#the keeper's replies ( answered asks )

[infinitcnexus]

Vikareus' Top 10 Games of All Time (in no particular order)

Yakuza 0

Baldur's Gate 3

Divinity: Original Sin 2

Cyberpunk 2077

Banishers: Ghosts of New Eden

Zenless Zone Zero

Shadowrun: Hong Kong

SIGNALIS

Back to the Dawn

Brok the InvestiGator

Tagged by: @redemptioninchaos

Tagging: @mindmxtters @samu-sa-no-okami

[batterygarden]

can you help me, sensei?

contents: alpha! satoru gojo x omega! gn & afab reader. taboo dynamics (you used to be jujutsu tech student, he was/is a mentor figure), age gap, a/b/o, p in v sex with knotting and heat, manhandling (he’s strong), mult orgasms, gojo is bigger than u, barely there exhibitionism bc his house keepers are home, pet names, 1.8 k words

a/n: my contribution for @lorelune ‘s spring fever collab! ^_^ thanks for hosting <3 <3 <3

18+, minors dni please

Satoru’s sitting in his home office answering emails when you knock on his door, flooding the room with a certain tell-tale sugary fragrance the moment you step inside. Satoru sighs. You’ve only been staying with him two short days. This is what he gets for helping an ex-student in need, ignoring Nanami’s warnings about ‘sharing a space with an omega’.

“Hey bunny,” Satoru speaks slowly, eventually halting his typing when he looks up at you. “Something wrong?” (He knows what’s wrong. He knows that you know he knows. He’s buying himself time to reckon with it.)

“Uhm yes actually—” he feels a prick of guilt for asking. You’ll struggle to say it. “---I, uh, made a mistake.”

You inch your way closer, skittish but needy. Like he’s a stranger with food in his palms. Maybe that’s a generous comparison—Gojo can’t possibly come off that inviting. Maybe it’s as if he’s some murderous beast sleeping in a field of berries, and you’re starving. He needs to work on his analogies.

He scoots his chair away from his desk when you make your way around it, turning to face you with spread legs, inviting you in because he can’t help but want to. Your smell is so strong his mouth is watering.

“You’re in heat,” he says matter-of-factly. You flinch from your halted distance of a yard away.

“I need help.”

“Thought you were on suppressants.”

“I am! I mean—I thought I was! I’m starting to—ngh,” He watches you rub your thighs together. “---think they were expired or something.”

“‘s that so…” Gojo thumbs at the edge of his blindfold, prolonging the inevitable. This is a bother.

You nod frantically, your expression pained. Desperate and pleading like maybe you really are starving.

Gojo is mad, somewhere. He should be, at least. Any logic is forgotten with the clean air he breathed before your dramatic entrance, though.

This is Satoru Gojo’s first time feeling the true pull of his instincts. They rid him of his renowned self control—a lifetime of careful barriers and walls and techniques, wiped away by his cock and your fucking pheromones. It should be laughable.

But the instincts rob him of humor, too.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is soft without trying—he’s genuinely concerned. You’re helpless, his insides are screaming—he needs to do something.

Your eyes turn glassy when you nod, and Satoru has to grapple with the way it feels like the world will end if they spill over. Or worse, maybe he’d get even hornier.

He shushes you, pulling you into his lap carefully, like your limbs are held together with school glue, gently tugging till you straddle him.

“You poor thing. So needy huh?”

Your answering pout makes his cock twitch.

“Need an alpha to fill you up?” He says it so soft, it’s like a lulluby.

He doesn’t expect your quiet temperament to reply, but you do. “Yes, please, alpha—sensei, I really need it.”

That’s all he can take before he’s rubbing his face into your neck, inhaling and licking at the sweetness there before he bites, leaving a permanent mark, relishing in your whines while a warm hand slots between your legs.

And just like that, you’re being mated with Satoru Gojo. A teacher from school that taught the other students in your grade while you were busy healing with shoko. The strongest man alive, your sponsor who agreed to house you briefly between moves, an enigma more than a man (and one you don’t even truly know, at that). Just sitting on his lap like this is far more intimate than the two of you have ever come infinitesimally close to being—exchanging small talk and a few mentor-related words of advice was the prior extent of the relationship. There were pet names, sure—but you’ve come to find those were on par for Gojo Sensei’s personality.

Now he’s got teeth in the skin of your throat while his fingers trace right through the center of you, only a thin layer of shorts in the way. You buck automatically, openly desperate, whining when that isn’t enough.

“you poor baby—“ sensei hums, his lips against your pulse. His tone is patronizing, but it soothes you regardless. “It’ll be okay. Gonna make you feel better.”

He speaks against your jaw now, dotting kisses wherever he moves while the sorry excuse for shorts you wear are pulled to the side, your panties with them, so he can really trace you.

Though they aren’t what you truly need, Gojo’s big fingers sate your ache in a way you couldn’t yourself—your body seems to mellow at the touch of an alpha, like it knows you’ll be taken care of now that he’s here.

Instincts less frantic, your sighed please alpha comes slow and heavy as he pushes two fingers inside of you, almost testingly. It’s slow—bordering agonizing—but you wouldn’t put it past gojo sensei to mess with you, even at a time like this.

Your slick floods his fingers at that small action, a whine and a buck of your hips accompanying, and satoru lets out an amused sigh.

You’re preparing to beg for him, plead to stop the teasing, but then… you’re on his cock before you can take another breath.

The relief is unparalleled. One minute he was dipping fingers into your entrance, slow and deceptively gentle before the next he was spreading your juices over his freed cock, pulling you onto him like he’d done it a million times. You suppose the familiarity is from those very instincts that brought you here—your chest practically sings now that they’re sated.

And so do you—you can’t control the cry you let out when he finally stretches you, feeling every ridge and vein of his heavy cock deep inside your tummy just where you’ve been needing him.

“That’s it, little lovie. You’re okay—hah!”

You’ve never heard sensei gasp the way he does when you roll your hips over his. It’s a strained, weak sound—the kind you’ve never known alphas to make.

He digs wide hands into the squish of your waist. “You’re tight.” His voice speaks directly into your ear as he tucks you into his chest then, scooting back into his trusty (thankfully armless) rolling chair so he can plant his feet and sink you down even closer. He makes light work of guiding your hips, the strength of the strongest shining through as he manhandles you up and down his length like you’re a doll.

And you feel like you’ve got the autonomy of one in his hands—his cock inside your tummy seems to hollow out your thoughts while your legs turn weak beneath you. Your arms remain to cling though, wrapping tight around sensei’s shoulders through your first release on his cock. The warm waves of it shock your system, and you cry out for your alpha when it hits you before he captures your lips in his.

Kissing satoru gojo is different from all your past experiences kissing. This one is so gooey and sweet it’s gross—the spearmint taste of his mouth reminding you just who it is you’re mating with. You flash back to Gojo dropping by to bug your sensei during your apprenticeship—dwelling on the way he’d talk to you like some silly kid. He’d always invade your personal space to tease you for no reason but to see you flustered, not that he needed to—you’d fluster easy just from his handsome alpha proximity, the minty smell of his breath.

It’s gross that such a mature mentor figure’s got you clamping hard on his cock now, tongue deep in your mouth to dull the sound of your whines.

But the disgusting nature of it all has you cumming in buckets—squelching on your sensei’s girth with every pump he guides you through.

You’re barely collecting your senses and drifting back to earth with Satoru pulls you off him, chuckling at the delayed clinging you react with. Of course you’re not strong enough to hold your body to his when he’s rearranging you—as much as you try—you have no choice but to get stripped and molded over Gojo’s fancy mahogany desk how he wants.

You’re still disoriented when he enters you again from behind, shoving himself deep deep deep till you’re so full you feel like choking from the stuffed feeling. It’s almost overstimulating when you just came so intensely, but the feel of your alpha splitting you still pleases your inner omega. More than that, you’re delighted.

“A-ahh! A-alpha—“

You can barely get out a word through his heavy thrusting, merciless and rhythmic.

“What is it, sweetheart? ‘S it feel good?”

Gojo digs thumbs beneath your shirt while he speaks, his anchoring grip around your sides surely leaving bruises. Not that you even notice how tight it’s become—all you have the sense for is his cock.

“Yes alpha! Th-thank you!,”

Gojo fucks you through orgasm after orgasm like that, till every pound against your flesh is wet and sticky.

It’s loud too, and, if you were in your right mind, you might worry about the fact that Gojo’s house keepers haven’t even left for the night yet.

You’ve lost track of your orgasms by the time sensei’s pace begins to show, his massive knot catching in your tight folds till he’s stuck deep inside you, while rope after rope of warm cum pumps you full. You finally feel that fever of yours beginning to fade once you’re flooded like that, coming out of your craze only to be met with exhaustion.

Of course you aren’t really done, sensei’s still connected to you with his knot, you can feel its delicious thickness where your body craved it most when you move your hips to go limp on sensei’s desk. You can feel the flood of his hot cum still streaming into you.

Satoru is panting for the first time in your memory, rubbing the soft skin of your hips while he recuperates before murmuring your name.

Then, “still breathin’, bunny?”

You make a little noise, nodding your head with immense effort, letting your eyes droop.

Only to open again when satoru lifts you with an arm beneath your chest, pulling you back till you’re both seated in his office chair. This way you’re still connected with you on his lap, cum still spurting into your womb.

He fishes your shorts from the ground, then, only to mop up your mess on his table, though truthfully most of it was still on each of your thighs.

At least with his table cleared he can move his desktop closer and finish those mission reports he had left—the solo ones he couldn’t pawn off.

You’re in a half conscious state around Gojo’s cock, breathing somewhat evened out with closed eyes, so gojo leans you carefully against his chest, with an arm on either side so he can type. Sure, the stuff on his computer was technically confidential, but you likely wouldn’t be alert for a while. And even if you were, did the whole classified document rule even apply to you anymore? It’s not like anyone could ask him to keep a secret from you, not now—not when you’re mated.

[d4yl1ghts]

welcome to the glade

minho x shy, fem!reader

summary: you struggle with adapting to the glade especially with being the only girl but a shank with great hair helps you out

-

Abruptly, your eyes flickered opened as you took in your surroundings. You were in a rusty metal elevator with some sort of animal in you assumed from the noises you could hear somewhere beside you. Your breathing picked up as you had no clue where you were or why you were here. Tears pricked your eyes. You closed your eyes as you tried to wash them away. You took some deep breaths as silent tears trickled down your cheeks.

Bang. The elevator or whatever it was had hit something.

The roof of the box opened and you hastily shut your eyes as sunlight reached them. Whilst your eyes slowly adjusted to the light, you noticed about fifty adolescent boys staring down at you. You backed up into a corner, wanting to hide from the unwanted attention. Thud. You slowly glanced up and saw an older boy watching you curiously.

He had sticky-up black hair that was perfectly styled. You didn’t know how it looked like that… surely they wouldn’t have hair products here. You gazed at his toned muscles and finally his well-structured face. He was so pretty. You fought to hide the blush creeping up your face.

He dropped down to his knees gracefully. “Hey.”, he whispered cautiously to you. You simply stared at him. “You need to get out of here. I promise it’s way nicer out there than in here. Well… except for the annoying teenage boys.”, he stated playfully. He held out his hand for you to take. You grabbed his hand as he hoisted you up and helped you out of the metal box.

Once you were out, you quickly looked around at the field and you couldn’t help but stare at the boundless walls that seemed to cover the whole community. You then realised all the boys were looking you up and down like a hungry predator and you kept your eyes to the ground. The boy in front of you glared at the others who were looking at you.

You’d come to a halt. An older looking guy walked up to you with a hint of confusion set in his eyes. “A girl?”, he asked to the boy beside you. “Yeah, there wasn’t a note or anything.”, he responded. “Hmm, okay.”, he replied. “I’m Alby and I’m the leader around here and that’s Minho.”, he paused as he pointed next to you. “He’s the keeper of the runners.”, he added. You didn’t know what a ‘runner’ was but you just nodded your head along anyway.

“Minho, you can go now, I’ll show her around.”, he dismissed Minho. The young man named Alby guided you around the ‘Glade’ was what he had said it was called. You found out that for now you’d be sleeping in your own room away from all the boys. You were happy about that at least. He’d also mentioned that everyone here had a job today and tomorrow you’d be starting your trials to see which one you’d be the best at.

That was yesterday. You were currently gardening with a sweet boy named ‘Newt’. You had been worried about starting the job but it turned out that your mind was making it seem worse than it was.

Before long, Minho walked towards you both and called you over for lunch. You sat next to Minho as he was probably the person you had talked to the most except for Alby. “How was being a track-hoe?”, he asked. “It was okay.”, you simply stated. He gazed at you. “Do you know what job you’re trialing tomorrow?”, he questioned softly. “Mhm, I’m going to cook tomorrow.”, you answered. “Cool.”, he said in response.

“What job do you have? A runner, was it? What’s that?”, you asked as you suddenly remembered. “I don’t think I’m meant to tell you this yet but what they don’t know can’t hurt.”, he paused. “Have you noticed the massive walls? Well, of course you have, who hasn’t?”, he chuckled lowly. You nodded. “There’s a maze out there and it’s my job to run into it every day and try to find a way out of here.”, he stated with a proud look on his face.

“There’s a maze?”, you repeated in shock. “Mhm. My job is pretty dangerous but I’m quite strong and fast so I’m fine.”, he said cockily. Your cheeks blazed. “You’re very quiet.”, he observed. This caused your cheeks to set on fire. “I know.”, you muttered. “I like it though. I need someone to talk to and just have them listen.”, he confessed honestly.

[heich0e]

"i won't be able to see you for a while."

the tokyo streets slip past outside your window, but your eyes aren't quite following the scenery. you feel a little dizzy thanks to the wine satoru kept pouring over dinner—filling only your glass, as usual. it was a vintage you could never have dreamed you'd get the chance to taste only a few short months ago; a luxury so distant that you'd never once even thought about what it might be like to try. now it lingers on your tongue, stains your lips slightly, feels familiar in ways you still struggle to reckon with.

you tilt your face towards the man sitting beside you in the back of the car that's taking you home.

"a while?" you ask him curiously, though that's perhaps not the most important query.

satoru hums, smiling a little to himself as his fingers press against the pulse point on your wrist. he's been toying with your hand ever since you left the restaurant, but you've hardly paid it any notice.

satoru's touch used to be limited to the spectacle. his hands only reaching out for you when someone was there to witness it. at one time, satoru would have changed cars before his driver took you home. at one time, he would have dropped your hand the moment the door shut behind you. but he doesn't now.

you've grown strangely used to this, too.

"are you going away for work again?" you ask him when he offers no further elaboration. it's not that you're particularly concerned with where he's going, or why, or for how long. satoru's life always has been, and always will be, solely his own. you're no more his keeper than you are his true fiancée—and the funds that will be deposited into your bank account by the time you make it home this evening are testament to that truth.

but you ask because it feels like the natural thing to do.

though very little about anything you do with satoru ought to be considered natural.

"no," the blonde answers, with that troublesome lilt of mirth in his voice that always seems to precede something unpleasant. you don't ask any more questions in an attempt to ward it off.

soon you reach your destination, the rest of the car ride spent in silence after your brief but relatively benign exchange earlier in the drive. you glance out through the window towards your apartment—a building so utterly unremarkable that the sumptuous interior of the restaurant you visited that evening feels palatial by comparison.

satoru's not allowed to walk you to your door anymore. his harsh, obnoxiously unfiltered criticism of your building—of your home—each time he so much as caught a glimpse of the interior had grown so grating, you'd barred him from entering any further than the entrance to the lobby.

instead, his assistant nanami is the one who silently escorts you to your unit door each night, at satoru's unyielding insistence. he'd been surprisingly terse about it when you'd initially attempted to dissuade him, reminding him (more than once) that you make the walk to your own door every day alone and have thus far lived to tell the tale. but the options he firmly presented in reply—the only two you knew you had to choose from—were either to be escorted by nanami, or let him walk you there himself. you knew that there would be no reasoning with him otherwise, sensed it in the way he held you so fixedly in his stare that day, so you chose nanami.

now each night after satoru accompanies you on the ride home after your engagements, his stoic, well-mannered assistant dips in a polite bow at your door and wishes you goodnight before departing once he knows you've made it safely inside.

behind the wheel up front, nanami slips out from his seat, exiting the vehicle and coming around to your door to open it and let you out. the door cracks open as he pulls the handle, but all of the sudden it comes clacking closed again.

satoru is leaning over you—his weight, his warmth, the sheer breadth of him a little staggering from this close up, especially so unexpectedly—holding the door firmly shut by the handle. he stares at you down the bridge of his nose, unblinking.

"i'll see you... when i see you," you breathe out, surprisingly meek, as you sit frozen in your seat beneath him.

satoru says nothing, just watches you curiously. there's a glimmer of something that swims behind his eyes—that look he gets where you can't help but be reminded of a child playing with a new toy—that makes you shift nervously.

"you really don't want to know?" he asks you, and he's so close you can almost taste the words on his lips.

this is too near, even by his peculiar standards. satoru's hand is still wrapped tightly around the door handle to keep it closed. his body pinning you into the corner of the backseat.

you can't help but feel on edge when you're trapped like this with nowhere else to go.

"know what?" you ask him. your head is still spinning from the wine, but it's almost worse now. maybe it's only just really beginning to hit your bloodstream.

"where i'm going," satoru goads, "how long i'll be gone."

you swallow thickly. "that's none of my business."

"of course it is," satoru replies, feigning hurt. "we're engaged. it's a fiancés right to know where their partner is and what they're doing, any time they'd like."

your brow pinches in confusion. you have no interest in knowing those kinds of things, much less feel any right to know them, given the circumstances. your bewilderment leaves you at a loss for words.

"my rut's coming, you see," satoru explains, his lashes fluttering softly as he says it. it wouldn't feel so strange if his lip weren't curling up in a smirk all the while. "so for the next week or so i'll be... indisposed."

your mouth feels dry.

"oh," you manage to say, though it's not really anything at all.

one of satoru's brows quirks curiously at the sound.

"it wouldn't normally be an issue," he continues, though you didn't ask him to. "but this will be my first rut i've spent alone since i presented, so i'm not sure how long it will last."

your lips part in shock.

"alone?" you sound every bit as astonished—as scandalized—as you feel. an alpha of satoru's rank spending his rut alone is unheard of. "what about the omega servic—"

"i would never pay for those kinds of services."

satoru's tone is uncharacteristically cold as he dismisses the mere notion of it. even as a beta, you know that omega services are perfectly legal, and are strictly regulated nowadays—but upon further reflection, you're not all that surprised by his seeming revulsion towards the idea. a family as powerful as the gojo clan likely has their own reserve of omegas, each one of the highest pedigree, to attend to the needs of their unmated alphas. hell, the most eligible omegas in the country would willingly accompany him if he were to ask. you avert your gaze under his cold stare, you feel a bit silly for even suggesting—

"i have no interest bringing any omega into my bed."

your eyes snap up to meet his.

that little glimmer is still there, behind the impossibly clear blue of his eyes.

"will you take suppressants?" you find yourself asking next. still meek.

satoru's face screws up in disgust.

"that garbage is toxic," he sniffs indignantly. "snake oil like that wouldn't work on me anyway."

you remember learning about this in health class as a teen. remember how shocked you were to learn that the efficacy of suppressants decreases depending on how strongly someone's secondary gender characteristics present. it's always felt a bit backwards to you—shouldn't the strongest, least-controllable members of the population be the ones there's the most interest in subduing?

and an alpha as high ranking, as dominant, as satoru is every bit the example.

"no," he sighs, and suddenly any trace of irritation or sterness dissipates as though he's released it along with his breath. his weary tone is too thickly affected to be sincere. "i'll just have to suffer through it on my own."

from the corner of your eye, you can see nanami shift where he stands and waits outside the door, and all at once you remember where you are.

you turn your body away from satoru, angling yourself (as much as you're able) towards your exit.

"well, good luck," you attempt to sound encouraging, but the words still come out slightly ill-at-ease. you reach for the door handle, hoping satoru will get the message and release it so you can take your leave. "let me know if you need anything."

satoru's hand doesn't move.

"do you really mean that?"

you flinch a little as his lips brush the shell of your ear. he's pressed up against your back now—the planes of his chest firm against your shoulder blades as he drapes himself over you.

you're frozen again, your hand still outstretched towards his at the handle—poised in midair. the lights from outside the car glint tauntingly in the diamond on your ring finger.

his breath is hot as it breaks against your throat.

your chest feels uncomfortably tight.

"would you really help me if i were to ask?"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Natalia II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: Talia and her obsession with your hands

For as long as Talia can remember, she's noticed people's hands first.

Usually, it's as simple as a handshake.

You can tell a lot by people's hands, Talia thinks. If they're rough and calloused or soft or if they're big or small. The way people throw. The way they catch. The way that someone squeezes her hand slightly when they shakes.

There is a lot about hands that Talia finds interesting.

Yours especially.

She has different answers to questions depending on who asks. If someone asks her your prettiest feature, she'd say your eyes. If you asked her that same question then she'd say the way you smile when you see someone you love.

If someone asked her your hottest feature, she'd say your abs. She's not wrong. You have good abs, from all the sits ups and planks you do at training. If you were to ask her then she'd confess and say it was your hands.

You have large hands. A big palm topped off with long fingers. They're rough but not too rough, rough enough that on the occasions where you pin her down, she can feel each callous. They're strong too. Strong enough that you can dangle from the climbing wall with one hand and strong enough to squeeze her throat just how she likes when you fuck her.

They're a little bit veiny too, enough that she can see them clearly when you flex and Talia can always count on being distracted by them when you do weights.

Your hands are the most perfect hands in the entire world and she will die on that hill.

She'd noticed them when you first met all those years ago, pulling off your gloves to shake her hand. They'd been less rough then, less strong and less big but she'd still been impressed by them.

Still been impressed enough by you to go back to the hotel and watch your matches with Linköping again and again. Impressed enough to follow your career at Arsenal.

The birth of her secret fan account happened then. It started off as a burner Twitter account that had been sparked when against Aston Villa, you pulled off your gloves and ran a hand down your throat.

To this day, Talia can't thank that camera man enough for staying on you.

You'd dragged your entire hand down the expanse of your throat and Talia was treated to the slight flex of it as you curled your fingers around your own neck for reasons unknown.

Her burner Twitter account very quickly became a little shrine to you and your games that carried on even after you'd come to Barcelona. The TikTok account using the same handle had been born during the World Cup.

Talia hadn't really been expecting much when she randomly posted an edit about you but it had blown up a little bit and as Sweden's first choice keeper, she was given a lot of video footage to go off of.

There was even a shot of you at training with your team as they poured water all over you and you stripped off your shirt displaying your abs.

That had been a very popular edit.

"You're both quite popular on TikTok," Pernille mentions one evening over dinner.

You're all at home a day after a match, enjoying one last meal together before your parents fly home.

Prins sits at your feet happily, mouth open waiting for any food to drop while Reina lazes on the back of the sofa and Kung bounces around the room with a stick of celery.

"What? With the edits?" You ask," Yeah, I've seen a few of them. I think they're kind of cool."

"I don't." Magda, as always, sounds grumpy and Talia wonders briefly if she was this grumpy when you were growing up. "You're a baby. You shouldn't have people thirsting over you."

"I've not been a baby for a while," You reply but Magda just huffs.

"You're my baby," Magda insists," And I've had enough for edits showing up of your abs."

"She has good abs," Talia can't help but put in and she smiles as the tips of your ears turn red. Only for a flush to go through her body as you pick up her beer bottle and flick off the top with one hand.

It's unbelievably hot when you do that and you don't even know it.

"Of course you would say that," Magda replies before somewhat smugly saying," She got them from me."

Pernille rolls her eyes. "Yes, Magda," She says, slightly patronising," You have good abs too."

Talia would usually tease Magda for the way she turns red after the compliment but she's once again focussed on your hands as you easily lift Prins up onto your lap, your good boy wagging his tail happily at being included.

"It's the hand edits though," Magda continues," I just don't get the hand edits. They're just hands. I think I've saved one to show you."

Talia's heart drops as Magda shows the table what edit she's talking about.

It's one of hers.

Very clearly featuring a game a few weeks ago when you'd gotten uncharacteristically wound up and had fisted the shirt of an opposing play and dragged her away from you, pushing her further back to keep some distance.

Again, the camera man was a godsend because the image was still clear even as Talia zoomed in on your hands.

You watch the edit, unaware of the crisis that Talia's currently in next to you.

The caption is even more embarrassing.

'I'd let her manhandle me like that any day 🥵🥵🥵'

Just when Talia thinks it can't get worse, it does. Magda starts scrolling through the account and each caption is worse than the other.

'Just want her to pin me to the mattress 🥵🥵🥵'

'I'd love to have finger shaped bruises from her 🥵🥵🥵'

'I bet she spanks super hard 🥵🥵🥵'

You stare down at your hands in confusion, clenching and unclenching them as Talia tries very hard to stop the blush from her chest rising up to her face.

"Are they good hands?" You wonder aloud, brow furrowed. You turn them over to inspect before getting distracted with Prins trying to lunge forward to lick the sauce off your plate.

"They're reliable hands," Pernille replies before turning to her wife," God, Magda, it's just an edit. People are allowed to thirst over her hands if they want."

"No they're not! I won't allow it!"

"Unless you're going to cyber stalk the owner of the account, Magda, then there's not much else you can do."

A thoughtful look appears on Magda's face.

"No, Magda, you can't cyber stalk the account owner."

"But-"

"No."

The conversation, thankfully for Talia, is dropped and by the time Magda and Pernille leave for the airport, she thinks you've forgotten about it.

Out of nowhere though, you slip onto her lip, pulling her into a heady kiss.

Talia gasps into it when you slip your tongue into her mouth as one hand tugs her back by her hair as you have more access.

By the time you pull away, that hand has migrated to exactly where she wants it.

Wrapped around her throat.

"So," You say, whispering in her ear," You'd let me manhandle you any day?"

"You-?"

She can feel your grin against her skin. "It's the same username as that Twitter account you've dedicated to me."

[yup-thats-me]

—the street interview • Yuta. O

pairing; bf!Yuta x gf!reader | non-curse au summary; Yuta is sure to let the world know how devoted he is to you warning; none

“I’ll go to the shop for bit. You wanna come?”

Y/n asked her boyfriend, Yuta. He smiled, shaking his head. “No. Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

“Alright! I’ll be quick”, Y/n smiled pecking him as she rushed off. Smiling, Yuta took out his phone going through all the pictures he took of her beautiful girlfriend.

While on his phone, he was startled when a girl approached him with a microphone and a filming unit. Shit! Y/n come back fast!

“Hey,” He recognized the woman to be Yuki Tsukomo. The famous influencer who goes around town asking people about their romantic preferences.

“Hey…” Yuta replied awkwardly, his eyes darting around frantically, searching for his favorite girl.

Smiling, Yuki continued. “You’re so cute! I’ll get straight to the point,” she urged. “What is your type of girl?”

Yuta was stunned for a moment. His type of girl? He’s a bit embarrassed to reply. Sure, he saw them almost every day of his life, but he did not spare them as much as a glance. How could he look away from you? It will take forever for him to be able to take his mind off you. Thus, how could he have a type when he has you?

“I do not have a type. I have a girlfriend.”

This was an answer Yuki never heard in all her days of doing street interviews. “But surely you have a preference you like?”

Yuta thought for a second. “My preference would be my girlfriend.”

“Dude!” Yuki was getting frustrated. “You must have had girlfriends before her, right?”

“No,” He smiled as he remembered the day when he first met you in a bookshop. But that is a story for another day. “No. She’s the only (normal) one I ever had.”

Yuki’s eyes were wide in surprise. He is so pure, blinded by love; almost like a new puppy who’s fond of their owner. She congratulated the girlfriend in her mind. The girl this guy spoke of, she was being loved so devotedly, so wholly.  She must be very, very lucky.  But Yuki wasn’t the one to give up.

“Then,” She said giving a twirl. “Rate me out of ten?”

Yuta chuckled. Did this woman not realize how much he absolutely adored you. His laugh was the only answer she needed.

“I cannot rate you because my girlfriend’s so beautiful, she broke my meter.” Yuki’s heart was aching for this couple, honestly.

“Yuta!” Y/n came back, two matching keychains in hand. She was about to speak before she noticed Yuki and her filming unit. “You busy?’’

Without a warning, Yuta snaked his hand around Y/n’s waist, pressing his lips against hers in a soft, passionate exchange. Yuki squealed at the scene before her, jumping like a little girl. The bystanders who had been watching their short interview also clapped a bit, happy for the couple.

When they parted, Y/n’s entire face was red; she shyly hid herself in Yuta’s chest,

“Girl, you better keep a strong hold on this man. He’s a keeper. Absolutely smitten!”

Y/n with a smile said, “I plan to.”

And she did.

do not steal, copy or translate my work on other sites. all belong to yup-thats-me™️ on tumblr

[shadowtriovibes]

something wretched about this, something so precious about this

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Word Count: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex, language kink, parseltongue kink

Summary: request: "mc finds herself absolutely taken with Ominis and his parselmouth." aka mc is absolutely taken with ominis' mouth in every sense of the word

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious. “N-no,” you whine. « I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

The first time you heard Ominis speak Parseltongue, you’d found it to be almost antithetical. It had sounded so bizarre coming out of his mouth, so different from the gentlemanly manner in which he most often spoke. Yet the strength of his snakelike voice sounded somehow familiar, and the way his sighing, hissing words wrapped around you felt like sinking into a warm bath.

“It worked!” you’d exclaimed, hoping your voice wasn’t trembling. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

Minutes later you’d writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain and all thoughts of Ominis’ potentially disreputable talent had flown from your mind. In fact, you’d been so rattled from being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse that it took several days for you to recall that you were no longer the sole member of your little trio with a rare gift.

A month later you’d asked Sebastian about it while you were studying for Charms, lazily levitating stacks of books while he had been pouring over Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook.

“What does being a Parselmouth mean?” you asked him curiously.

“Means you can talk to snakes,” he replied, half listening. “Understand them, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that, thanks.”

Sebastian looked up from his book with a skeptical expression on his face. “Then what exactly are you asking?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know, I just… Ominis made it sound like it was a bad thing, to be known as a Parselmouth. Like it’s given him a bad reputation. Why is that?”

Carefully closing his spellbook, Sebastian sits back and considers his words carefully before continuing.

“Well, the answer to that is right in front of you,” he says, gesturing to the tattered book on the table before him. “As Ominis said, most Parselmouths are direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and whether it’s warranted or not, he’s a controversial figure.”

“Sure,” you agree. “But… does Ominis speak Parseltongue much? How would anyone even know?”

“I think most people just assume,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “His brothers spoke it, and he’s told me that they speak it more regularly at his home. Many Gaunts have chosen to keep a snake rather than an owl or any sort of conventional animal.”

You nod slowly. “Have you heard him speak it before that night in the Scriptorium?”

“A handful of times,” he admits. “Sometimes he’ll slip up if he’s especially angry or frustrated. I’ve also heard him speaking it in his sleep on occasion.”

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the spellbook and you once again forget about Ominis’ rare skill – this time for nearly two years.

By your seventh year, Ominis has learned about your ancient magic abilities, and your friendship has grown from one of rueful kinship to genuine affection. Nevertheless, he still seems to keep so much of himself guarded, even as you’ve shared so many of your worries and insecurities as you’ve grown into your role as the only living Keeper of your ability.

(It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen achingly in love with him along the way.)

These days you spend most nights studying with him and Sebastian. Usually, you’re eager to soak up the years of knowledge they’d accrued before you’d started school at Hogwarts, but tonight you find yourself distracted.

“Are you listening to me?” Ominis suddenly snaps, and you glance up from where you’d been reading the same paragraph over and over.

Ominis looks annoyed, and to his point, you certainly hadn’t been listening. You’ve both been sprawled out on the floor of the Undercroft for hours now revising for Potions. Sebastian had called it a night shortly before dinner, leaving the two of you to continue pouring over theory textbooks in preparation for Professor Sharp’s famously lethal end-of-term exams.

“Y-yes, sorry,” you stutter. “What were you saying?”

In your defense, winter has arrived in the Highlands and the stone floor of Ominis’ hideaway has cooled you to the bone. The weak flame flickering beneath your shared cauldron isn’t enough to pull you out of your daydreams about a nice warm bed, some cozy blankets, and perhaps someone to share it with…

(Someone who can whisper secret serpentine words against your skin, chasing your goosebumps lower and lower beneath the covers…)

“Again?” Ominis asks, more disappointed than angry this time. “You can’t focus on my words for a full minute before slipping into some reverie?”

Merlin, if only he knew that focusing on his words wasn’t the problem at all.

“I’m sorry, Ominis,” you whine. “But it’s getting late, it’s freezing down here, and we missed dinner…”

“You said you’d help me,” he reminds you, perhaps a bit vulnerably. “The exam is tomorrow afternoon, and my Draught of Living Death is still curdling.”

You groan pathetically and rub your eyes. “Ominis, you’re a dear friend, and I simply adore you, but you’re bloody rubbish at Potions. Perhaps we should take a break for the night.”

Ominis’ jaw clenches while he stirs his (admittedly lumpy-looking) brew.

“Ominis?” you ask hesitantly. “...I apologize if I was harsh, but–”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “Just… stop talking. Clearly, you’re no longer interested in helping me, so you might as well go back to your common room for the night.”

Sighing, you shift closer to where he sits cross-legged on the stone floor and gently rest a hand on top of his knee. You know how challenging Potions has been for him, especially lately; N.E.W.T.-level draughts are challenging enough when one can confirm that the brew they’ve already spent hours preparing has progressed to the appropriate color.

“I think you need to take a break,” you say softly. “You’re making yourself too frustrated, Ominis.”

You watch as a bit of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seeps away as his head hangs gently. As his fingers nervously twitch in his lap, he takes a slow, measured breath and lets his eyes fall closed.

« I need to do this correctly, even just once, » he says. « Then I’ll be able to sleep. »

You suspect he doesn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken English until you sharply pull your hand back with a gasp.

“Wh-what… did I, um,” he stammers. “I didn’t… say that the proper way, did I?”

“Well, er – you hissed it,” you say carefully. “That… that was Parseltongue again, wasn’t it?”

Ominis carefully nods. Your stomach clenches when you notice him hunch in on himself as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“It’s okay!” you quickly tell him. “I, um. I haven’t heard you speak Parseltongue since fifth year, and – and I don’t understand it, obviously, b-but it’s alright if you want to use it.”

You trail off lamely and try to rest your hand on his knee once more, but he nudges it away.

“I apologize,” he says hollowly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A wave of nausea rolls over you as you watch him duck his face and turn away from you – not so that he can’t see you, mind, but that you won’t see him.

“Omins,” you sigh. “Please, you – you haven’t scared me, I promise you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he counters in a deceptively soft voice. “I can tell, you know. Your heart is racing, you’ve gone warm all over… You want to run away. It’s only natural, when one is frightened. I would know.”

You swallow audibly and once more attempt to rest your hand on his thigh, and this time he allows you.

“I’m not scared,” you insist, and as true as your words are, you almost wish you were lying to him.

You think it’s probably less shameful than the truth, which is that Ominis’ brief Parseltongue outburst has your heart racing with desire, not fear.

“Then why…?” he asks before eventually trailing off.

“I find it fascinating,” you tell him softly as you trace your fingertips along the seam of his trousers. “It’s… compelling, Ominis. Perhaps a bit enticing.”

“Enticing?” he repeats softly. “You feel, er.. compelled by my Parseltongue?”

You shyly shrug before remembering a non-verbal answer won’t suffice. “I suppose I do.”

The both of you are silent for several long moments. The only sound that can be heard in the Undercroft is Ominis’ sickly bubbling potion, until he finally asks you, “May I kiss you?”

You hesitate for merely a beat, just to let your mind catch up, but before you can answer Ominis repeats himself in Parseltongue: « May I kiss you? »

This time, your non-verbal answer of crawling astride his lap and kissing him yourself is entirely sufficient.

Ominis moans into your mouth while you grab the lapels of his uniform shirt, brazenly rocking against his lap like one of those wanton witches in Sebastian’s rather foul romance novels. His hands settle on your hips and he helps you grind down onto him until you can feel for yourself where he’s grown hard.

“Wh-what are we doing?” he asks against your lips.

He doesn’t sound scandalized, or even hesitant – rather, he sounds like he’s asking how much you’re going to let him get away with.

“Whatever we want,” you answer him breathlessly. “Ominis, I – I’ve wanted this for so long, we’ll do whatever you want.”

« Whatever I want? » he hisses, and you shiver in his lap. « What I want is to get you on your back for me, sweet girl. »

Carefully, Ominis tips you from his lap back onto the freezing tile, but just as quickly he gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re sprawled out on some abandoned Potions notes. Your skirt falls halfway up your legs and Ominis traces his fingertips along your skin until he finds the hem.

« Spread your legs for me, my love, » he hisses, sliding his hands up the insides of your thighs. « Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you here? »

His unseeing eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush against the hem of your undergarments. You’re wet – you have been since he’d first slipped into those low, hissing tones of his – but now he knows it. He can feel it.

“Gods,” he groans. “You.. you really like to hear my Parseltongue this much?”

“It’s your voice,” you whimper, grinding your hips toward his teasing fingertips. “You… you sound different.”

“Tell me,” he demands. “How do I sound?”

Realizing that he likely sounds the same to his own ears even when speaking the ancient snake language, you bite your lip and force yourself to focus.

“You – you sound powerful,” you admit. “Like your voice is stronger, or… it’s like I can hear it in my whole body, not just my ears.”

Ominis wordlessly rewards you by firmly dragging his thumb down the length of your core through your panties. You melt into his touch; your skin feels as if it’s on fire now, and the very same icy stone floors you’d complained about not long ago now feel like a soothing balm against your skin.

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious.

“N-no,” you whine.

« I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

You whimper and arch your back. “I m-might not understand Parseltongue, but I can tell when you’re teasing me.”

“Darling, I’ve barely begun to tease you,” he murmurs before leaning down and licking up the length of your body from your navel to the dip between your collarbones.

“Please, Ominis,” you beg.

« You’ve been distracting me all evening, » he continues. « I fully intend to have just as much fun playing with you, since you seem to enjoy driving me mad. »

While he kisses what’s sure to be an impressive bruise onto the side of your neck, Ominis slides your panties down your legs.

“I want you inside me,” you confess.

« You want the first time I take you to be on this dirty stone floor? » he asks lazily. « Are you that desperate to be fucked, sweetheart, or have I made you wait too long and driven you mad? »

You groan frustratedly as he starts to kiss his way down your body, pointedly ignoring your canting hips. “Ominis, I’m begging, please say you’ll touch me.”

Ominis presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your hipbone. « Don’t fret, my love. How could I refuse such a tempting offer from such a beautiful, albeit slightly mad woman? »

By the time he traces the tip of his tongue along the crease of your hip, you realize where he’s headed. An irreverent array of babble spills from your lips while you attempt to grind impossibly closer to his face, but he places his hands over your hips and keeps you firmly planted against the stone floor before he presses his tongue flat against your cunt.

If he were still speaking Parseltongue into your skin, you’d never know. Any words of praise or kindly teasing that spilled from his lips were drowned out by a litany of curses you’d never utter in front of a man like Ominis in any other setting.

“That’s it, my lovely girl,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh. « Your cunt is so wet for my tongue, and it’s even sweeter than you are. »

He’s switching between English and Parseltongue so easily that you can’t be sure he’s even doing it on purpose anymore, and you couldn’t possibly say which you prefer more. Being fully aware of every filthy word he says is a dream, but is it as delicious as not knowing what he’s saying as he utters secret confessions inches from your skin?

You don’t bother spending much time considering it while you lie back and let him lick you open. All you can think about is his tongue on your skin, pushing inside you, savoring every inch of your body while he learns you by touch and by taste.

That’s what he’s doing, after all – learning you. He’ll get you off, of course he will, but that’s not why he’s bent over between your legs with your calves thrown over his shoulder.

“Ominis,” you groan. “I need you in me, I… I need you.”

He presses a deceptively sweet kiss to your sensitive clit before he asks, “Is that so? I thought you liked my Tongue, and now it’s not enough for you?”

“Don’t tease me,” you plead. “I know you want me just as badly.”

While Ominis had been coming up for air between burying his face between his thighs, you’d been able to see just how affected he is – you aren’t alone in your eagerness, you can be sure of it.

« Right as always, you are, » he hisses. « Perhaps you don’t understand my words, but you can sense my desire, can’t you? »

He grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh to punctuate his words and you whine pathetically.

“Take me, take me, take me,” you chant while he sits back to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free himself. You realize he intends to stay fully clothed while he takes you apart, and you shiver against the cold floor.

When he finally sinks inside, you fall helplessly silent.

Every ounce of focus you have is spent on relaxing your body, opening up for him as he buries himself inside you. He’s almost ruthless in his endeavor to fully seat himself in you despite his intimidating length. Save a few breathless not-quite-whines, you’re quiet beneath him.

« Nothing to say, darling? » he hisses at first, and then in a softer voice he asks, “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s good,” you moan. “Please… keep talking to me.”

“You want me to talk to you, hm?” he asks, grinding in until the flat part of his pelvis brushes against yours. « Do you need a distraction? You’re taking me so well, my angel. »

He starts to fuck you in earnest with a slow, careful rhythm to keep your bare skin from catching along the worn stones beneath your back. As he thrusts inside you, he keeps talking in that low, hissing tone. Soon you realize even his words match the rhythm of his body, rising and falling with his motions.

« Feels so good… Waited so long… I can’t stop, please don’t ask me to stop… »

His back feels feverishly warm to the touch while you drag your hands down from his shoulder blades to the back of his hips. In the years since you’d first heard the snakeline sound of Parseltongue fall from his lips, he’s grown taller and his musculature has changed into that of a lithe, well-built man. Now the strength of that voice suits the body from which it emanates, and both have combined to keep you firmly pinned to the floor beneath their might.

You cling to him as he fucks you harder. You feel so close already, tumbling toward the edge of pleasure beneath him as his serpentine words glide across your skin.

When you come around him, you hear him whisper your name in Parseltongue – it’s the same, you think, but softer, and sweeter.

« When I come inside you, » he hisses just above a whisper. « I want you to keep every last drop inside for me. Will you, my darling? »

“Ominis!” you wail.

“Fuck – fuck,” he gasps, and seconds later you feel the mess he's made inside you threaten to spill out with every slow, greedy thrust in his post-orgasmic haze.

“N-no, stop,” you whimper, and he immediately goes still.

“What is it?” he asks, his English crisp and clear.

You shift shyly beneath him and whisper, “Don’t… don’t keep going. I want to keep it inside for now, and – and when you move, it, um…”

Merlin, you don’t have the words to say you’re just as greedy as he is – you want to stay full of him, just as he’d asked in that ancient, indecipherable tongue.

Ominis presses soothing kisses to your face while you wrap your legs around his waist to hold him in place. His lips brush across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your jaw.

“Of course, darling,” he whispers. “I’ll stay right here.”

Then, with his lips pressed to yours, he hisses, « I’ll stay right here as long as you like. »

[pitchsidestories]

You belong with me II Alanna Kennedy x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1516

a/n: we combined two requests for this oneshot, hope you guys like it !

As the social media manager of the Australian national team, you never got tired of working with the players to create new content together.

In that moment you were already focused by placing the big camera on the tripod in front of you, after that was done you looked up to Mackenzie Arnold, your girlfriend’s best friend, humming:” Ready?”

“Yes, fire your questions away.”, the goalkeeper responded smiling brightly at you.

Satisfied by her okay you clapped into your hands: ”Alright, let’s start.”

“Yes, please.”, the brunette nodded happily. You two were suddenly interrupted by Harper, who was running excitedly into the open arms of the player: ”Macca!”

“Hi Harper and Cait.”, Mackenzie greeted the intruders warmly.  

Noisily Caitlin Foord wanted to know from both of you:” What are you two doing?”

“Recording a video for the Matilda’s Instagram?”, you replied shrugging, because it was quite obvious for everyone to see what was going on here. 

In good spirits the goalkeeper explained:” It was supposed to be a quick round of questions.”  

“What questions?”, Katrina Gorrys’s daughter asked big eyed. Casually

Mackenzie shrugged her shoulders:” Just random questions?”

“Like?”, the toddler pressed on stubbornly.

Her curiosity was endearing to you, that’s why you patiently answered her:” Like who’s her favourite roommate and what’s her favourite food in camp.”

“It’s so obvious. I’m her favourite roommate because Lani sneaks out to be with you at night.”, the Arsenal forward said with a cheeky grin on her lips.

With a frustrated sigh you interrupted the conversation you have been filming since Harper appeared a few minutes ago:” Cut!”

“I thought we didn’t even start anyway.”, Mackenzie giggled confused.

Sheepishly you told her:” I already hit the record button.” “And she’s getting paid for that.”, Caitlin teasingly rolled her eyes at you.

Groaning you hid the face behind your hands: “Girls!” “What?”, the forward threw up an eyebrow.

Meanwhile Harper who realized you were filming them was now in her element, clapping her hands like she was the director of this set, exclaiming delighted:” And action.”

“See, they should pay her. She’s carrying our social media appearance.”, Caitlin remarked amused.

To your defense came Mackenzie who pointed out to one of her closest friends:” She does, but y/n always makes you look good in photos as you said earlier.”  “She does.”, the Arsenal player admitted.

Clearing your throat, you draw back the attention to the task which lay ahead of you all:” So who’s your favourite and worst roommate in camp.”

“They’re both going to kill me. Caitlin and Alanna but I’m not saying who is which.”, the goalkeeper responded with a wink to the camera.

You bit back a laugh and continued; “Okay, next question. What’s your favourite part of the training camp?“

Without missing a beat, Mackenzie answered; “Seeing the girls.“

“Awww!“, Caitlin cooed from somewhere next to you with a smirk.

The goalkeeper made a dismissive hand gesture in her direction; “Shut up. I’m talking about Mini and Harper!“

“Rude!“, Caitlin complained, laughing.

You shook your head at the two football players; “Girls, please!“

“Focus.“, Harper said as strictly as possible for a toddler and pointed her finger into Mackenzies direction.

You smiled at the little girl; “Thanks, Harper.“

Mackenzie looked at Caitlin in disbelief; “Can’t believe we’re getting called out by Harps!“

“She’s already a social media pro.“, you shrugged. Caitlin grinned; “We can tell.“

The filming was again interrupted by Katrina; “Oh, here she is!“ Harper immediately ran into her mothers arms who gently picked her up.

“Harper was in safe hands, Mini. I’m a keeper.“, Mackenzie commented, smiling about her own joke.

Caitlin rolled her eyes; “Worst joke ever, Macca.“ “Shush it. Time to go back to filming.“, the goalkeeper decided and you were more than happy to comply.

After you managed to film the video without any further interruptions, Alanna was impatiently waiting for you. With her arms crossed over her chest, she was playfully pouting; “You did a video without me?“

“It was Maccas turn.“, you explained matter-of-factly.

Mackenzie who left the room right behind you winked at her friend; “Yes, and it was fun. Even though Harper stole the show as usual.“

“She did.“, you agreed with a laugh. Alanna pretended to be shocked; “Rude.“

“Jealous that your girlfriend didn’t work with you today?“, Caitlin teased, closing the door of the hotel room that you used to film.

Unimpressed, Alanna shook her head; “She only does videos with you, guys.“

“So that’s a yes.“, Mackenzie concluded with raised eyebrows.

You eyed your girlfriend from the side while you remarked; “I mean at home she only takes photos with Leila recently. So it’s fair.“

The defenders jaw dropped open; “Don’t start with Leila now. You never want to be on my photos.“ “

Well, you never ask me.“, you continued.

Alanna retorted; “Don’t distract. You also never ask me to be in your little videos.“

“That’s something different.“

“Not at all!“

“We’ll talk about this later.“, you ended the discussing while fondly rolling you eyes about your girlfriends teasing.

“Fine.“ Your small dispute attracted some of the drama-loving Matildas.

Mary Fowler looked at you with curious eyes; “Trouble in paradise?“

“Yes, Mary. Obviously.“, Alanna shook her head, laughing. Kyra Cooney-Cross grimaced; “Trouble? No way, that’s our thing.“

Steph Catley shot her an inquisitive look; “What did you do again that we haven’t noticed yet?“

“What are you talking about, Steph?“, Alanna asked.

“Talking about Kyra. I think she was onto some mischief again.“, her fellow defender explained without taking her eyes off the younger player.

“I’m going to bed now. Good night, girls.”, you announced.

“Lani is she still pouting because of the Leila photos or is this just a thing you love to tease eachother with?”, curiously Mary turned to look at your girlfriend, expecting a dramatic reply.

“No, we’re just making fun.”, Alanna reassured the younger forward. 

“You two are such weirdos.”, Steph commented smirking.

Unimpressed by the teasing of the fellow Matilda’s she shook her head:” We’re cute.”

“Sometimes.”, Mary admitted.

Your girlfriend rolled her eyes: “You’re too young to have an opinion.”

“Rude.”, the younger player scoffed playfully.

The evening went on as usually, but Alanna decided to say goodnight to the team because she wanted to see you desperately after your dispute earlier.

When she came into your room you were already laying on the hotel bed, the only thing you were wearing was an old jersey of your girlfriend which was big enough on you to cover all the important parts. “Hi love.”, you hummed.  

Noticing your sleeping clothes Alanna lifted an eyebrow:” What are you trying to do?”

“These are my normal sleeping clothes.”, you answered innocently.

“You never sleep in my jersey.”, the Mancity player remarked. 

“Okay, fine, maybe I wanted to show you that I belong to you.”, you sighed.  

The blonde nodded slowly: “I do hope so.”  

“And you belong to me.”, you concluded with a seducing smile.

“I do?”, Alanna asked grinning while letting her eyes glance over your whole figure taking it all in.  

“Yes.”, you replied confidently, now looking at her the same way she did a few seconds ago.  

“I see.” cheekily she took your camera from the nightside table, I think it’s time for a couple photo.”

“Fair enough, through the mirror?”, you suggested beaming.

Shrugging her shoulders, Alanna agreed to it: “Fine. If you want it artsy.”  

“I do.”, you told her.

“Of course you do.”, the defender smirked at you. 

After a couple of tries to take the photos, you looked up to her:” Thanks, it turned out really cute, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I love it.”, she said equally satisfied with the photos and the pretty picture you two made together.

For a moment your girlfriend hesitated before adding:” Can we post it?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”, Alanna kissed you, afterwards she quickly posted it, the rest of the evening her focus was entirely on you.

The next day you were back taking photos of the Matilda’s during their training.

“Look who’s coming now.”, Hayley nodded in the direction from where Mackenzie, Alanna and Caitlin were arriving on the pitch side.

Immediately you were blushing, remember the night you had with the blonde defender, while taking a photo of the trio:” Name a better trio, Hayley. I’m waiting.”

“The powerpuff girls.”, the forward laughed. 

Jumping on to your back Kyra almost screamed into your ears:” Charli, Mini and me!”

“Nirvana.”, Ellie giggled.

“I shouldn’t have asked.”, you mumbled but couldn’t help to smile at all the answers the player had given.

“Don’t forget the Jonas brothers.”, Charli winked at you while pulling the young Arsenal midfielder away from you.  

“I’ll make this the next random question for a video.”, decided.

The Tottenham player immediately supported your idea:” You should.”

Meanwhile Alanna was hugging you from behind, whispering:” As long as you think we’re the best trio.”

“Always.”, you replied, turning around to kiss your girlfriend on her lips ignoring the howling noises Caitlin and Mackenzie made.

You were never more certain that you and Alanna belonged together.

[infinitcnexus]

☁ A man who never eats pork buns is never a whole man!

[azrielsdove]

Hello :) Can I ask for a Cassian x f!reader angst? One where, from the moment they meet, S/n really likes him and tries to get his attention, but all she gets is a Cassian who is stiff and cold with her and fun with the others, and yet she somehow keeps going after him. Then he notices her, but she gives up for a while and now it's up to him to pursue her.

Never Enough: Cassian x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Suggestive, 18+

***

The General never showed any interest in you, despite your numerous attempts to capture his attention. You trained as hard as possible to try to get any word of praise from him, becoming one of the most deadly high fae in the Night Court. You laughed at all his jokes, agreed to all his ideas, and supported any plan he put out.

All so he could mostly ignore you.

If you got lucky enough he may look at you. Not kindly, really. Usually just a sharp glare or a blank stare. You were embarrassed by how badly you wanted him to like you when he so clearly didn’t. You spent many nights drinking with Rhys, complaining about his brother.

“I don’t understand it. I’ve done nothing to him. Nothing! Why does he hate me?” You grumbled, tipping a shot back as your friend laughed.

“As i’ve said a thousand times, he doesn’t hate you. I think he’s just not used to someone being better than him at everything.” Rhys teased, pouring you another one.

“That’s ridiculous! I am not better at him in anything. And besides, if that’s his problem he has some things to work on.” You rolled your eyes, welcoming the burning feeling of the alcohol going down your throat.

“I think he’s intimidated by you. You are funnier, sneakier, and way more beautiful than he is.” You glared at the High Lord, struggling to not roll your eyes again. You plucked the bottle from his hands, abandoning your glass.

“I’m serious, Rhys.” You said, voice a little somber. “Why am I not good enough for him? I wish I could just let it go.” You stared down at the bottle in your hands, swirling the liquid slowly.

“Hey, no,” your friend replied, coming to sit next to you. “He’s a fool if he doesn’t realize what’s in front of him. What if you step back for a little, let him realize what he’s missing without your constant presence.” You nodded, willing to try anything at this point. Even if he isn’t interested, maybe backing away will allow your heart to call for someone else.

***

CASSIAN POV

He didn’t even realize he was waiting for her to show up until Azriel asked where she was. “How am I supposed to know? I’m not her keeper.” Cassian had answered gruffly, annoyed at her tardiness. He started warming up, sparring with his brother to get his blood flowing. They made it through the whole training session, and still she never showed up.

Cassian tried to pretend he didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem that she seems to have given up on training. She must think she’s too good for us now he thought, ignoring the small bit of worry creeping up in him. It was most unlike her to miss a training session.

It was then that she came strolling into the ring. Cassian looked at her, prepared to nag her for skipping out on training. He lost all train of thought as he took in how she looked in the Illyrian fighting leathers she donned. She had never worn them before, opting for simple athletic attire instead. No doubt another way to piss him off. The leather was tight on her thighs and chest, moving with each step she took. Her hair was pulled back into a simple braid that made Cassian wonder how it would feel to have it wrapped around his hand, tugging her head back as he pushed into her from behind.

He shook his head at that last image. No, he cursed himself, She’s untouchable. He watched as Rhys joined her in his matching leathers, the two of them dangerous together. She has decided to train with him now? Cassian pushed down the spurt of jealousy that ran through him, knowing Rhys didn’t know. How could he? Cassian prided himself on not reacting around her, on not exposing how desperately he wanted to bury himself between those thighs. She was not his to have, as he reminded himself constantly.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Cassian asked, gesturing between the two of them. He ignored the way Rhys’ hands were tightening the straps around her chest, fingers brushing the skin Cassian so desperately craved. His brother looked at him curiously, stepping away from her.

“We are training magic today. She asked for my help. Is that going to be a problem, General?” Rhys inquired, standing tall against his brother.

Cassian shook his head, placing his weapons back in their place. “Not at all.” He said curtly, before turning and leaving the ring.

***

The sudden change in her bothered Cassian for the next few days. She no longer laughed at his jokes or tried to get his attention, instead acting rather indifferently to him. He supposed he couldn’t be too upset, as this was how he had been treating her since they met. It was only deserved that she now threw it back at him.

He sipped a whiskey and watched her laugh and talk to Rhys, noticing the way his hand rested on her thigh. He hated the disgusted feeling that bubbled through him. No one should get to touch her like that but him. Cassian’s hand clenched on the glass as he saw her lean ever closer to his brother, whispering into his ear.

He wanted to stop them. He wanted to barge over there, pull her off of Rhys and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He wanted to show everyone that she was made for him, and only him. Instead he took a deep breath, taking a long drink from his glass.

No one could know. Cassian saw the way his brother had looked at her from the day they all met. He refused to take away any chance Rhys had at love, knowing that no one deserved it more than he did.

Even if it meant he gave him his mate.

***

“Cass,” Rhys called, looking for the General after dinner. Cassian poked his head out of his room, gesturing for his brother to come in. “Are you okay?”

He stilled at the question, unsure how to answer. He wanted to be honest with his brother, but he was too scared to upset him. “Yea, why?” Cassian finally said, clearing his throat.

Rhys leaned against the General’s desk, crossing his arms with a sly smile on his face. “You do like her.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassian shot out far too quickly, knowing he was failing to hide his ever-growing emotions.

Rhys laughed. “Oh brother, I had a sneaking suspicion you did. Why have you been so cold to her then?” His question was earnest, his eyes bright.

Cassian was confused. “I- Well. Don’t you like her?” He asked dumbly, mind struggling to handle this new information.

“Me? No, Cass. She is just my friend. Is that why you haven’t been going after her?” Rhys seemed stunned by this realization, arms uncrossing as he stepped towards Cassian.

He felt stupid. Idiotic. This whole time he had been reading their friendship as something more. “Well, yea Rhys.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve wanted her since the day I saw her. I just assumed she was with you, and I didn’t want to interrupt that.” Saying it out loud, Cassian realized how ridiculous he had been acting.

Rhys placed a hand on his arm, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s not too late,” he said gently, “but it won’t be easy. I’ve spent far too many nights drying up her tears over you.”

The sentence felt like a stab in Cassian’s heart, a deep disappointment in himself. “Oh,” was all he said, too upset with himself to continue this discussion.

“Don’t give up, brother. Let me know if you need any help.” Rhys finished, giving his arm one last squeeze as he departed the room, leaving Cassian to figure out how to fix the mess he had created.

***

READER POV

You were reading on the balcony when you felt a presence behind you. You turned, surprised to see Cassian there. “Hello,” you greeted, turning back to your book. You were still hurt by how he constantly acted around you, tired of putting up with it.

“Hi,” he said, almost shyly. He took the lounger next to you, sitting on it sideways so he faced you. “What are you reading?”

You looked at him sideways, confused by his question. “And you care, why?” You asked back, eyes returning to the book in front of you.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at the ground. “I just, uh, am trying to get to know you a little better.”

You sighed, placing the bookmark in your book and looking towards him. “No offense, General, but I really do not care to get to know you right now. So please, either be quiet or leave.” You felt a little guilty as you saw the crestfallen expression on his face, but a year of treating you like shit wouldn’t be forgotten because he suddenly ‘wanted to know you’.

You picked your book back up, pretending you didn’t notice the way his footsteps fell a little too hard as he left.

***

A few days later Cassian tried again, coming up to the training ring while you were with Rhys. You were too focused on controlling your power to notice him watching you. You breathed in, allowing the power radiating from you to wash over the ring. It was then that you sensed him.

You pulled a dagger from your belt, swiftly turning and pinning him against the edge with your blade on his neck. Your power slunk back into you, vision returning to normal as you realized it was Cassian under your hold. You couldn’t hide the small smile at the sight of him, eyes wide and at your mercy. “Spying on me, General?” You asked sweetly, pressing the dagger in slightly harder.

“N-No!” He gasped out, hands raised in surrender. You slowly removed your blade, stepping back from him. “I was wondering if you wanted to weapons train, that’s all.”

You pondered his answer, ignoring Rhys’ attempt to get inside your mind. “Fine,” you said, placing your dagger back into your belt. “I could use a good sweat.” You didn’t miss Cassian’s flush at your words.

You walked over to Rhys, shaking your head at him. “Stay out of my mind, High Lord.” You whispered, not enjoying the laugh that came from him. He grabbed your arm, tugging you close so he could whisper to you.

“Go easy on him. He’s not what you think.” You sent him a glare, mouth open.

“He was the one acting like a jerk until recently! Why am I expected to get over that because he’s been a bit nicer recently.” You shot out, annoyed at your friend.

“That’s not what i’m saying! There’s more to how he acted than just him being rude.” He gave you his charming smile and clapped your arm. “Now go train, lady!”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, sticking your tongue out in a very un-ladylike way as you made your way over to Cassian. He tossed you a sword that you caught deftly, twirling it around in your hand. As much as you loved learning how to control your magic, nothing compared to holding a deadly weapon in your hand. You prepped into a fighting stance, eyeing the male in front of you.

“Give me all you got, General.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised when he did. He swung at you, moving so quick the blade was but a flash in the sky. You dodged it in the nick of time, heart beating rapidly. This was the challenge you needed. You swung back at him, his sword coming up to clash against yours. The two of your carried on, every move becoming harder and deadlier.

You pushed your anger into fighting him, blocking everything he threw your way. You made a vicious swipe, coming close to slicing his arm. He rolled out of the way, countering with his own. The blade nicked the skin on your wrist, frustration coursing through you. You needed to win.

You pulled your blade back, placing the sword into its home on the edge of the ring. You turned, unnerved to see Cassian still kneeling in the sand. He had sunk down onto his legs, his head bowed to the ground. You hated the spark of worry that shot through you. You had never seen him so small.

You walked over to him, sliding down to your knees as well. “Hey, Cass, I didn’t mean it.” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. It took everything in you not to jump back in shock when he looked up at you, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry.” He said hoarsely, more tears coming. “I’m so, so sorry.” You instinctively pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. You had no idea why he was apologizing to you.

“For what? I was just teasing Cass, theres no hard feelings.” You soothed, running a hand through his hair.

The action only made him cry harder.

“I was so needlessly mean to you for no reason. I pushed you away and made you hate me. I wish I could take it all back.” He sobbed out. The words made you pull away and lean back to look at him.

“I don’t hate you.” You murmured, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. You brushed your fingers over his wet cheeks, wiping away the falling tears. “I could never hate you.”

His eyes searched yours, trying to find the truth in them. “I was horrible to you when you were only ever kind to me. I thought-“ he cut himself off, eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

“You thought what?” You pried, running your thumbs over his cheeks again.

“I thought you were with Rhysand. I didn’t want to get in the way, so I tried to keep my feelings hidden. The only way I knew how was to push you away.” His words were quiet, ashamed.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Me and Rhys? No, Cass, no! He’s just a friend.” You took a moment to process his words. “Your feelings?”

His eyes shot back up to yours, pupils blown and tears gone. “The second I saw you I knew I had to have you. I stayed away for his sake, only to find out how terribly wrong I was.”

You smiled wide, tears beginning to prick at your own eyes. “You stupid, stupid bat.” You cursed, laughter behind your words. “You couldn’t tell I was hopelessly in love with you?”

Cassian’s eyes flashed and he pulled you onto his lap, his lips catching yours. You sighed into the kiss, letting the hands on his cheeks fall back to tangle in his hair. One of his hands held tight to your waist, the other coming to cup the back of your neck. The kiss was hurried, needy. His tongue slid between your lips, exploring your mouth in a downright sinful way.

You kissed him until you thought your lungs were going to explode, pulling away to rest your forehead against his. You were both breathing heavy, the hand on your waist now drawing small circles on your thigh. “I love you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“I’ve always loved you.” You responded, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as his lips ran over your neck. You gave a small moan when his teeth dragged over a sensitive spot, tugging on his hair as he bit down. “Cass,” you gasped out, pulling his face back up to look at you. You took one look into his eyes and the golden rope in your heart shot out, latching onto him.

It knocked the breath out of you, eyes wide as you looked at him. You assumed the unknown tug towards Cassian was your own foolish lovesick heart, certainly not the mating bond. You blinked at him, not breathing. He brought a hand up to your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek like you had been doing to him half an hour earlier.

“Breathe, mate. Breathe.”

Air rushed back into your lungs, gone as quickly as it came when you pressed your lips back to his.

***

I hope this was what you wanted!!!! Thank you for waiting patiently while I completed this <3. Please let me know what you think!!

Also for all my Love and Loss readers, here’s some sweet friendship Rhys to heal your hearts 🫶🏻

[matan4il]

what do you, as an Israeli, think of Standing Together? asking entirely in good faith because I see things supporting them a lot, but it's always from American Jews and (no offense to us), I don't totally trust that we're informed enough to know what we're talking about and what their perspective and usefulness truly is in the way that someone who actually lives there would. so many orgs are untrustworthy or covertly antisemitic and it made me curious for your perspective. thank you for everything. <3

Hi Nonnie!

Sorry it took me a moment to reply, but I hope my answer can still help you!

As an idea, Standing Together is a movement that I should have been all for. They are pro-coexistence, and so am I. There's no doubt in my mind that Jews aren't going anywhere, and neither are Arabs, and we are all better off working together for a good future for all. Supposedly, that's ST's message, so they absolutely should be an organization that I would be all for.

BUT from everything I've experienced, the narrative that they adopted is way more one-sided than their official stance, they're closer to being anti-Israel than balanced, which makes them problematic for me. Especially when you look at the individual actions and statements of many of this movement's leaders, it's evident that coexistence to them comes at the expense of historical facts, as well as certain Jewish rights. Obviously, the leaders' personal positions influence the movement's stance and actions.

For example, in this interview from Nov 2023, a Jewish leader of the movement falsely calls Israel's 2014 operation in Gaza against Hamas, "a war against Gaza and its people" (brief summary: Hamas kidnapped and murdered three Jewish teenagers in Judea and Samaria, Israel launched Operation Brother's Keeper during which it arrested some of Hamas' terrorists in that area looking for intel on where those 3 kids were and what happened to them, Hamas fired rockets from Gaza at Israel to get its terrorists released and used terror tunnels, including ones that crossed the border from Gaza into Israel, to kill and kidnap our people. That's what Israel ended up fighting against in Operation Protective Edge), while an Arab leader of ST defines their way as one which rejects "maintaining violent military control over millions of people," but says nothing against the terrorism that's used against millions of Israelis and Jews.

In terms of the recent war, since Oct 7 they have come out calling for a ceasefire now very early on in the war (I can't remember when they started it, but I know by Dec 7, 2023 they'd already put out a vid calling to stop the war, when really the ground operation only started about a month earlier, before it could possibly achieve anything), meaning this call was undermining Israel's right (and duty!) to defend its citizens, and asking us to surrender our goals of returning all the hostages and destroying Hamas' rule (only the latter can prevent Hamas from fulfilling its promise to carry out more massacres of the type that started this war, and has claimed so many lives on both sides). Another thing you can see in that vid is ST participating in spreading the false narrative that Israel is intentionally starving the Gazans (you can see the same thing in this poster, which says in Hebrew, "Thou shalt not starve." It's a poster for humanitarian aid they were supposedly bringing into Gaza, as if the IDF would ever let anyone bring anything they want unchecked into a war zone, or as if the amount of aid a few Israeli cars could bring is more than the hundreds of trucks Israel has been allowing in, checked. ST's just posturing and spreading an anti-Israel libel). Helping to spread a libel against one side is NOT being pro-coexistence. Imagine if they were spreading a libel that all Gazans are Hamas terrorists, and took part in the massacre! I think it's clear that, even if it's not simple to tell them apart, there are people in Gaza who are complicit, and people who are uninvolved and innocent. So if ST were spreading such a libel against Gazans, I'd oppose them. I am not going to do less when ST is spreading a libel against my own people.

I hope one day they correct course, but I can't currently support them. Give me REAL solidarity between Jews and Arabs, which sees and recognizes the humanity of both, not a repeat of the de-humanization of Jews, and a surrender of Jewish rights to an anti-Jewish narrative. That's not real peace, it's not real coexistence, it's a return to the way that we Jews have had to live for centuries in exile: always dependent on the good will (or lack of it) of the majority under whose will we lived, forced to bend ourselves, our rights, our dignity, too often even our very lives, to our subjugators, in the hope (and without any guarantees) that they will show us some kindness.

Many of the movement's leaders have not only expressed themselves in a way that reflects an acceptance of the anti-Israeli narrative, and took one-sided positions I can't agree with, they also acted in ways that have left me feeling quite unsafe.

For example, one of ST's founders, Yeela Raanan, joined and supported the violent Palestinian riots on Israel's border with Gaza, organized by Hamas, meant to breach the border fence, which started in 2018. Today we know these riots were a part of Hamas' preparations for the Oct 7, 2023 massacre, as they were getting the IDF used to them coming closer and closer to the fence. TBH, those of us listening to the statements of Hamas' leaders, we didn't need to wait for the border to be breached in order to know that it would be a bloodbath if they succeed. Sinwar's promise that they will reap out the hearts of Israelis with spoons from our chests was enough. Also, the repeated use during these riots of flags and kites with swastikas was pretty telling. So yeah, I can't trust anyone who supported that.

The movement is also financially supported in part by funds, such as the New Israel Fund, which finances a lot of good causes, but also many anti-Israel ones, and the German fund Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung, which supports the antisemitic BDS movement (it's antisemitic first of all because one of its stated goals is to put an end to Israel as a Jewish state, another reason is their use of antisemitic tropes in characterizing the Jewish state).

The ironic thing is that, despite how imbalanced against Israel ST is, it was still the so-called pro-Palestinians who actually started a campaign to boycott the organization. Not because of anything specific ST said or did. It was simply for being an Israeli organization, showing the diversity of Israeli society, which is apparently bad 'coz it "normalizes" Israel's existence. That shows you the anti-Israel nature of this opposition, that no amount of willingness to cooperate with the de-humanization of Jews and erasure of our rights will ever be enough for people whose real motivation is antisemitism, that wishes to see an end to the Jewish state.

I hope this helps, Nonnie! Once more, my apologies for how long it's taken me to reply. Be well!

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[jungle-angel]

Chaos In The Kitchen (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob and his siblings should never be in the kitchen together, especially prepping for the big barbecue on the 4th

Warnings: Parenthood, Bob and his siblings being a chaotic mess, Meemaw having to control everybody etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @sebsxphia

Bob pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe, his ears bombarded by the cacophony of noise coming from the kitchen. Pans and pots clattered to the floor along with utensils, loud curses and swears flew from the doorway along with some rather colorful insults.

"......You're a fucking idiot Michael! Why would you do that?!"

"How was I supposed to know it would do that, SEAN?!"

"You two dickheads almost lit the kitchen on fire!"

"Stay outta this Reagan!"

"No I'm not gonna stay out of it! You know why? Because I am the keeper of the one collective brain cell the four of you share!"

Bob made a face and set the grocery bags down at the threshold of the door. The kitchen was a mess, completely covered in flour and smatterings of vanilla. Something had burned in the cast iron pan while Bob's brothers and oldest sister continuously argued over who had almost burned down the kitchen.

"HOLY MOSES!" Meemaw exclaimed as she came through the storm door in the kitchen with a basket of elderberries.

Everyone froze, two of them swallowing nervously.

"Um........Meemaw......we can explain.........." Eugene said.

"Please do, I'd love to hear it," she said sarcastically.

No one spoke, too nervous to rouse the wrath of their grandmother.

"I trust ya'll knuckleheads to get one thing......one damn thing made......and ya'll nearly burn down the kitchen," Meemaw pointed out.

"It was Sean's idea," Michael said, yelping when Sean stamped his older brother's foot.

"That is IT!" Meemaw declared. "Out! Out! Git on outta my kitchen! Out! Go cause trouble somewhere else!"

The five disgruntled siblings, Liam, Reagan, Eugene, Sean and Michael, all filed out the storm door to go see what else needed doing.

"Sorry ya'll had to see that Bob," Meemaw apologized.

"Nothing I haven't seen before Meemaw," Bob answered, trying not to laugh.

Him and Meemaw set to work, trying to get the kitchen cleaned up before the barbecue commenced. "Hopefully none of'em lose a finger or a hand when they set the fireworks off tonight," Meemaw chuckled.

Bob laughed a little bit. "I dunno Meemaw, but we'll find out," Bob replied.

"In the meantime we're gonna need to get this place cleaned up and bakin," she said. "Not that I wanna have the ovens goin but I guess the mini-splits will help with that. Any idea where (y/n) went?"

"She went to go get Auggie's birthday cake from the grocery store," Bob answered. "I think Dad, Papa and Hawk all went to go get them meat."

"Well, if anything they'll be a while," Meemaw remarked. "In the meantime, you and me are gonna get this shit movin."

Meemaw pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the hutch cabinet in the hallway. "Two for the chefs, one for the dish," she joked.

Bob and Meemaw set to work on the pies and other baked goods, hoping they would be ready in time for the picnic. Meemaw had pulled the Hoosier Pie from the fridge, the cream filling having set overnight and needing only a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon over the top.

"Was this your mom's recipe?" Bob asked.

"Nah that was my Meemaw's recipe," Meemaw laughed. "She used to make it every summer and maybe at Thanksgiving. I remember when we'd bring your dad, aunts and uncles up to their place in Indiana every year for Thanksgiving and she'd make it."

Bob laughed at the stories Meemaw had told about her time growing up on the farm in Indiana and how she had met Papa after he had tried to sneak a slice of her gram's pie from the window.

The cream and pudding pies were stuck in the fridge to set while the huckleberry pie was quickly pulled from the oven and the apple one stuck right in. The shoofly pie had been a recipe from Meemaw's friend, Ethel, a fiery little Mennonite woman from Pennsylvania and who had been very close with Meemaw while their husbands were serving in Korea.

Finally, everything was done. Bob had never seen so many pies in his entire life. "I don't think I can look at another pie for a long time," he laughed.

"You and me both Bobby," Meemaw chuckled.

The door opened and you stuck the red, white and blue cake on the counter. "I hate holiday grocery shopping," you groaned.

Bob coiled his arms around you and kissed your cheek. "It came out great though," he remarked.

You couldn't have agreed more. The red, white and blue cake was absolutely huge with an edible photo of Captain America on the front of it. "Has Auggie seen it yet?" Bob asked.

"I don't think so," you said. "We'll wait till after dinner tonight to show him."

You joined your husband and your grandmother-in-law in the kitchen to get everything else ready, enjoying yourselves as you smelled all the tantalizing scents of the meat being cooked outside. Of course there had been chaos, but you and Bob enjoyed yourselves nonetheless.

[no-less-than-a-god]

“May I ask a question?” The Lamb’s voice carries easily through the Afterlife, and if The One Who Waits hadn’t just watched them die (an attack that they were too weakened to dodge, an arrow piercing their chest), he would have startled at how it echoes around them; Aym and Baal didn’t have such foresight, and both of them jerked, ears flicking and tails fluffing up for only a moment before calming.

“I have told you, Vessel,” The One Who Waits answers, as the Lamb grows close. “You are free to ask anything of your god.”

“Who are these two?” the Lamb asks, and gestures to the disciples on either side of the god. Having been directly referenced, both of their ears prick up, and they stand as straight as they can, alert and curious.

“They’re my disciples,” The One Who Waits replies, “gifted upon me as kits.”

He does not mention his sibling’s name, or the fact he knows it was them. It hurts to think about it, even now.

“Do they have names?”

The god makes a motion with his chained wrist, and addresses his keepers. “Speak freely, and introduce yourself to the Lamb.”

“Baal.”

“Aym.”

“Are you two brothers?”

“Yes,” it was Baal who replies, his brother’s head tilting as he answers. “Twins.”

“Who’s older?”

There is a pause. Both disciples look upon each other silently, before turning back to the Lamb they towered over.

“I think,” it was Aym who speaks this time, as he points his staff towards Baal, “he’s older.”

“Huh…” the Lamb trails off then, before speaking up again. “Who’s better at fighting?”

“I am,” both of them reply simultaneously, and then shoot each other a look.

“I beat you last time we sparred,” Aym says.

“But I had beaten you thrice before that,” Baal counters.

“Twice,” Aym corrects.

“Thrice,” Baal insists.

In a sudden move, Aym pounces on his brother, staff brandished. “I’ll show you who’s a better fighter!” he yells, and the two throw themselves off to the side, bickering and fighting.

Both the Lamb and The One Who Waits watches the brothers for a few moments, before the Lamb looks up at their god.

“Apologies, I seem to have caused that,” they say.

“They fight, it happens,” the god replies. He does not stop his disciples, or reprimand them from fighting in front of his vessel. Instead, he watches with amusement.

“It’s entertaining, most of the time,” he adds. “I’ve been keeping track of who wins.”

“Who’s winning, then?”

Beneath the veil, The One Who Waits begins to smile, and he turns back to the Lamb.

“They’re tied.”

-------------------------------------

“May I ask what happens to the offerings I give you?”

“My disciples eat the fish.”

“You don’t?”

“I cannot.”

“Would you like me to send other things, then?”

“The fish is adequate, Vessel. You do not have to.”

“Do you know what fish they prefer, then?”

“Aym prefers swordfish; Baal prefers tuna.”

“And you?”

“...It’s been too long for me to remember the tastes, but I remember being partial to salmon the most.”

-------------------------------------

“Does it hurt?” they ask, sitting among the ethereal ground. The One Who Waits watches them, as they peer up at him.

They look so small.

“Does what hurt?” he asks in return, although he has a speculation.

“The shackles, the chains. Being bound.”

The One Who Waits remains silent, contemplating, before he speaks honestly. “They have pained me for so long, I take no further notice. I have been forced to grow used to the unbearable agony; it no longer affects me as greatly as it once did. Is there a reason you ask, Vessel?”

The Lamb, The One Who Waits surprisingly finds, is silent. They’ve looked away from him, and suddenly, they’re standing up.

“I’m ready to go back,” they claim, and there’s a tremble at the end of their voice.

Ignoring that they failed to answer his own question, Narinder raises his bony arm, chainlinks clinking together, as he resurrects them.

Later, watching through the crown, he sees the Lamb descend upon the stone statue of Heket with their oversized hammer, smashing it to pieces.

Even as it rebuilds itself, the hammer brings it all down in a fit of rage, until the Lamb is doubled over with fatigue, panting and sweating.

Eligos brings their demise two days later, and neither god nor vessel speak as the Lamb looks upon The One Who Waits.

Thank you, he wants to say, for your rage. For caring. You did not have to do that, but you did. 

But he says nothing.

-------------------------------------

“Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

“I’ve watched the rat play it, many times. And I’ve watched you play it, many times more.”

“But do you know how to play?”

“I do not.”

“Can I teach you?

“With what dice, Vessel?”

“I have some in the crown. I can teach Aym and Baal too, if they want.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

-------------------------------------

“Have you always had a veil?” the Lamb asks, resting in their god’s hand. They had requested to lay down, after a painful and quite literal run-in with an explosive fiend. They sit up, a curious tilt to their head.

“I acquired one not long after my ascension to a Bishop,” The One Who Waits replies. Nearby, the sound of staff clacking together continues as the twins spar. “There were complaints of my gaze being uncomfortable. Unnerving.”

The Lamb pauses, before they softly ask, “May I see?”

“The veil?”

“Your face.”

A century ago, a request as such would have given him pause. He would have declined, and sent the Lamb away.

Instead, he slowly brings his arm up, and leans down. The Lamb ducks under the veil, and for the first time, the god and vessel make true eye contact.

Red meets white. The One Who Waits looks, unblinking, as the Lamb stares back into his eyes.

Something touches his nose, and it twitches involuntarily at the unfamiliar sensation. It takes the god a few seconds to realize it’s the Lamb’s hand.

The Lamb smiles, gently. “Your eyes. They’re a pretty red.”

The One Who Waits’ ear flicks.

“Like camellias. Or fresh blood. It’s nice.”

“Vessel,” the god whispers, because they’re so close. “I ask you to stop talking.”

The Lamb leans against The One Who Waits’ nose, and all he can smell is them. “And I ask,” they reply, their smile growing, “is that I can continue praising my god’s bea-”

“Lamb-” The One Who Waits interrupts, and it comes out soft. Something warm curls in his chest, around his unbeating heart.

“What shall become of me, if I don’t stop talking?” the Lamb asks in a whisper. 

A purr threatens to rip itself from the god’s chest.

“I’ll send you back to your followers,” The One Who Waits replies.

The threat is empty, and both of them know it.

-------------------------------------

“Was Kallamar your elder or younger brother?”

“Elder.”

“And Heket was younger. Does that mean you were the middle sibling?”

“Yes, I was in the middle. Two came before, and two after.”

“May I ask what it was like, having siblings?”

“I assure you, Vessel, my experience with siblinghood is most definitely different from the norm.”

“I rephrase: May I ask what it was like for you, having siblings? May I know more of my god’s past?”

“Draw close, Lamb, and I shall tell you.”

-------------------------------------

“Shamura spoke to me.” 

The One Who Waits flicks his ear, half because of hearing his sibling’s name on his lamb's tongue, half because they sound nervous.

The Lamb continues speaking. “They told me something. A name.”

The god freezes. He stills so suddenly, not even his chains clink. It's silent.

He knows what name Shamura had spoken. He wasn't watching the Lamb during their crusade, but he knows.

He remembers, faintly, his name uttered in vain, in fear and disgust. In hatred, or indifference.

“Were they telling the truth?” the Lamb asks. “Is your name Narinder?”

Reverence. How long ago did someone last say his name with such reverence?

“It is,” he replies, and he pretends his voice doesn’t tremble at the end.

“Can I call you that?”

The answer comes at once, without thought or hesitation, “Yes.”

“Much easier to say than your title,” the Lamb smiles a little, “right, Narinder?”

His own purr surprises him, and he watches as the Lamb’s smile grows into something soft, something fond.

Off to the side, Baal and Aym shoot their master a strange look.

-------------------------------------

“What do you plan to do, once you’re free?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been trapped for almost a millennium, Narinder, surely you’ve thought of something?”

“I’ve had ideas in the past, but they’ve changed. Now, I’m unsure.”

“I can help you think of something, if you want.”

-------------------------------------

Narinder, The One Who Waits, has dreamed of freedom for centuries. All he’s wished for, as time passed in his eternal prison, is that he could be set free.

The Lamb’s arrival to him, covered in chains and looking ragged, had filled him with ecstatic bloodlust.

They were it, his key. With them as his final sacrifice, he’d be free.

That thought would keep him gleeful, a comfort. With their death, he’ll find his freedom.

But something changed.

Now, the thought fills him with dread.

With their death, he’ll be free.

For the first time since he was shackled, his dreams aren’t filled with revenge, with tearing himself free and escaping.

For the first time, he becomes weary of his own domain.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die to free him.

He wants them alive. He wants them to stay, sleeping against his claw and chest, saying his name, peering under his veil.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

Which is why, when they bow to him, his crown in their hands, he cannot find the words he’s dreamed of saying for centuries, the words he’s supposed to say.

It’s why, fists clenching, he says, “No.”

Good afternoon, I woke up and chose violence today! More specifically, I decided today I would write short fragments of interaction between narinder and the lamb during their vessel years

also. lore :)

anyways if anyone's curious I listened to "Home" by Pinkshift while writing this

[m1schief-managed]

here’s a little imagine for your friday evening :)

y/n potter, james’ twin sister, who plays keeper for the gryffindor quidditch team, with james as the chaser and team captain.

remus, who watches from the stands and cheers the loudest every time his mates score or make a save.

he smiles to himself and looks away every time she catches him watching her. it always went unspoken, on both of their parts.

after a particularly successful game against slytherin, the team hosts an after party in gryffindor tower. soon enough, the common room got much too loud and you couldn’t move without bumping shoulders with someone.

this wasn’t remus’ scene. it wasn’t y/n’s either, but her brother kept insisting that she had to celebrate their win, so she had to stick around longer than she hoped.

remus retreated to his room as soon as he deemed it appropriate to make an irish exit. he thought it’d go unnoticed, but it didn’t.

when james’ attention was pulled away by a certain redhead, y/n refilled her cup of firewhiskey and then looked around the room to search for her friends. sirius was in the corner with some girl, she couldn’t tell who. peter was sitting on the couch chatting with mary. her eyes panned the rest of the room, but remus was nowhere to be found.

checking once more to make sure her brother was distracted, she turned and went up the stairs to the dorms in search of her friend. when she reached the top, she saw the door to her brother’s dorm open (which he shared with the rest of them) and found remus sitting on the window sill, reading with the window open in the light of the moon. the full moon had long past, merely waxing now.

“hey,” she says softly, leaning against the doorframe. his head shoots up out of instinct, but his expression soon softens as he sees who’s there. “i’m not interrupting, am i?”

“no, not at all,” he answers, closing his book and leaving it on his lap. “i was just getting away from the chaos.”

“me too,” she says, walking over to sit across form him on the sill, bringing her knees to her chest to mirror him.

“what, not in the celebrating mood?” he asks with a soft chuckle, looking out the window. she shakes her head.

“not really. james was determined to keep me down there, called me a buzzkill,” she replies, laughing softly at the idea. “it isn’t that i don’t want to celebrate, i just think his parties are always a tad too rowdy.”

“well, that’s prongs for you. life of the party,” he says with a smile. “not sure how he and padfoot do it.”

“i know,” she says. “we’re quite different, james and i.”

“i know you are,” he answers softly.

“he doesn’t,” she mutters. “he always tries to get me to go along with him, but he doesn’t understand that we don’t always like the same things… sorry, i’m rambling, i’m sure you don’t want to hear about all this.”

“don’t be sorry. i like to listen,” he says, looking over at her. “you can always talk to me, i understand.”

“i know. you always get me, moony,” she says, smiling back at him. “what’re you reading?”

as remus starts to talk about his book of the week, she rests her head on her knees, looking over at him with a soft smile. his voice was soothing and sweet, and her eyes soon start to flutter shut.

his gaze softens as he notices her start to drift off. he doesn’t mind, though. the thought of someone feeling safe enough around him to fall asleep made his heart swell. especially someone who knew what he was, and accepted him. she wasn’t afraid of him, for whatever reason he still didn’t understand.

when he’s sure that she’s fallen asleep, he gets up off the window sill and slides an arm under her legs, the other holding her back as he picks her up and places her on his bed. it’s far too late now to bring her down the stairs and up to her own room.

he sits on the floor beside the bed, brushing a stray hair out of her face and behind her ear, then smoothing his thumb over her forehead. he lays his head on the edge of the bed and shuts his eyes, drifting off to sleep himself as his best friend and the girl he loves breathes slowly next to him. he’d sleep on the floor every night if it meant he could be near her, just like this.

* i hope people like this :) i’m nervous about it. but it makes me happy so, enjoy ! let me know if anyone wants more like this *

[woso-dreamzzz]

Academy

Hardersson x Preteen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first academy session

Your first official day of academy training comes after Momma and Morsa have retired.

You've moved back to Sweden properly now with constant trips to Denmark as well. But, mainly, you're based in Sweden. Momma and Morsa have gone into coaching and sometimes commentating while you're left going to school and practicing.

You'd done a trial in the summer for Linköping FC and got in and now you're sitting in the car with Momma and Morsa psyching yourself up to go in.

You're eleven now - nearly twelve - and you open and close your hands into fists as you look over at the training centre. There's a group of similarly aged girls to you waiting outside, getting ticked in on the register as they stand in a clump.

"Do you need us to come up with you?" Morsa asks, also looking at the girls.

You shake your head. "No. No one else's parents are there." It's a lie, of course. You desperately want them to walk you up there but it'd be embarrassing so you're leaning away from the option.

Momma turns back in her seat and reaches her hand back to hold yours. "Hey," She says," It's only for a few hours. You go in. You listen. You do what they say and then we'll go and get takeout for dinner. Sound good?"

You nod, wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts. "Yeah."

"We love you," Morsa says," And if you hate it, you don't have to go back."

You slip out of the car and approach, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you sign in. It doesn't take long for everybody else to arrive and soon you're all being brought inside and handed trainings shirts and stuff.

Then, names are being read out.

You're still young so roles like defence, midfield and forward are still fairly flexible but some people (like you) are already firmly in little boxes so you're easy to separate out.

But, most of your peers end up in a group in the middle because they either haven't chosen their roles or don't yet know what they'd be good at.

There's a fairly large group of forwards which Momma told you last night would happen. At your age, everyone wants to score a goal and most of these girls will end up as attacking midfielders before the year is up. Speaking of the midfield, they're a much smaller group than the self-proclaimed forwards and the defenders are even smaller.

You're the only goalkeeper, feeling a little awkward as you sit at a table all by yourself until the trainer comes.

He smiles at you. He's kind of got one of those old people smiles that Momma's dad has, all warmth and happiness.

You smile back.

"You know," He says, his voice barely above a whisper," I wasn't actually expecting any keepers today. Usually, everyone wants to score a goal."

"That's what my Momma says."

"Your Momma sounds very smart," He replies," Now..." He pulls out some sheets of paper. "I'm meant to explain all the ins and outs of everything. It's meant to take a while because we leave time for questions but, if you let me get through this all then I'm sure we'd have time to play a few rounds of noughts and crosses while everyone else finishes up. Sound good?"

You nod.

He's right, of course. Everyone else takes ages to explain everything but keeping is fairly straight forward and you're the only keeper here so there's not other people around to ask questions.

"Whoa there!" Morsa says as you crash into her at the end of training," You're all sweaty!"

She's right.

You are sweaty. Hair sticks to your forehead and your shirt to your skin. You're sure that you're all gross feeling but Morsa doesn't care as she hugs you back before ushering you into the car.

"How did it go?" Momma asks as she pulls out of the car park," Good? Bad?"

"Good!" You say, a grin splitting your face wide open.

"What did you do?" Morsa asks, turning in her seat to look at you.

"We played a little game," You answer, practically bouncing in excitement," So they could all see where we were at and the individual trainers laid out the plans for each week."

"Were there a lot of forwards?" Momma teases as she turns onto a road.

"Uh-huh. I was the only keeper though."

"That'll change," Morsa assures you," Those kids that haven't decided yet will end up cycling through everything. I'm sure one or two of them will be keepers."

"It's fine," You say," I'm not upset. I don't need other keepers."

Your mothers laugh softly.

"You still need to make friends," Momma says.

"I just want to train," You insist stubbornly.

"You can train and have friends too," Morsa puts in," In fact, I'd go so far as to say you need friends to train well. Promise me, princesse, that you'll make some friends."

You huff. "Fine," You say," I'll make friends."

"Good. Now, what did you want for dinner?"

[skipper1331]

Who will win? // Merle Frohms

a/n: based off this request!

"Hi" the voice of your girlfriend came whispered through the phone.

"Hey" you mumbled in responds, eyes already heavy after the exhausting day you’ve had. For awhile, no words were exchanged, only soft breathing could be heard. Merle was the one who broke the silence, her voice shaky, "will we be okay?" she asked, fearing your answer.

Tomorrow, Arsenal would face Wolfsburg in a sold out Emirates Stadium - a match that would decide which team would make it to the Champions League final as it was 2-2 on aggregate.

In an instant, you replied, "yes, of course."

Your mind had also been consumed by that thought. Would Merle be mad at you if you won? No matter who wins, what consequences will be there? What if you loose?

"Promise me?"

"I promise"

"Okay" she sighed in relief, "I love you" your cheeks turned hot, her words so full of honesty as the butterflies in your stomach went crazy.

"I love you too" you replied sheepishly, suddenly wide awake.

The keeper and you had met through mutual friends on a holiday trip, your chemistry magical since the very first moment. Yet at first, Merle was shy and reserved towards you, you were the only one she didn‘t know - well, she did know you as you were one of Arsenals greatest defenders but she didn’t know know you yet but that side was gone not even two hours later, the two of you engaged in conversation after conversation. It seemed like your friends weren‘t existing anymore as Merle only had eyes for you and vice versa.

After your trip, Merle couldn’t stop thinking about you, so she texted you, wanting to know if you arrived in London safely. It was just an excuse, although she actually wanted to know if you made it some safely, only she was hoping for another conversation with you in return - maybe one that didn‘t stop. Her prayers had been heard - you started texting nonstop. Soon texts started to turn into calls and your 'friendship' blossomed.

In the winter holidays, you visited Merle, the moment your friendship turned into more as she had kissed you under the mistletoe.

Now, two years later, your relationship was going strong.

-

The two of you continued the phone call for a bit before yet another yawn let your mouth, "my love, it‘s getting late. I‘ll see you tomorrow" the german whispered.

You hummed, eyes already shut as you heard the final "I love you" of the night. With that you drifted off to sleep, thinking about the blonde.

The next day rolled by earlier than you wanted to. You were excited, the emirates was sold out, playing an important match on home soil - you couldn’t be more excited yet you were so scared. What would happen? Your mind was not only occupied with the question what happens between Merle and you but will someone get injured? You feared that every time you stepped on the pitch.

You didn‘t see your girlfriend until the lineups in the tunnel, the girl looking good in her kit.

You shot her a quick smile which she returned with a nod - when Merle was in her game mode, in the zone, nobody could distract her. This match was just as important to her as it was to you. Nobody was allowed to make a mistake otherwise you might loose.

-

Stina opened the score in the 11‘, Jill equalizing in the 41‘ - your former teammate. You knew it was her job to score when she had the opportunity but you weren’t going to lie, it hurt when she did. But also, you were incredibly proud of her - she was your friend after all.

Despite Arsenal and Wolfsburgs chances and effort, the half time score stayed 1-1.

Though that changed when VfL had a corner kick - the one and only Alexandra Popp scoring a header, as usually.

2-1.

You felt frustrated, blaming yourself - should you have been at her side? When you felt a double clap on your back, you were called back to reality. No one was to blame. Popp was an incredible player.

You prayed for an equalizer.

And as if your prayers have been heard, Jen scored with a beauty of a header.

The game continued, Wolfsburgs had their chances as Arsenal had them too. But nothing seemed to work.

After 90+ minutes, the ref blew the whistle.

The score 2-2.

which only meant one thing.

Extra time.

Your nerves were on a high race. What will happen in that extra time? What will not happen? Will there be penalties?

You were, after Kim, the person who took the penalty. Your penalties were always perfectly shot, they always slotted in the goal - the goalie nowhere near. Yet if you had to take a penalty in this game, it would be different.

Merle was in the goal.

Your girlfriend.

The one person who knew you better than anyone.

Huddling together, Jonas gave some strict orders - how to play, how to create space and chances. This wasn’t any club, this was Wolfsburg and they were one of the best german teams - if not the best. You had to be focussed and give 101%.

No mistakes were allowed.

-

You did the biggest mistake.

The teams dream of making it to the final, possibly winning it, was thrown in the bin when Manu passed the ball to you. You don’t know what happened, one second you had the ball and in the next second Jule Brand had it. Despite your effort to get it back, you knew it was too late as she assisted it to Pauline Bremer who slotted it in. Your world seemed to stop spinning.

3-2 in the 119‘

You embarrassed yourself in front of a recorded crowd and because of you the team was about to loose.

-

Nothing mattered anymore.

Arsenal lost.

They lost because you made a mistake - a mistake that decided the game.

Wolfsburg would go to the final in Eindhoven, Arsenal would stay at home. Tears slipped out of your eyes as you covered it up with your jersey while you stood in the middle of the pitch, devastated about the massive loss. Everything fell to deaf ears as you were stuck in your anger and disappointment. You ignored everybody who had approached you until you heard a familiar voice, the voice you loved so deeply.

"Hey" she said.

You didn’t reply.

"You played great" she kept her distance, not knowing if you wanted her to hug you or to leave you alone. She respected either way.

"You‘re glad I fucked up, hm? Secretly, laughing at me"

It took Merle off guard, "what? What are you talking about?" her eyes were wide, brows furrowed.

Indeed, she was happy that her team won but she felt devastated for you, not only because of the loss in general but that you caused it. It will haunt you for a while.

"Oh, don’t act all innocent now! You cannot tell me you didn’t like it, can you? My mistake, Pauline scoring the winning goal… Merle Maschine Frohms, you‘re going to the final. Congratulations" you told her bittersweetly, patting her shoulder before walking away.

The goalkeeper could only watch. Normally, 'Merle Maschine Frohms' was a running gag between the two of you but now it seemed like it was an insult.

"Didn’t go well, I assume?"

-

After the team talk, you fled the scene. You didn’t want to be here anymore. Your expression was stone cold as your jaw was clenched. You went for a quick shower, you couldn’t be bothered to take your time, all you wanted was to go home and watch your comfort movie while eating chocolate or ice cream.

Leaving the stadium felt like a relief, anger and frustration slowly leaving your body as guilt, blame and disappointment made its way up.

You knew what you said to Merle was wrong and that she most likely felt bad for you as you had talked many many times about situations like these - not knowing they would ever happen again.

After the euros final, the topics about winning and losing have been brought up and talked through, even though nervousness and anxiety filled both of your bodies nights before those matches.

You didn’t mean to snap at her, your anger just had controlled your body and not your mind.

And right now, you couldn’t see that. All you could see and feel was disappointment.

You disappointed yourself.

You disappointed your team.

You disappointed every fan in the stadium.

You disappointed everybody.

-

You fell asleep on the couch, eyes puffy, ice cream melted in the bowl as weird tv shows played. Messages from your family and teammates on your phone - no message from Merle. You felt even more disappointed yet understood due to the circumstances.

She didn’t text you nor did you text her. You didn’t know if you should or even wanted to or if she wanted you to.

The days after the match went by awfully slow and very robotic. For your teammates, it seemed like you didn’t realize the loss yet somehow like you realized the loss too much.

But after a week, when the feeling of missing started to hit, disappointment and guilt fading away step by step, you decided to call Merle. You wanted to make things right. It was Merle after all, the girl: who loved you unconditionally, who kissed your wounds, who believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You waited and waited and waited for her to answer until it eventually rang out, she didn’t want to talk to you. Sighing in defeat, you flopped on the couch.

Merle🪄

please call me back

She never responded.

It wasn‘t that she didn’t read it - she did, right after it was sent - yet couldn’t be bothered to answer.

Was this the end?

You checked her instagram - were the pictures with you still up?

They were.

Every time your screen lit up you hoped it would be Merle and each time you got disappointed when you saw that it wasn’t her. What was happening? Why did you have to snap at her?

-

It was two days later when Merle finally decided to call you back. It was in the middle of the night, you were at the verge of falling asleep.

Groggily, you picked up the phone, not even looking at the caller id.

"Hello?"

"Hey"

"Merle" your breath hitched, suddenly wide awake. Nothing mattered anymore, it didn’t matter that it was in the middle of the night or that you had training early in the morning. All you cared about was saving your relationship.

Silence held the line until a small whisper came, "you‘ve hurt me-"

"I know"

"Well, you didn’t insult me but I don’t know, snapping at me? I just wanted to comfort you. You promised me-"

"I promised you we would be okay"

"And we are not"

"I want us to be"

The silence that followed was deafening, you felt like this was the moment.

She will break up with me

"Merle?"

silence.

"I‘m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to snap at you, everything just came crashing down on me and I know this is no excuse. I was just- I don’t- I’m sorry"

silence.

"I love you"

You had already lost hope before "I love you too" came. "I don’t know why I got so upset at you, I had no right to, you had lost and I understood your emotions, but all I wanted was to comfort you. I‘m sorry that I didn’t give you some space or respected your boundaries. I want us to be okay, too, I really do."

"You do?" you asked surprised.

"Of course, I’m so in love with you, you can’t even imagine"

The biggest smile started to make its way on your face, cheeks flushing red, skin tingle.

"I‘ve missed you"

"I missed you so much"

All the built up feelings from the last week, washed away. There was no guilt or anger due to your mistake in the match, there was no sadness and sulking anymore - all there was, was love and happiness.

The two of you started one of your endless conversations, updating what had happened the last days or upcoming events - Merle purposely avoiding the uwcl final. She wanted you there more than anything but now wasn‘t the right time to bring it up.

The next weeks went by fast, you were back to your usual persona, socializing and cracking jokes as you slowly but surely learned to accept that mistakes happen.

Only one and a half weeks left before the final, the goalkeeper decided to bring it up because she really wanted to see you in the stands as her supporter.

Not thinking about her words, she blurted it out while you were in the middle of your sentence, "i want you to be at the final" she said, the kitchen in her flat suddenly super interesting. What felt like an eternity for her was in fact only a few seconds, your answer so supportive and loving, "yes, of course. Leah, Lia and I already have tickets and our flights are booked"

Your girlfriend stayed silent for a moment, "I was afraid you didn’t want to come" she admitted, cheeks turning red out of embarrassment.

"What? Why? I always want to see you play!" you beamed, "you’re in the champions league final, baby!" You pushed the little sting in your heart away, fully focused on Merle. If you couldn’t win the trophy, none other than your girlfriend should win it. You were her number one fan. So, as soon as things were made up with her - you weren’t sure if she wanted you there when things were complicated between the two of you - you texted in the group chat with Leah and Lia that you‘d join them.

"I thought maybe- I don’t know"

"No, baby. I always want to watch you play, always. And I’m so proud of you, you will win that trophy" you exclaimed, your index finger subconsciously drawing hearts on the couch.

"I love you"

The goalkeeper felt so relieved. With you being in the stands there couldn’t go anything wrong. She would not only try to win that trophy but to impress you.

-

"Stop being so jittery" the England captain stated as she rested her hand firmly on your knee to stop it from wobbling.

Already on the way to the stadium you couldn’t shut up about seeing Merle and her team, the atmosphere, FC Barcelona and so on. Somehow you were starstruck and so excited.

"Look! There’s Merle!" you cut the LW‘s off in their conversation, tapping Lia‘s thigh rapidly.

"Yes, we can see her" she chuckled, your eyes shining with hearts. "Isn’t she so pretty" you admired. She looked so stunning in her kit. "You‘re drooling" Leah chipped in, laughing at you when your hand flew to your mouth, checking if there was drool - there wasn‘t.

-

"LET‘S GO!!!" you yelled when Ewa Pajor scored the opening goal in the 3rd minute. Green shirts everywhere in the stadium, cheering for their team as they went in the lead. Lia and Leah watched you with an amused look while they held their facial expressions neutral about the game.

"YES!!!" you cheered even louder when the second goal came flying in from Alex Popp - that women an absolute legend with her incredible headers.

The first half Wolfsburg played phenomenally as they created chances, defended and got two goals.

Yet when the second half started everything went downhill. About 5 minutes into the game Patri equalized. The stadium started to roar, the Wolfsburg players looking helpless.

Though, you had to admit that it was brilliantly played from Barcelona, even though you felt bad for Merle as she conceded two goals within two minutes.

Every minute that went by from then on, the game got more intense and physically. Fouls and cards were called out, every player on the pitch wanting to win.

When Rolfö scored in the 70th, you slumped back in your chair, grumbling about the game. How was Merle supposed to save that? She stood no chance!

You had a feeling that it was the last goal you would see off the game. And it was confirmed around 30+ mins later when the referee blew her whistle.

Devastated, you watched as the players in green collapsed on the floor, all of them crying or at least with tears in their eyes yet your eyes glued on the goalkeeper in blue. She must feel horrible - a feeling you knew better than anyone.

In all honesty, Merle wasn‘t to blame for the loss and neither were her teammates - their performance was great, just not enough in the end.

Like in trance, the german international made her way over to you - she needed your comfort. She needed your hugs, your touch and your love. She just needed you.

"Hey" she mumbled as she stood in front of you, her teammates also near her as you sat in the family and friends section.

"Come here" you opened your arms, the girl hugging you as if her life deepened on it, sobbing in the crook of your neck. You hand cradled her head while the other one rubbed her back in a calming and gentle manner. "I‘m proud of you" you whispered, sweetly kissing her temple before you let cry as long as she needed in your shoulder.

After sweet nothings and a long hug, she stepped back, looking at you with doe eyes, "i‘m sorry I couldn’t win."

Your hands cupped her cheeks as your thumbs wiped away the tears, "I love you" you couldn’t say anything else, it would have been wrong to say 'you played great' even though she was blaming herself for the loss right now. Instead you stood on your tip toes, pressing your lips against her left cheek, then right cheek before finally her mouth which resulted in a little smile. It was a kiss so gentle and tender, healing and caring, loving and promising. But most importantly - it was your kiss.

So, in the end, sadly, neither of you won the trophy but the comfort you had in each other seemed like a win in a loss.