifications.

“Shit.” You mumble, your hand retreating to your side.

You sigh and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he isn’t going to text you. Why would he? Why would he do that to you, when he never had before? This is exactly what you expected. This is exactly what he loves. Making you doubt, getting you jealous. It gets him off. It’s a game for him. You were his prey, and he was your predator. 

As you lay, staring at your ceiling, you hear three, quick knocks on your door.

At first, you think you’ve imagined them. You sit up, your feet sliding into your slippers as you pad into the living room. You stand there in silence, in the dark, only listening to your own breathing. You’re about to turn around when there’s another knock, this time loud and pounding against your door.

You cross the rest of the room, undoing the locks and opening the door.

Standing on your doorstep, of course, was Rafe, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. He seems… tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying out late. He glances at you from behind those tired eyes, his gaze falling over your body. He’s taking note of the oversized t shirt you’re wearing, and how your hair is dishevelled and messier than it was before. He could tell you had been lying down. “Can I come in?”

Something's off, you can tell. He’s acting different, even though it’s just subtly. You watch him as he chews on his lip, an anxious habit he didn’t think you noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe’s expression falters for a split second, before he quickly regains his composure. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Except for the fact that you asked him that. He looks over you. “Nothing,” He responds, his voice harsh and biting. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”

You don’t believe him. He normally carries himself with intense confidence and gravitas, so much so it constantly inks into your lungs and chokes you, but this was different. He felt different. “Right.”

He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him. Concerned, like you cared. He glances away from you, sighing. “Can I come in?” He repeats his question, eyes flicking between you and your living room.

You nod, stepping aside and holding the door opening, flicking a light switch. One of your lamps turns on, casting a warm, soft glow over your living room.

Rafe strides into your apartment, immediately heading for your couch. Everything in your place was so damn cozy; the warm light, the soft couch, your scent lingering on every single inch of every single surface. He collapses back onto the couch, arms spread out and legs splayed. He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard.

You sit next to him, and for a while, you two sit in a comfortable silence. You look over at him, pushing some hair behind your ears. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Rafe closes his eyes, sighing as you speak. He didn’t want to tell you about Ward. Not when you were like this, so gentle and caring. He was exhausted, to say the least. He was dealing with so much, all at once, and he didn't know what to do. Finally, he looks at you. In this lighting, with your hair messy and your eyes concerned, you looked even more like the sweet girl he always wished you were. Sweet and caring and loving. “Today was my dad's funeral.”

Your shoulders droop, and your eyes soften. You had no idea. He had only mentioned visiting his father’s lawyer to you yesterday morning. “Shit, I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”

Rafe almost groans. He loved you when you were soft, when you were sweet. He loved it more than he cared to admit, but right now he hated it. He hated it when you were this caring. It made him doubt everything. He glances at you, a lump in his throat. He hated when you looked at him that way. Because he knew that no matter what he did, you would always have that warmth in your eyes when you looked at him. You would always forgive him, no matter what he did.

Part of him wishes his dad could’ve met you.

You reach out and put your hand on his shoulder, trying not to overstep. Rafe stares down at your hand, so small in comparison to his shoulder. Something about it makes his chest tighten. It seems intimate, and he feels… safe. Safe with you. Which is a feeling he hasn't felt in God knows how long. 

His hand slowly lifts, his rough fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brings your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently, back and forth.

God, the feeling of you touching him, comforting him, was too much. Your touch was too gentle and warm, and he hated that he wanted it. He hated the way his chest ached at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He had so many reasons he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting you touch him like this, and yet there was something inside of him, a small voice in the back of his mind, constantly begging him to please let you take care of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.” You say softly. 

Rafe glances at you, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. God, he hated this. Your touch on his face, the tenderness in your voice, the look in your eyes. It was driving him absolutely insane. His eyes close, as if he was debating if he actually wanted to ask you this. “Am I poison? Am I poison in the water?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

He opens his eyes again, hand still holding yours to his cheek. He holds your gaze, eyes softening. He hated how vulnerable he was, and yet there was a small piece of him, buried deep inside, that needed it. He could tell you anything right now, and you wouldn't judge him. You would just listen. Care. “Do I… poison everything I touch? Am I the poison that kills everything?”

“No, of course not,” You move closer to him on the couch. “Why would you ask that?”

God, he could smell you, your perfume a subtle, sweet scent that was driving him crazy. He closes his eyes as you move closer, and his jaw tightens. This was insane; he wasn't weak, he wasn't vulnerable, he did not need you. But then again, the hand on yours on his face had yet to move. “Because,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I know that I'm a sick, twisted bastard. I know that I make others sick. I hurt everyone I care about.”

“Rafe, I will admit you aren’t exactly the nicest guy,” You swallow roughly, unsure of what to even say. “But you still have people that care about you. Your friends, your sisters. They know the real Rafe, the guy underneath all the aggression.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. God, he hated this. He hated being vulnerable. He hated opening up to you, and seeing that look of concern in your eyes. He wants to run, to close you out, leave and forget this ever happened. He wants to go back to treating you like one of his conquests, instead of feeling like he wanted you to hold him. But for some reason, his mouth wasn't listening to his brain. “But what about you?”

“Of course, I care about you,” You say. “I thought that would at least be obvious.”

He had a thousand different replies on the tip of his tongue, but instead his mouth just opened and closed, words dying when they left his lips. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to get up and leave, but there was a deeper part of him, a small piece of himself that he kept buried inside, deep in the back of his mind, that kept whispering, telling him to sit. It was the part that kept his hand on your wrist. He swallows hard, looking away. “I wish my dad was still here.”

“I know,” You say softly. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his eyes begin to sting, something that only added to his frustration. Frustration at himself, for being pathetic enough to cry. Frustration at you, for making him weak enough to cry. Frustration at Ward, for leaving him and his sisters behind. He suddenly hated everything. He hated you. He hated himself. He hated Ward for leaving him with feelings, making him weak. “I don't even know why I came here,” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I just... I wish I could've been good enough for him. I tried to be good.”

“You don’t know how Ward truly felt about you, Rafe.” You say, stroking his cheekbone again.

He hated the way you were comforting him, hated the way you were so gentle with him. He was always on the defensive, on the attack, so when someone was soft with him... Well, the way his chest ached was proof that it was something he wasn't used to. He swallows hard, closing his eyes. “But I do. His actions spoke louder than his damn words ever did,” He chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's so stupid, you know, I... I used to pray I’d be like him, do everything that he did. And sometimes I still do.”

“That’s not stupid.” You say.

He lets his hand fall from your wrist, shaking his head. He hated talking about this, he hated admitting how much Ward’s death has messed him up. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to open up to anybody. The words leaving his lips, however, were not his own. “I hate that I don’t know if he was proud of me... I hate that I’ll never know if I did right by him.”

You remove your hand when he goes to cover his face. You watch him for a few moments, unsure of what to do, when you notice his shoulders shake. 

Is he crying?

Your eyes widen when you hear a sob rip through him, shoulders shaking up and down. “Hey, hey, Rafe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

He hated crying, absolutely hated it, but there he was, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m not even- I…” His voice breaks, chest rattling. He lets out a long, shaky breath, shaking his head as he wipes away the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t even look at you. He hated feeling so weak. Hated that you were seeing this side of him.

“It’s okay,” You put your arm around him, trying to hug him. “It’s okay--”

Rafe suddenly stands, pushing you back. “No. Don’t… don’t fucking pretend like you care.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that he let Ward affect him this much. He was supposed to be strong. Powerful. Not weak.

“I’m not pretending.” You say, standing up.

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a sharp glare. God, he was tired of you, of your sweet words, of your gentle smiles. It was messing with his head, playing with his feelings. “Yeah, right.” He mutters, shaking his head. “You don’t care, don’t bullshit me.”

“Of course I care about you, Rafe,” You say, taking a step closer to him. “I… I lov--”

“No!” He suddenly snaps at you. He didn't want to hear that. He couldn't. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” You stare at him, confusion on your pretty little face, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. “Don’t. Don’t tell me. Keep that shit to yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t want to upset him even more. You just nod, taking a step back.

He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. He hated the sight of that look on your face. The confusion, the worry, the disappointment. He didn’t understand. Why did you care? He didn’t deserve it, not one bit. What the hell did you think you’d get out of loving someone like him? That he’d love you back? That he’d change for you?

The silence is deafening. You want to say something, you just don’t know what. You take a shaky breath. “I’m here for you, Rafe. You know that. In any way you need me.”

“Why?” He asks suddenly, eyes meeting yours. “Why are you still here for me? Why do you care about me so goddamn much? Why can’t you just give up on me, like everyone else has?”

“Do I look like everyone else?” You ask.

Oh, but that was the problem. You were different. You were the only person in that damn town who was as sweet as you were patient. Who cared so god-damn much about someone so undeserving of that love. “Don’t you think I know that?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you think it pisses me off that you are the way you are?”

“I just want you to be happy, Rafe, and if I can make you happy, I want to.” You say.

Why did you have to be so goddamn sweet? It was driving him mad, the way you stood there, so willing and eager to do whatever it took to help him. He let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at you. “It was different when you were just some girl I was hooking up with.” He says, shaking his head.

“I’m still that girl,” You insist. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to normal. Forget this ever happened.”

His eyes narrow as you speak. He hated that you said that, hated how willing you were to forget the fact that he cried in front of you, and yet he hated himself for the fact that he almost wanted to agree. “Really?” He asks, his voice sharp. “You’d just… forget this? Go back to letting me use you, like nothing happened?”

“If that’s what you want.” You say.

He hated the idea of that. The idea of going back to using you. Of treating you like trash when he knew that you cared so damn much. 

Part of him liked hurting you, like watching you fall apart at his hands. But it was the other side of him that hated how good it felt at first, hated the pit of shame in his chest that grew each time you begged him to stay, or cried while he left, or looked at him like he meant the world to you.

Part of him knew you deserved better.

Rafe sighs, looking away. “Fine. We forget about this.”

“Okay.” You say, nodding.

The fact that you didn't say anything, that you didn't fight back, made his chest ache. God, he hated this. He wanted to yell at you. Wanted to push you down, pin you to the couch, and make you cry out his name. He wanted you to ask him to stay, fight him to prove to him that you cared. He hated how your willingness to forget it all made him want to wrap his arms around you. He couldn't stay. He would do something risky, something that he would regret in the morning. He sniffles, wiping his eyes again. “I'm gonna go.”

You swallow thickly. “If you’re sure. My door is always open.”

“Yeah,” He replies, his voice hoarse. He hated that your gentleness, your sweetness, still managed to get to him. He steps closer to you. He wanted to touch you again. To feel your warm, soft skin against his palm. But he knew better. He knew that if he touched you, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Thanks for being there.” He mumbles, his voice cracking.

“Of course.” You smile softly.

He hates how your smile makes his chest ache, hates the tug it gives his heart. He hated how he cared about you, hated how he was so weak that he allowed himself to open up to you. And God, he hated how he was thinking about kissing your pretty, pouty lips. “I'll be back tomorrow night. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Rafe nods, licking his lips. He rocks back and forth on his feet before reaching out and cupping the back of your head, pressing his lips to your forehead. Enough to keep you hooked. “See you later, sweetheart.”

Your entire body is buzzing. “Drive safe.”

You’re still standing in the same spot when he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

And you will wait for the next time he wants you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

blagh

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[juudesgirl]

soulmates - jude bellingham

“a soulmate is someone who challenges you to do better, someone who can’t stand seeing you sad, someone who stays faithful, loyal and committed to you, someone who helps take care of you when you’re sick, someone who stands by your side through the good days and the bad days and someone who wants to grow old and grey with you”

if jude could picture the perfect person, it would be you. from the moment he had laid eyes on you, he knew you were something special.

you had met him through one of your friends, it had been your friends’ birthday and they had thrown a party to celebrate. after 5 minutes of arriving, you had bumped into jude navigating your way through the swarm of people at the party. as soon as your eyes locked, jude had been captivated by your beauty.

the way your doe eyes lit up, the blush formed on your cheeks by the heat of the room and the bright smile on your face as you looked at him, made his stomach do somersaults. he hadn’t seen anyone as beautiful as you, he knew he had to speak to you. throughout the night, you both were stuck by each others’ side all night - laughing at eachothers’ silly jokes, laughing at the semi-drunk people around you, it couldn’t of been a more perfect night.

you had exchanged numbers before leaving the party, as soon as you left, jude had messaged you straight away asking if you had enjoyed the party and if you had gotten home safely. from then, you kept contact with eachother regularly.

-

to say jude was obsessed with you, was definitely an understatement. whether it was at training or speaking to his family or one of his friends, he’d always mention you in his conversations - he couldn’t help it, he was reminded of you wherever or whatever he was doing, it was like you were stuck in his mind. jude wanted to be around you whether it calling you, texting you or seeing you, he just loved the feeling of you being in his life. jude loved spending time with you, even if it was just the both of you sitting down doing absolutely nothing, he enjoyed it. you were one of the few people who he felt safe and happy with, you were his person and he adored the hell out of you.

jude was one of those people that no matter what, always made you feel special. he’d always surprise you with getting your favourite flowers delivered to your house if he wasn’t around to show and let you know that no matter where he was, he was thinking of you and that he was missing you, he always wanted to show you the affection that you deserved. even after a tough training session, he’d stop by to see you. you loved being around jude, and he loved being around you, you both were like a breath of fresh air to eachother no matter how long you’d been seeing eachother.

as time went on, jude had started to fall for you more and more each day, he couldn’t help but not too. jude had mentioned you to his family, always praising you and telling them how much you meant to him, and how excited he was for them to meet you. family is an important factor in jude’s life, so to have you all together, would be so important to him. his family especially his little brother jobe, were happy for jude to have finally found someone, especially someone who’s been able to bring the spark back into his life - they were excited to meet you.

“you know there’s no one else I’d rather be with other than you? you really do make every day worth living and i enjoy spending any bit of time I have with you” jude said to while standing outside of your house, dropping you off after another successful date.

“i love spending time with you too jude. i haven’t met someone like you who makes me laugh so much or makes me feel so comfortable before” you gushed, while brushing your hand on his cheek, while his hands found your waist and pulled you close.

“i feel the same y/n, you’ve made me the happiest i’ve felt in a very long time. there’s never not a time where i’m not thinking when i’ll see you again or thinking about you. i just want to be with you all the time, i just want you around all the time. so i was wondering if you wanna be my girlfriend?” jude said nervously. you could tell he was nervous, the grip he had on your waist had loosened and he begun to chew bottom lip as he waited for your answer. “i understand i-if you say n-no it is too soon and i-” he started once again before you interrupted him with a beaming smile.

“aw jude, of course i want to be your girlfriend. you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to ask me” you said giggling while putting your arms around his neck softly.

jude laughed softly before he pulled you into a soft hug. his head instantly fell the crook of your neck and he began to place soft and delicate kisses on your neck as you hugged. liking the softness of his kisses along your neck, you decided to tilt your head back and to enjoy the feeling more. he placed a few more on your neck, before pulling away and leaning his head onto yours which made stand up onto your tiptoes before kissing him softly. you both sighed happily into the kiss, very thankful for this sweet moment and how excited you were to be jude’s girlfriend.

as you and jude kissed, he begun to think about how his life has changed dramatically so quickly. he always knew you were special, and sometimes he joked but seriously thought you was his guardian angel. once upon a time, he was in the most dark and fragile time of his life. he didn’t think that he’d be able to come back after the hard times at all. then you came along into his life unexpectedly, protected and guided him throughout the journey and helped him to feel like him again.

jude couldn’t help but fall in love with you, as everything shattered, you came along and picked all the pieces up and fixed it. jude was finally as happy as he could be; all because of you, because you saved him and knew from the moment he met you, you were soulmates and you’d find eachother in every lifetime no matter where you guys were.

[elicypher]

“ 10 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 I'LL 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 GOING 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 „

SYNOPSIS: GOING TO AN AMUSEMENT PARK WITH YOU? OH, HE'S GIDDY ALRIGHT. OF COURSE IT'S NOT A DATE. WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?

TAGS: DATE WITH GOJO, AMUSEMENT PARK, BANTER, FLUFF, GOJO REALLY LIKES YOU, FLUFF, ASPECTS OF ROMANCE SLOWLY BUILDING UP.

series masterlist : next chapter

SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR EYES — 𝐈𝐈

Late calls were the norm now. The clock on your desk blinked 4:30 AM in angry, red digits. "Don't you ever sleep, Gojo?" Your eyes were bleary, voice groggy and sleep was catching up.

On the other hand, Satoru Gojo chuckled from his end of the phone—his voice as annoyingly bright as you'd expect from someone who treated four in the morning as prime socializing time. "What? Tired of talking to me already?"

You couldn't help but scoff in amusement, rubbing your eyes. "Tired in general." You muttered. "But you can say that as well."

"Oh come on," He said. And you could hear his pout. "Tomorrow's the weekend anyway. You'll have time to rest."

"Go to sleep already."

"Nah, sleep is for the weak."

A sigh escaped you. And Gojo, upon hearing it, felt a little guilty.

"Hey," His voice dropped lower, becoming softer. "You know you don't have to keep me company staying up, right? You don't have to ruin your sleep just because I can't have mine."

"Which is pretty romantic, if you ask me." Gojo added, looking up at the ceiling of his room. "And they say chivalry is dead."

"Mmm," You hummed, letting out a breathy laugh. "It's fine, y'know. I actually enjoy talking to you. And like you mentioned, there's the weekend too. Plenty of rest for me to take."

Gojo hesitated. "Actually..."

"You're planning by yourself again, aren't you?"

He flipped over in bed, lying on his stomach. The pad of his index finger drew lazy patterns on his pillow. "You know me so well, don't ya?" He said in a sing-song voice, smiling to himself.

"Like the back of my god damn hand." You grinned.

Gojo and you had been talking for months now. Conversation between the two of you was always easy—and it was as if you never ran out of topics whilst talking with one another. The chemistry between the two of you was great. Even perfect.

"Anyway," Gojo started, focusing on tracing patterns, hoping it'd somehow calm his nerves. "Got any plans for tomorrow?"

"Other than being busy sleeping after this?"

That made him laugh. "You won't be sleeping all day, c'mon."

"Try me." You said, and Gojo hummed lightheartedly. He loved talking to you. After a brief silence, you spoke. "No, I won't."

"That's great!" Gojo exclaimed. You could hear the excitement in his voice—how enthusiastic he was at the notion, his voice tinged with a hint of relief. "So.. would you want to meet up?"

"I don't know," You chewed on your lower lip, turning to lie on your stomach as well and observing your cuticles. "Where to?"

"How does the amusement park sound?" Gojo prayed you wouldn't hear the nervousness in his voice. He wasn't one to nitpick between what words to use and what sentences to say—but with you, it was different. With you, he wanted it to be perfect. "I won't bore you, I promise." He winced.

Did that sound desperate? Too much? He stressed too much about stupid things with you—his voice, his words, the way he carried himself. You had a way of making him self-conscious.

"I'm just playing with you." You swang your legs absentmindedly, chewing on a nail. "I'd absolutely love to go with you."

And oh—how happy that made Gojo Satoru.

"What should I wear?"

"Anything." His cheeks hurt from smiling, but it was as if he couldn't make it stop. "You'd look good in anything."

"That's not helping, y'know." You grinned.

"But I mean it."

You sighed, a little amused. "Alrighty, then. I'll wear whatever."

"Alright." He repeated. The call was coming to an end, it made him a little sad. But he knew he'd see you tomorrow. To say he was happy was an understatement to how he really felt.

"Goodnight, Satoru."

Gojo opened his mouth to say something, but then paused. A long silence ensued. His heart thumped in his chest. "What?"

"Hm?"

"You.." His voice sounded weird. "You said 'Satoru', didn't you?"

You giggled. "I have no idea what you're talking about." You feigned ignorance. "Now goodnight for real."

"..." He bit his cheek, suppressing his laugh. "Goodnight (Name)."

Click. The call ended. But Satoru Gojo stayed like that for a while, in the darkness—simply staring at nothing. Then, he buried his face into his pillow, sighing. You left him a giddy mess—a legion of butterflies taking flight at the pit of his stomach.

“ 10 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 I'LL 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 GOING 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 „

Gojo found himself second-guessing his choice of clothes. Sure, he'd gone on dates before, but it didn't mean his nerves were any less frayed. What if he was trying too hard—or not enough?

It's not even a date, he thought—trying to convince himself to calm down, even if just a little. He just wanted to impress you.

Gojo wore a white Stüssy graphic tee, a vintage black leather jacket with racing stripes, and gray cargo pants. Black Converse and chunky silver jewelry add style, while wraparound sunglasses to complete the look. He hesitated for a moment, then took off the glasses. Too much. He checked his hair one final time in his phone's camera—and seemed fairly satisfied.

Just as he was about to look at the time, wondering if he'd come too early—you called out his name. "Satoru!"

His heart jumped a little. He turned around—and broke into a smile when he watched you wave at him. He waved back.

"Hey."

You smiled up at him. "Hi."

His eyes flickered down for a moment, taking in your outfit for the day—and god, you looked so... "Gorgeous."

"Hm?" You tilted your head. "What's up?"

"You look gorgeous." He cleared his throat. "Really pretty. I like the..." His words left him. Because how could he pick just one, when every aspect of you was beautiful? "...hmm. Everything."

You raised a brow, feigning suspicion. "Uh-huh."

"What?" Gojo grinned, smiling down at you. "Don't believe me? But I'm being serious, I promise. You look really nice."

"You look great too." You linked your arm with his, causing his pulse to quicken. The two of you were in closer proximity—more than you'd ever been before. "Hurry—I'm excited."

“ 10 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 I'LL 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 GOING 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 „

"Need me to hold your hand?" Satoru shouted over the clatter of the track. "I wouldn't want you to feel scared or anything."

You snickered, rolling your eyes. But you decided to play along. "You're the one who'll be begging for my hand halfway through."

"Yeah, right." He gave you a toothy smile. "We'll see about that."

As the rollercoaster climbed to it's peak—anticipation built up with bated breath. "Ready?" He looked over with excitement.

"Always!" You shout back, laughing—right before the coaster descended speedily. The ride was full of twists and turns, and by the end of it, the both of you were laughing so hard your sides hurt. Gojo wiped a tear of laughter away, smiling widely down at you. "Told ya I could handle it. How about you? Need a break?"

It took you a while to regain your composure. "Not a chance," You grinned up at him—grabbing his hand. "..What's next?"

As the evening progressed, the pace slowed down. Satoru Gojo insisted on winning you something at the carnival games, but after three entire tries at the ring toss—all disastrous—things didn't seem to be looking too good for him. You stifled a laugh.

"Stop laughing at me," Gojo pouted, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. "This is sabotage. The rings are cursed."

"Maybe you're just bad at this." You teased.

"Me? Bad?" He feigned offence. "Impossible. Watch this."

Another fail. But Gojo kept on trying anyway—he kept trying until he finally, finally succeeded (after umpteenth tries), and the over-the-top celebration had you in stitches.

"See?" Gojo stated proudly. Man, was he sweating. He really thought he wouldn't be able to acquire you anything, and thus making a fool of himself. "All skill." He gave you, what probably was his brightest smile yet—one that stretched from ear to ear. "For you. But we can call it a joint effort."

"Right." You grinned, hugging the large stuffed panda close.

“ 10 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 I'LL 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 GOING 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 „

The Ferris wheel was the perfect way to end the day. Gojo leaned back against the seat, his long legs stretched out casually—but his gaze was locked entirely upon you and you only. He watched you silently as you looked outside, small 'ooh's and 'wow's leaving you at the view outside and below.

"You've been smiling all day." His tone was softer. Quieter. A departure from his usual tone. It's as if his eyes wouldn't leave you; they were so gentle and relaxed. As if his eyes had found their place and respite—as if all his eyes were meant to do was be on you, admiring every inch. "I like seeing you like this."

You glanced at him, a little caught off guard by his sincerity. "It's been a really good day." You settled back into your seat from your kneeling-on-the-bench position. "All thanks to you."

"Good." He murmured, leaning in closer. He laced his fingers with yours. "That's all I wanted. To make you happy."

The Ferris wheel stopped at the top, leaving you both suspended in the air. The scene was breathtaking—but all either of you could do was focus on each other. Gojo leaned in further to push back a few strands of hair behind your ear. "Let's make this a regular thing." He whispered. "Just you and me."

You couldn't help but smile. "I'd like that."

“ 10 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 I'LL 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 GOING 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 „

The walk home with Gojo was quiet, the dull chitter chatter filling the space between you. He was uncharacteristically mellow. Every now and then, he sneaked a glance at you, his lips quirking into a small smile when your eyes met.

When the two of you finally reached your house, he turned to you—eyes gentle as he looked down at you. "Well.. this is your stop, (Name)." He teased. "Back to your boring, Satoru-less life."

You giggled, rolling your eyes "It’s not boring." You paused, then silently admitted: "But it might be a little quieter—yes."

Gojo's eyes lit up at your confession, something akin to childlike happiness in him. "See? You’re already admitting you’ll miss me." He teased, smiling down at you with a soft expression.

For a moment, you just looked at him—the playful glint in his eyes, and the soft smile tugging at his lips. It was a rare, quiet moment. You couldn't help but feel something stir in your chest.

And before you could overthink it—you stood on the tips of your toes—and then you pressed a small, soft kiss to his cheek.

The playful grin on his face vanished in an instant. His mouth parted slightly and a faint, pink blush spread across his cheeks— creeping up to the tips of his ears. He was stunned.

"Goodnight, Satoru." you say softly, pulling back and walking up to the stairs before he could say anything. "Get back safe."

"I..." Gojo was stunned. "Hey— Wait—" His voice cracked slightly, and you stifled a little laugh, turning around to wave.

"I had fun." You called, disappearing into your house.

Gojo stood there for a moment—utterly baffled, his hand slowly coming up to touch his cheek where your lips had just been.

"..." A soft laugh escaped him. He didn't move an inch for a while — too busy grinning like an idiot and replaying the moment in his head over and over "Well…" He sighs. "That wasn’t fair."

@ELICYPHER — do not plagiarize, repost or retranslate.

[domiiomii]

It is interesting to me how we don't actually see much of Viktor's life in Zaun besides his interaction with Singed but it is clearly something he carries deeply with him. One could think maybe Viktor hated Zaun, he seemed to isolate from other kids, or think he felt resentment that because of his birthplace he became ill, however none of that seems to be true because from the start he was always pushing to make the hextech available to the people of the undercity and when he gets his own power his first instinct is exactly that, to go back home and help those who have been ignored, who need it the most, who are just like him.

Perhaps it is not so much about growing up in Zaun but rather that Piltover made sure that he knew he didn't belong there. He knows he is an outsider, in every way, he says it when he meets Jayce and describes himself as a "A poor cripple from the undercity", which is very peculiar because we don't see anybody else in the series, despite the multiple characters from Zaun who are disabled, speak like that or seem to have those thoughts because disability is such a commonality there.

Viktor's "insecurities" if you want to call them that don't come out of thin air but out of the way he was clearly treated in piltover, him not wanting to speak publicly during Progress Day is sad sure, but it is not just because he saw his existence as "less than", but because he clearly was reminded of it constantly. It is not that he lacked the confidence, he clearly believes in himself, he knows his abilities, but he also KNOWS he won't be taken seriously, either because he is from the undercity or because he is disabled.

This very point is made clear through the scene with Mel when she argues for making hextech weapons, it is such a harsh reality check of Viktor's place in piltover. Viktor's voice doesn't matter at all to those in power, no matter how brilliant he is, no matter how much he has changed their lives. Mel doesn't even look at Viktor, she doesn't talk to him directly, Viktor is talked over by Mel and Jayce who are again literally standing over him while he sits down, the whole scene has the two of them having a conversation with Viktor in the room but ignoring him. Mel doesn't even try to argue her point with Viktor because to her Viktor's thoughts and opinions don't matter at all. In the end she tells Jayce and Jayce only "The decision is yours".

Another particular point is how she tells Jayce only "The peace is already broken Jayce, I'm only asking you to prepare to defend your people." YOUR PEOPLE meaning piltover and again all this being said right in front of Viktor an outsider, a man from the undercity, discussing how they will use the technology he helped developed against HIS OWN PEOPLE, people just like him. Very important detail here is that right after this interaction Viktor goes to the undercity and asks Singed for help after he realizes piltover will never help him, he goes back for help the only place he can get it because despite how much Piltover has benefited from Viktor's mind, he is never welcomed and his thoughts on what his work should be used for are not heard at all, everything of value is taken from him then he is left to die.

It is very funny how Piltover is regarded as this "beacon of progress" when you see how they treat their own population of the undercity where they don't even see them as equal citizens. This very point reflects in how Jayce is able to climb the social ladder while Viktor is always relegated and eventually even his name is scrapped from the technology he helped develop, he is a stranger in his own "city".

Talking about Jayce is also worth mentioning that, aside from Sky (also from the undercity), Jayce is the only person in piltover we see who cares about Viktor and the point is not lost on me that he comes from a lower much smaller house (not that his relationship with Jayce is perfect don't get me started on the "You were never broken Viktor" thing, that is a post of it's own). The relation of Viktor to the other elites of piltover we see is just bleak, Mel as established completely disregards him and even when he is at death's door I don't think she cared about him, she cared that Jayce cared about Viktor.

And then the worst of all, Heimerdinger who by all means should have been Vitkor's first ally as his professor is actually so quick to dispose of him and without a second thought and tell Viktor to destroy the technology that could very well be the only possibility to save him. The difference in how Himmerdinger acts with Ekko and Viktor is night and day, he denies Viktor any help to figure out how to save him while he "sacrifices" himself for Ekko's time machine. Now, how is a time machine not as dangerous as magic? I don't understand but this makes sense in the context that Viktor's life as a disabled person from the undercity seems to be established to be of less value.

For better or for worse piltover made sure that Viktor never forgot where he came from so him returning and helping the people who would never get help otherwise, people just like him, was the only path he could really follow.

On a personal note I find it so sad that the very clear class divide line in the plot was flatten in favor of “This is not about ideologies or territory, this is about saving humanity” when the very reason Viktor even became what he became and took the choices he did to what he thought was the best to save as many of the people like him as possible IS because of that class divide and it is because of the way piltover treated the undercity because of the pollution that made him sick and because of the the way piltover ignored the situation of the people they harmed.

[hannahbarberra162]

Imagine Thatch Reassuring You (Thatch x Reader, fluff)

WC: ~1.3k

TW: reader is insecure / having a bad body image day / unspecified reason for not liking seeing themselves in the mirror

Kinda NSFW, no sex happens but it's mentioned.

You were straddling your boyfriend’s massive lap on his couch, grinding on him as the two of you enjoyed another sloppy makeout session. As the Fourth Division Commander, Thatch had little downtime and the two of you liked to use it as best you could. Today Thatch was off for lunch service, leaving the two of you a delicious swath of time during the middle of the day together. You were already topless, your preferred way to be when alone, while Thatch had his clothes on.

You had one arm looped behind his neck and your other hand gripping his firm chest, while his own hands roved over your body, seemingly always returning to your ass. Thatch broke the kiss and started giving open kisses to your neck, making you sigh. Sex with Thatch was the best you’d ever had and not just due to your physical attraction to him. You felt connected, loved, and protected even when he was spanking or punishing you. He always left you with the sense that you were someone he cherished, someone he couldn’t live without. You weren’t sure why someone as incredible as him felt that way about someone like you, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The two of you hadn’t exchanged “I love you’s” yet but you knew how you felt about the chef.

“I wanna try something new today,” Thatch murmured into your skin, one large arm spanning your upper back.

“Oh? Something new, hm? Alright,” you said with a giggle. Something new meant something fun - nipple clamps or anal plugs or being bound in a new way. You were game for all of it, you felt safe with Thatch and trusted his judgement. Thatch picked you off his lap and set you down on the couch, making you pout. 

“Ha, don’t worry. I won’t be gone long,” Thatch said, blowing you a kiss. You weren’t being too bratty yet, you didn’t think he was going to punish you for that. Thatch left his cabin, his massive erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. He was gone for less than a minute before he reappeared with a large freestanding mirror. Your brow furrowed and you frowned as you looked over the mirror. Thatch set it down facing the couch and plopped back down next to you.

“C’mere, I wanna show you something,” he purred at you, pulling you back into his lap. This time he had you facing the mirror as he began rolling your nipples in his large fingers. You turned your head to the side, ignoring the image in front of you completely.

“No, I want you to watch yourself in the mirror,” he chided, his hand grabbing your jaw and turning your head to face the reflection.

“Well, I don’t,” you stated flatly, twisting your head to look at the side of his cabin. “I don’t like this. Can you take it away? I wanna keep going but I don’t wanna look at…all that,” you said with a curl of your lip, waving your hand in the direction of the mirror. You didn’t want to use your safe word but if he wanted you to watch yourself you would. You saw Thatch give you a sad look from the corner of your eye. He turned you around so you were facing his front and away from the mirror.

“You don’t want to watch me?” he asked with hurt in his voice, a finger stroking down your cheek.

“What? No, no! I love looking at you, it’s not that. You’re the most attractive person I’ve ever been with, I can’t get enough of you. I don’t want to watch myself,” you said, disgust tinging the last word. You would never want Thatch to think he wasn’t incredible in every way, the thought that you’d hurt his feelings had you changing your tune immediately.  Thatch frowned and cupped your face in his hands, completely engulfing your cheeks in a tender caress. You tried to pull away again, this was getting a little too emotional for you. But Thatch’s gaze and hands didn’t waver and didn’t let you recede either.

“That’s…sad. We won’t do this if you don’t want to - I’ll put the mirror away. But it makes me upset to think you don’t see yourself like I do. I’m going to turn you around but we’re not going to fool around or have sex, OK? Please?” Thatch asked softly, finishing with a chaste kiss to your lips. You were still frowning but gave a small nod. Thatch turned you around so that you were both facing the mirror again but this time you used your hands to cover your breasts. It felt too raw to be emotionally open and naked at the same time.

“Do you know what I see?” Thatch asked, leaning his chin on your shoulder. You closed your eyes while he was waiting for your answer. He nuzzled into your neck, so close his stubble was rubbing your sensitive neck. 

“Look, just for a moment. See what I see,” Thatch whispered imploringly, his arms wrapping around your middle to pull you flush against his hairy chest. You leaned your head back against him seeking the warm comfort of his embrace. Protection, really, against the harsh reality of what you saw in the mirror. You cracked open your eyes to see your sweet, caring boyfriend and the all too familiar image of yourself in the mirror. After tucking your hair behind your ear, Thatch starts to speak.

“I see someone wholly, completely, and utterly wonderful. I see someone who is the best thing that’s come into my life since I set sail with Whitebeard decades ago. I see someone who isn’t perfect  - you’ve lived a life like anyone else. You have your flaws and your quirks but that doesn’t make you anything but human. You’re not perfect but you're perfect for me,” Thatch said softly, rubbing your sides. You were crying a little bit, your chin wobbling as Thatch soothed your turbulent feelings. Still, you held the image of Thatch comforting you in your eyes as he continued.

“Ace was annoying Marco the other day on deck asking if Marco would love him if he was a worm. I didn’t even have to think for a second. I’d love you if you were a worm, if you were a spider, if you lost a limb, if your tits hung to the floor, I wouldn’t care. None of that matters. What matters is you. Your body is only one part of you, and I love it too. But there's so much more I love about you. I love your smile, your attitude, your morning breath, your intelligence, your sense of humor," he continued, kissing your temple. Now you were truly crying, your tears running down your cheeks. 

“Do you know why?” Thatch asked, kissing away a tear. You shook your head, unsure if your voice would hold for words.

“Because I love you,” he said simply, turning your face to his with one of his hands. 

“Even like th-iis?” you said, voice cracking. You were sure you looked a mess, you’d been told you were an ugly crier as a child and it had always been another insecurity.

“Like this,” he confirmed without hesitation. You uncovered your breasts and turned halfway in his lap so you were facing him.

“I love you too,” you said, looking into his eyes. Leaning forward, you grabbed his shoulders to pull him towards you, kissing him with everything in your soul.

~~~ Later~~~

Reader: So, would you love Ace if he was a worm? 🧐🧐🧐

Thatch: Absolutely not. I’d feed him to Marco. (he wouldn't).

@mfreedomstuff

[the-morningstar-family]

Tell Alastor.

Otherwise Vox is going is going to tell him in a sad pathetic attempt to break you up.

He won't be happy about it but if you manage to mention that the sharks liked you more than Vox he's going to find the whole situation funny.

Lucifer fidgets, his partner is actually reading in the trauma book again, clearly displeased by the contents. And disgusted. Great so Al's already pissy.

Lucifer: “Heyyy you”

Alastor, amused: “You always call me so loving things.”

Lucifer, nervous: “Heh. Yeah”

Okay, he isn't too pissy. At least that. Still, the deer notices his king's gitty motions.

Alastor: “Is something wrong?”

Exhausted, Lucifer let's himself fall onto the sofa next to him.

Lucifer: “I may have done something without thinking it through”

Alastor: “What? You? My, I would've never expected it! However will I survive this shock? Darling, we should alert the papers-!”

Lucifer: “Okay smart ass, shut up”

The deer grins in a way that he can only describe as devilish, ironically. He bites his lower lip.

Alastor, softer: “It is something I won't like, isn't it?”

Lucifer: “Yeah…”

Alastor: “Well, spit it out.”

Lucifer: “So I read some more about older psychiatry practices…”

Alastor, annoyed: “Yes”

Lucifer: “And there was uh…”

He tries to word it rather ambiguous. If he's onto something, he might be navigating a mental minefield.

Lucifer: “There was something with electricity. And so I thought that maybe the creepy TV guy knows something. I mean you were friends…”

Alastor, exasperated: “Tell me you didn't ask Vox”

Lucifer: “... I'm really sorry about it”

The demon tenses up, then massages his temples, and finally releases the pent up air. He looks more exhausted than angry. His jaw is stiff and the ears fold back.

Alastor: “That was a rather foolish decision, for multiple reasons.”

Lucifer: “Yeah I noticed”

Exhausted, the deer let's his head fall into the king's shoulder. He did not expect that. Still, he takes the opportunity to massage the soft ears.

Lucifer: “Did you know he had sharks?”

Alastor, huffing amused: “Yes”

Lucifer: “I think they like me more than him”

It makes Alastor giggle. He knows Vox' jealous face like the back of his hand. Adding his excited partner to the mental image is just the cherry on top.

Alastor: “Vox is not going to take kindly to that”

Lucifer, shrugging: “I just like sharks”

Alastor sobers up. Taking deep breaths to keep his current calm.

Alastor: “Don't go to him for such things. He is not really an attentive person, and he is not above using such things against us.”

Lucifer: “I'm sorry. I really didn't think it through. I don't know why you're not mad at me-”

Suddenly Alastor gasps. It is soft and quiet, accompanied by drawing away slightly.

Lucifer: “What is it? Are you okay?!”

The deer snatches one of the angels hands and quickly pulls him forward to lay it on his bump. It's the king's turn to gaps.

Lucifer, excited: “Oh-! That was so soft. I could hardly feel it! Oh they must be still so tiny”

Alastor let's his head fall back on his shoulder. A smile gracing his lips.

Alastor: “I am not mad because you tried to help. And I haven't been exactly… forthcoming with information”

The movement died out quickly, so the king's hands wander back to his partner's head. This time he goes through the hair.

Alastor: “...What did Vox say?”

Lucifer: “He said something like you zooming out when like, gently shocked by accident…”

The deer looks back to the book in thought.

Lucifer: “Are you reading the chapter?”

Alastor: “Yes…”

Lucifer, hesitant: “And what do you think?”

Alastor: “That… that you might have been right. But if it is bad enough, to be erased from concouisness… then it might be best to leave it like it is.”

Lucifer: “You don't want to know?”

Alastor: “Why would I need another thing added to the pile? I have enough, without the thousandth way my father fucked me up.”

Lucifer, softly: “You're not fucked up, Hun”

A soft little huff escapes him. He worms his arms around his small angel.

Alastor: “My point still stands. I don't see how it benefits me”

Lucifer: “Because it's still hurting you.”

Alastor: “What?”

Lucifer: “I know you. You were definitely affected by that. At least while zoned out. And… I think it still hurts somewhere. Even if you don't notice…”

Alastor doesn't answer, instead clinging to him and burying his face even further.

[justallihere]

chapter 22 - chapter 29

Why can only Vi and Tairn and Andarna talk to each other???

“It’s only. . . peace.” For the first time since fetching the luminary, I seriously debate Tecarus’s offer. There are tears in my eyes

“And my home is the first.” VIOLET is his HOME I’ve never been so unwell in my life actually??

Yet again: Xaden threatening people for Vi is SO fucking hot

I’m obsessed with Narelle

Not her assuming Xaden is Dain 😭😭😭

Also forgot to mention this earlier but I think Ridoc will be the one to kill Jack. The foreshadowing with the frozen orange isn’t exactly subtle lol

God Xaden really wants Violet to have his name huh. Not that he’d say it in so many words but he really doesn’t have to

Oh no no wait he said it. He lowkey just proposed

There is so much happening with the king that I don’t have the energy for it all but know this: I hate Halden Tauri

Part of me wants to cry over Xaden channeling again but the rest of me is like yes baby fuck them UP for threatening your wife

Asher took Lilith’s name?? Was I right with that headcanon? lol let’s go!!!

Oh well look at that! Bodhi doesn’t have a second signet! Just like Xaden! Sure bud!

Sloane/Dain crumb we love to see it

Casual venin cadet during sparring that’s cool??

AARIC! CAM! Showing up to save us from your insufferable older brother. The man that you are 🥰

Why is Xaden giving Violet a dagger with runes to protect her against sunburn the cutest thing ever

Mira and Vi are making me sad. Mira’s jealousy and grief in this book is so raw

[fadelstylist]

Can't even talk about how sad and offended I am for how the characters handled the situation with Kant. I understand that Style wants to save his friend and that Kant wants to save himself (even if I don't believe a single word he says) but I'm so mad at Bison.

Why does he keep thinking it's all about him? Kant offended both. Not only Bison. He can't choose what Fadel is allowed to feel after all the problems he caused.

1. Kant almost sent him and Bison to jail. Yes, this betrayal affects Fadel too because it's more than a love story.

2. Kant put Style in danger, facing extreme situations (like getting shot) as consequences of Kant's lies. And yes, I know Style ended up accepting but he literally didn't have other options because Kant said "he can kill you if you leave now" and then "you are all I have".

3. Kant's plan triggered Fadel's past trauma and fears of:

a. Letting people in.

b. Betrayal.

c. Losing someone he loves.

Even if he could heal from a and b, he still needs to suffer from the c. Because, he knew since the beginning of the show, why he shouldn't dream of love. Because his lifestyle doesn't let him, because if you love someone you don't put them in danger. He can still lose Style and the cycle will start over and over again. It's crazy how little this show cares about mental health. Bison's is non-existent.

And after all of that, Bison decides that he will still put himself first, and make this whole scene (which is a clear emotional reaction after all the trauma) about himself as if this was always about not letting him get a boyfriend. It was never about that. The audacity of pointing a gun to Fadel and say "It's my life" as if it wasn't Fadel's too. Did Bison ever care about Fadel? Because Style is the only person who respects his feelings. Did he ever think about him when he did all of this? He literally ran away out of anger to "kill" Kant and didn't even tell him where. He not only didn't kill Kant but also teamed up with him.

And then he only says "I'm sorry, I was angry".

It's crazy.

Then you can tell me Bison isn't selfish and self-centered. How can't he never think about Fadel after doing anything? And when he could, he just pointed a gun at him because he chose himself. And let me tell you: Bison never had enough reasons to believe Kant was truthful. Fadel has reasons to believe because he knows that, somewhere in the middle, Style didn't even know about all of this (not to mention that their development was more realistic and coherent). Why still choosing Kant over Fadel? And I know it's not like he would've killed him but that action was a whole statement.

And even after all of the things Fadel had to face for Bison, he still chooses Bison. Fadel celebrated Bison's birthday (while being angry and hurt) and decided to forgive Kant. What Bison ever did for Fadel? He's just ungrateful for his protection.

It felt so wrong to see how Bison never take any of Fadel's feelings seriously. Like he doesn't matter because he's just a sad and bored brother. He probably doesn't know about any of the things Fadel went through because Fadel only told some stuff to someone who proved to care about him. And that's Style. And that's why I think Style was right when he said he's the only one who really wants the best for him.

Fadel was mocked off again during the "almost shooting" Kant scene. Whatever hurt Fadel felt, it doesn't matter because we only care about Bison's. Fadel gets to put the gun down and make some joke????? about the seafood????? And then you want to tell me the show takes Fadel's feelings serious? I literally can't rewatch that scene because I can't stand it. It feels so wrong. So much hurt untold and unhealed for the sake of the "plot".

[minne-cerbinna]

I'm playing TW1 again and I have thoughts about this tiny little sequence in the Chapter 2 quest "Memories of a Blade", which amounts to the only mention of Coën in the game.

When undertaking this quest, Geralt is investigating the origin of the silver sword he was given to slay a cockatrice; he mistakenly believes that it might be Berengar's sword since he knows the other witcher to have been in the area. A conversation with Thaler, from whom the sword was confiscated by the guard, will lead him eventually to speak to the Gardener outside St. Lebioda's hospital in Vizima. This man used to be a mercenary under Pretty Kitty, but has since retired and works as a gardener, and had lost the silver sword at dice poker. When interacted with, he will begin any conversation with "Look how they grow!", referring to the plants in his garden. The player can then initiate the quest dialogue with option one, "I'm more interested in silver swords".

GERALT: I'm more interested in silver swords.

GARDENER: I knew one of you would come by eventually.

GERALT: You lost it playing dice?

GARDENER: I was sure I'd win. Beware, the sharp one plays well.

GERALT: Where did you get this sword?

GARDENER: Five years ago, there was a battle near Brenna. When the dust had settled, our men had beaten the Nilfgaardians. We ceased to call ourselves an imperial province that day.

GERALT: You captured the sword during the battle?

GARDENER: Yes, it was witcher Cöen's [sic]. A strapping fellow and a rare breed. Not very talkative, mind you.

GERALT: Like most of us.

GARDENER: I gave my word the sword would find another witcher. As he lay dying, he mumbled about teeth and destiny. Then he laughed -- at his own death.

GERALT: Yet you lost it gambling?

GARDENER: I kept it hidden for five years. I lost hope I'd ever run into another witcher. Miss Shani knew Cöen [sic]. She works at the hospital.

GERALT: Thanks.

GARDENER: Good luck on the path!

The quest will lead you to speak with Shani, then Zoltan, but neither will provide further information on Coën, aside from Shani mentioning that he died on her operating table -- Shani's dialogue is to provide her backstory as a medic at Brenna and to mention Rusty, and Zoltan simply assesses the quality of the blade to ensure that it is a witcher blade of good workmanship. It has no further significance to Geralt, who, without his memory, has no idea who Coën is and has more pressing matters to deal with than to look into the past of a man who died five years ago (according to the somewhat off-kilter game timeline, anyway). But it's the only mention of Coën in the games, and I find that it's a very interesting way to manifest his presence.

I think it is reasonable to tie Coën quite closely to his sword on a symbolic level, if one considers his appearance in the novels where he not only trains with Ciri, but his prowess with a sword is unrivaled even by the other witchers to the point where she believes that he may be the best swordsman in the world. Additionally, the fact that he fought at Brenna at all means that he offered his sword in the service of the Northern Kingdoms, and when he dies, he is identified by his peers as a "master swordsman" rather than as a witcher, despite the fact that they know of his nature. As such, Coën's sword is a very important possession for him to leave behind.

And from there, there is a connection to Lambert, left unsaid. To go beyond the simple fact that Coën was Lambert's friend, someone dearly loved who was close enough with Lambert and his family to get on with the other wolves and stay a winter at Kaer Morhen, the importance lies with the sword. As with any witcher, Coën wouldn't have much in the way of worldly possessions to bequeath onto someone else in the event of his prophecied death. But he does have his swords, which are established as symbolically important to him. A steel sword could be taken up by any warrior capable enough to use it, but a silver sword belongs in the hands of a witcher, and that is what Coën asked for on his deathbed, for his silver sword to be given to another witcher. While it's very possible that this is meant in a general way, that he just wanted any other witcher to take it up, to avoid the sword being wasted, broken, or dismantled for its composite parts, it also strikes me as possible that he could have intended it for a specific witcher.

Lambert is one of the instructors for Ciri when she's first learning the swordplay and acrobatics associated with being a witcher. Lambert is the one in the first game to provide the instructional descriptions of the Fighting Styles for Geralt to regain his swordplay competencies after losing his memories. And there is another bit of dialogue in TW3 that really emphasises both Lambert's connection to Vesemir, the swordmaster of Kaer Morhen, and the idea of swords as inheritance, as a manifestation of closeness:

LAMBERT: Knew the old man couldn't live forever. Huh, even told Eskel that when it came time, I'd get his sword. Fits my hand perfectly, you know.

Which is a heartbreaking notion in and of itself upon which I could expostulate, the symbolism there in the fraught relationship between Lambert and his father figure reduced to something as simple as a hilt that fits two hands perfectly. But if this is the inheritance that Lambert wants, it makes it all the more pertinent that Coën desperately wanted his silver sword to make it into the hands of another witcher. Lambert, the son of a swordmaster, wants to take on a sword as a memento of someone he has lost, and Coën, the master swordsman, left his sword behind. Even if Lambert were not the specific intended target of the sword, he would have possibly or even likely known Coën well enough to fulfill his wishes, whatever they might be.

And yet Coën's sword never makes it home or into the hands of someone who would value it, like Lambert would, this last memory of his dear friend. Geralt makes use of the sword during his time in Vizima, and then it is lost, replaced by the gifted Aerondight. And so Coën is lost with it, never mentioned again.

[skunkes]

[rosy-crow]

Someone on Twitter said that since Sephiroth is associated with stars/the cosmos (and a direct mirror to Aerith who is like the representative of Earth), that his fall from grace is like if a star lost its light and fell, but that made me think of how his final limit break is Supernova, and that’s the death of a star.

It’s the final stage before it dies or collapses into a black hole, sometimes little neutron stars. It releases that last burst of energy and then loses itself. Sephiroth was born to expand and grow to his cosmic limit and die in a blaze of glory. Both beautiful and utterly terrifying.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

two wrongs WILL make a right! ive got another lease on life, and im using it well, who cares if this is all fucked up cause we're all GOING TO HELL! IM JUST WILLIAM WHO SHOULD BE DEAD, HAD TO FOLLOW THE THREAD, thought he was just chillin! now he is a villain! HES ALWAYS SUCH A BUMMER, HE WANTS TO TRUST HIS BROTHER WILLIAM IN A HALLWAY BY HIMSEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[starweed]

heyyy, guess who’s back with more thoughts about itoshi rin????

so, we’ve already established that rin is a very extrinsically motivated person, at least when it comes to football. he doesn’t play football for himself, and he never has. and in a setting like blue lock i just don’t think that’s a sustainably way to play football. blue lock is a place that wants people have a real love for the sport, and would play it every single day of their lives if they could. ego wants people who want to win and want to be the best striker in the world.

rin,, doesn’t really want that. sure, he wants to beat isagi and prove his brother wrong, but that’s not really a longterm, sustainable goal. what happens when he succeeds? does he just stop and say, “okay, that’s good enough”? what happens if he never succeeds? if isagi just continually gets better and better and rin never beats him in a way that makes sae acknowledge him?

having extrinsic motivations is good and normal, but you also eventually have to do things that you want to do for you or you’re going to get burnt out. and i feel like that’s the path that rin’s headed towards if we’re being realistic about this. he just goes and goes and goes in a really unsustainable way, and eventually it’s going to catch up to him.

he’s a really interesting foil to isagi, who’s motivations are almost entirely intrinsic. part of why isagi’s mindset feels more sustainable to me is because he really only plays football for himself. he plays because he really loves the sport. and we don’t ever really see that in rin, so i feel like it’s eventually going to kind of blow up in his face as we’ve seen in previous rounds of blue lock.

or i’m entirely wrong about this. idk, i’m not kaneshiro. i’m just saying that i don’t think that rin’s got anything sustainable going on in how he plays football ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

[shima-draws]

What's PMD Explorers of the Spirit? 0v0

It’s a PMD Sky romhack! It serves as both a sequel and a canon divergence kinda thing. I’m not super far into the game but it’s really interesting so far ��� I’ll definitely be posting more about it as I play through it!

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — roll with me, henry.

MAY 12, 1956

Prom is so much bigger and so much louder than George had been expecting. 

Balloons and decorations are everywhere, the band is in full swing, and the whole country club is alive with dancing and movement. 

He finds himself drawn to the outskirts of the party, nursing a glass of water he’d gone to get five minutes ago as he runs a hand through his hair, straightening his suit and boutonniere. He keeps his eyes on Lorraine, and, as always, she’s lighting up the room with her dazzling smile, dancing with her friends in her beautiful blue dress that matches his tie. Even though it’s been months since they’d been going steady, he still finds himself wondering what in the world she’s doing with him, marveling at how out of everyone in the whole school she’d picked him. 

She meets his gaze and his heart stops for a moment when she raises her gloved, corsaged hand and waves to him, her gorgeous eyes sparkling in the lights.

He manages an awkward wave, pink dusting his cheeks, wondering if he’d be missed if he ducked into the bathroom and didn’t come out for an hour or so.  

‘George, buddy,’ Marty’s voice pops into his head again. It’s been happening more and more frequently lately, with the protagonists in his stories always managing to have a best friend who knows just what to say at just the right time. It’s some kind of narrative shadow, like a ghost creeping in through the pages, that he just can’t shake. ‘You’re not seriously gonna be a wallflower at your own prom, are ya?’ 

He can almost see him, too, leaning up against the wall like he’s the coolest guy in school. While George is in baby blue, Marty would be in pink, maybe, giving him one of those mysterious and oddly familiar smiles.  

“No,” he defends, weakly. “I needed a minute, that’s all. It’s hot in here and there’s so many people, I just…”

‘I thought we talked about this,’ Marty would respond, squeezing his shoulder. ‘You gotta stop freaking yourself out.’

“I have to stop what?” 

‘You gotta get out of your head, George,’ his inner Marty continues. ‘Look. You love that girl, right?’

“More than anything in the whole world,” George sighs. “No. In the whole universe.”

‘Right, okay. So, if you need a break, why don’t you tell her you’re overwhelmed and you need to get some air? And take her with you this time, got it?’ 

“But… she’s with her friends, I… I wouldn’t want to get in her way…”

‘George.’ Marty gives him a pointed look that reminds George way too much of his mother. ‘She came to the dance with you. She wants to be with you and she wants you to have a good time. She’s not gonna want you to be miserable.’  

“...Okay,” George acquiesces, sighing. “Okay, you’re right, as usual.”

‘Can I get that in writing?’

“What?”

‘Never mind. Now go on, get outta here.’ 

He almost can feel the playful shove forward Marty would give him, but when he looks back at the wall, there’s nobody there. 

Gently, he takes Lorraine’s hand, giving a smile to Helen and Margaret and asking them to excuse them a moment. The two girls giggle and gladly disappear into the crowd.

“...I think I need some air,” he tells her. “I-is that okay?”

“You know, I was just thinking the same thing,” Lorraine reaches up to cup his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone and giving him her sweetest smile, the one she saves just for him. 

The two walk hand in hand out to the porch, closing the French doors behind them, and the relief George feels is overwhelming and immediate as he leans against the porch railing, looking up at the sky. 

“Are you okay?” Lorraine asks, rubbing his back. 

“I am now,” George returns, smiling. “I-I just… I know it sounds silly but I get overwhelmed, sometimes, in big crowds.”

“It doesn’t sound silly at all!” Lorraine exclaims, “I understand. Ever since… that night… I don’t really like small spaces, or feeling trapped... So I’m really glad you said what you did.” 

George is pretty convinced Marty was right; this has to be destiny, it just has to be. 

“Me too,” he agrees. “I’d much rather be out here with you.”

“I would, too.” After a moment, Lorraine continues. “You know… you can still hear the music pretty well.”

“That’s right, you can.” George extends his hand and Lorraine takes it.

Together, underneath the blanket of stars, they start to dance.