#this field by my house just KEEPS DELIVERING :')

[orofeaiel]

Shaggy manes in various stages

#this field by my house just KEEPS DELIVERING :') #artists on tumblr #original photography #original photographers #pacific northwest #nature #nikon #washington #pnw #orofeaiel #mycology #mushrooms #shaggy mane #goblincore #fungus among us #ink cap mushrooms #naturecore #shaggy inkcap #macro photography

[nightingalescall]

God's Perfect Lamb

Kingdom of Ebreau:

Prologue(you are here)|part 1|part 2

"OH MY GOD!!!!!"

You screamed as you free fell from the sky. The wind whistled pass you, whipping your hair and slapping your cheeks until they stung. You flailed about, thrashing your arms and legs in the air, desperately hoping to slow your descend into inevitable doom.

This day could not get any weirder. You thought the day when you got transmigrated into this world took first place in that department but fate took that as a challenge and proceeded to completely and utterly prove you wrong. The day you got here, at least you were safely lying in an open field on the outskirts of the city, unlike now where you were falling to your death from the sky.

You had endured a great amount of hardship during your stay in this world. You know all those stories about someone getting transmigrated into a parallel world as a noble or wealthy merchant or maybe even a royal? Well, you didn't get that privilege. You weren't placed into the body of a princess, a duchess, a countess or.....anybody, to be honest. You were just you. Plain old (y/n). So the idea living a life of luxury and comfort was thrown straight out the window at that revelation. You had nothing with you. No money, no property, no status. You had to start from the ground up if you have wanted to survive in this new world.

But that wasn't the biggest problem. By "nothing", that includes having no form of identification. You're not sure if it's just a subject of it never being brought up in those novels or if identification just wasn't a thing in those world, but in this one, it was a serious issue.

Having neither a place to stay nor enough money to buy one, you were forced onto the streets until you had the finances to own one. So it wasn't unexpected when the authorities took notice of you and brought you to their headquarters to give you necessary aid. It was all going well until they found out they had absolutely no record on you in their database. That's when they became hostile and grilled you to no end.

You couldn't just say you were from another universe and you had no information to based any lies on so many of their question were met with a silent stare or a soft "um".

In the end, they decided to label you a person of interest and should be kept under surveillance since they had no dirt on you to convict or pardon any crimes you may have potentially committed (even though you didn't). You were both relieved and surprised at the conclusion they came to since even you, yourself were convinced they were going to throw you in jail.

With no charges pressed on you, you were free to go. But where though? You were still homeless, jobless and penniless. Pitying you, they ended up giving you the help they initially planned on giving. They gave you a job.

And that's how you ended up as their errand girl. Any trivial or simple matters such as relaying messages to guards, sending documents to scribes and then retrieving them, delivering packages to and from the headquarters etc etc. It was an easy job so the low pay wasn't a surprise. It was barely enough for the small house you rented a few blocks away from headquarters. However, you were given food and allowed to eat with the guards at headquarters everyday as long as you remained their errand girl so that saves you the money and worry of getting enough to eat. It was a win-win situation for both parties. You get a job and the guards can always keep on eye on you. Thus, even with little to no money to your name, you settled into your new life in this world.

It's been more than a year since your transmigration and to be honest..... You were sick of this place. Remember the aforementioned win-win situation? Yeah, that was only in the beginning. As time went on and your suspicion has pretty much been cleared up, you were still stuck with doing this minimum wage job (if that was even a concept in this world). Just because you were getting by with this job doesn't mean you were happy with it. You only had enough for daily necessities. It's already been a long time since you've arrived here and you had not once enjoyed any type of indulgence in that time gap. Just work, work, work. Those damned guards keep saying you still need to be under surveillance but you knew well that they were just trying to keep you around to do their bidding. Honestly, what kind of guard lets a potential fugitive into their room to get something for them? You knew they trusted you. That's why they wanted you to stay as their little helper.

So here you are now. In the middle of the night, on your way back to headquarters after helping deliver a package to the biggest temple in the country, the Temple of Sonnet. This world, or at least Ebreau in particular, was a country of strong faith. They are a religious country where every citizen worshiped Calerus. Though his title may vary from person to person, it’s always some form of wealth and gold so most people call him the God of Prosperity.

With religion being such as important part of the kingdom, it wasn't surprising when you found out the temple worked in close relation with the imperial palace. The Royal family of Ebreau collaborated with the Temple of Sonnet in both political and cultural aspect. Organising nationwide celebrations, meeting with diplomats from afar, anything that are related to the affairs of the country, chances are both parties are involved. Basically, you mess with the temple, you mess with the Royal family. So definitely not someplace you like hanging about at, lest you want to accidentally offend someone and get a ticket straight to getting-your-head-chopped-off town.

The cold breeze of the night sent shivers down your spine as it blew into your thin clothing. You rubbed your hands together, desperately trying to warm them up but to no avail. You scurried through the courtyard quickly, making your way back to the entrance of the temple. It was relatively silent, saved for your footsteps and the distant sound of flowing water from a fountain somewhere.

Thankfully, the walk was a short one. Reaching the opened gate of the entrance, you walked past the two statues of Calerus at each side of the gate and out back onto the familiar cobble walkway. You snuck a few glances at the white statues of the god of this kingdom as you passed by.

Even in the dim moonlight, you could see the white marble eyes of the statue staring down at you, its mouth curved downward as both hands were outstretched to the side with white round discs made to look like gold coins pouring out of its hands and onto the base of the statue.

This was how the people of Ebreau depicted their God. Sharp eyes casted downwards, overseeing and observing their every move, his hands overflowing with gold, symbolising his absolute authority over the wealth in the land.

You stood, staring at the statue as you were reminded of the saying of the people.

Calerus, the prosperous.

Calerus, the strategist.

Calerus, the omnipresent.

Calerus, the all knowing.

Calerus, the god of Ebreau.

"All is within his hand. Follow his plan and golden rain shall pour at your journey's end."

...

"Tch."

You clicked your tongue as you turned away abruptly from the statue and continued on your way back. A look of disdain plastered on your face as you marched off from the temple.

The more you thought about how worshiped Calerus was and how many praises the people sang for him, the more angry you got. You weren't jealous. No, you weren't some narcissist with a god complex who wanted this sort of treatment. Of course not. What you were pissed about was how Ebreauans talk about how everything in life was Calerus' work. His plan, so to speak that allowed you to prosper and succeed. They claim that all challenges are obstacles on a path towards prosperity that Calerus has specifically chosen for someone.

"Everything has a purpose and meaning."

Well, personally, you though it was pretty nonsense.

If this god of theirs was so smart and crafty, if everything truly happened according to his plan then why the heck were you here? Why were you here in this fantasty world? What purpose did He bring you here for? And why has that "purpose" not shown itself even after you've been thrown here for almost 2 years?!?!

In your mind, Calerus is nothing but a liar and a fraud. Where's the prosperity He promised? What did He have planned? Did He even have anything planned??

You were angry and with good reasons. The people you've met here have been telling you that Calerus has something planned for you even if you're not from Ebreau since day one. They assured you that He will look over you, even if you're not a follower. Yet, you've been met with nothing but problems and hardships during your stay here. And worse, you don't see it ever becoming better.

"What a scam."

You mumbled under your breath and scoffed.

"Ugh..Huh?"

You groaned softly as you suddenly felt lightheaded. You legs got weak and you began to wobble, stumbling forward a few steps. You pressed your hand to you head, applying pressure to both of your temples. Nausea seizes your body as you gagged.

"Huhg..!"

The world spun around you and the ground below your feet felt like it disappeared as you lost your footing. You fell forward and braced for impact.

But it never came.

...?

You slowly regain control as the short-lived dizziness subsides. The disorientation passes and you now realised the odd position you're in. You're...Floating? Your face was hovering several inches away from the ground despite your hands not supporting your upper body. And when did the streets of Ebreau get so....White and fluffy? In fact, they looked like cloud-

"Heretic."

A deep voice suddenly rumbled in your ears and your head shot up. A man with shoulder length grey hair stood before you, his golden eyes piercing into your soul as he spoke with authority. He donned black robes that exposed only his left arm and part of his chest. Golden streaks also lined themselves along the right sleeves and tails of the robe. He seemed.... Ethereal. Godly even.

Wait....Godly?

"C-calerus?”

You stuttered in fear and disbelief.

“One did not expect to be recognised by thou so quickly. Peculiar for a non believer."

Calerus suddenly lifted his right hand and flicked two of his fingers upwards. That's when you felt a force tugged you up from behind and you hung in midair in front of the god.

"Uwah!" You yelped at the sudden yank. Before you could even recompose yourself, Calerus continued speaking again.

"And to not posses any ounce of humility. Calling one by mine name. Who does thou think thou art?"

You felt a force wrap itself around your neck before squeezing. You gasped and grasped at the invisible force, desperate for it to let go or at least loosen. You choked.

"cough! Stop! P-cough!"

You pleaded as you gasped for air.

"Why would one do that?"

You continued to cough as the force squeezed tighter. You were gonna die. Oh god, you were gonna die. In panic, you blurted out whatever came to mind.

"Because, cough, you still, gasp, owe me!!"

The grip around your neck disappeared and you fell onto the soft ground (if it even was ground). You gasped and coughed. Your lungs greedily sucking in air now that your airways were opened again. That relief was short-lived however as the next moment, you felt a hand grabbed onto your jaw and forced your gaze up.

Calerus stared coldly into your eyes as he spoke.

"Elaborate."

You panicked. You just said that on a whim. Surely, you weren't actually going to ask for compensation from a god....right? There was no way you were going to pull though with what you just said.

The fire inside Calerus' golden eyes told you to do so otherwise, though. You swallowed before slowly speaking.

"You....You brought me here. Why? Why separate me from my family? Why separate me from my friends?"

Calerus raised an eyebrow.

"Bring thou here? To punish thee, of course. Thou spoke ill of mine name."

You shook your head.

"No. I meant, bring me to this world. To Ebreau. What reason do you have?"

Calerus fell silent. He seemed to be lost in thought. You waited agonisingly long before he spoke.

"So it is thou. Thou art the otherworldly traveler, yes?"

Otherworldly? Yes. Traveler? No. Kidnapping victim would be more accurate. Though, you simply nod at his question. It was close enough, you suppose.

He released you jaw and backed away. His gaze blank and devoid of emotion as he raised his hand again. You felt a soft tug this time and you were gently helped up onto your feet.

?

It..Worked?

Calerus sighed before saying,"It would indeed seem one has forgotten about thy needs after thou came to mine kingdom."

Your eyes widen in surprise at his confession

"One will give thee the compensation thou deserves."

"Wait, really?" You couldn't hold back your astonishment.

Calerus stayed quiet as you asked and you felt cold sweat rolled down your face, thinking your question may have angered him.

His gaze went down onto the ground for a brief moment before flicking back up to you.

"Yes. However, know that one was not the being that brought thee to this land."

You tilted your head. "You're not?"

"No. One merely accepted thy visit to mine kingdom."

"Then...Who did?" You asked, the words rolling off your tongue slowly

"Mine....Equal. A ruler of another land far from mine."

Your head was spinning from this revelation. Some other god brought you here? Why? And why let you stay under another god's rule? Before you could ask, Calerus had began to speak again.

"One is not enlightened with the reason why thou has been brought here but one admits fault for neglecting thee after accepting thee as one's own. As such..."

Calerus stepped forward, his steps firm and steady. He raised his right hand to his mouth before biting his index finger. A small wound appeared on his skin and you saw golden blood begin to seep out from the opening. He stretched out his right arm as he made his way towards you.

"W-what are you doing?" You fumbled over your words as you backed away in horror, clutching your hands over your chest.

But Calerus was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of you, finger pressing on your forehead. You felt the warm liquid dripping down your forehead as your eyes opened wide in fear, terrified at what he was going to do to you.

He began to chant.

"Might of the northern spirit, wisdom of the southern dragon, divinity of the elements of the east and west, hear one."

You wanted to pull away from his hand but be it fear or some other unknown force, you couldn't as you stayed rooted in place, breathing heavily from anxiety. If the god before you noticed your petrified state, he surely paid it no mind as he continued.

"Let the earth know that the power of gold shall have a vessel to call its own. Let the people rejoice for a vassal of Calerus, the Prosperous Lord shall walk among them. May the world celebrate the birth of mine lamb."

His finger left your forehead for a split second before it came back, colliding with your forehead as he flicked his finger against it. A surge of power shot into your head from his fingertip and spread throughout your body. The sheer magnitude of the force made you almost black out as your vision clouded with dark spots. As if you also suddenly got punched, you were propelled backwards, stumbling and struggling to catch yourself.

You felt yourself stepping on air and lost your balance, falling backwards. The ground(clouds?) had disappeared behind you, opening a small hole that let you fall through. You reached out your hand in a desperate attempt to hold onto something but to no avail.

You fell. Down and down until you could see that the "ground" you were standing on was indeed clouds in the sky. The sky. Calerus peeked his head over the edge, observing you as you fell with the same stoic look on his face. Just before he went out of hearing range, you heard him speak.

"One will be in touch."

He disappeared from view.

Now, back to the present, you were falling to your death, screaming and crying as you begged Calerus for mercy. Where's the compensation?! Was everything just now a trick?! Did you get scammed again?!

Tears rolled out of your eyes and flew into the air as you cried in fear, leaving behind trails of water droplets following your descend.

You sobbed as realisation kicked in that nobody was going to save you, as hopelessness consumed you to the point of not being able to think anymore.

The ground got closer and closer as the seconds ticked by. You closed your eyes which were still overflowing with tears, submitting to your faith and praying the impact will immediately kill you so you won't have to suffer in pain.

Goodbye.

"Ugh!"

You groaned as the impact came. Your back collided with the ground and you were....OK? You were in some pain but nothing too bad. In fact, the pain was already passing now.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and blinked away the tears still trapped inside. It was daytime already. How much time has passed? You looked around and saw petals of different hues falling down before landing on the dirt beside you. Above you, a tree with yellow leaves swayed gently, its branches lightly bouncing up and down while its yellow leaves, detached from their place on the branch, fell softly down and landed on your face. It seemed you fell through the tree just now. That would explain the tears on the hem of your sleeves.

Aurum trees?

Propping yourself up into a sitting position, you stared up as you wondered. While not rare or particularly hard to care for, aurum trees are only planted within temples of Ebreau due its yellow leaves. They are the only type of trees in Ebreau that grew leaves of that shade of yellow. A yellow similar to gold while not being being fully golden coloured. The colour yellow symbolises wealth in Ebreau and thus, indirectly their god, Calerus. They are a symbol of the divine hence why aurum trees are only grown in temples.

Then, that raises the question. Why were you at a temple?

You lowered your gaze from the tree and you nearly gasped from the scene in front of you. You were sitting in the middle of a flowerbed that consisted of various types of flowers with different hues for each one. Not far from you, rows of nuns and monks knelt in an orderly matter, faces all shocked and astonished. Some had their hands clasped together while some were covering their, what you assume to be, gaping mouths. Hushed whispers erupted as they stared and observed you. You even made eye contact with some of the nuns and monks in which all turned away immediately with flushed cheeks.

What's going on? Did you intrude on something? Oh no....

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, a tall shadow suddenly loomed over you. Your head snapped upwards as you met eyes with the figure, a man dressed in white robes with golden embellishments around the collar and hem of the sleeves. His eyes were purple, like amethysts. Under the sunlight, his long blonde hair seemed glossy, shiny even as it draped over his shoulders while he towered over you. Despite his intimidating stance, a soft smile was present on his face as the tails of his eyes curved upwards slightly, giving the impression of a kind and good hearted soul.

The man knelt down, his sleeves fluttering gently due to the breeze. That's when you got a better look at his face. He looked familiar...

It wasn't until that soft and silky voice of his poured out of his mouth when you realised who he was.

"Hello, Messiah. We've been expecting your arrival." He placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head at you. "I am Saint Zephyr Venrose. Representing the temple of Sonnet, the esteemed imperial family and the whole of Ebreau, I humbly welcome you." He lifted his head and smiled. Your breath got caught in your throat as he confirmed your suspicions.

Zephyr Venrose. One of the few saints in all of Ebreau and head of the temple of Sonnet. Closely associated with the royals of the kingdom and is a man of power within the boarders of Ebreau. He often gives speeches given his position as head of the biggest temple in the country during festive events. That's where you've heard his voice the couple of times you were passing by or, if you were in a good mood, listening to him talk. You've never been able to get a good look at his face since you were always pushed back by the crowd so you didn't recognise him at first glance. However, now with his face inches away from yours, you could see every last detail of his features and you must admit, you understood why the folks liked him so much.

Zephyr must surely be blessed in his appearance.

You froze in place as you stared in surprise at him, wondering why he was talking to you and processing his words.

Did he just call you Messiah?

Zephyr noticed your silence and your staring. He adverted his eyes as his gaze dropped down towards the ground while he smiled to himself.

?

You tilted your head to the side in confusion at the sight.

Zephyr coughed lightly before his arms reached towards you. You gasped as he suddenly picked you up bridal style from the flowerbed. Not used to being held like this, you gripped onto his robe for support. Your face contorted in worry and anxiety as you looked at the ground, afraid of being dropped.

Zephyr, of course, took notice of your panic and in response, tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer to him. As you felt his fingers pressing into your skin more tightly, you looked up at him, surprised he realised your concerns so quickly.

He smiled warmly at you as he leaned down, closing the gap between your faces even more. His blonde hair brushing and tickling your face as he whispered into your ear. "Don't be afraid, Miss Messiah. I will never let you fall." His hot breath hit your earlobe and you felt your heart skipped a beat. He pulled away before walking with you in his arms towards the rows of nuns and monks.

"Rejoice, my brothers and sisters for our Savior has come. Our God has delivered us our salvation. May glory be with his name for all eternity."

Zephyr announced loudly and his words were met with echoes of response from the other devotees.

"May he reign supreme!"

Your head felt like it was going to explode with all this information. Was this....Was this the compensation Calerus meant? To be his hands and eyes as you walk along the common folks? To be loved and praised like how he is? To be worshiped? You felt dizzy from being bombarded by this revelation.

You looked back up at Zephyr, hoping he could shed some more light on this predicament you found yourself in. However, you swallowed your words the moment you looked into his purple irises.

Zephyr was known for his gentle and endearing nature. Some say he's the embodiment of kindness. He's the type of person people can't help but be drawn towards due to the sense of security he gives and the tranquil aura he possesses. That was your initial impression of him too.

But looking at him now, you wondered if you were wrong.

With the closeness between you two, you could see the the subtle shade of pink on his cheeks and the flushing redness at the tip of his ears. His breathing fanned your face and you noticed how quick and shallow his breaths were. His fingers went from pressing firmly into your skin to digging themselves into your thighs and waist. Then, if you looked hard enough, you could see him swallowing occasionally.

And last but not least, you couldn't help but notice his eyes that had always been filled with warmth and tenderness seemed....

Crazed.

~✟~

A prologue/world building chapter for my future yandere stories taking place in this universe. If you spot any mistakes, please do point them out so I can correct them and give everyone the best reading experience! Especially with Calerus' old English(?) part, I'm still not sure when to use thee and when to use thou. I only did some basic research on Google.(T_T)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere stories #transmigration #fantasy #isekai #yandere saint #male yandere #female reader #yancore #yandere obsession

[bahrtofane]

promises under the stars

It's strange. When kisses under stairwells and behind his parents house turns to no more than passing gazes. To hatred. But this is the life you live, the life you have chosen. So you live. You will live.

Jude x fem!reader

Word count - 6.3K+ (yikes !!)

Watch it - angst with minimal fluff. enjoy ?

p.s. - i took a few creative liberties with the time lines an what not so plz take it with a grain of salt and dont think too deeply about it thank u

you can read Judes pov here !

—-----

“Jude, “ you sigh. He doesn't look at you, he's afraid of what he’ll see and you know it.

It's a warm summer night, and you sit side by side on the bleachers of his training field. You waited for hours for him to be done, all for just a few moments together. In full honesty, you're not even supposed to be here, you've been threatened from both sides. And even family overseas have joined in. it's a mess. You think you told them you were off to the library, something like that. 

You pulled so many strings just to be let inside to watch training, likewise for Jude. But you're here, he's here. That's all that matters.

Only the lights on the field illuminate you, but you have memorized his face to need no light to see him. Your fingers grab into the seat under you, knuckles turning white. You're afraid. Oh so afraid. 

“Please,” you try again, soft and steady, patient. 

He finds the courage to face you, ripping himself from the doubt that surrounds him. 

You are what plants him to reality, keeps him steady. Your smile is enough to calm any worry, wave away any woe. He hates what he has to do. 

“You know this is the last time I’ll see you,” he mumbles. He can't keep risking things the way they are. There's so many eyes on you as it is. He won't put you into harm's way, even if it means parting ways to do so. He wrings his hands together. Breathe, he tries to remind himself. Breathe. 

You nod, swift and curt, “I know.” oh how you know. You've been dreading this day to come for a while now. And now that it's here, what can you do? 

He picks at the cuffs of his training jacket,“I told them I would marry you, but my agent said it would be unwise.”

“You would marry me?” you whisper, eyes wide. 

“A thousand times over. “ he finds your hand, gently lacing it together.

“I wish things were different.” a knot in your throat forms, and tears well in your eyes.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, gently bringing you snug against him as you sob. You will never understand why your families are so adamantly against you two all of the sudden. Your whole childhood was filled with teasing and jokes of marrying one another, giggles when you would be forced to stand in pictures, but now that it was to be true suddenly the jokes faded and anger took its place. 

He is good for you as you are good for him. Jude is a man like no other, patient, caring, kind, soft and easy to you yet firm to all else. He holds each door open, never forgets flowers, even when he's away. Surprises you with your favorite sweets, never misses a good night or good morning text. Buys you things you mentioned casually in a fleeting conversation, all because it comes from your lips. If you were to wish for the world he would buy it all, tied neatly and delivered to your window sill. 

He takes each burden off your mind with a smile, carries your things, sends a ride to any place you wish to be. (he's working on the actual license).

You fully expected your families to be static, jumping for joy and diving straight to wedding planning. Instead you were met with a brisk, “no.”

No? No to the man who has overtaken your heart and mind? No to the man who wishes to see your flourish and bloom in every regard, every aspect, every part of life? It's cruel in a way. You once used to grimace at the idea when you were younger, fake gagging and instead choosing to wrestle with him in the grass. And now you beg to be allowed to see him. 

To ban your union is one thing, but to see him at all brings too much weight on your heart. 

You fought every step of the way, every step until now. It gets to be too much at a certain point, when you have to watch your very move in fear of being caught, of being seen with him. When eyes wash over you with lips upturned in sneers and whispers soon following. 

The delicate facade you've built is beginning to crack at the seams. Soon there will be nothing left to keep you together. You fear going mad. 

So you choose to let him go.

Your phone buzzes, prying the two of you apart. Your heart leaps to your throat. Have you been found out ?

It's just a twitter notification. 

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. He rubs gentle circles on your knee. His hands are warm. Just like you remember, just like you dream of. In the gentle quiet of your room you close your eyes and wish for him. 

“We can't see each other but I want to keep in touch. I'll wait for you. If you'll wait for me.” he whispers.

You see the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Ever thoughtful Jude, waiting for you to finish crying to allow himself to do so. 

“I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. “ you nod, leaning on his shoulder. 

And you do just that. 

Youre forced apart when a teammate tells him to get going. 

He scowls, “hold on.”

The teammate, whose name alludes you, shrugs and jogs back inside.

You stand, watching him shake the tension out of his shoulders. 

“This is it then,” you mumble, lip quivering. 

“Yeah,” he takes your hands in his, “guess so.”

You bit your lip to stop any more cries. He unlatches a hand from yours, brining it to cup your face gently, wiping the streaks of dried treats left on your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he leans down, pressing a single kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” you nod, chasing his lips. He gives them to you. Soft and easy. You screw your eyes shut. Oh you're crying again. 

You part when you can no longer breathe, foreheads pressed together while your chests heave.

“My angel,” he sobs.

“Ill find a way back,” you kiss his cheek.

He nods, here,” shaking his training jacket off and putting it on you. 

Someone yells his name and he sighs. One last kiss to your forehead. 

You watch him sprint down the stands, giving you one last smile before disappearing in the tunnel. 

—--

Dortmund is kind to him, you watch as you flourish on the field, never missing a game. You know it's too much to go in person so you stay tucked into bed, laptop out and always always waiting for his name to be announced. Giddy as he looks at the camera. Some days you even convince yourself he's looking right at you.

He calls when he can, facetime you when he's at the facilities. Obnoxiously flexing to the camera while you laugh. You treasure these moments. The few minutes a day when the time difference allows for an overlap. Just enough to get you through to the next day. He always blows a kiss to the camera, and you alway catch it. No matter how cheesy. 

“I stubbed my toe.” he whines on the other end.

You laugh, “and whose fault is that.”

“Yours.” he decides. 

“Uh huh.” you shake your head fondly, raising a brow at your phone that sits on a window sill. Today you're at a cafe getting some work done. And he just finished dinner. 

“Think you'll be able to come to a game soon?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. 

You stop typing, frowning, “Jude…”

He shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I know. We can't.”

“Maybe in a year or so? Things should be cooled down by then.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “they still giving you a hard time?”

You blow air through your nose, “hard time is an understatement, they've practically banned sports.” making light of the outrages situation helps you feel better some days. Jude joining in helps. He always helps. 

“So dramatic.” he tuts. 

You nod, “so dramatic.”

—--

The year comes and goes. The texts slow down till they are few and far inbetween. You can't blame him. You watch him dominate the field in each appearance, breaking records and showing the world what you've always known, showing just how special he is.

His following count skyrockets and he gets a blue check. You feel special to be one of the few he follows. No matter how silly. Even when he doesn't reply to you and posts on his story you try not to take it too hard (you let it get to your head on bad days.)

You wait for each reply patiently like a lifeline nonetheless, connecting the two of you together. You drop everything the moment his name flashes on the screen. You try to ease the butterflies that float and twist in your stomach, the jitters that make it hard to type out responses right. But you can't help it. 

He wins the German cup. And you get a call late into the night, bleary as you reach for your phone, groaning while you put it to your ear. Skipping over his face that illuminates the screen, smiling. Cheeks flush and eyes blown wide. 

He giggles, “hi.” 

“Hi,” you mumble back. 

He giggles again, “m in your ear.”

You squint, bringing the phone in front of you and getting your first good look of him of the night. 

“Hey Jude.”

“Hey love.” he sighs dreamily. 

You come to your senses soon enough, scooting to sit upright, pushing your pillows around getting comfortable. 

“Are you drunk?” You laugh. 

“Shhh…” he puts a finger to his lips, “secret.”

You raise a brow, “you’re not doing a very good job at keeping it that way.”

Bursts of laughter bubble from his lips. Swaying side to side while. He blinks, hard, mouth open while he stares.

“ ‘M fine.” He nods. Proud of himself. 

You frown, “Are you going to be okay? Are you alone?”

“Erlings with me. My best roommate.”

“Okay good. Be safe.” 

“You’re so pretty.” Is what he manages to get out. 

“Thank you. You should go to bed.” You smile. He’s sweet, no matter how drunk. 

“But I missed you.” He pouts, bottom lip quivering and for a second you think he’s about to cry. Instead he blows a kiss to you. Of course you catch it. 

“I missed you too. But it’s late, for both of us.” You lean against your pillow, blinking against the dark of your room. 

He hums, tapping his finger against his chin. “I won the cup.” He blurts. 

“I know love. I watched.”

His eyes go wide, “you watched me.”

You nod, “the whole game.”

He scrunches his nose, “wow.”

“You did amazing.”

“Wow.” He repeats.

You yawn, squinting against the time in the little corner of your phone. 

“Jude.”

“Hm?”

“Head to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, “fine.”

“I love you. “

He perks right back up. “I love you. You. You.”

You give him a little kiss to the screen and he manages to fall back on his bed sighing happily. You hear erling come in and decide to hang up. You hope he manages to get out of his kit for the night. 

——

Things start to calm down on your end. It's almost like everyone's choosing to forget about the hell they've put you through. But you don't make a fuss, you are happy to have peace of mind, no matter how fleeting it may seem. It's just one step closer to being able to have him. Fully and wholly. 

He calls you early into the morning. He's sitting in his house, shirt off, smiling. 

“Uh oh. What's this about? “ 

He only smiles wider, bringing an ipad out of nowhere and showing it to you. 

You squint, “jude i can't see that. “

He huffs, “here,” picking up his phone and flipping the camera to where his ipad now sits on his lap. 

On the screen reads flight information, for about 2 weeks out, destination is to you. Your eyes go wide and you hear him chuckle on the other end. 

“No way. No way oh my god.” you all but squeal.

He flips the camera back around, “Can't wait to see you again,” he beams. 

“I missed you so much.” 

“Me too.” he mumbles, lips curling in a smile. 

——-

You greet him at the airport, flowers in hand. No you don’t care how cheesy it is. Even if you have to wait in the most obscure place, car parked and nerves rising. Playing with every button and switch on your dashboard, picking at every spec of dust you can reach. You got it detailed yesterday and you’re already nitpicking. 

You check and recheck your phone, picking at the petals of the flowers that rest in your passenger, until his contact illuminates your screen. 

You frantically answer, “hey.”

“TSA was being a bitch.” He groans. 

You chuckle, “that bad.”

“The worst. Where you at?”

You look around for signs, “arrivals, right next to the luggage cart return thing. It says door D5. “

“D5. Okay okay I’m coming.”

You hum, hanging up and drumming your hands on the wheel. 

He calls you again, “okay I’m walking out the door. Can you help me with the luggage?”

“Yeah-“ you unbuckle your seatbelt, putting your hazards on and stepping out of the car. You see him walk out the door and you almost drop your phone while rushing up to him. 

He lets go of his carry on, opening his arms and you slip right into them. 

“Hey,” he hums into your hair.

You laugh,“hey.” 

You unlatch far too soon for your liking out the sounds and rush of the airport pushes you to get him in your car and outta here. 

You grab his things, one carry on and one checked bag, clicking your keys and opening your trunk. He doesn’t let you do much else, lifting the suitcase and sliding it inside. Your little 4 door sedan manages to fit the checked bag in your truck. With not enough room for the carry in, it slides into your back seat. 

You close the door, patting the top of your car affectionately, “there. All good to go?”

He nods, opening the door to your passenger and gasping, “flowers?” Eyes going wide, eyebrows shooting in and looking at you. Lips parted. 

Oh yes. You forgot about those. “Haha. Yeah. Flowers.”

He picks them up gingerly, setting them into his lap as he gets into the seat. “Are these for me?”

You hop to the driver's side, buckling your seatbelt, “duh.” 

He giggles,”they’re sweet.”

“Smell them.” 

He does, putting his face in the petals, “woah.”

“Best flowers in town.” 

“Smells like. Fresh laundry.” He nods. 

“Laundry. You called my flowers laundry.” You sigh. 

He swats your arm, “it’s a compliment jeez. Just landed and you’re giving me a hard time.”

“Yeah yeah buckle up.” You flick his arm. 

The ride home is one filled with animated stories to catch up the time between you two. Completely oblivious to anything else as you drive with one hand, and the other plays with his fingers. 

You get to your little apartment, parking and getting his things out. Sliding your key card over the sensor and you guide him to the lobby. 

You roll over to the elevator and hit the button. Sniffling while it heads up. 

“Are you sick?” He narrows his eyes at you. 

“Nah.”

“Mkay.”

The elevator dings and you find your way to your little home, unlocking the door and motioning him inside. 

“Ta da!”

He snorts, “I’m excited.”

“You should be. Best house this side of the equator.”

He rolls his things inside, shaking his head, “so there’s better on the other side?”

You shrug, “there might be.”

He collapses on your couch the moment he sees it. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply. 

“Shoes off at the door Jude.” You slide yours off and set them next to your shoe rack. 

He groans, kicking them off and trudging back to set them next to yours. 

By the time you put his things in your room, he's out like a light, snoring softly. 

—--

You let him sleep, by the time he comes back to it it's dinner time. Groggy and cranky he pads over to your dining table, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but reaching for you.

He finds you eventually, plating the last bit of food while he wraps his arms around you, leaning into your back. You stifle a laugh  while he mumbles something about you being mean. You only roll your eyes, unlatching his grip.

“Time to eat baby.”

He only purses his lips, leaning against yours. You give him what he wants. Pressing a gentle kiss and guiding him to his seat. A sleep Jude is a clingy one you've learned. 

He eats all you make, complimenting and praising you after every bite. 

“You're so good at this.” he sighs, taking a sip of his water. 

“Anything for my favorite boy.”

He preens at this, smiling wide.

He's only here for the next three days but you'll take anything you can get. 

——-

Jude worries for you. 

Even in the gentle lull of your ac that fans his face while you're fast asleep against him.

He wonders who much longer he can keep doing this. Holding onto hope that down the line he will still have you.

His time is running out with you. It feels just like the day you parted at the stadium. Crying. He noticed you kept the jacket, neatly tucked in your closet.

It makes him frown. Making you waste your youth waiting for him. 

Part of him wants to keep you for him and only him. Keep waiting and hoping things will work out. Another part of him, much less excited, wishes for you to look him in the eye and tell him you don't love him anymore.

One of you has to do it, he thinks. 

Even if you move in with him and you get married. Is it worth the fall out? His mother hates you. His father cant stand hearing your name at the dinner table on the few days they eat together.

He knows the sentiment is shared on your end.

But he loves you. Oh how he loves you. 

—--

After he leaves you don't hear from him for months on end your worry rises, and when the replies also shorten, your fear takes a hold of you. Sensibility out the window and in comes every insecure thought. 

He's found a hot shot model to be with hasn't he. Or better yet a female player. Reporter perhaps? You're not dumb or blind, you know you're not the only one who sees how handsome he is. He's growing into his features beautifully. But does he see you?

Is he leaving you behind now, as his life and career continue to accelerate at speeds you can barely keep up with, is he no longer waiting for you ?

—--

Jude finds his routine once again. Training playing, training playing. It's a little dull, he thinks.

Much better if you would be here. 

But he can't have that. 

He stops himself from talking to you. It feels wrong. He can't shake off the feeling that he's only doing you wrong by making you keep up with him. So he slowly distances himself. 

—--

He cant stay away. Not even if he tries. 

He surprises you near your birthday. Completely unannounced while you're in the middle of cleaning. 

You open the door to a jittery Jude who grabs you close, pressing his lips firm to yours.

“Hello to you too,” you giggle in between kisses. 

Peck! “You're so-” peck!, “beautiful.”

You shoo him away, getting his things inside as he takes his shoes off at the door. 

“I missed you so much, “ he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“Me too,” you sigh, clutching into his hands like a lifeline. 

“I got you tickets?”

You look up at him, “okay. Ill go.”

He attacks you with a hundred more kisses, bursts of laughter spilling from the both of you. You dont think youve ever been happier. 

—--

You do go. Sitting in the fancy VIP section while watching him warm up. You almost forgot he’s at Madrid now. Big leagues huh. 

He sends small waves your way in between exercises. And you only watch fondly.

When it's time for the actual match, you can't believe you get to watch him score. And he points right to you. 

You love him. Oh how you love him.

He finds you after it's all set and done. Kissing you silly while he ignores the hundreds of notifications that make his phone buzz and sputter on the table.

You frown, “who is that.”

He chews his lip, “prolly just the guys,” leaning back into your lips.

You're forced to part ways when the calls flood in, promising to see you soon when he takes care of things.

He doesn't come back to see you, instead leaving you to head back to your hotel alone. You try not to think too deeply into it. But you fear you are already starting to lose him. After everything really has passed and fizzled out to nothing but memories. You fear it's all too late. 

—--

You see him only once more during your stay in madrid. When youre all packed and leaving. He presses kisses to your skin whispering promises. And you believe him.

When you land back home you go back to your routine of watching him from afar. And again the replies shorten. So much so you only get the odd text every few weeks. Until it turns to months. And you're back to radio silence. 

It's almost a self pity party, trying to keep up with him. Even now that you can go see him, he can come see you, does he even want that anymore?

You crave to talk to him, to know him, to go back to the closeness you once shared. You know that's no longer your place in his life. You were someone he once treasured. Now you're another unanswered dm that lays in his inbox. 

Does it hurt you as much as it does him? You don't think so. Not when pictures of him on vacation with his “friends” surface. Who even are these people? You don't recognize a single face. It fills you with rage.

Almost like he's trying to erase his past life with this new squeaky clean image of the perfect player with the perfect life. Friends and all. 

Is he ashamed of you?

You fight the urge to call his mom and stir up trouble from the past. So instead you hunker down in your room and try to keep yourself busy and mind off of Jude. This turns out to be much easier said than done. 

—--

Jude finds himself in another after party, wearing clothes much too expensive to be getting champagne sprayed all over them. But what else can he do?

He crafted this image delicately. Can't turn back now. 

There's a woman who keeps whispering into his ear. She's not you. No matter how much his teammates howl and egg him on. He can't bring himself to do so much as face her.

He's not interested, gently moving her aside while he nurses his drink. 

She scoffs, calling him a slew of names. He frowns, excusing himself and making a beeline for the bathrooms. Locking himself inside a stall and leaning on its walls. 

He calls you. Of course he does. And you pick up.

“Hey Jude.” he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hey love.”

“What's up?” 

He sighs, long and drawn out, “I just miss you.”

You snort, “really because it seems like you've been having a blast on beaches with people i've never heard of.”

Oh.

“It's not like that-”

“Jude. don't lie to me. If you've found someone else, tell me now.”

“I havent I swear. They really are just friends.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were going?” you whisper.

There's a beat of silence. And Jude can't find the answer. Looking at the ceiling of the club like it will magically come to life and give him just the right combination of words to make both of you happy. 

You sigh, “if we are going to make anything work I can't be out of the loop this much Jude. I can't know things after paparazzi do okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, meek. 

“Where even are you?” 

He licks his lips, “this after party thing.”

“Its in a club isn't it.”

He doesn't answer but it's confirmation nonetheless.

“Dont be stupid and start calling me more.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but you've already hung up. He rubs his eyes and head out the stall. Washing his hands and splashing some water on his face.

When he gets back out there, he decides to call it a night. Ignoring the groans and frowns he gets.

When he's back in bed. He's looking at flights to see you again. 

—--

Jude gets a call a few weeks later. 

It's right after he gets back from training. Hasn't even changed yet. 

The number is unknown and he ignores it the first time. Setting his phone on the dinning table and kicking his shoes off. 

When it calls back two more times he picks up. 

“Hello?” he scratches the back of his head. 

“You know why im calling.” its your father. 

Jude scrambles to take a seat, chewing his lips. What does he mean know why. He hasn't talked to you in a few days. 

“Um, I really don't know-” he gets cut off.

“This will be my last warning to you. You are not going to ruin my daughter's life i dont give a damn how old you are, how old she is. None of this player nonsense. She has a proper education. You aren't going to ruin that for her, do you understand?”

Silence. 

“I swear if I hear you coming around her or talking to her I will sue you and your whole family.”

The line goes dead and Jude sighs. Great. Just great. 

He calls his lawyer, seeing if it would be legal to sue. 

His lawyer hums, “well they can come at you from any angle really. Emotional distress possible defamation. Id lay low for now.”

So he does just that. Yet again going silent on you.

—--

He hears wind that people have put two and two together. Your instagram has been flooded with requests. You've always had it private but you've been forced to change your user name and picture.

You don't know how but pictures from when you saw him in Madrid have resurfaced. 

And have gone more than just viral. It's all people are talking about. 

Your work life has gone from just pleasantries and work only talk to people crowding around you begging to know more. You've had people show up to your workplace for god's sake. Begging to be let in so they can see you. 

Jude calls you, worried. “I'm so sorry I don't know how pics were even taken. I'm so sorry im so sorry.”

“I don't know what to do Jude i've never dealt with this kinda stuff.” you mumble.

“Hey, hey its okay. Ill get you in contact with a security company dont worry leave it to me.”

“Okay.”

“For now. I dont think ill be able to see you anytime soon.”

“Thats okay.”

“Be safe yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—--

Your family is in a complete uproar. They blame Jude. of course they do. Your father talks about suing him but you turn it down. 

“He didnt mean for this to happen.”

Your mother shakes her head, “this is why we told you to stay away from him.”

You dont regret any moments with him. 

It takes a while. A grueling few months for your life to finally go back to normal. But Jude rarely comes back like before.

You watch the months turn to years flashing by. Facetimes become a luxury of your past self. Calls are reserved for special occasions like an aged wine. Only brought out sparelily. You get one on your birthday but it feels forced. Heavy and filled with all too much silence. 

You've tried calling, texting. Rarely receiving the time of day. Who is Jude to you anymore? 

“Hey, “ he smiles. A picture perfect rehearsed one. You almost forgot what he sounded like when speaking to you. How long has it been now?

“Hi.” You mumble. 

“Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

You shrug, “it’s okay.”

Silence while you pick your nails. 

“Any plans?”

“I don’t know, maybe dinner with friends.”

“Oh Emily?”

You want to roll your eyes. You haven’t spoken to Emily in years.

“No Jude. We’re not in touch anymore. New friends I’ve met”

He mouths a silent “oh”. 

He wants to tell you why he's been gone for so long. But unfortunately he's caught up in a legal battle. Your father actually went ahead with it. And he's stuck trying to make sense of it.

The maniac got good lawyers. And he's using every last bit of the law to win it. Using the leaked pictures that caused you so much trouble as his main leverage. 

He's been advised not to talk to you. But it's your birthday. And now seeing you moved on, new friends, new life. It feels like it's time to let go. 

For your sake. He's only brought problems into your life. And you live a life now without him. He just hopes you're happy. 

—--

You see him once, passing by through the city center. You want to run after him, grab his shoulders and shake him awake, scream and yell, beg for him to remember your promise. But you do none of that. The second your gaze meets his, your heart leaps to your throat, you blink and he's gone.

You get a text from him a few days later, first since your birthday. 

Was nice seeing you.

You want to cry. What did he see? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't nice. Not at all. It was awful. It ripped any piece of sense out of you and made you sick. 

You dont reply. 

—--

You wish you had. He gets called to the national team, and suddenly your family begins to boast of your connection to him. And that's just it. Your connection. Not theirs. Yours. You know him, you love him. Or you knew him. 

After so many years of cursing his name now they all but sing it. 

The local community is hosting watch parties, you refuse to go. 

You know the gossip around you as is. You don't need it said to your face. These people are unforgiving on their best days, cruel on their worst. More so the older generation who seems to hold not an ounce of basic human decency. 

And somehow you find yourself in a room painted in blue and white, you look away at the stares you get when you walk in. You're regretting coming at all.  You're wearing a blank jersey you've had for a while, slumped in the corner of the room, watching. Waiting for the comments to pour in sooner or later. 

But they don't, not for now. Instead, the room erupts with cheers and applause as Jude scores a goal, you smile. Not bad for a midfielder huh. The air is electric with excitement, but you feel detached, as if you're watching the scene unfold from a distance, picking at the plate of sweets that rests on your knee. 

As the game progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Jude on the screen. He looks different now, more confident, more assured. He's cut his hair, clean and precise. And yet, there's a sadness in his eyes that mirrors your own.

You wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promise he made all those years ago. Has it really been years? But the thought is fleeting, lost amidst the chaos of the crowd and the weight of your own heartache. And soon I have a headache. 

When the final whistle blows and England emerges victorious, the room erupts into celebration once again. But you slip out quietly, unnoticed, lost in your own thoughts.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin as you make your way home. You're not waiting on anyone, and it's a short walk away. The streets are quiet, the sounds of celebration fading into the distance.

You pause for a moment, taking in the stillness of the night. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You may not have chased after him when you had the chance, but you refuse to let this be the end of your story. You refuse to let fear and doubt hold you back any longer. There is no use to let yourself be defined by what ifs. 

With a determined step, you pull out your phone and type out a message to Jude.

Watched you play tonight. I'm proud of you.

It's a small gesture, but it's a start. And as you hit send, you feel a glimmer of hope stir within you.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't goodbye after all. Maybe there's still a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other, to rewrite the ending of your story.

But for now, all you can do is wait. Wait for his reply, wait for the future to unfold, and wait for the day when you can finally be together again, without fear or hesitation. In a way he'll always be your Jude. 

——

News reaches you in the form of an instagram post on a summer day.  Not family, not friends, not him. It’s your explore page that plasters it on your screen, in the middle of your morning routine you see him all tidied up in a suit, facing away from the camera, the side of his face illuminated by soft light. Next to his side is a woman in white, you only see a peek of her face but you call tell shes smiling. 

“Just married.”

Married. Just. Married. 

Oh. 

You don't register it at first, the words looking more like a foreign language than any coherent sentence. So you finish brushing your teeth and your hair. Moisturizing your face, slipping back into bed and rereading it over and over and over again till it finally does click for you.

He gave up on waiting.

You keep going back to the picture. He's grown into a proper man now. His features are full and bright. He's gotten a different haircut. Leaving behind the one of his youth. You read through the comments of teammates and old friends congratulating him. 

You realize the tie he's wearing is the one his dad got him when he first left for dortmund. You think you're gonna be sick. 

No one bothers to ask why you've been crying all day. It's safe to assume everyone knows by now, hell the whole population probably does. 

What changed his mind? What made it that he couldn't even bother to let you know beforehand?

And yet there's a stupid prick of hope that can't seem to go away. You're still waiting for him aren't you. 

—--

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the reality of his marriage settles heavily on your shoulders. You can't help but wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promises made under the stars, if he regrets the choice he made. But you push those thoughts aside, burying them deep within you, because what good would they do?

A sick twisted idea of wrecking his home blooms in your mind, but you know you can't. You just can't. Not to him. You can't take away something like this from him. 

Life goes on, as it always does, but the ache in your chest remains, a constant reminder of what could have been. You try to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything that will keep your mind from wandering back to him. Yet, he's always there, lingering in the back of your thoughts like stardust. 

You hear snippets of his life through mutual acquaintances, through social media posts, through the grapevine of gossip that always seems to find its way to you. He's thriving, it seems, his career reaching new heights, his personal life seemingly content. Apparently he has a kid on the way, would you look at that. And you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. To top it all off you still have no clue on who this woman is. Not who she is, what she does, where she's from. Absolutely nothing, it drives you mad to say the least. 

He hasn't spoken to you. Not since that day in the city center. 

Maybe if you would have known all that was to come you would've gone after him. Chasing him endlessly through cobblestone stress and crowded walkways. Would he have even stopped? Given you a moment of his day?

The same man who spent his days off in your apartment kissing your worries away and promising you a tomorrow you still cling to. 

You're a foolish foolish woman. And for some reason, you don't hate him. You don't think you ever could. Even after everything, every single year that's passed. A part of you will always love him. 

—--

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #bahr footy #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude x y/n #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff

[gojoest]

DEDICATING A GOAL TO YOU — ITOSHI SAE

.°⊹ tags / warnings : sfw, pro football player sae, established relationship, paparazzi, 0.5k+, not proofread as always

a/n : was about to make this a multi chara hcs thingie but eventually decided to post them separately not bc im lazy or anything >.< more will come soon ! ( i hope — i have them all ready in my head, i promise ! )

dating sae — one of the best football players all around the globe with looks that dangerously wounded the hearts of many, was taxing. the world had its eyes on him both inside and outside the field. and sae was a private man, especially outside the field — and especially when it was about you. he rarely spoke about his personal life when confronted during interviews. the only exception (more of an accident, really) being that one time he was asked by an interviewer about his ideal girl and he just blurted out ‘i’m already dating her’.

no more was revealed about your relationship despite the bazillion questions that instantly followed his confession. of course, the news broke the hearts of millions of fans across the world. and fans, along with the already nosy paparazzi, can do a better job than the FBI. within just a week your identity was revealed. the world had gotten its hands on the mysterious girl dating the genius footballer itoshi sae.

footages of you together were leaked into social media and the magazines. you were the hottest topic and prying eyes were following your every step. shortly after rumors started spreading. since little was known about the essence of your relationship, fake news began to fill the magazine pages and the internet — that sae was spotted leaving a bar with another girl, leaving the house of another, or the car of another, or that you got fed up with his affairs and left the country but then came back to renew your passport and got back together. according to the fake news you’d broken up a total of 13 times and the best yet — sae was already married to a woman, older than him, in spain and had twins.

all of this meddling was a constant, even after 2 years into your relationship. you somehow learned to laugh it off or not even bring it up. you had your shit together. but still, it put a certain amount of pressure on you both. especially during moments so precious you wanted to keep them to yourself only, away from prying eyes. and with sae’s current popularity status it was nearly unachievable. even abroad you could never be truly just the two of you, alone. which was why sae, unfortunately, was forced to propose to you at home. over a can of coke and pizza.

but this time the news was delivered by itoshi sae himself — during a nail-biting finale, a last minute goal leading the team to victory and scored by none other than the genius sae who didn’t waste a second and kissed the engagement ring on his finger, eyes closed, features on his face softer than ever, just like all the times his lips would crash into yours. as if that tiny object wrapped around his finger held part of you inside. it felt so good to carry you so close, even during a match, he smiled through the kiss. just like every single time he did with you. yea. it felt so good. this, my love, is for you — you could almost feel his unspoken words vibrate on your lips.

soon after these intimate seconds where, despite the stadium being crowded — it was just you and him, sae sent another message, a warning if you will, with a single look as cold as absolute zero, at the camera zooming in on him : no more prying on what’s mine.

#ઈઉ — ai writes #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x reader #sae x reader #blue lock x you #itoshi sae x you #bllk x you #sae x you #blue lock x y/n #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae fluff #blue lock headcanons #itoshi sae headcanons #bllk headcanons

[knickynoo]

I don't think we talk enough about the Western Union letter situation at the end of part II. I mean, this strange blacksmith shows up in 1885, hands over a letter, and lays out extremely detailed instructions for them to deliver it on this specific day seventy years in the future to a teenage boy standing in the middle of an empty road. He gives them a description of Marty and makes a whole big deal of them keeping the letter safe and following through with the task when the time comes.

For SEVENTY YEARS, the workers at Western Union have this letter in their possession—likely locked away somewhere. It becomes something of legend in that building. I can see new employees, in the midst of all their training, being taken to wherever The Letter is being housed so that they can be told about it.

The guy who delivers it to Marty mentions they had all placed bets on whether or not anyone would even be there to give the letter to. Could you imagine having a mysterious letter sitting around your office for seventy years and then the day finally comes where you can find out if that guy from way back when was crazy or not.

How was it that only one guy ended up making the trip with the letter?? How'd he get chosen? Were all the workers fighting to be the one picked?? I'm surprised they didn't all pile into a few cars and take a field trip out in the storm to see what would happen.

And then how did that guy just Go Back after??

Dozens of eyes eagerly set on him as he walked through the door. "Well??! Was he there?"

"Yeah, he was there."

"And?? What was the letter all about?"

"I don't know. Whole thing was weird. The kid was just standing there, soaked through from the rain. He seemed nervous. Gave him the letter and he freaked out, yelled something about the Old West, and took off running."

And that's just. It. That's all the closure they get.

I'd lose my mind.

#back to the future #bttf

[xonavia]

hey girlie, I heard you need requests, and I came to deliver 🩷

how about rin with a girlfriend who's meguru's little sister, but since she looks more like their mom, rin couldn't tell? what would both of their reactions be? I'd love to know rin and her dynamic too!

-> You had gone along with your mom to the U-20 to cheer on your brother, Meguru. It wasn't long before you arrived at the stadium and found your seats, overlooking the field. About 20 minutes later the players started coming out to the field and when you saw your older brother you immediately started cheering, until your mother shushed you with a laugh and told you to wait until the game actually started. It started a while after and you cheered every time something good happened, or so you think, as much as your brother was into soccer(football) and as much as he tried to explain it you didn't quite grasp it all the way, just the basics. It wasn't until the second goal was made when you saw him, Rin Itoshi. After the game you were already excited when Meguru's team had won but after the second goal was made for Blue Lock you couldn't keep your eyes off the boy who made it. A couple months ago after the game and you end up talking to him and congratulating him on the win, also mentioning that you were the sister of one of his teammates but never mentioning who. The two of you started dating during the time, without even Meguru knowing. It was a little weird that you two were dating, well at least to the outside eye. You being much more lively and making it seem like you were the one dragging him everywhere, and him being more like a grumpy tall guy who just lets you drag him everywhere with a monotone expression on his face. More or less like opposites attract per say. The media giggled a lot at your relationship but yet they could also see that unlike with anybody else the younger itoshi let you drag him all over the dang place. Behind closed doors was a whole different story though, he was a clingy little monster, even though he would admit that out loud. Since you were already touchy with him in public it was only his "payback" to be touchy with you in private. And that's how he found out that you where Meguru's little sister. It was finally his time to come over for dinner one day at your house. Now he had already heard from Meguru about his "Cutie Patootie of a little sister" but never did he expect it to be you. I mean in his eyes you two looked nothing alike?! But when he sat down for dinner with your mother he finally realized it. The only reason he had never figured it out, was because you looked a lot more like her then you did your brother, that's why he was so shocked when he heard you mother call for "Meguru". His eyes widened at the name of his teammate before looking over at you, who was trying to hold back a laugh when you saw the face he made. "I knew you had a brother, But Bachira?!" "Rin.. I'm technically Bachira too-" "Shut up.. you get what I'm saying" Meguru then skipped into the room and gasped at the sight of the itoshi at his dinner table, he quickly went over and sat down in his normal spot next to you. "Rin! What are you doing here!!" "..None of your business" You laughed a little as he reached under the table to hold your hand "No.. no I think it is, you're kinda fondling my sisters hand and your in my house" Rin blushed at the comment before slightly squeezing your hand instead as a sign to make Meguru stop talking. "Alright, alright. Meg.. be nice, and you to Rinnie." Other than that the dinner went smoothly and it was never really brought up again until they went back to Blue Lock just for you to get bombarded with texts whenever Rin got his phone. Mostly them saying how fed up he was with Bachira, and how he never even got a minute alone without him walking over and asking about you. You laughed and showed your mom every time you got one of these messages, you knew that Meguru was nosey, but not this bad! Overall though, Bachira was more excited that you were dating somebody he already knew, makes him feel a little bit better but also he always questions out of everybody you could've picked you picked itoshi?? Rin was just a bit surprised, he never thought that you were the sibling of Bachira.

Yeah.. I went a little over on this one.. but it was just so fun to write and I’m so so sorry for the delay!! I got sick and then state testing happened and I was just in no mood to write!!

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk #meguru bachira x reader #bachira meguru #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #xonavia's writings!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Vil, Jack: a Strength that Shines

Ayyy, it’s the childhood friends (?) from the Shaftlands!! It feels like forever since we last got any significant interactions between Vil and Jack. Nice to see them chatting again~

bdjwvsjsGuabs THAT GROOVY THOUGH… Vil looks so judgmental and dismissive 😭 Channeling all his Mean Girl energy to diss Neige Snow White, lol

A Tale as Old as Time.

Four sides drew together to form a glittering box. A lovely maiden rested within the coffin-like casing of the photo frame. Her lips as red as blood, her hair as dark as ebony, and her skin as fair as snow.

She was circled by foliage, her sun-dappled face tilting up, disarmed by some distant call. The girl cupped her dainty hands together, housing a small baby blue bird in her palms. Kindness, goodness, grace—she exuded all of them.

Vil scoffed, tossing golden hair over his shoulder. Her smile was reminiscent of a rival celebrity, one pure as a dove's feathers.

So carefree, so cheery.

How irritating, he sighed.

"One ought to be more cautious in the woods. Who knows what dangers might lurk nearby, wishing to enact harm upon her.

"For a glamour shot though... Hmm, yes. This composition is acceptable. The sunlight is angled upon her face in a pleasing way—it casts a golden glow on her pale visage and highlights the highest points: cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. The impression is one of total innocence.”

A soft grunt sounded from beside him.

"She's... shining," Jack commented plainly. His critique, clipped. “Didn’t you do a photo shoot like this recently? Similar place and everything.”

Vil’s beauty was momentarily marred by a grimace. “Yes, as promotional material for an upcoming film. However, the feel of it was completely different than what you see here.”

Shadows instead of sunlight. Temptation in the place of innocence.

He, poised amid the creeping branches and dark leaves, a tatter cloak clinging to his curves. A single, crimson apple in his grasp, a sultry look directed at the camera.

He tried to picture himself like the girl in the frame countless times over. Kneeling among the woodland creatures, smiling so serenely. Any pro could pull it off—he included.

But the image never turned out right in his mind.

Not the right amount of sweetness, not natural enough.

Not quite the same.

Not at all.

Blood, sweat, tears. Sacrifices made at the altar. Yet still, the world yielded nothing but broken promises and shattered dreams. The splintered parts and shambles of them, he gathered, forming his own makeshift hope and determination.

He couldn’t give in here.

Vil’s perfectly groomed brows scrunched up.

“I shall have to endeavor to work even harder. I’m not satisfied with things as they are now.”

“Heh.” Jack cocked a small, lopsided grin. “Keeping on the grind… That’s just like you. You've got this."

“Obviously. Nothing will get accomplished otherwise.” Vil’s eyes passed over to the beastmen. “Presumably, you are doing the same."

"Yeah. Haven't skipped a day of my training regimen." Jack slapped a hand on his bicep, which fit snuggly in his glittering white sleeve. "We'll take out RSA next track and field meet!"

"I'd certainly hope so. If I am to taste sweet revenge, I'd prefer it be by my own hand... but I trust you to deliver in my place. I expect good news when next we speak. Do not disappoint me."

"Yessir!" Jack's tail wagged enthusiastically. He stood alert, saluting like a loyal knight. “I'll do my best!"

“Then it looks as though we both have our long-term goals set.” The dorm leader planted his hands on his waist—slim, cinched.

"Yours is...?"

"To surpass myself." Vil jerked his chin toward the girl in the painting. "To shine so brightly that my name not only goes down in history, but overshadows that which was written before."

"That's some big dream you have." Jack shook his head. "The scale's beyond what I can imagine. But knowing how stubborn you are, Vil-senpai... You seriously won't quit until you make that dream come true."

"My, my. Stubborn, am I?" He smirked, arms crossed. "I do believe it takes one to know one.

"You stand back and watch. I'll show you just how dazzling I can be."

His eyes held a steeliness to them. It was matched only by the same in Jack’s. Two strong men and their wills, meeting on equal grounds.

Jack simply nodded—an acknowledgment, an acceptance, of his upperclassman’s confidence. Overwhelming, like a powerful wave, a strong storm, a blazing inferno. He almost felt compelled to drop to one knee, to kneel before such a presence.

Vil turned away from the painting, his arms unraveling from one another. His movements were graceful, nearly ballet-like. And his expression—

Jack caught him mid-laugh. The snooty, airy kind, half-sincere, half-sarcastic. Brows upturned, mouth twisted in a faux sympathetic smile. Flaxen waves framing his lovely features.

His lips moved.

“I’ll topple you from your throne,” Vil vowed.

It was then that Jack noticed.

Vil-senpai's shining like the fair maiden.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Vil Schoenheit #Jack Howl #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #something no one asked for #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #Vil birthday takeover

[paper-mario-wiki]

Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?

From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.

At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.

Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.

Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.

My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:

0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.

I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.

I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.

I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.

I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.

I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.

This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.

I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.

#anon

[whiskeynwriting]

With You Again

König x Female Reader

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Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Established relationship, mentions/descriptions of war, brief mention of guns, references to male and female masturbation, praise kink, size kink, dry humping, oral (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, dom!König

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A/N: thank you to @phnyx for helping me round out the edges of this piece <3 and thank you TONS to @xsvenjasophiex for helping me with the German vocab and grammar. I appreciate you endlessly!! 

I have been so THIRSTY for this man lately y'all, Jesus. Brb, thinking about him speaking German to me

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König Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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The mud sticks to his face like thick glue, his body caked in the dirt as he trudges on through. And the relief he seeks is nowhere in sight, not even when he retreats to the trench. He has to duck, to bend at the knees until he’s in the safety of his designated bunker, his team’s barracks. He feels no reprieve, not even when sitting on the wooden bench. The body he’s worked for years to build is exhausted, forced to its limit. And yet, he must go on. Not only for the others, for he is the one they rely so much on, but for you. 

And that’s when he glances down at his rifle, resting on the mass of his thigh. His chest is still heaving, heartbeat evening out when he sees it - the picture of you. It’s of course torn and covered in dirt but he wipes it off often enough to still see it. Your sickeningly sweet grin, your gorgeous face, the way you’re laying. 

“Meine Welt.” It’s quiet, said through a tired breath. And even though his lids are fluttering, desperate for rest, he focuses on you. You keep him awake, alert, you remind him of what he’s fighting for. (My world) 

Out in the field, he looks to you often. And when he has time to rest, he’ll take off his helmet, looking into the inner rim. The same picture of you graces his desperate orbs, delivering him an ounce of peace. This photo doesn’t get torn as often as the one on his gun, and still, it’s not the cleanest copy he has. While he keeps two with him at all times, he keeps the third and most pristine one hidden away. 

When he’s clean enough to lie down, stripping himself of his khakis and weapons, he’ll lay his body over the cot he’s been given. But before he allows himself his much needed sleep, he’ll reach under his pillow, searching for that exact same scene. The one he captured on a Sunday morning, the view of you in his bed. Your shared bed. 

“Smile, Schatz.” He’d grinned, holding the polaroid camera over you. (Sweetheart)

It was early enough for you to still be waking up, your hair a complete mess with the blankets crumpled around the bed. But he thought it was adorable, the sight of you. The morning sun shone around your sleepy form in the most elegant of ways, even though all you had on was his oversized shirt. You smirked up at your enormous lover, offering a flirty grin. And the longer he looked at it, the more he saw your nipples rising beneath the fabric of his shirt, the hem of your panties peeking out along your thigh. This photograph was all he needed. When he couldn’t calm his mind, this is what he turned to. And when his arousal ran high, it offered him release. 

What you’ll find in his innermost parts, is emotion, emotion that ran wild like the river and raged like the sea. He longed for you, in the purest of ways. His devotion to your well-being was unlike anything he’s ever experienced. And daily was the occurrence of his words floating across a secret page.

I miss you, every day. And every day only serves to prove that I am living my life away from you. 

It tore him to pieces, being gone for so long. He wonders about how lonely you must feel, going about your day-to-day activities with no one but yourself. How big the house must feel, with only you in it. But when he’s home, he fills it completely. Not just with his physicality but with his emotional presence. 

“König,” You practically sob into his shoulder, holding onto him. The way your hearts pound for each other, the way your body releases all its tension when you’ve been reunited, are two sensations you positively yearn for. 

“Mein Mädchen,” He coos, repeatedly rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’m home.” (My girl)

It’s the pose you always fall into, your signature snuggle - him on the couch with his legs spread, and you cuddled onto his lap. You’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck while you press your covered front to his. 

“How have you been?” He asks gently, his voice soft. And when you lift your head, he cups your face, thumb sweeping over your skin. “Ich mache mir Sorgen um dich.” (I worry about you)

“Why?” Brow furrowing, you tilt your head, resting in his large palm. 

“You are meine Welt, my everything.” He explains, his eyes full of emotion as he says it. “You are my peace, and thinking of you alone in this house brings me pain.” With a heavy sigh, he brushes his thumb over your cheek once again. “And I have enough pain.” (My world)

Cuddling into you, he releases another breath, feeling you cradle his head against your chest. “I am just fine, mein Liebling.” The softness of your hand runs down the back of his head, still covered. “And even better now that you’re back.” (My darling) 

You’re everything he could ever need. With you, his woes from war are gone. With you, he feels human again. 

With the amount of ease you put him in, it’s not long before you’re lifting that hood, putting your lips on him. Usually, it would be alarming, someone lifting his mask. But for you, he’d do anything. And yet, you still haven’t seen him without it. You respect him too much to do that. 

His lips find yours again and again, searching for the love they’ve been neglected. It’s sloppy, lazy, the two of you taking time to just enjoy it. Your tongues slide along the other’s in a rhythm only the two of you know, the actions entirely unhurried. Neither of you are rushing this - you’re finally receiving the time you’ve been missing. 

“Baby,” As soon as he does it, you’re pressing against him, against the firmness of his chest and abdomen. He knows how much you love his body heat, forgoing his shirt quite quickly.

Shifting your hips over his, he groans, searching for your mouth again. You’re partially under that dark hood, devouring the moans coming from his lips. And then you’re dragging yourself over him, repeatedly grinding down onto his steadily rising erection. Easily, those incredibly large hands find your hips, guiding your movements and urging you to apply more pressure, to move a little faster. 

“Your beautiful body… it already feels so good against me…” His accent is thick, hungry. 

“I love how you sound,” You breathe out in return, sighing. “When you whimper…”

One muscular arm wraps around your lower back, sneaking beneath your shirt so he can feel your skin. He can’t help the noises he makes, he’s unable to keep himself at bay whenever he’s with you. You’re all that’s been in his head for weeks on end. 

“So needy,” He grunts out, thrusting upward between your legs. “As soon as you see me…” Ducking his head down, he finds your neck, holding onto your waist while you rub yourself over him. And his words prompt a certain heat to run up your neck and to your cheeks, filled with a sense of aroused embarrassment from his teasing. 

Turning your head, you try to hide your face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. But he sees, and he doesn’t like it. 

“No, don’t hide from me. Don’t hide that pretty face - mein Gott, so fucking cute. I want to see that look when I touch you.” (My god)

“König,” Another whine, fingers clinging to him. He’s throbbing between your legs, constantly rubbing himself up against you. 

“Look at me, pretty thing.” He demands, though his words are spoken softly, passionately. And he says it so sweetly that you almost can’t disobey him. “There you go,” Comes that genuine praise, his voice growing breathy and ragged. “Good girl.”

Lifting his hand to the back of your neck, he stares into your eyes, flicking back and forth between them. Shaking his head gently, he breathes out in awe, “Beautiful thing.” 

It’s easy to enjoy it, the taste of his mouth and natural scent, the overall sensation of him. And while he finds incredible pleasure in the feeling of you grinding against him, your gorgeous mouth meeting with his, he wants more. 

“I need to feel you.” König whines against your lips. 

Carrying you with him is easy, you don’t even have to move. All he does is stand, holding onto your thighs while you hold onto him. And in a half a dozen strides, you’re in the bedroom, being laid down by your love. 

Even quicker than you, he removes your clothing, immediately laying himself out between your thighs to hover above your body. Your surroundings are barely lit, but he doesn’t need much to see the beauty of you. He traces your body with his hands, the curves more familiar to him than his own breath. And immediately, he’s finding your chest, massaging the softness of your breasts before taking your nipple into his mouth. 

“I’ve missed these…” He mumbles over you, hot breath soaking into your skin.

His tongue slides effortlessly across your body, humming happily when your legs lift to the sides of his torso. Already, you’re grinding up against him, wanting that same friction you’d made on the couch. 

“My small doll,” König grins, sliding the bulk of his body down your stomach, crawling between your thighs and settling above your center. 

Calloused palms and worn fingers caress your thighs in the gentlest ways he knows how. You’re so soft, so tiny and delicate. He treats you like glass, like if he moved you wrong, you’d break. But he’d never break you. 

“I’ve dreamt of this… of licking you again. Süße, I’d do it for the rest of my life.” He’s mumbling just above your sex, the words barely having time to come out before he’s attaching his mouth to you. (Sweetheart)

Immediately, your back arches for him, nails digging into the muscles beneath his skin, clawing at his shoulders. He’s sucking your lips into his mouth, slurping on the wetness he’s already coaxed out of you. Pushing his tongue inside, he licks into you deeply, moaning when you suffocate him with your thighs. 

“Baby, baby.” Gasping, you shove your hips up against him, feeling the familiar flick of his tongue over the quivering peak of your sex. 

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t speed up or slow down, he just continues. His eyes roll back from it, from the way your hips shift against him and the way you taste. 

“Entspann dich, meine Engel.” He’s gasping, staring down at your glistening lips. “Let go for me…” And then he’s burying himself into you again, stuffing his tongue into your center while his nose rubs against your clit. (Calm yourself, my angel)

He can see the way your chest heaves, can hear the way your lungs tremble when you breathe. And he wants to feel it, god, he wants to taste it. 

“König,” And then he’s moaning into you, feeling it rush onto his tongue.

His taste buds tingle with it, your release, repeatedly lapping at your sensitive center. Your thighs shake from it, jerking against his head while he holds you, strong hands keeping you in place for him. 

“Perfect,” That deep voice groans, kissing your lower stomach. “Perfect…”

Lifting himself, you witness his biceps flex, the muscles in his chest tensing as his face returns to the smooth slope of your shoulder. You welcome him in, arms looping around his neck before he lifts his head, wet lips and chin pressing into your cheek as he says, “Doing just what I ask of you.” And then a sloppy kiss pressing into your skin, your cheeks plumping from his praise. 

“Are you ready for me?” But he’s already grabbing himself, the tip of his dick kissing your clit before he rubs it over your wetness. “My, my… how wet you are… can you hear it, Süße?” He’s pressing his nose into your cheek, grinning. (Sweetheart)

“Mhm,” It’s forced out from your throat, a mewl, followed by a forceful gasp. 

He’s pushing into you, the intrusion of him thicker than you remember. The searing heat from his skin spreads throughout your body, his chest pressing down into your own as he explores deeper. 

“Deep breaths, my love.” Yet he’s struggling to steady his own. “That’s it, keep your eyes on me.” And this makes him so happy. “That’s so good, Liebling, precious thing…” (Darling)

Staring into his eyes, you wince, jaw dropping as he delves inside. It’s slow, gradual, because he knows if he goes any faster, this will be too quick of an endeavor. 

Dipping his head down, he sighs out in awe. “Look at that, look how you open up for me. Oh, Süße, I’ve been dreaming of it since I left.” (Sweetheart)

“I’ve missed you, meine Kriegerin.” And that phrase forces a shiver through him. (My warrior)

“Oh, you were meant for it.” He grunts, finally thrusting into you with a desperate huff. “Meant to take me, to feel me deep inside… stretching you to fit. That’s it, keep breathing for me…”

But still, he’s not moving fast enough for you. It’s so slow that it’s agonizing, feeling the lazy drag of his veins against your walls, still sensitive from your first high. And it brings him great pride in knowing he gave you that gift so quickly. He’s hoping to give it to you again. 

Feeling timid, you turn your head, hiding your face in the sheets. “P-Please.” But he just grins, coming down to grab your jaw, pulling your face back toward him. 

“My cute little doll…” Your soldier muses, voice deep, sultry. “Say it again.” He’s addicted to it, addicted to the sounds you make when you’re taking it deep just the way he likes it. 

His stare is possessive, dominant, insistent. And you give in. “Please.”

Just like that, he’s snapping his hips into your pelvis, and with every ounce of strength he has. It almost paralyzes you, the overstimulation of it all. His tongue on your neck, his body pressing you into the bed, his tip punching against your cervix. 

Sliding his hand forward, König’s fingers intertwine with your own. He drags it up along the bed, holding it above your head. The groans coming from his chest rumble across your own, your head thrown back as you experience him. Jesus, you’ve missed this, you’ve prayed for this, to be in his arms again. Naturally, you cling to him, holding him as if he’ll never leave again. And you wish it was the truth. 

“L-Liebling,” König grunts, feeling your nails dig into his back. He’s buried himself inside you, all the way to the hilt. “You’re squeezing around me so, so tightly.” His accent is thick, eyes closed as he attempts to even out his breaths. (Darling)

“I want it again.” Groaning, he shoves himself into you again, listening to the wet squelch of it. “Let me feel it, sweetling.” 

“Please, make me. Make me, baby.” 

Tilting your hips upward, you meet his thrusts. You’re squeezing his hand, feeling comforted by both his palm and the presence of his face in your neck. His muscular thighs flex against your legs, chest heaving above you as he feels you tremble. And the act of you clutching his hand, the sensation of you quivering around him, is making him lose his goddamn mind. 

Your soft sobs provoke a small growl from his lips, his pelvis snapping against your sex. He’s throbbing inside you, scrotum drawing up tightly to his body as he begs for your release. 

“König,” You wail, only to be met with, “Take it.” 

What started out as innocently sweet has turned into ardent arousal, your body being ravaged by this hulk of a man. You’re his to claim, his to lay and spend every day with. And when he’s done wringing your body dry of pleasure, he’ll be there to coddle you, too. 

Your body reacts so openly to him, whether or not he’s actively touching you. It’s all too easy for you to welcome him, your limbs wrapping around every inch of his body. The mere thought of your lover was enough to make your hands wander, your thoughts running wild in your head. Inhaling a sharp breath, you sigh, sliding your hand between your legs as you think of him. 

But the sharp shrill of your phone shocks you back to reality, eyes blowing wide as your head snaps to the side. Immediately, you reach for it, heart lighting up with affection when you see who it is. 

“König?” Your voice is eager, wanting. 

“Meine Engel,” Comes that rough, sweet voice. “I am on my way.” (My angel)

Inside, your chest swells with emotion, head lolling back as you release a satisfied sigh. And on the other end of the phone, he hears you sniffle, smiling sincerely beneath the cover of his hood.

“I know, sweetling.” He coos, picturing your pretty face. “I’ll be there, I’ll be with you again soon.” 

#Konig #my big man #I love you endlessly #pls call me your angel again #Konig cod #Konig cod mw2 #Konig x you #Konig x reader #Konig x female reader #Konig smut #cod smut #cod fanfiction

[authornina]

Savvy Day Care

***THIS HAS NOT BEEN THROUGH A TYPICAL EDITING PROCESS; ALL SHORTS ARE ROUGH DRAFTS***

Sav sat in the driver seat of their shared brand-new Mercedes Benz sprinter passenger van going over his checklist to make sure he had all of his nieces. They had so many children and counting, a regular little mini-van wouldn’t do—like on ballet and gymnastics days that they all had together or when Jacob did field trips with them. Minus the boys who rarely made any fuss, all nine girls were very specific at times and some didn’t like sharing seat belts or their personal space if they weren’t in the best mood, so they invested in a sprinter and it’d been smooth sailing since.

“Melody, she so pretty make my heart all fluttery.”

“Here,” she cheerfully replied to her uncle. She didn’t always get to spend a lot of time with her father’s side of the family so being in the presence of her uncle and cousins made her happy.

“Delightful Damaris, she gon’ be a stunnin’ runway model in Paris.”

“Here!”

“Pretty Poppy, all these hoes gon’ wanna copy.”

“Here me go, Uncle Sav!”

“Savannah my precious banana,” Sav called then looked in the mirror and she raised her hand, still not able to verbally communicate much but they were working on it day by day. They mostly depended on sign language. He and Chi were just thankful she was able to walk on her own now without assistance. “Queen Day B, my G!”

“Here daddy!” she giggled.

“Aubree my gorgeous lil cup of tea.”

“Here,” she blushed.

“Ivory, my cute honeybee.”

“I’m right here,” she replied bashfully.

They loved their pet names given by Uncle Sav.

“Lovely Loire, even though you mean you the one I’ll always adore.” “Hmph!” she folded her arms with a scowl. The last thing she wanted to do was be in a leotard, tights, ballet shoes and a slick back bun. She looked just like a little Lake with an attitude.

“Ion know what hmph mean lil girl.”

“Me here!” Loire pouted, attitude on a hundred.

“You gon’ be flung over the bushes you keep actin’ up,” Sav threatened and she poked her lip out, and started crying into her sister’s arm. “My beautiful River gon’ always have my back and deliver…slaps! To ya muhfuckin’ dome on behalf of her uncle!”

“Here, Uncle Savy,” she laughed. “You make my sister cry,” River put her arm around Loire.

“She made her lil bad ass self cry. Loire cut it out before I get Sugar Sprinkle Pickle,” he referred to their dog that Lake let them name and she straightened up real quick. For some reason she was afraid of that little ass chihuahua. “Ard, everybody got their seatbelts on?” “Yes!” they all responded at the same time, Savannah nodding her head up and down.

“Do anybody gotta go number one or two before I pull off?”

“Nooo!”

“Goin’ once, goin’ twice, and we out!”

Jacob was on vacation for a week so what he’d usually tend to with their children was split between Sav, Lake, and Dem. Vant declined to help, wanting to use all of his free time from the kids trying to give Ivy another baby which she refused.

They had so many kids that keeping them active was necessary. They had tons of energy which needed to be channeled in something productive other than fighting with one another. Leave them in the house for too long, barrettes were flying, hair was being pulled and nothing but crying and screaming filled the air.

Once they arrived at the studio, Sav parked and got out making all of the girls hold hands as they crossed the lot. They basically had private lessons seeing as their group made up one class.

“Good afternoon!” their teacher, Ms. Farrah smiled as each of her tiny ballerinas marched into the studio. While the class went on Sav sat to the side taking pictures and videos, sending them in the group chat.

Avery: Fix Loire bow, she get on my nerves with that lil ass attitude! Ivy: Why is Aubree actin’ like we don’t practice the pliè at home? Ooh that girl! Vant: Fuck off my daughter bro Ivy: STFU! Avery: Nobody is talking about Damaris eatin’ everybody up though Chi: Straight running circles around them! Show them how it’s done Maris! Sav: My Banana is the best one Chi: And she is! Avery: She is doing so good, I’m so proud of her Ivy: Me too. Vant: Love Banny and all but I’m not bouta sit here and lie Ivory killin’ all them! Avery: LIES! It’s Damaris, River, THEN my pookie poo Ivory Ivy: Avery don’t make me kick your ass. Avery: Facts are facts! Lake: Can y’all all shut the fuck up? Chi: Husband! Why you gotta be so mean? Avery: Chi. Ivy: CTFU! Sav: I’m mutin’ y’all dickheads now Chi: You better not nigga! Ivy: Whose making dinner tonight? Avery: Not me! I’m tired and my back is hurting Chi: I can’t cook Lake: That’s why you need to sit the fuck down somewhere Avery: Do you see how you talk to me?😭 Ivy: Omg! Avery go away, you wasn’t complaining how he talk to you or crying when you laid up and got your ass pregnant again! He said sit down somewhere so SAT DOWN! Chi: Husband I woulda been sittin’ Sav: Chi get your fuckin’ head knocked off Vant: At least she lay down and get pregnant, some people act like it’s gon’ ruin their fuckin’ life to have another baby. Ivy: Vant do not start! You are not the one that has to PHYSICALLY go through a pregnancy! Vant: If I could carry my own fuckin’ babies I would! Sav: This nigga gay Wreck: Gay asf Vant: 🖕🏾

Pav: The girls are so cute! I wish I had a daughter to do ballet Sav: You late Pav: We were all napping Chi: You always sleep, let me find out you lettin’ Daly do you like Lake Daly: 🍆

Ivy: Okayyyyyyyyyyy! Get it get it! Vant: Ivy. Relax my nigga. Avery: I swear this is the last one. I can’t do this anymore. We’re gonna have to use condoms. Lake: Yea ok Ivy: TMI Chi: I would never make big daddy—nevermind Sav: Wait till I get home. Ima put a dent right in your fuckin’ forehead. Avery: LMAOOOOO! Big daddy that bitch! Chi: 🖕🏾 Dem: I’m not reading all that shit Ivy: Heyyy bookie Dem: Hey Avery: LMAO! Dem did you eat? Dem: No Avery: You want me to cook you some food? Sav: But you just said you was tired and your back was hurtin but now that Dem ain’t ate shit you got the energy Avery: Hater much? Vant: I’ll cook Wreck: Then I’m stayin home Daly: Me too Lake: I’m not eatin’ nothin Vant cook Pav: I will cook. Geez. Everybody be here by 8 Vant: Ayeee! Wreck: I’ll be over there Sav: You cook better than Avery anyway Avery: 🖕🏾

Sav: Ard the class is over. I’m takin all they asses to my house for a minute. Chi: Lord. Let me put up all my good shit Ivy: Don’t do that to them lmao Chi: You know they bad as shit! Sav: No, THEY kids is bad as shit. My babies is good. Dem: And mine Avery: So what tf are y’all saying? Ivy: Exactly! Wreck: Lake and Vant got some bad ass kids. Lake: Ok Daly: Now I need to put up all our good shit Ivy: Vant? Vant: Man…Ion feel like fightin’ and our kids is bad as shit Ivy: Wow. Sav: Bye dickheads!

Putting the phone in his pocket, Sav gathered his tribe of little ladies. They all walked to the van hand in hand talking over one another.

“Loire, you feel better?”

“Yes!” she answered her uncle now all smile. Sometimes it took his niece a minute to warm up.

“Good…who wanna go bother auntie Chi?”

“Meeeeee!” they all raised their hands at the same time.

“She’s my mommy,” Sav heard Day say.

“And she’s my auntie,” Aubree sassed.

“Don’t be mean to me.”

“Talk to the hand!”

“Daddy!” Day shouted. “She put her hand in my face,” she whined.

“Aubree chill out.”

“I’m tellin’ my daddy on you!” Aubree asserted.

“And what he supposed to do?”

“Beat chu up.”

“Your daddy can’t beat my daddy,” River added twisted her neck.

“I bet he can!”

“No he can’t!

“Ard,” Sav laughed. “Y’all chill, it ain’t that deep.”

“But Uncle Savy, she—”

“It’s ard River,” Sav turned to her giving her a look. “We know the real.”

River nodded then rolled her eyes at Aubree. “My daddy still can whoop uncle Vant, I seen him do it,” she whispered just having to get the last word.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 3.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Things go from bad to worse.

Master List / Prev chapter

Warnings: 18+, Mild/brief self harm (over-washing), language, peril, first aid/wound care, discussion of terrorism, emotional break downs

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Thank you for your continued support! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Barely edited, but made with love. Keeping chapters short for quicker updates, so that Soap teaser I dropped will actually be in 4. My bad.

3.

You can’t think beyond my face hurts and I thought I died.

The men to either side have you packed in tight, shoulders pressing against yours, knees bumping with every sway and turn. All four of the soldiers keep their eyes on the passing landscape and the road leading through it. The men only speak to make note of potential tails, to confirm or deny the presence of new threats.

You left London a while back, and you’re in the patchwork of expanding towns spilling out beyond the green belt by the time you regain enough sense to notice.

You see very little. Fewer houses. More fields.

None of it really sinks in. The inside of the car smells like gun oil, sweat, and a coppery stink you know rises from your own clothes. Your own skin and hair and empty nail beds.

You let yourself disappear for a while. For maybe an hour, you let the static blanket your mind like snow. It’s like floating on the top of the lake, and if you break that surface tension, you’ll drown, so you let it blind your senses instead. So long as no one notices you, you don’t have to exist. You tell yourself it’s just for a minute, just for a bit, just until something else goes wrong and you have to remember pain, and fear, and whatever else makes up your life in the moment. The protective blur stretches on forever, and you lose track of time.

An itch pulls you back into your body. Eyes on you. Someone watching.

You glance up, and you meet death’s gaze in the rearview. There are eyes, but no face. Only a skull. For a brief instant you think of trying to jerk awake, like you would in a falling dream, because maybe the reaper isn’t real, unlike every other horror of the day. But then you notice the cloth beneath the bone and the military headgear.

It’s just a man in a mask, the one in the front passenger seat with the rifle you noticed as you piled in behind the Scotsman.

Skull-face blinks slowly, twice, confident you won’t look away while his eyes are closed, patiently enigmatic as a cat.

The SUV turns sharply onto a gravel track, and Skull-face turns back to the window, like he didn’t just stare you down through the mirror.

The uneven jolts as the tires dip into grooves and potholes drives away the last of the static. And you blink, eyes still on the mirror, trying to come to grips with reality.

What the actual fuck?

Around the bend, a farmhouse creeps into view. It sits low over the green turf, unassuming apart from old leaded windows that make it look too much like something out of a cottage core mood board for the situation. This isn’t a space for men with guns and tac vests.

But the man in the bucket hat taps on the brakes, nods, and says, “Ghost, Gaz: clear the house.” He doesn’t change gear. Doesn’t park. Even now, he’s ready for an ambush.

You don’t think the men who grabbed you were capable of thinking that far ahead. They did find the original safehouse, though, so maybe you should be a good civilian and keep those thoughts to yourself.

The Brit who clipped the zip ties off your wrists and helped you out of the warehouse pops out with a “Yes, sir.” So does the grim reaper up front. The doors slam shut again, and the two move in concert, guns raised, sights fixed on the windows and door as they approach. The man in the mask takes point, rushing through the door the instant his colleague turns the knob, and they disappear inside.

You’re uncomfortably aware of… everything. Your breath. The ants roving under your skin. The two men still in the car with you. It’s impossible to sit still, and you peer around your enclosure like a gerbil in a hamster ball – technically safe but in no control. The wind stirs the bushes at the edge of the driveway, and you imagine people behind them who move like your escorts. Cold. Efficient. And they’re already too close.

Your neck strains as you try to see through all the windows at once, struggling to catch a glimpse of doom before it drags you under.

“You broken?”

The leader, the man behind the wheel, must be addressing the Scot. It only registers he’s talking to you when you find said Scot watching you, too. There’s more room in the back now, but you still feel crowded and exposed in a horrible, nonsensical mess.

And – oh, right, the man is talking to you.

“Hey.” He doesn’t look through the mirror. He physically turns, arm over the back of the seat, so he can look you in the eye as he asks again, and his words come slow to your adrenaline-scoured brain. “Are you broken?”

You flounder. Puzzled. That… means what? You’re missing context. Is what broken? No bones. They didn’t – technically – hurt you that badly. Everything will fix itself in time. It could’ve been worse. You know that, even if in the moment all you want to do is sprint to the ends of the earth, find a blanket, and curl up in the darkest corner at the edge of the map.

Is he asking if you’re functional? If you can make it through debriefing?

That must be it.

And, fuck, you’d physically fight all four of them at this point if they tried to stop you from passing on the intelligence you’ve literally bled for.

“No.” You’re surprised by your own conviction (and how little your voice shakes). “Not broken.”

There’s an actual twinkle in his eye – and really, how dare he? – but his approval and the uptick of those bushy, bearded cheeks is the right kind of ridiculous in the moment. The Scot huffs beside you, but you don’t have the bandwidth for any more smirks, twinkles, or other bullshittery, so you keep your eyes forward and hope to fuck someone will tell you what to do. You can only hop between so many distractions before you miss a step and fall into a heaving mess on the floor.

“Good,” says Captain Fishing Hat. He turns back to the wheel just as Skull Face comes back.

The burly man signals, and as the boss finally turns off the engine, he opens the door and reports, “House is clear. Gaz is setting up for debrief.”

Gaz, then, must be the youngest Englishman. The Scot shifts, subtly ushering you out, and you scoot along as instructed, letting the men more or less herd you across the yard, through the door, into the kitchen. They keep their heads on a swivel, and that doesn’t help your nerves. Not at all. But they don’t give you time to stop and angst over it, either.

You find yourself in the kitchen, guided to one of four wooden chairs around a square table. It’s covered in tech. A black case sits open on one of the other seats, and the empty foam imprints inside match the boxes, cables, and laptop before you.

“Ready, Kyle?” Fishing Hat asks.

“Nearly, Captain,” Gaz replies. “Working on the connection now.”

So, Captain Fishing Hat is an actual captain. You aren’t shocked. Maybe in shock, but not surprised.

But as you sit where you’re told and watch the screen illuminate, a realization dawns on you. You won’t be debriefing to these men. Someone else at the other end of this connection is waiting for the whole story, and fear flutters to life in your gut like a startled pigeon. Loud, awkward, probably diseased.

What if you’ve misjudged all this? What if it’s a ploy? The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, and the proper authorities aren’t the only ones hungry for the information you carry. Stiffening in your seat, you prepare for another fight, lifting the prickly guard you let drop as you knelt in the back of the SUV, clinging to the Scotsman’s tac vest.

Just as you’re glancing at the window over the kitchen sink and wondering if you jump high enough to break through the glass before any of the men grab you, a face appears on the screen, and the woman says your name.

You recognize her. Or at least her voice.

It’s the woman from the phone.

You physically droop against the back of the chair, gasping in relief.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re going to be okay.

“Glad to see you in one piece,” she says.

“Me, too.” A rasp taints your voice, and you feel the phantom pressure of an arm crushing your trachea.

“Kate Laswell,” she introduces herself. “This is a secure line. Go ahead and tell me what you know.”

It’s easier than you expect. You’ve been thinking so much about everything you need to say, turning over pieces in your head, putting it into clearer words, ordering it by importance, that now it just flows. You lean forward, desperately ready to spill. But just because you’ve gathered everything into a coherent thread doesn’t make it any less painful to acknowledge. It’s like tugging up a string of barbed wire from your gut, pulling it out of your mouth inch by inch. You worry if you have to stop, the blades will lodge in your throat.

The woman is clearly a pro, though, and she saves her questions.

You list names first: people in American alphabet agencies with ties to a particularly violent white supremacist group. If there’s any chance they could be listening, she could end the call and try again in a secure location. But she must’ve guessed something was off when the official safehouse she sent you to was compromised. This time she’s prepared, and she lets you continue.

There’s a bomb, a new alliance with ultranationalists, someone named Makarov. It’s a test. To see if the American terrorists are as good as they say, if they’re worth Makarov’s investment. There’s a promise of more if they get the body count Makarov’s set (thousands).

The man whose blood you’ll always feel, slick between your fingers as you confused the thump of the nightclub’s base with your own pulse, kept his cover long enough to get the details of the attack. Date, location, time, target. He didn’t live long enough to give you more. He gave you what he thought was most important. You hope it’s enough. You hope it’s worth it.

Laswell thinks for a minute, then asks, “Did the men who kidnapped you indicate they knew how much of this information you possessed?”

“No. They, uh – that was the whole point, I think.” You lift you hand, so she can see the missing nails. “They wanted to know how compromised they were before they shot me.”

You say it so quickly it only clicks after it leaves your mouth. They were going to shoot you. You knew that, but away from the rough hands and zip ties it feels surreal. People like you don’t get shot. People like you have car accidents and a few too many fast food dinners for your general wellbeing. But the gun against your head was real. It’s a true thing that just happened, and that means people like you do get shot. Every safe, calm moment in your life looks like a lie, a skewed carnival mirror in retrospect.

People like you get shot.

People want to kill you.

You may still get shot. That’s why you’re in this safehouse with four heavily armed men.

Time isn’t the endless resource you imaged yesterday morning. It isn’t a solid path with clear, expected landmarks with which to gauge your progress. It’s ice, and the patch under your feet spiderwebs with ominous cracks.

You realize Laswell is speaking again.

“- handle the situation Stateside. Your current location is one of my private safehouses. Not on any list. Totally secure. I think it’s best to stay there and treat it as your base of operations for now, Captain.”

The captain, leaning over your shoulder to get in frame, nods. He’s too close without touching you, but no one’s indicated your part in this is finished. So you stay put.

“Rog,” he says.

“The attack is our chief priority, but closing the active cell in England and following their trail back to Makarov is a close second. I already have taps being set on a few of the names on that list.” Laswell says your name, and she clearly tries to soften her war face, but she’s all business right now. “I’m leaving you in the custody of the 141, under Captain Price.”

He gently claps you on the shoulder, like he’s assuming command. “Understood. Keep us in the loop, Kate.”

“Roger that. Keep your heads down. Stay safe. Over and out.”

The feed cuts out, Gaz – Kyle? – closes the laptop, moving the chaos out of the way as the Scotsman appears with a first aid kit. None of the soldiers leave space for an awkward pause. They all have a mission. Somewhere to be. Something to do.

The captain pulls a second chair up beside yours, meeting your gaze with another of his disarmingly charming smiles that crinkles at his eyes. As he and the Scot begin sorting through the kit, he says, “We’re overdue for introductions. Captain John Price.”

He holds out his hand, and you tentatively accept it in a piss poor handshake, but his smile doesn’t break, and he gestures at the Scotsman. “That’s Sergeant Johnny MacTavish, or Soap.”

The sergeant waves with a handful of cotton pads and disinfectant. He points into the corner, where Skull Face lurks. “Grumpy bastard in the corner’s Ghost. He’s a lieutenant. If you were curious.”

No one offers his real name, and you swallow down every question with a vengeance. The names make them seem real, concrete, and you seize the lifeline they’ve thrown.

You make eye contact with the last man, trying to prove you aren’t a sack of potatoes in human skin and have an actual, working brain between your ears. “And you’re Gaz?”

He smiles, reaching over the table to shake your hand in a way that makes you double down on your bet that he’s the youngest. Certainly the least jaded, even if he’s every bit the soldier the others are. “Sergeant Kyle Garrick, yeah.”

Ghost pushes off from the wall and heads back towards the front door. “I’ll take first watch.”

Whether he’ll be watching the road from a sniper’s perch or chilling by a window, you can only guess, but his captain gives him another nod, and off he goes. Sociable as an alley cat.

“Let’s see about that hand, then.” Calloused fingers rasp along the underside of your wrist as the captain lifts your hand into the light. He arranges it carefully on the table, keeping his touch gentle so you don’t feel the raw bands of irritated skin where the zip ties bruised you.

It isn’t like you’re resisting. The bloody nail beds don’t look right, and you’re struggling to believe they belong to you at all. There’s an experiment where people develop an artificial connection to and fear for an artificial hand. You feel like you’re in an opposite test. Your eyes say the hand on the table belongs to you, but it doesn’t feel that way. If the captain sawed it off instead of gingerly spraying antiseptic ointment over the exposed nerves, you might just shrug it off.

The bandages hurt, though.

The pain tugs at your gut, and you rejoin your whole body with a shudder. That hurts, too. You take a deep breath, and your stomach aches. Your free hand squeezes into a fist, and the scabs on your knuckles crack open. When tears flood your eyes, you can only imagine what new agonies they’d summon if you let them fall, so you blink furiously and pretend your eyelashes aren’t so wet they stick together.

As his captain finishes treating your hand, the Scot – MacTavish, Johnny, Soap, whatever the fuck you’re supposed to call him – takes a seat on the table, pinches your chin, and puts one of those little cleansing pads he’d been fussing with to work. It stings like a bitch, and you flinch despite your best efforts.

Still holding your chin, he angles your face up and blows over a series of cleaned scrapes on your cheek. The tiny breeze might as well be a hurricane. It knocks the soul from your body, and you go entirely still, befuddled.

“The fuck, Soap?” Gaz asks.

The Scot huffs, getting back to work with a fresh gauze pad, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “You’re supposed to blow on cuts,” he grumbles, like he’s trying to sound gruff to make up for the accidental sentiment. “So they don’t sting.”

It makes you want to smile. You can’t remember how right now, but maybe you’ll think back to this moment and smile about it later.

“Thanks,” you say instead.

Soap has not forgotten how to smile. “You’re welcome, bonnie. Let me put a butterfly plaster on this, and you’ll be fit as a fiddle again.”

A nice thought, and maybe true for a soldier like him, but every screaming inch of your body informs you this is a lie.

The captain taps your knee, pulling your attention back to the fading crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He lifts a finger and leads your gaze from side to side, leaning in close to see if your pupils are the same size. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion. Are you hurt anywhere else? Any risk of internal bleeding? Cracked ribs?”

Gaz, seeing your confusion (because how the fuck would you KNOW if you were bleeding internally?) offers some helpful context. “Did they kick you in the stomach? Any sharp pains in your chest when you breathe?”

Did they kick you? You can’t really remember. Probably. It’s all a furious blur of motion and panic.

“I’m not sure.”

It’s the truth, but it’s a bad one. The captain nods as a wintery flash passes over Gaz’s face. “That’s all right. Let us know if you notice any unusual swelling or new pains, yeah?”

“Okay.”

One more big smile – a bit forced, definitely for show – lifts his whiskers, and he climbs out of his chair, pulling it out of your way.

Gaz steps up to lead you out of the kitchen. You feel like a football – always under someone’s control, being run by one teammate to the next. But what else is there to do to, really? You follow him up a narrow flight of stairs to a pokey hall on the second level. There are three doors, and the first you pass has three twin beds crammed inside. The second is smaller but only holds two beds. And the last door leads to a bathroom. Gaz, clearly used to safehouse etiquette, fishes a washcloth, towel, and little bar of soap out of the deep, dark depths of a cupboard too high for you to reach.

He sets them on the counter in a tidy pile and says, “You really shouldn’t get your bandages wet for forty-eight hours, but I bet you feel like hell. Washing up a little with just the sink might help.”

His big brown eyes fix on you, too soft and looking for some kind of confirmation you’re okay without getting in your face.

Are you broken?

Fuck. They’re all trying to make this normal. What happened isn’t their fault, and they’ve surely seen worse. They probably don’t have to babysit damaged goods after the fact very often, though. The least you can do is try to make this normal for them, too.

“Like a bus ran over me, backed up, and ran over me again.” You think for a minute and add: “Might’ve been some Nazgul, or cave trolls, or some other shit, too.”

The soldier snorts. A grin catches him by surprise and turns his whole face bright. The effort was definitely worth it.

“Tolkien? I like it.” As he moves out of the bathroom, he points at the smaller bedroom. “Take whatever bed in there you want. Since one of us will be on watch, we probably won’t need the other one. Give you a bit of privacy. Try to get some rest, yeah?”

You can’t imagine how you’ll fall asleep, but you act like his suggestion is as reasonable as it sounds.

“Of course.”

He leaves you alone.

You soak the washcloth in tepid water and peel off your shirt. There’s a countdown of little tasks in your head, ways to delay the inevitable. How long can you linger over the soap and cheap terrycloth? What if you just lock the door and keep wake sitting on the cold floor?

Then you notice your reflection.

You haven’t thought about what you look like. It’s less your face staring back and more a collection of hurts, and you struggle to find yourself through the bruises and bandages.

Everything aches, throbs, or stings. You’re so scared you want to smash your head into the counter just in case it’s like in the movies, and time rewinds, letting you wake up in bed at the hostel with a clear head and free day to play tourist. You know how to do that. Always going, doing, seeing. Always a task, a plan, an idea.

Now your hands are empty – apart from that one fucking piece of glitter you can’t get off between your thumb and forefinger. It winks in the light, and you scrub at it in a frenzy. You clean everything in a rush, too rough with your bruises, but you’re on the verge of a breakdown, and you don’t want to fall apart in anything resembling a public space.

It’s all been too much for too long.

You open the door carefully, peek up and down the hall, wary of minding eyes. Then you nearly trip over your own feet getting into the smaller bedroom.

Door shut.

Shoes off.

Everything else stays on, every layer between you and the world outside a blessing as you bury yourself alive under a stiff, scratchy blanket that probably came from a secondhand shop two decades ago. Your breath catches when you breathe in, like you’re choking on the stuff you need to live. The air bubbles out in gasps. Painful. On the verge of sobs. But that would be too loud. You must be quiet and still or something awful will find you again.

It's a good thing tears are silent. You soak the flat pillow with them, hiding in the dark under the covers.

Impossibly, you do sleep. It takes a while, but your body screams for rest, and it pulls you deep as you cry yourself out into nightmares of voices arguing just behind your head, and eyes that send beams of light around shadowed walls.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #141 x reader #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #fanfiction

[stuckinapril]

Do you have any poetry recommendations? The poem poll made me realize that I like. ONLY know Iraqi poets. Like the only non-Iraqi poet I can name off the top of my head is Robert Frost

i'm literally hooked on poetry. even on days where i can't sit down to read a book, i try to consume at least one poem a day bc it keeps me sane. it actually does. i recommend signing up to one poem a day newsletters--those have been a game changer for me. as for recommendations, my favorite poems change every week, but current faves (whose authors i regularly go back to/are a good starting point) would be:

elegy for my sadness - chen chen (Who invented the word / “ennui”? A sad Frenchman? / A centipede? They should’ve never / been born. They should’ve seen me / in Paris, a sad teenage / exchange student. I was so sad / & so teenaged, one day my host sister / gripped my hand hard & even harder / said, SOIS HEUREUX. / BE HAPPY. & miraculously, / I wasn’t sad anymore. / All I felt was the desire to slap my host sister. / See, I was angry in Paris, which is clearly / not allowed. One can be sad in Paris (I was) / & one can be in love in Paris (I was not), / but angry? Angry in Paris?")

a pity, we were such a good invention - yehuda amichal ( "A pity / We were such a good / And loving invention / An aeroplane made from a man and wife / Wings and everything / We hovered a little above the earth")

like a small cafe, that's love - mahmoud darwish ("I say to myself at last / Perhaps she who I was waiting for / was waiting for me, or was waiting for some other man / or was waiting for us, and did not find him/me.")

bible study - tony hoagland ("Who knows, this might be the last good night of summer / My broken nose is forming an idea of what’s for supper / Hard to believe that death is just around the corner / What kind of idiot would think he even had a destiny?")

mother and child - louise gluck ("Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant? / Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us; / it is your turn to address it, to go back asking / what am I for? What am I for?")

america, america - saadi youssef ("We are not hostages, America, / and your soldiers are not God's soldiers... / We are the poor ones, ours is the earth of the drowned gods, / the gods of bulls, / the gods of fires, / the gods of sorrows that intertwine clay and blood in a song... / We are the poor, ours is the god of the poor, / who emerges out of farmers' ribs, / hungry / and bright, / and raises heads up high...")

the duino elegies (seventh elegy respectively) - rainer maria rilke ("Not only the devotion of these unfolded forces, / not only the paths, not only the evening fields, / not only, after a late storm, the breathing freshness, / not only approaching sleep and a premonition, evenings... / also the nights! Also the high summer nights / also the stars, the stars of this Earth! / O to be dead at last and know them eternally, / all the stars: for how, how, how to forget them!")

the endlessness - ada limon ("How was i supposed to feel then? About moving in the world? How could I touch anything or anyone without the weight of all of time shifting through us?")

psalm - adonis ("Open my memory and study my face beneath its words, learn my alphabet. When you see foam weaving my flesh and stone flowing in my blood, you will see me. I am closed like a tree trunk, present and ungraspable like air. Thus I cannot surrender to you.")

the war works hard - dunya mikhail ("The war continues working, / day and night. / It inspires tyrants / to deliver long speeches / awards medals to generals / and themes to poets / it contributes/ to the industry / of artificial limbs / provides food for flies / adds pages to the history books / achieves equality / between killer and killed / teaches lovers to write letters / accustoms young women to waiting / fills the newspapers / with articles and pictures / builds new houses / for the orphans / invigorates the coffin makers / gives grave diggers / a pat on the back / and paints a smile on the leader's face.")

#this list is me being conservative btw bc i got overwhelmed looking at the poetry list in my notes app ... its so hard to decide #a couple of these are iraqi poets but cmon #it's not a poetry list without mikhail and youssef's genius #poetry recs

[digenerate-trash]

THE FIXED VERSION

Write about Yan Haley watching the reader get exhausted from milking cow’s please

(I promise I was working on this before you sent this ask I just had like 5 fics today!!! Also love Stardew Valley and My Mean Queen)

AFAB Hailey | GN PC

Just a quick stop by and look. Maybe deliver a love note or two. Maybe even a picture. If you're out... you're her muse after all. Then she'd head home. Chat with Alex. Dinner with Emily. Maybe a drink at the pup, some reading. Then routine and bed.

It's a tight schedule. But Haley is good at keeping things organized. She can do everything after all.

Sliding the note into your mailbox was easy. But she really couldn't help herself. She trotted up the steps to your shabby little cabin and looked in the window... nothing.

She clutched her camera a bit before she turned out to look at the field and then at the barn. Your pride is a joy you loved the animals here. You took care of them even though they took hours of tending a day.

Haley made her way to the barn and pushed open the heavy doors before laying her eyes on you.

Sweat on your brow. Thick squeaky rubber gloves. Sat beside a cow as you reach under and try your best to get a yield from it.

For a former city dweller, you sure did adapt to hard work well. She couldn't help herself as she pressed the camera up to her face

The click and then flash of the camera alerted you to her presence.

You rubbed your eyes a bit getting up from beside the cow you pulled the bucket from under it and made your way to Haley.

"Hey- I didn't expect you to come up here today-" you laugh a bit. She looks so out of place in the barn.

"I don't think you get many visitors at all," Haley says. But that's more of a hope than anything

"It's kinda a hike from town. That doesn't seem to stop my secret admirer though." Your face twists a bit with concern. "But enough about that- I'm tired. And you probably are too. Why don't you come in and I'll get you something to eat-

You lead Haley away from the barn setting the milk on the standing bench before heading inside. You shed your gloves and hat at the front door before getting a glass of water for yourself. Then one for Haley

"Secret admirer? Someone in this town is actually into.... all this?" Haley gestures vaguely at you but secretly she's very pleased. You've noticed her. Or at least her notes.

"It's hard to believe but yes... and the notes are getting... worrying..." you say Haley sits down at the table hiding a smirk.

"I thought you fought cave monsters as a hobby- are you telling me some guy is setting you on edge?"

"If it even is a guy-" you cut her off. "But yeah. The notes get very... specific. About where I sleep and what my schedule is. They even make comments about my tan lines it's.... disturbing-"

Haley of course Feinstein a shocked reaction. "My... if I had a secret admirer like that I'd be so flattered."

"You can have em." You say grabbing two plates from the cupboard and grabbing some leftovers from the fridge.

Once you've got two meals set up you hand one over to Haley. "Makes me glad to have a friend like you. Your blunt. But straightforward with me. It's nice to talk to you y’know?" You say taking a large but down into your meal.

Haley kinda twitches a bit at that. She's been struggling with her feelings for you for a while and she can only be honest about what she wants from you in her notes. Still, she's fine to be just friends. For now. Maybe in time when you two finally start to date she can frame someone else for the notes. Or maybe you'll forget about them entirely.

When the meal is done you lead Haley out of the house before looking at your mailbox. "Son of a bitch-" you say the blood draining from your face before you hurriedly open it and take the letter out. Haley's heart skips a beat as she leans in closer to read the note along with you.

"Another love note?" She asks.

You nod hands shaking. Haley still smiles as she looks over the letter. She can hear your breath hitch as you read over the note.

Maybe she shouldn't have put in those shots of you asleep in your bed so soundly. But the look on your face is priceless.

#haley stardew valley #yandere #tw yandere #tw stalking #yan stardew #x reader

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

"Did you ask about my sandwich?" is the first thing Robin asks him when he falls through her window. Only after the question has been asked does Robin turn on the lamp beside her bed.

"Ow," he replies, because he's landed on her shoes. One is digging into the center of his back and the other his buttcheek.

"I'll take that as a no," she swings her legs off the side of the bed, sitting up to look down at him. "You know, with the amount of noise you just made, you might as well have used the front door."

"We both know your parent's know I'm here, anyway. The use of your window is to avoid conversation with your mom. She always asks if I'm planning to propose before you go to college, or after you graduate."

Robin gags. "Don't remind me. Now get off the floor and tell me when I'm to expect lunch delivered by Eddie to Family Video?"

Steve does haul himself off the floor, then, because the shoes are painful. He joins Robin on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, and leans against her. "Sorry. I forgot to ask about your sandwich."

"I forgive you. Now, to the secondary issue of the night. Show me your knuckles."

"What!?" Steve usually prides himself at being able to keep up with Robin and her random thoughts, but this is so out of left field.

Robin just grabs the hand closest to her for inspection. It doesn't take her long to drop it and reach across him to grab his other hand. "Hmm. No signs of physical damage. Did you smother him to death with a pillow instead?"

Ah. "Har har. No. There was no violence of any kind. There was some yelling, at first, and I got the last word in-" "the most important part of any argument." "-because I screamed fuck you and then ran to my room but then... then he looked so sad about it. I even tried to a pick a fight, twice!-" "Yes, yes, your self-destructive tendencies." "-but Eddie really seemed upset by it all, which, he should. If he hadn't been a dick then I wouldn't be holding a grudge. But..."

"But you were also a dick back the rest of high school, so maybe the hurts can like... even out and go away?"

"Well, we didn't word it like that but that was the, like, ending we came to, yeah. Dustin was right. He's a dick, but like, in the same way I am, I guess."

Robin leans away from him so she can sway her body back, bumping her shoulder against his. "So, to summarize...?"

Steve shrugs. "We talked it out, I told him about Christopher and like, glossed over my parents leaving me alone all the time but I think he picked up on it. Especially after I told him your theory about why I was so attached to a cousin I saw for three to four weeks once a year."

"Hey, don't do that. Don't downplay how you're feeling or smack talk your own emotions. Those are my jobs and I'll not have you leaving me unemployed. Now come on. Let's lay down, and you can be the little spoon, and tell me all about it."

"You just don't want to see my ugly cry face."

"I don't want to see your ugly cry face," Robin parrots back as she clicks off the lamp before they lay down and do exactly as promised. Steve retells the whole night in as much detail as he can remember and Robin does spoon him, patting at his head and giving his stomach a little squeeze every time his voice goes watery.

Eddie left Steve's house with his entire worldview shifted. He hasn't felt this rocked about events since learning monsters were real. And the thing that has rocked him the most isn't learning that Steve had essentially been abandoned by his parents when he was fourteen, or even learning about the tangled web inside Steve that consists of his love for fantasy, curiosity for DnD, and grief for the loss of his cousin.

No, what has rocked Eddie, what worldview has shifted, is his perception of himself and how he has been viewing the world. Him and his fucking Munson Doctrine.

It had served him well, back when he'd first learned the word 'doctrine' in sixth grade and made his own then and there. It let him draw clean and clear lines between what hurts and what doesn't, what keeps him safe and what didn't. Befriend the lost sheep, avoid the jocks. Flight was the superior fight or flight response.

And he had made changes over the years; as a rule, don't tell the cops shit about anything, ever. Make yourself the target to help the little guy (if you're the weirdest kid in school, the others might get overlooked). Slash the tires of everyone who dunks your head in a toilet.

Those kinds of changes.

Around junior year, Eddie started selling because they needed a second income. He'd put in application around town, first, but hadn't received a single call back. Hell, four the places he applied straight up told him they wouldn't hire him so he could quit checking in on his application. He knew Reefer Rick wouldn't turn him away. Not when Eddie could get to the high-schoolers Rick knew would pay too much for too little a hell of a lot easier than Rick could.

It came with the added bonus of bullying ending for him, when the same people who used to shove him around or knock things out of his hands ended up wanting to buy some drug or another, and instead of finding Reefer Rick waiting at the picnic table in the trees out of view, they found Eddie.

This added a new point to the doctrine: charge jocks double. He'd held to that until Chrissy, who had seemed so much more like one of his sheep than a jock.

And, well, everything after Chrissy should have ended the Munson Doctrine completely. Because he'd used it to put people in nice, little boxes that made sense in his mind and that was fucking blown to pieces.

Nancy Wheeler, badass gun-owner who he watched make a sawed-off shotgun? She'd in a box labeled 'Priss, Prim, and Proper' and wasn't that a fucking lie.

Robin Buckley, who he knew withstood Russian torture and willing walked into Hell to save the world? He hadn't ever even given her a second thought. She wasn't a jock, a nerd, or a customer, so she just didn't really exist. Which is so shitty of him to realize.

And Steve. Steve fucking Harrington, who ripped a goddamn giant bat demon apart with his bare hands after biting it and then spit the blood out like every horror movie fans wet dream? Like Eddie's wet dream. Well, he'd been a real dick most of high school. That was a fair box to place him in, at the time.

But because of that goddamned Munson Doctrine, he'd been a dick to Steve first. He'd ruined any chance at even being Steve's friend.

Or he had, before tonight.

It's a really fucking humbling thing, to have your own biases thrown in your face. Don't get him wrong, at first it absolutely made him livid. It hurt, and made him defensive, when Steve didn't just accept his apology. He'd instead shot back, something about him not being wrong about who Steve turned out to be and then Steve... Steve had said 'lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math' and Eddie had felt his stomach drop.

He hadn't remembered that day, not nearly as clearly as Steve did, but Steve's words had brought the moment back to him. He couldn't recall exactly what he'd said but he remembered the feeling of satisfaction at humiliating Steve some random jock that day. Satisfaction at flipping the script and getting to be the one who wasn't hurt. He'd laughed at Steve with the other people who had gathered to watch Steve struggle to do simple addition. He'd retold the story to everyone in Hellfire after school and they'd all cheered about it, told Eddie he was right to do what he'd done.

What he remembers even more, though, is coming home to Wayne and bragging about it. Thinking of the responses he got from his friends. But Wayne didn't congratulate him. Wayne had nodded softly along with the story and then said, 'you can't be the one to hit first, Edward. You throw one to many punches and soon enough yer knuckles don't feel the pain anymore.'

Eddie had puffed up, defended himself, yelled at his uncle for defending a jock and Wayne had interrupted him there.

"He mighta been the jock, but you were the bully."

That had hurt almost as much as every punch his father had ever thrown at him. And did Eddie even learn from it?

No. He doesn't think so.

Eddie had a shit life until his Uncle stepped in, stepped up, and showed him that love was unconditional.

And he's just spent the whole evening learning about Steve, and how the love of his parents had always been conditional. (And never in a way Steve could achieve. Not that Steve had said their love was conditional, but you don't abandon a kid you love at fourteen.)

Steve's every decision until the Upside Down had happened was based on what his parents would think or want. Trying to earn his dad's respect or some shit.

Steve's dad might not have hit him, but Eddie knows an unloving father.

Jesus, all this thinking makes Eddie want a cigarette. He drags himself off his bed and to the window, which he yanks open and leans half out to smoke because this is a new trailer and Wayne asked him to smoke outside when they moved into it.

He left Steve's house feeling like they could be friends, which is great. Way more than Eddie expected. It was just also... a lot to process. A lot to take in.

Jesus. He'd never expected Steve to really be willing to play 20 questions to get to know him, either; that he was willing to set his grudge aside and try, even with his anger at Eddie wrapped up in grief for Christopher. Eddie wouldn't have been able to do it.

Not with his Doctrine in the way.

He doesn't need to change everything about himself, but he definitely needs a deep dive into who he is verses who he wants to be, or has thought himself to be. Steve admitted to bettering himself and Eddie wants to be a person worthy of being around Steve.

And being honest with himself in the quiet of his room, Eddie wants be a person worthy of being with Steve.

He's allowed to be a little delusional about it all, he thinks.

#steddie #my fic #what's eight plus seven? #a little pov flip so we can get some insight on Eddie

[jackie5656]

Compromise  With; Anthony Lockwood

A/N: An anon requested angst, and who would I be not to deliver? This one took a while, apologies for the wait. Thank you so much for all the recent love, it means so much. I hope you enjoy.

TW: Descriptions of injury, arguing, suicidal ideation(?), Lockwood being a self-absorbed prick :)

Summary: The one where you and Anthony are at odds, and there seems to be little room for reconciliation. 

Taglist: @sunshineangel-reads @fox-bee926 @helpmelmao @galactidiot  @soupsaurus @nekee-lilac02​ (Tagged ppl who seemed to like my last story, lmk if you want to be removed <3)

       Lockwood isn’t accustomed to your anger. 

Well...That’s not entirely true. You have a bit of a short fuse, sometimes. Accustomed to your occasional irritance, sure. He fancies teasing you, pushing your buttons for the sake of admiring the way your nose scrunches up, how you huff that ever-stubborn strand of hair from your vision. 

This, though. Whatever this is, it’s different. You’re practically seething as you search around the lamp-lit kitchen. Booming thunder and relentless London rain the only noise accompanying your movement. That and the boot shackled around your left foot, which thumps pitifully as you rummage the first aid kit. He feels like a disobedient child sat in the headmistress’ office. Ragged hair still damp from the rain after a grueling mission. One that’s left a nasty gash across his forearm, having been forced into a picture frame in the midst of fighting a vengeful type two. 

George and Lucy had long gone off to bed. A brisk debrief over a final cup of tea before slugging off to their respective bedrooms. Luckily, your bastard of a boyfriend had suffered the only injury. You’d missed all the action considering your current state, though that hadn’t ceased the fierce beating of your heart as you slumped into the seat in front him. Drawing the oil lamp nearer for better light as you motion for his arm. He obeys immediately, silently, face pulled with the kind of tension only present when he’s really worried. 

Good. You honestly hope he’s terrified. Serves him right. Your tense mood is not only due to his ailment, but the lingering frustration from your argument earlier in the evening. 

**************

“Absolutely not. You’re not coming along on any missions ‘til that boot is off.” 

“Anthony, I’ll be alright. I’ve been getting around the house just fine so far!” “You shouldn’t even be on it as much as have been.” He’s got the audacity to scoff, almost amused. “More stress will only make the healing process longer.” You cross your arms, looking toward your bag-clad friends for support. 

“We should check on the cab.” Lucy offers a tight-lipped smile as George nods, ushering her out the front door before you can direct your anger toward them.

“You said yourself this case is going to be especially touch sensitive. That the client reported how evasive the problem was. Sight and sound won’t be as useful.” 

“Precisely. Perfect that George is coming along, yes?” Your eyes narrow at his condescension, you’d grown tired of his babying ever since your incident two cases ago. It felt like ages since you’d been in the field. 

“George will be too preoccupied with all the evidence! I won��t even go further than a few feet from the threshold. Just let me get a feel of things so I can-” 

“I said no, y/n. It’s final.” 

“Says who?”

“Says the leader of this company.” You choke a laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. 

“Right, yes. The one who makes all the calls?” 

“Sounds about right.” His brown eyes narrow in challenge, frustrated you’re failing to understand he’s only trying to keep you safe. 

“Same one who made the call we go into the Hope residence without well-rounded research? The case we rushed into without enough information and it ended with me on house arrest?” It’s a low blow, undoubtedly. A twinge of wounded guilt flashes across his face before the venom seeps back in. Lump in his throat burning horribly before he swallows it to dissipation. 

“Same one who knows if things go South this time ‘round you’ll only slow us down.” Your stomach twists with the distaste in his tone, vision blurring with tears as he turns toward the door. Jumping as it slams shut and takes him with it. 

********

“Won’t need stitches.” You note simply, surveying the wound gently. He nods, shoulders straightening in preparation for the oncoming pain. “Still some glass debris, I’ll have to take it out.” He’s lucky, from what it looks like the gash could have been much worse. 

“I can manage it just fine on my own.” You bite your tongue. In the year’s biggest plot twist, Anthony Lockwood insists on suffering alone in lieu of his own pride. 

“You can’t. You’re not risking any more damage to the arm that wields your rapier. Just let me.” He doesn’t listen, of course. Pinching the tweezers in his grasp and looming forward to get a better look. Dizzying at the sight, he’s not strong enough to prohibit you from taking them back. Pushing at his shoulder so he’ll relax against the chair. 

It’s not your typical bedside manner. Usually when injuries happen its gentle touches and muttered sorries or other affections. Soft and kind. 

The intruding thought pulls Lockwood’s frown deeper. The throbbing in his arm practically minuscule to the war zone in his mind. It’s awful...He misses you and yet you’re a mere foot away. 

His fist clenches as the tweezers near his skin once more, hand taking hold of your wist to cease the uncontrollably trembling of your appendage.

“Love-”

“Shush, I can do it.” You take a deep breath. Wordlessly combatting your conflicting emotions with slow, calculated inhales. You’re an agent. You’ve trained for this. Though the textbooks help little with the patching up tactics when it’s someone you love, when you’re at such odds.

You approach again, steady this time. He sucks his teeth at the particularly intricate extractions, but remains still for you. You move with as much efficiency as possible. Trying to remove the person from the wound, just as the books suggest. Though it’s nearing impossible with his eyes trained on you. Trying to steal every thought from your mind as if they’re his own. 

When you’re applying sterile gauze after thorough disinfection, he finds the courage to speak. 

“Thank you.” He clears his throat after it falters...From emotion or lack of use, you aren’t sure. Doesn’t matter, honestly. You’re still keen on grilling him. 

“George said you followed it up the stairs without telling him and Luce.”

“I was in a hurry. Wouldn’t have found its’ source in time if I hadn't.” You don't event try to conceal the roll of your eyes. Anger sinking back in as you collect the wrappers on the table and toss them into the bin. 

“So you’re allowed to be reckless on the job as long as nobody else is?”

“Reckless. I’d argue, is an exaggeration.” 

“Exaggeration? Christ, you’re impossible.”

“Yeah?” He stands as you do, holding his wounded arm to his stomach as he leans against the counter. “How’s that?”

“You’re fine with breaking protocol so long as you’re the one doing it. Putting yourself at risk any chance you get without a second thought. It’s maddening!” 

“And how do you suppose you got yourself in that boot?”

“Not by beckoning death! Mine was an accident, Anthony. I swear, sometimes it’s like you want to get yourself killed!”

“You don’t-”

“No! I’m not finished.” You step toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest to accentuate your wrath. “You have people depending on you. People that care about you, love you to bits. And you’d rather spend the better half of missions taunting death than preventing it. If you wanted to be so fucking careless, you shouldn’t have made me fall in love with you. Now here we are, both vexed and in varying casts because of you can’t seem to understand the sanctity of your own life.”

He knew that much had been true. Lockwood would risk just about anything in a case so long as it granted him victory. Hadn’t that been in the fine print, though? Guaranteed in this line of work? So long as you were granted this talent, this curse, you had a responsibility to utilize it to the best of its ability.

“Sweetheart.” It’s strained, nearly a beg with the amount of exhaustion ridden in his tone. “We can continue this tomorrow. Let’s go to bed, please.”

“I can’t,” his knuckles go white with their grip on the cold countertop as you hurriedly wipe at your eyes. “I can’t go to bed angry with you.” 

“Then don’t.” He takes one, two careful strides toward you. Fingers pinching at your elbow in an attempt to satisfy the burning need to hold you. “Let’s forgive each other for the next seven hours. Then you can go on hating me, okay?” You huff a laugh, forehead instinctively pressing to his chest. He bathes in it as long as you’ll allow, pulling back seconds later and headed toward your room with him in tow.

********

Anthony’s eyes follow your frame as you approach the stove. Taking the cup of tea he’s prepared for you and taking your usual seat between him and George. He pushes your chair out with his foot to allow you easier access, nudging a plate of buttered toast your way. It’s not an apology, not even an olive branch. Lockwood simply refuses to cease these small acts of service no matter how angry you are with one another. It’s practically instinctual at this point, second nature. His brows furrow when you let out a relieved exhale once sat. Joining along your accomplices’ conversation about your ongoing case he’s drowned out momentarily in order to observe you.

“It hurts, doesn't it,” he unknowingly interrupts George’s spiel, “your foot.” 

“Only a bit. Just this morning.” It’s a meek defense. An evident dismissal so as not to prove his bench-warming call the right one. 

“You’ve been on it too much.” 

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not. And if you had just listened-”

“Are we really starting this up again, right here?” Your eyes bore daggers into his frame. Doing your best to conceal your rage in leui of your dear bystanders beside you. Theres a few beats of silence, a moment of peace before the sorry fuck plates the nail in the coffin.

 “George, any word of upcoming cases? The sooner we leave for the day, the better.” Your chair scrapes against the hardwood as soon as he’s finished, silverware trembling as you force yourself upward. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” It’s practically a whisper, ridden with rage and overwhelming upset. His brown eyes meet yours, cold and distant. Completely unfamiliar. 

“So you like to think.” He quips, eyes following your form as you exit the kitchen twice as quick as you came in. There’s silence again, impossibly more awkward than before. 

“Dick move, Lockwood.”

“Stay out of it, Luce.”

“She’s right. Real dickish move there.” 

“George-”

“Right. Staying out of it.” 

*******

Lockwood prides himself for a lot of things. Communication, definitively, has never been one of them. 

How’s he supposed to explain it’s easier to put himself in front of the all the danger you face? That the rest of you need each other much more than you need him. 

That he’d rather die than lose someone again. 

He’s quiet as he creeps in, the usual love-lorn quip forgotten as he enters your shared bedroom. You’d been laying in bed, had been since breakfast. You weren’t usually one to sulk, but you were still in pain and definitely still angry. At your boyfriend, this damned boot, the world. 

“Word is your boyfriend’s been a right prick, lately. I’m hoping this can be my opportunity to stake my claim. If you’re cutting him out, that is.” He’s kneeling at the bedside, chin pressing into his forearms as he supports his head. You can feel his heat from here, hate how it weakens your cold resolve. His fingertip traces the skin on your back where your shirts ridden up, a ghost of a small passing his lips when you shudder. You’re pulling up the duvet, ceasing his touch while a trace of you wishes it hadn’t. 

You can’t see any hint of amusement leave his features. The dim of his eyes and the stutter of his heart. He swallows, subconsciously shuffling nearer. The need to be close growing tenfold. 

“Lovely, will you look at me?” Lockwood can’t help but cringe at how desperate it sounds. Whispered, rushed, fragile. Every indication he cares much more than he’s used to. 

He almost wishes he had’t asked. Dread consuming him when you turn to face him, tear stained cheeks and blotchy eyes. Lashes stuck together with moisture, blinking slow and strained. “Darling.” Is all he can manage, wounded and hushed. It makes you want to cry even more. 

“Why can’t you see I’m worried about you?” You croak out, voice strained and scratchy. His knuckles brush the moisture from under your eyes, brows furrowed with an expression you can’t quite read. 

“I do.” He wets his lips, “I see that.” An implication of I see you and I’m sorry. He’s never been good at apologies, but this time you need one. You need something, anything more than the breadcrumbs he drops. The urge to invite him in plagues your mind, broken expression tugging at your heart strings. You know better than to brush this one off, it’ll only have the same conflict arising again and lead to resentment. The realization reforms the burning lump in your throat, vision blurring with fresh tears. 

“I just-we need space.” Don’t we? Lockwood rears back, mustering up resolve he doesn’t have. You don’t mean indefinitely, you don’t mean a breakup, he knows that. Doesn’t make the words burn any less. 

“Okay, fine then.” If that’s what you really want.

He’s grabbing the dog-eared magazine at your bedside before you can say anything else. He hesitates at the door knob, begging to force himself to turn around and plead. Anthony Lockwood’s ego is somewhere near the sun, but its no match for how he feels about you. 

*******

You know when you suddenly become conscious of blinking? And it starts to feel a little odd, manual instead of automatic? You can almost forget what it was like to not have to consciously do it...

Breathing is kind of like that too

At least, that’s what Lockwood thinks when he’s sure he’s suffocating. 

His heart thrums so roughly against his chest he’s sure it’ll burst. He wonders who’d find him, huddled in the corner of the library. Cold and lifeless. He must be trembling, it feels as though the whole ground is vibrating, or-sinking. Swallowing him entirely. 

Then there was the pounding. His head, yes. There’s a dull throbbing at the base of his skull. But this is different. A rhythmic thumping approaching. Closing in on him, eager to push him into the sinking floor to meet his imminent demise. 

You’re in the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, eyes trained on the tap filling up your glass. The bed feels empty without him. And sure, you’d probably sent a clear ‘fuck off to the couch’ message with your latest conversation...But it hadn’t made falling asleep without him any easier. 

You’re taking a deep breath in, preparing for a right pitiful sigh when you hear it. Some sort of squeaking. Your head cocks to the side, discarding the glass in search of its origin. Surely one of the sources wasn’t acting up, that’d be right terrifying when you’re alone. It leads you toward the study, louder and more frequent as you draw closer. 

It’s when you cross the threshold do you see him. Tall frame curled into the corner as hiccuped gasps rack his frame. 

He scoots impossibly closer to the wall as you approach. Dropping to your knees and lifting his face to study him. A foreign sheen of panic clouds over his eyes, sending your stomach turning. 

“Anthony, it’s me. I’m here, I’m right here.” 

You’ve coached him through as many panic attacks as he’s allowed throughout the years. The first time, in academy, you were sure he was choking. A plate of biscuits strewn over the floor as he gasped for breath. 

They’re unpredictable, no matter how many times you’ve handled them. He needs something different almost every time to snap him out of it. Though it’s mostly physical touch. 

“C-cant breathe.” Your boot thumps as you draw closer, eliciting another wince from him. Clutching into the fabric of his shirt as if trying to pull it free. You undo his tie and the first couple buttons, grabbing at the sides of his face in a desperate attempt to get him to focus on you. 

“Anthony please, listen to me. I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it you just push at me, alright?” A curt, gasping nod in understanding before you’re enveloping him in an embrace. Squeezing so tight you can feel his panicked heart thrumming against your chest. It makes you want to cry and scream and hold him even tighter. Willing his pain away with all of your might. 

It’s not working this time ‘round. He can’t seem to collect himself despite your efforts. You pull away, fearing your persistence will only send him further spiraling. But he’s tugging you to him again. Arms tight around your waist as he buries himself into your neck. 

“Dont. D-don’t go. Don’t leave.” The usual cool and collected tone is manipulated to something unrecognizable. Rasped and unsure. 

It’s then you remember the look in his eyes when you’d dismissed him. The abandonment he’s feared his entire life. The little boy who forced himself to stay awake all those lonely nights, just in case he heard the lock turn and the front door open to bring them home. His adamant refusal to ignore your connection for years in lieu of protecting his broken heart. 

“Hey, look at me.” You’re pulling him back by the sides of his hide, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Lockwood, I’m not going anywhere. Doesn’t matter how angry I am,” you wince when he hiccups a sob. “Doesn’t matter how much you try to push me away.” He shakes his head, something short of a disbelieving chuckle passing his trembling lips. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. With you, always. You understand?” He manages to nod, an inkling of solace flashing across his form.

“Just breathe, Anthony. In…and hold…and out” 

Your words sound a mantra in his mind. Your scent flooding his senses, skin on his bringing him back to reality. A morsel of relief prodding its way in as you caress the sides of his face and up into his hair. 

“I’m sorry.” He swallows, focusing on formulating the words. “I know I haven’t said it. Never say it enough.” Shaky arms wrap tighter around your waist, keeping you close. Afraid you’ll disappear despite your affirmations. 

“Consider yourself forgiven.” You bite back a smile when the tension unknowingly spills out of his body. Frame drooping with undoubted relief at the simple words. “I love you. Even when you’re a right prick.” 

“I know.” He pulls you so you’re between his legs. Your back against his bent appendage and your own pair over his other outstretched one. Right side of your body pressing against his chest. You try to push away, unable to fight his affections off despite his weakened state. 

“See? Right prick, you are.” 

“Shush. You know bloody well I love you.” He presses a kiss to your temple, smoothing over your hair and gaging your reaction. Still catching his breath from before. “I know I don’t say that enough either.” He’s quiet then, brown eyes looking to yours with such sincerity your breath catches in your throat. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.” 

“That’s sort of what I’m afraid of, if you don’t recall.” You’re both solemn then. Your fingers intertwining with his in a familiar dance. He can only hum, swallowing thickly. 

“What if,” his eyes rake your frame. Studying you again. “What if you came along the next assignment?” You light up at that, searching his features for jest. 

“Really?”

“Just outside. Making sure we’re all alright. And I don’t go off getting myself killed.”

“But-” 

“Dove.” The nobility in his tone finds him again. A subtle warning. “This is me. Anthony Lockwood, attempting a compromise.” You bite back an abashed smile at his raised brows, urging surrender. 

“Noted.” You fiddle with the cool, silver ring adorning his index finger. “I get to select the case, then.”

“Alright.” 

“And I get to intervene if things go South.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Figured that was ambitious.” 

<Masterlist>

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[gracie-gloom]

Yule Ball with a Slytherin?

George Weasley x Slytherin reader

The Yule Ball is coming up and you finally build up the courage to ask George to be your date but it doesn't go exactly as you'd imagine.

(This isn't set in a certain year, I just liked the Yule Ball prompt! I had to put this into words bc I couldn't stop thinking about it ;-; enjoy!)

Quidditch practice-

"There's that Slytherin again, she's been watching all our practices for what, almost 2 weeks now?" said Ron.

You sat on the bleachers nervously as the Gryffindor team were clearing the fields,

"Yeah.. at least she just watches quietly, unlike those gits over there," Fred added, pointing to Malfoy and his goons.

Your heart began beating faster, the Yule Ball was tomorrow night and you still hadn't managed to ask George to be your date. If I don't ask him now I'm gonna regret this for a long while, c'mon y/n just do it!!

"George? Could I talk to you for a minute?"

The other team members looked at him with raised brows and side eyes before walking on ahead, "Don't tell her any of our Quidditch tricks!" Ron yelled before walking off.

As George approached you, your eyes widened a bit at how he towered over you,

Have I ever been this close to him? Just breathe....

"Yes?" George said in a bored voice,

"I uhm.. I was wondering if you're going to the Yule Ball tomorrow night?"

"Yes I am."

"Have you got a date by any chance?"

"I haven't."

"Would you like to go with me?"

He paused, looking you up and down with a semi-judgmental stare, "With a Slytherin? I'd rather not." He replied and walked off to join the others inside.

How long you continued to stand on the field, you weren't sure, everyone had cleared out and the sky was darkening. George felt bad, but he considered it in his best interest to keep the two houses separate, but he did think you were awfully pretty, and quite sweet for a Slytherin.

The Owlery-

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," George was roaming through the halls, deciding to sneak into the kitchen to get some desserts when he saw your name pop up on his Marauder's Map.

"What's y/n doing in the kitchen.. didn't think those folk knew about the secret passage ways," George mumbled to himself. Almost running into you, he hid behind a pillar and observed.

You were running out of the kitchen passage holding a sack filled with an arrangement of nuts, dried meats and dried fruits. Checking both ways to see there was no one in the hall, you made a run for the Owlery.

Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to see what she's up to, I wasn't that hungry anyways.

"Nevermore? Nevermore!" sitting down with a sigh, you wondered where your owl had gone off to, "Nevermore, are you still out delivering?" You then felt a small gust of wind and turned to see your owl, looking curiously at the sack you were holding.

"I brought these for you, figured you wanted some snacks," you said patting her head.

"Anyways.. remember how I told you I was going to ask George Weasley to the Yule ball? Well.. I did."

At this, Nevermore flew in circles and gave a few small hoots,

"Oh don't get so excited, it went horribly! He looked at me, all disgusted, and goes 'With a Slytherin? I'd rather not' ugh, who can blame him?"

"I say that stupid hat was playing a trick on me all those years ago, putting me in this house, I'm the least Slytherin-like Slytherin there is. All my close friends are in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, my house only accept me because they feel that they have to.

But the way Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle treat George and his friends, it's just awful, they're the ones who give us a bad rep!

And before you ask, yes! A few boys did ask me to the dance, and I said no. This will most likely be the only dance we ever get at Hogwarts, and I wanted to go with someone I really liked.." tears began to roll down your face now, "It's not just the rejection, I'm just... tired of being misunderstood. I'm such a fool I never should have asked him."

Now George felt terrible, as he sat in the shadows of the Owlery, he didn't dislike you, not even a bit.

"Well, depending on how miserable my night is tomorrow, you might see me after the dance Nevermore. Security will be low, the day after is winter break so people will be going home, I'm sure no one will notice if I'm not in my dorm at curfew."

You gave your owl a quick kiss before running off to your room.

Potions-

"Is that the time!" getting out of bed as quickly as you could, you ran down to your first class, Potions, with Snape, you weren't extremely late but it was in your best interest not to make him angry.

"Y/n, you're late."

"I'm sorry Professor Snape, I.. had a bit of a late night...."

"Preparing for the Yule Ball tonight I presume, and I expect to see you all there in your best robes and gowns," Snape said with a forced smile.

"Sit down. Unfortunately the only seat left is with the Gryffindors."

"It's fine," you muttered, quickly taking a seat across from George, next to him was Fred, and next to you was a timid Gryffindor boy name Alec, quite like an older version of Neville Longbottom in your eyes. The 4 of you sat along with the rest of the class in silence as Snape explained what today's Potion was.

"Felix Felicis. As you should all know it's a very difficult potion to make and it takes even longer to brew than to perfect so with that I leave you with this," Snape said and tapped the board, leaving instructions upon it.

Quickly getting to work, you avoided eye contact with George as much as you could. Stealing a glance every now and then, and quickly looking away as he somehow was always staring at you already.

"Hey y/n, you going to the Ball tonight?" a boy in the year above had sneaked into Potions to ask you to be his date.

"Yeah I'm going," you said with a slight smile.

"Would you like to be m-" then, he looked troubled, like he'd just forgotten something really important and ran out of the class.

Okay.... interesting. You thought to yourself, but continued on with your work.

(George put a spell on the boy to get him to leave)

With 30 minutes left of class, Alec was struggling immensely with his potion, and since you were quite good at potions you helped him finish just in the nick of time. Alec was almost scared of you at first, but very quickly warmed up,

"Put your cauldrons to the side, they will stew and brew for the next 6 months." Snape said plainly.

"Oh Godric I made such a mess I'm gonna be late to Flitwick's!" Alec said with despair.

"It's fine, leave it, my next class is just next door I can finish cleaning up, go," you said to Alec with a sincere look.

"Thankyou thankyou thankyou! You're really nice, for being, you know.." he said with a timid look, pointing at the snake on your robe then running out to his next class. You laughed a bit to yourself.

"Y/n," you heard someone call right as you left Snape's classroom, turning around you saw it was George.

"Oh, uhh hi George," you said with an awkward look, almost like you were scared of him.

"Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday,"

"Oh! It's okay, really, I would have said the same thing.. I'm not mad so don't worry okay?" you said with a smile and turned back around,

"y/n," George said again, this time grabbing your hand and when you spun back around you were almost right against him. Eyes widening at the sight of him holding your hand.

"Will you please be my date to the Yule Ball tonight y/n? It'd make me really happy," George said smiling.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive," he said, bringing up his free hand so now both of his were wrapped around yours.

"I.. yeah! I'd really like that," blushing hard, you could barely look at him, and smiled at the ground.

"I'll meet you in the Slytherin hall at 6:15 then?" (The Ball started at 6:30pm)

"I'll see you there," you said happily, the two of you went off your separate ways for now.

The Yule Ball-

The halls were filled with people talking and laughing, music playing, clinking of glasses and dishes. Hogwarts was always beautiful at Christmas but with the additional touches for the Dance it was like nothing you've ever seen before. Stepping out of the Slytherin hall, you saw George waiting for you, and boy, did he look good. trying to suppress your smile as you walked up to him.

"You look really beautiful tonight y/n," George said with a big grin, "shall we?"

"Thank you, you look quite handsome yourself" you said shyly, taking hold of his arm as he held it out for you.

The hours of the night passed quickly, you got on quite well with Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred and Ginny to your surprise. Luna had probably vouched for you somewhat as you and her were good friends. The lot of you sat around eating, talking, drinking, laughing, they were kind to you and for a moment you had felt like you forgot which house you belonged in. Ron and Harry cracked tons of jokes with you which made you feel at ease, worried they would be the most hostile towards you. George had all his attention on you throughout the night, he didn't want you to feel left out, not that it seemed to be happening, but you were his date and he wanted this to be a good memory for the both of you. No one had questioned how you and George came about coming to the dance together, you were thankful for that.

Before the night came to an end, they had a slow dance sequence to settle things down, you stared at the other couples dancing with a longing expression.

"We should dance shouldn't we?" George said, gently taking hold of your hand and pulling you from your chair, you gave him a sweet smile and headed to the floor with him.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, while your hands were wrapped around his neck, your bodies almost touching, you considered if you should close the gap but your heart was pounding out of its chest at this point, you were so close to him already..

There were 7 slow dance songs to go through before the night ended, halfway through the second your head was pressed against his chest, closing your eyes for a moment, you felt one of George's hands come up, stroking your hair ever so lightly as the two of you continued to sway to the music. It felt like a dream, you felt safe in his arms, and happier than ever. But when the last song came, you wore a solemn look on your face, some people started leaving the dance already. (A few students were heading home for winter break right after the Dance)

As students and teachers headed back to their rooms and halls, you and George sat together watching them, still hand in hand, seated on a fine couch in the middle of one of the grand halls. There was a full moon out, and the night sky was breathtaking.

"Is everything alright? You look.. a bit sad," George said with a worried expression,

"I'm alright, I just wish the night would keep going, but all great things must come to an end at last... I had a really good time tonight George, thank you.. for going with me," you said with a sad smile.

"I had a really great time with you too y/n, but it's nothing to get upset over, I'm sure we've got plenty more memories ahead of us!"

"You.. you still want to hangout with me?"

"Well, of course I do," George said smiling at you.

Your heart skipped a beat, maybe this could lead somewhere you hadn't expected it to, you weren't complaining though. You have had a crush on him for some time now.

"I heard you're staying at Hogwarts for winter break too? Why don't we go to Hogsmeade together tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'd really like that," you said, giving George's hand a squeeze.

It was almost past midnight now and the two of you decided to head off to your dorms, but not before George pulled you into a hug, mumbled something about how wonderful you were, while kissing you softly.

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