#like LEGIT sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr is available in 18 languages.

inkskinned · 2 years

Text

i know people are good because of this: the universe often assigns me side quests. in a circular strangeness; despite my inability to locate my-own-anything, i am almost-always finding someone else's lost things. dogs, coats, phones, cash, laptops. it happens so often it's almost tiring; suddenly being looped into a tiny amount of detective work.

but when i'm with other people who are not used to this: the response is almost invariably delight. yes, maybe they are simply thrilled by the mystery. it's just... they light up so much. i think maybe more... i think they like the opportunity to do something kind.

a few weeks ago, i was at a bar and i found a wallet as soon as we stepped outside. i felt nervous to ask for help, worried i would be holding up the night. i picked it up and said go on without me, i should help this get back to its home.

instead, three people pulled out their phones - to find him on facebook, to help cancel his credit cards. two people went back into the bar to tell the bartender, two others went calling down the street. group texts, facebook posts, instagram stories. people, without even seeing what happened, start offering help to me. fifteen minutes and: someone knows someone who knows the guy. the cheer that went up - just for finding him, just for this small thing. someone gets him on the phone. strangers dance around me, hopping on their feet - are you the girl that found that wallet? good for you, that's a good thing you're doing/same thing happened to me and somebody did what you're doing and i thank god everyday for people like you/i can't believe you found him so fast this is so exciting

i gave it back to him in a parking lot. i watched his shoulders sag with relief. there was cash in it still - he checked the pocket, and then sheepishly held the money out to me. i didn't take it. i held up my hands. "it's no problem, man. i know you'd do the same for me."

i don't know him, to be honest. i don't know if he is the same kind of person i am. but he nodded at me.

and i know people are good. i know people are good, because the way this story ends isn't surprising. we wave goodbye awkwardly. my friend loops their arm around me.

"i can't believe we got it back to him," they said. "i'm going to be riding that high for weeks."

#i lost my wallet in disney world once #and really thought i had beefed it bc i was 19 and alone #and a woman got it back to me within an hour #just like . a mom #i have no idea how she got my number or info #and i do think that since then karmatically god has been like.#ur about to be the same person in someone else's life #btw i like the side quests but they never happen at a good time #once saved 2 lost dogs while on the way to the airport. i already had my 70 pound dog in the back of my car #and had to chase 2 dogs down the street to wrastle into my passenger seat #(she ended up writing me the fucking nicest thank you card and sending me WAY #W A Y too much in target bucks as a thank-you)#i went 2 go see batman the other night and legit like. had already been running late #to go see a friend #and instead was like. sorry i have to step outside and use this person's phone to see if i can find them #i once found 250 dollars in cash lol #MEANWHILE IN MY PRIVATE LIFE #I LOSE FUCKING EVERYTHING #adhd will be like #: thou art so observant that it is distracting :#: BUT not observant towards items that are not novel to you :#: die mad about it :#: so it is written. so it must be :#: no nobody saw where you put the fucking car keys :

23K notes · View notes

saleeba · 6 months

Text

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off.

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person.

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad.

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends.

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for.

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.”

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it.

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words.

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though.

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other.

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel.

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests.

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again.

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late.

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry.

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head.

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home.

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up.

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision.

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs.

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now.

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely.

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy.

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s.

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.”

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release.

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,”

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste.

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once.

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions.

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones.

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail.

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.”

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

#girlies i’ve never had alcohol in my life so i hope the way i wrote reader & jude being drunk was ok !!! 🫶🏽#then again i’ve never had sex in my life and i write extensively about it so u know . 😭😭😭#guys imagine if before every smut fic i wrote a disclaimer like ‘guys i-i’ve never had sex before but i hope i did okay with this 🥺🥺' LMAO #ALSO omg im sorry abt the inconsistencies in tone + tempo i legit wrote this over a 5 month period + came back to it at times when i didnt #feel like writing + i was just tryna get to the good bit iykwim ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)#˗ˏˋ 📝 ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ 💬 ˎˊ˗#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #football imagine #footballer smut #footballer imagine

963 notes · View notes

paimonial-rage · 1 year

Text

cocky bastard vibes - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which reader shares their free thoughts on the liyue statue of seven

notes: standalone snippet part of the bookkeeping!verse

It was a beautiful day in Liyue. The grass was a luscious green and the birds were singing a beautiful song. After a nice stay at the Emerald Maple Inn, you and Mr. Zhongli decided to have a cup of tea next to the Statue of the Seven before heading on your way to Qingce Village. You were to accompany him to pick up supplies for the next funeral rite, and with the way the morning was going, you knew nothing would ruin this peaceful day.

"So how much do you want to bet that Rex Lapis was hot and knew it?”

You ignored the choked sound that came from your side as you gazed up at the picturesque statue. Though your companion would probably consider your question quite out of the blue, you couldn’t say it was the first time you wondered such a thing. Whenever you passed by one of them in Liyue, the thought always plagued your mind for a few hours after. Judging by Mr. Zhongli’s reaction, though, it seemed he did not share your sentiments.

"Ehem… That… certainly is an interesting thought. I can’t say whether or not previous records touched on such a topic."

You hummed, gazing up at the statue. Really? That couldn’t be true. Why wouldn’t anyone talk about a statue looking like that?

“Well there are many reasons why I’d say I’m right. First off, his outfit. He has a hooded cloak on while also being shirtless. There’s absolutely no logical reason to dress like that unless they’re from the deserts of Sumeru, wouldn’t you say? It obviously was a conscious fashion decision. If you pair that with the seductive way he’s sitting, I’d be inclined to assume he’s quite clearly feeling his look.”

Silence came from your side. Hm, Mr. Zhongli still wasn’t convinced? Then you would go on.

“You do see it, right? His posture is relaxed, yet confident. Not to mention the way he’s looking at that cube in his hand with practically bedroom eyes. His knees are apart too. My friend from Sumeru told me that when a man sits like that, he’s displaying his dominance.”

Still silence.

"You can't sit in a seductive pose like that without on some level being aware you look good doing it. I mean look at him! He's shirtless and everything! I've heard even macho fishermen say that they pray to the statue for a good night before coming home to see their wives. You can’t blame them, right?"

A hesitant cough.

"I-I'm sure it was a younger time when those statues were sculpted."

You groaned.

"Maybe, but you’re not even looking! If you did, you’d agree with me that Rex Lapis is clearly exuding such massive 'cocky bastard' vibes!" You countered.

For some reason, the more you spoke, the more flustered he became.

"C'mon, Mr. Zhongli! Why are you so embarrassed? It's not like I'm slandering his good name! I mean, if Rex Lapis didn't want us talking about him like this, maybe he shouldn't have made a statue with abs clean enough to eat off of!"

Okay, maybe at this point, you were piling it on a bit thick. Could anyone blame you? His face was in his hand as if he had a headache, and were his ears tinged the slightest hint of red? It was an interesting sight. Never had you seen him look so completely flustered. Sure you were rather blunt, but you didn't think your words were that provocative. Mr. Zhongli really was practically a 65 year old man.

"I thought you respected the Geo Archon…" He muttered weakly.

You gasped in offense.

"I do! I’d even consider my words the utmost of pious behavior. In Mondstadt, the sisters of the church consider themselves married to Barbatos, the Anemo Archon. So finding the Geo Archon to be a sex god is pretty much the same thing, right?”

“No, it is not.”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #in which the author converts their first thought upon seeing the liyue statue of seven into written verse #like legit why he sit like that tho #like i’m not the only one right?#why is he sitting like he wants to seduce someone #there’s no logical reason anyone would sit like that unless they thought they looked damn sexy doing so #also if it isn’t clear reader is purposefully laying it on thick through this whole thing #it’s their turn to be amused they deserve it #he’s put them through enough #this is the dumbest thing i’ve ever written but i’m also not sorry #this is my magnum opus not the fischl one uwu #milk u made me finish this how dare you #bookkeeping!verse

2K notes · View notes

grand-theft-carbohydrates · 1 year

Text

what's gayer? being gay or what ever the hell darth maul and obi wan had going on.

Darth Maul: I spent the last 12 years desperately clinging to life just for the chance to see you again. Even when I forgot my own name, I still remembered yours. When I see you it feels like a part of me is missing. You drove me mad. You're the only thing keeping me sane. I dream about holding your heart in my hands, my teeth at your throat.

Obi wan: ...i have a gf

#if this was a text obi would just leave him on read #star wars #darth maul #obi wan #obimaul #i legit cannot even imagine darth maul being straight. he hates another man so ardently so passionately so obsessively #its impossible to picture him spending even a fraction of that energy on a chick #sorry ladies he just doesn't hate u like that :/#the saber swings both ways but he dont

1K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 2 months

Note

“When your need grows teeth” is so good I literally bite the pillow like a dog while reading it!!! I need to know more about Ghost and the ‘unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog’.!!!!!

haha i really didn't think people would pay much attention to it, tbh! i like adding little things like this into the stuff i write. a little story within a story, i guess. but i would love to flesh it out, since where it was this undertone of "oh, you..." (sort of cheeky, kinda sly when you looked at the bigger picture) with Price, it would more-so be, "oh, no..." with Ghost.

Price's original convo with Ghost would have been acknowledged as gospel and adopted into Ghost's own scripture for the longest time (since it's my weird little hc that Ghost uses Price as a yardstick for normalcy—or, almost like a needle in his morality compass), and then seeing Price give into those needs was sort of like this big moment that caused that compass to go haywire.

essentially, if Price is a starving dog, then Ghost is one on the verge of death, willing to sink his teeth into anything just to survive. and that's sort of the crux of it. in my head, Ghost would have been unleashed by this, but what took the muzzle off is his own MC, who thinks they're taking in this sick, old dog from off the streets, and helping it as much as they can, only to wake up and realise this dog is rabid. and it already bit them. but what really caused this poor person such misfortune was that little tossed in line by Price when he's volleying with Laswell about his status. Or damn near close to it. and that's what sealed their fate lmao. the implication that this baby is somehow more permanent than a ring.

idk! i like the idea of someone sweet, if a little naïve, being bit by him, a man who wakes up most days thinking he's still buried in a grave. or what happens when a living corpse feels heat for the first time in ages after being given a bed and a warm body with a soft touch. quite catastrophic, imo.

#the Ghost fic would be a legit babytrap tho lmao #like youd wake up after Simon broke into your apartment to him fucking you already and hes shushing you #and youre just a little too sleepy to realise you ran out of condoms before his deployment #not that hed have bothered anyway #youd probs wake up the next morning with him calmly drinking tea and the only thing hed say is something like #“if its a boy well name him Tommy”#and ur like fuck fuck fuckkkkkk #kinda rambled sorry!!!#but my writing really doesn't let me dive into stuff as in depth as id like without being omnipotent so whenever i get the chance i go off #ghost x reader (baby trap edition)#cod #call of duty

253 notes · View notes

nonomives · 1 year

Note

How do you color your art!? Like color theory and stuff!! Your art looks so vibrant and gorgeous!!!

I like your Circus AU very much, Julie looks absolutely adorable haha!!

Babe im gonna be real with you, I just fuck around and find out--

Okok but in all honesty, I dont know. My main tip when it comes to coloring is knowing the value (darkness and lightness of colors). Your art could have the wackiest colors as possible but if you nail the values right, it will work out

Another thing, pride flags lowkey actually highkey are useful as references for color combos. Some peeps actually pointed out how Dolly's hair is the lesbian flag and yeaps--

Also also thanks! Have this Julie! Im still figuring out the other peep's designs but her's is pretty much set lol (i used the trans flag as a color guide hkabjdggjagjdg)

#i like to think these are just little tips to share #bro i legit dont know jajdjjsjdjsjdsk #i studdied color theory but like i dont remember what theyre about anymore im so sorry--#messing around is part of my process lmao #welcome home circus au #welcome home #welcome home fanart #welcome home julie #julie joyful #digital art #eeart #my art

1K notes · View notes

keys-hellscape-1020 · 10 months

Text

You’re a healer, not a fighter. And yet…

Enjoy more stitch y’all sorry it took me so long. Also the title for this is SO bad I’m so sorry.

Platonic!141 x Medic!reader

Tw: Canon typical violence, cursing, gore, blood, Background character death, explosions, grenades, heavy smoke, reader is dissociating, implied that reader is having a panic attack, military inaccuracies, light angst, hurt/comfort.

You hate, nay despise, when you get separated during missions. If history holds true, and it always does, it won’t end well.

You are currently stuck in a small room, well stuck is a strong word as you do have 2 possible exits, it’s just that neither is very promising.

The slightly more promising of the two is a small rectangular window on the other side of the room, about 6 feet away. You’re not sure if you could get your torso through, and even if you did, if the 5 story drop didn’t kill you the enemy that was swarming the building certainly would.

The other exit was a hallway, leading back the way you fled from. You were crouched in a corner that bordered the door, gripping your gun tightly. There was no cover in the room, simply beige walls and that dammed window.

Suddenly a loud noise crackled from your comms, causing you to fumble to quickly turn it down a few notches. “Stitch! Stitch are you there? We almost have the case!”

You shuddered in a breath, carefully watching the door as you lifted one hand up to your radio to respond. “Sounds good Soap. I’m currently pinned on the 5th story, no visual on the enemy.”

“Stitch do you have any way to get out of there? We are pushing on 7th story.” That was Price, you could hear the sounds of a firefight in the background.

“I’ll find a way around.”

“Copy that, repo quickly.”

You carefully came out of your corner, crouching near the door you grabbed the doorknob, quickly flinging the door open.

The moment the door opened it was filled with bullets. You ducked behind the wall, grabbed a grenade from your gear pulled the pin and hoped.

When you heard a loud explosion paired with a choir of screams you leapt into the doorway, your gun posed in front of you.

You quickly took care of the few enemies you could see between the smoke and rubble. After a moment of no movement you moved forward to the rubble.

Crouching down you looked at the one solider who was still alive from your assault, half buried under rubble. He was a big fucker.

“Fuck off.” He growled at you as blood ran down his face.

You assessed him with a critical eye. His injuries would prevent him from moving very far. If you moved all weapons away from his reach he wouldn’t be a threat. That is assuming he lives.

You leaned over him to grab his sidearm from its holster on his side. As you leaned over he grabbed your arm with one hand and your shoulder with the other.

In any other circumstances he would’ve been able to break your arm, but he was injured and you were on high alert. You quickly tore his side arm from its holster and drove it into the side of his head, knocking his grip off of you.

Pointing his gun at his forehead you growled, “I am showing you mercy. Do not make me regret it.”

Breaking you out of your focused state was your radio, crackling to life loudly on your chest.

“STITCH! DON’T- THE EMEMY- TRAP”

The enemy used your shock to his advantage, grabbing your elbow and attempting to pry the gun from your grasp. You however were still faster despite your shock. You ram you head into his, causing him to let go of your elbow. You then pull your knife from its sheath and drive it home in the side of his neck.

With his blood staining your hands you turned to respond to your radio, ignoring the enemy’s gurgling in the background.

“What about the enemy? Do you have the case?” You asked, concern growing in your chest.

“STITCH” That at least you could tell was Price.

“Captain? Captain what’s going on?” You asked frantically, you had to fight the urge to run to them. If things were going wrong getting yourself hurt would not help anyone.

Suddenly your radio was full of very loud static. You fiddled with the channel, hoping it was just a technical error, but the longer you tried to get a connection the more you lost hope that it was simply a technical error.

You feel the blood drain from your face as the reality of the situation hit you. Your boys were captured. You quickly switch your mic off. Damnit.

Alright think. Your boys still have to be in the building, there’s no way they got them out already. You know they were heading to the 7th floor. The enemy will most likely be taking them up to the roof to lift them out. You just had to intercept them in time.

That is assuming they’re not dead.

But there is no time to think like that. They can’t be dead. If they’re dead you’re going to drag their sorry asses back to the living world and kill them again.

You quickly look around in the rubble, there has to be something here you can use. The corpse of an enemy solider catches your eye. They’re about the same build as you and while their uniform is splattered in blood it would do the job well enough.

You quickly pull on their jacket and vest along with their helmet. You could only hope that would be enough, you had to move.

————

You found the stairwell on the 5th floor, once you executed your plan you would have to move quickly or face loosing your boys forever.

You quickly started climbing the stories, you keep marching forward undisturbed until you got to the 8th story, when you were met with two guards.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the guards shouted at you, pointing his gun at your head.

You quickly raised you hands in the air, it was vital they thought you one of them. “We- were attacked. 5th floor. Everyone is dead.” You croaked, forcing tears into your eyes and tightening your throat.

The two guards looked at each other, back at you, then lowered their guns a few inches.

“Where on the 5th floor was this and when?” One guard questioned, narrowing their eyes at you.

Fuck. You thought it was on the western side but you couldn’t be sure. No more that 10 minutes could’ve passed since it happened, but how could you be certain?

You couldn’t be, you just had to take a guess and hope you were right. “Western side.” You shuddered, hoping you weren’t overdoing your acting. “It- it just happened. No more then 10 minutes ago.”

“We just lost contact with a group on the eastern side. You know anything about that?” The guard shot you a suspicious glance. The other one fiddled with their trigger, glaring at you.

Fuck it.

You grabbed the one who was fiddling with their trigger and pulled them in front of you, using them as a human shield against their friend who sprayed a wave of bullets at you on instinct.

You pushed one guard into the other, and while they were reeling from the shock of having their friends mutilated corpse pushed into them you grabbed your knife and rammed it into the side of their head, aiming at the lisp of their helmet and angling upwards. So much for the plan.

There were footsteps coming down the stairwell, you had to act fast. Quickly you stash your knife in its sheath before pulling out your gun and firing it at the entry to the 8th floor, shouting expletives.

A team of 6 rounds the corner on high alert, they’re looking where you’re shooting and not at you, good.

“They went that way!” You shout, gesturing towards the door with a nod of your head.

“Move!” The leader barked, rushing towards the door. You pressed yourself to the wall, watching as they filed into the empty floor.

Once the coast is clear and the last of the enemies are through the door you turn around to creep carefully yet quickly up the rest of the stairs.

You manage to move up the next two flights of stairs without difficulty. You make your way to the floor right below the roof and listen carefully, your ear perched right up against the door.

You are met with the sounds of very angry, very Scottish yelling. You let out a shallow sigh of relief. Just as you suspected your boys are still in the building, now the hard part. Getting them out of it in one piece.

You wait at the door a moment longer listening for any clues, you fail to hear any coming from beyond the door, but you do hear one from above.

Carefully, and ever so slowly, cracking the door to the roof open, you are met with exactly what you expected. A helicopter is slowly descending to the platform on the roof, surrounding said platform is at least 5-8 enemy soldiers.

While not great you can work with these conditions, and that’s what you plan to do.

Not that you have much of a choice.

————

You quickly run to the floor they’re holding your boys and in a moment of fuck-it-I-have-nothing-to-loose (you’re lying to yourself you have everything to loose), you charge in, slamming the door to the wall.

You immediately stand at attention, and direct your eyesight to the man you hope you are correctly assuming is in charge.

When no bullets start firing at you you realize they are waiting for you to speak.

“Sir!” You bark out. “The heli is waiting on the roof sir!”

An old, short man turns to focus his eyes on you. You feel the cold sweat gathering on your neck as he fails to say anything, you swear that in the moment you could feel him cracking open your chest and feasting inside. Discovering all your secrets, uncovering all your sins.

Then he speaks, “bout damn time! Have the rest of your team come down. Escort these damn prisoners the fuck out of here!”

You turn to report to the rest of your fake team when a sense of dread hits you like a cold water ballon.

The messenger they would be sending. To alert the old fucker about the heli landing. That you already told him about.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!!” You hiss out quietly to yourself, two seconds away from stomping your foot and pouting like a child.

Your panic is cut short however when the door to the roof opens. You quickly snap to attention as the solider heads towards you, fixing you with a scalding glare.

“What are you doing?” They question. You feel like they are a priest, pulling all your sins out of you one by one.

“I’ve been assigned to guard here, on account of the enemy solider running amok.” You say stoically, puffing out your chest in a crude imitation of a loyal solider, proud to be guarding their commander.

The other solider briefly stares at you, before gesturing for you to get out of the way. Fuck there’s nothing you can do. Any attempt at taking them out would surly be heard. Fuck it- there’s nothing you can do.

You step aside.

————

It feels like a lifetime as you wait for a sound, a whimper, a pen dropping, an indication of what your next move should be. It feels like a lifetime as suddenly the door you’re standing next to bursts open.

You are guided by instinct as you fire a bullet into the head of the solider who had opened the door. You duck low, pull the pin on a grenade, and throw it into the room.

You are shaken by the proximity of the explosion, and your ears are ringing fiercely. You push forwards anyway, and once you are well hidden by the smoke in the room you duck behind the remains of a pillar. You hear movement and you quickly peek out form behind it, firing wildly. It is only another moment before the smoke begins to clear enough that you can see.

You glance around cautiously, and see that every solider in this room is dead, remarkably there are fewer corpses then you expected. The only option for where your boys could be is behind a door on the other end of the room.

You can hear yelling coming from it.

You can hear footsteps from behind you.

You slam the door behind you shut, amazed it’s still on it’s hinges. You grab a chair and shove it beneath the handle. You hope that buys you enough time to get your boys out because otherwise you’re doomed.

You approach the door, your gun posed in front of you, and kick.

The door holds.

You kick again.

The doorframe splinters under the force with a shrieking groan and the door swings open.

You are met with the man who you had addressed before, holding a pistol to Price’s head. All of your boys are in the room, looking like they had been thrown in haphazardly, their arms tied behind their back and their legs held together by zip-ties.

You creep one foot into the room before the old fucker shouts out, “Stop! One more step and I blow his brains out!” As he speaks he kicks Price, not hard enough to send him to the ground, but he still lets out a small grunt of pain.

“Hands off him ye’ wanker!!” Soap shouts out from one side of the small room. He pulls against his bonds with a groan, but does not accomplish anything.

Suddenly a loud shout and a bang is heard from the farthest door. You are forced to turn around, your gun held high, as you hear the enemy continue to struggle to get in.

“You’ll be dead soon. Surrender and maybe I’ll go easy on-” suddenly his speech dissolves into a blubbering mess of groans and hiccups, all began by the distinct sound of metal sinking into flesh.

You whirl around, panicked, only to see your Captain standing over the fluttering body of the enemy commander, holding a small pocket knife.

He glances at you over his shoulder before speaking, “Hold the door, I’ll get them out.”

You do as he says, moving to crouch behind a pillar, gaze trained on the door.

“Sir,” you call out over your shoulder, “enemy heli on the roof.”

Price makes a noise of acknowledgment and quickly crouches down next to you behind the pillar, an enemy gun in his hands. You barely notice Ghost, Soap, and Gaz moving to shelter on the other side of the room before the door bursts open with a sense of finality.

————

It’s nothing short a blood bath, a mess of bullets and gunpowder framing the centerpiece of organs and body parts. Bone fragments, and limbs, and cries of pain and pleas to merciless gods. It feels like both a century and a moment before soldiers stop flooding into the room.

Price motions for you to move forward, and gestures towards your belt silently. A smoke grenade. You nod in understanding and pose right behind a door, a smoke grenade in your hand. You glance over your shoulder briefly, checking that all your boys are in place.

With a confirmation that they’re ready you pull the pin on the grenade, shut your eyes tightly, and throw it. Once you hear the smoke dispense you desperately push forward.

It feels like a fever dream, moving through smoke and cries of pain. You feel like you’re watching a movie, a compilation of photos as you feel yourself pull the trigger again and again and again. Body responding before you can even think to. You feel every movement so intensely, and yet not at all. Like a puppet you react to your instincts, watching your boy’s backs. Making sure they stay safe. By the time the smoke clears and you’re ready to move to the roof you swear you can feel yourself swimming in blood. You can feel it creeping up your shoes, your shins and your knees, you hips, up and up until it’s entering your throat and your nose- suffocating you- you can’t breathe-

“Stitch?” You’re forced back into your body by a firm hand on your shoulder. Turning your head you see Gaz standing next to you, somehow managing to pull a small, kind smile onto his face. “We’re almost out.” He soothes kindly.

You swallow the blood in your throat before nodding firmly. “Right. We’re almost out.”

————

It was surprisingly easy to take control of the helicopter, but you suppose you should have expected that. Once they’d heard the shooting and explosions beneath their feet they would have almost certainly abandoned their post in favor of helping their allies. It doesn’t truly matter to you though, their lives ended all the same.

After busting through the door, that they hadn’t even bothered to lock in their rush, it was simply a matter of taking out 3 soldiers and the pilot. A laughably easy task considering what you had just accomplished.

You leaned back in your seat on the helicopter heavily, resting your head back against the side of the beast. You feel your weariness in every bone in your body. You don’t think you’ve ever dealt so much death in such a short period of time. While you were no stranger to the feeling of taking a life, you took less than the average solider. You focused on mending, not breaking, whenever possible.

You supposed that today mending life was not in cards as much as tearing it apart. You wonder if you have what it takes to be a solider, if you break at the first sign of difficulty.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by a firm hand on your knee. You open your eyes and sit up to be met with the sight of Soap’s big blue eyes staring at you in concern.

It’s takes you a moment before you notice that he’s handing you something, his field journal. You take it with a confused glance, but he mearly gestures for you to look inside.

You look at the page he was holding open, it contains many small doodles, that despite their small size are still remarkably well done. You see doodles of Ghost and Gaz, who are sitting across from you. He’s sketched how they currently look, Gaz with his head resting on his fist as he stares at the clouds racing by. Ghost as he leans back, his arms and legs crossed.

What really draws your attention though is a question, messily scrawled beneath the doodles. Next to it is a stylized, cartoonish drawing of you, surrounded by several hearts.

The question reads, “You alright hun?”

You look up at Johnny and he blinks at you a few times before suddenly startling, like he had forgotten something, and sheepishly handing you a pencil.

You scrawl down right below Johnny’s handwriting, “I’ll live. You?” You hand his journal back to him, and watch as he scrawls down his response.

“Bit shaken, thought I was done in for a second there. At least until you stepped in <3” Next to the heart he’s drawn a goofy kissy face, equipped with his signature Mohawk and all.

Johnny and your’s silent conversation is cut short by Price shouting over the sound of the heli from up by the cockpit, “We’re landing in 2 minutes!”

“Roger that Cap!” You yell back, handing Johnny his journal back with a ruffle of his Mohawk. He gawks at you in playful insult while you go about making sure you (and your boys) are prepped for landing.

————

Once you’ve got both your feet back inside base exhaustion hits you like a tsunami wave. Now that you’re certain you’re safe the adrenaline is fading like water out of a balloon. Despite the fatigue festering in every part of your person, you’re not in bed. Instead you’re in the armory, cleaning your gear.

You want nothing more than to sleep, but it’s routine for you to make sure all of your duties are accomplished first so you can sleep well. You’re silently taking apart a pistol when you hear footsteps approaching the armory, knocking you out of your thoughts.

It’s only a moment before Price walks through the doors, surprisingly enough he’s not carrying any of his own weapons.

As soon as he sees where you’re sat on one of the benches he B-Lines to you, approaching with a speed and purpose that you’ve only seen him use on missions. The adrenaline from the mission must still be in his system, you muse. He’s been in this industry long enough for it to make sense.

“Go the fuck to sleep sergeant. The actual hell are you still doing awake?” He barks as he approaches you.

“Will soon sir.” You respond nonchalantly. “Just cleaning my gear first.”

He guffaws like it’s the most foolish thing he’s heard all day, (which says a lot considering he has gotten captured today) and gestures for you to scoot over.

You do so, slightly confused by what he intends to do. Once you’ve made room on the bench he sits down next to you and grabs your vest. As he lays it on his lap he goes through the pockets systematically, making sure the vest is perfectly up to code.

As you observe him you’re slightly surprised by his actions, you imagine he must be wanting to go to sleep after the day he’s had.

“You don’t have to help me sir.” You say carefully, tip-toeing around his grumpy outward appearance.

“A good leader always makes sure his soldiers are taken care of before himself. Now finish cleaning that pistol so we can get the fuck to bed.”

————

With Price helping you it didn’t take long for you to finish and finally head to bed. You could feel your feet sticking to the ground with every step, and it took you twice as long as it normally did to walk to your barracks from the armory.

As you approach your door you notice a slumped figure next to it, causing adrenaline from the day to start kicking back up inside you. Feeling your heart start to hammer, yet not having the energy to do anything about it, you continue to approach leisurely.

As you get closer you recognize the balaclava and all black clothing that clings to a large frame. Ghost. When you finally stand next to him you nudge his hip with your foot.

“Come on big guy.”

He blinks up at you wearily, but starts to stand all the same as you unlock your door. You walk in and throw your boots and jacket off as you approach your bed, little care for where they end up.

You flop down on your bed, the scratchy blankets and thin military mattress feeling like paradise after all you’d been through. When you see ghost’s shadow approaching out of the corner of your eye you roll over, facing the wall.

You feel Ghost lie down on your mattress and sling a heavy arm over your waist as you both settle down into a deep sleep.

It had been a hard day, but you would do it all over again for your boys.

633 notes · View notes

bucephaly · 6 months

Text

It's kinda shocking to me how few people seem to know how prevalent the 'my great grandmother was cherokee' myth is and how it's almost never actually true, especially when it comes with things like 'never signed up' or 'fell off the trail' or 'courthouse burned down destorying the documentation' etc etc.

People just don't even seem to know the history like.. when the Trail happened. My great great great grandfather was 2 years old during Removal in 1838, so peoples 'my great grandmother hid in the mountains!' is so clearly wrong. And we have rolls. From before and after removal, rolls done by cherokee nation and others by the government, rolls that were not stored in one random flammable courthouse. It's not difficult to find the actual evidence of ancestry.

And just.. there are lots of ways those family stories get started. It was a practice during the confederacy to claim cherokee ancestry to show one's family had 'deep roots in the south' that they were there before the cherokee were removed. Many people pretended to be cherokee and applied for the Guion-Miller payout just to try to steal money meant for cherokees - 2/3rds of the applicants were denied for having 0 proof of actual cherokee ancestry. [We even see lawyers advertising signing up for the Miller roll just to try to get free money.] And the myth even started in some families in the cherokee land lotteries, where the land stolen from us was raffled off, including the house and everything that was left behind when the cherokees were removed. We have seen people whose families just take these things stolen from the cherokee family and adopt them into their own family story, saying that they were cherokee themselves.

If you had some family story about being cherokee and you wanna have proof one way or the other, check out this Facebook group run by expert cherokee genealogists that do research for free. Just please read the rules fully and respect the researchers. They run thousands of people's ancestries a year and their average is only around 0.7% of lines they run actually end up having true cherokee ancestry.

#and ive heard even dumber origins of the cherokee family myth #such as an ancestor having a silly sounding name so the descendents just go 'oh she mustve been an indian!!!'#i was one of the few people who had my ancestry done on the facebook and had genuine cherokee ancestry #[though i had found it before it was just really validating to get it double checked and i started finding cousins (:]#like. i was told once when i was a kid by my grandma that my dad had cherokee ancestry and i didnt believe her. its wild that so many peopl #will make it a Fixture of their identity [or even just smth they bring up ever] with Zero proof #at least for cherokees from what ive seen its usually considered really disrespectful to claim to have cherokee ancestry without #actually having the documentation [like ancestors on the rolls]#and no a dna test doesnt count. nor does 'my dad is Clearly not white!' or 'high cheekbones' or old family photos or anything #i had this discussion with someone recently whose dad had been calling himself 3/4 native but didnt know exactly what nation ???? hello?#and its like... sorry but ur dad is like. italian lol.#[and blood quantum is bullshit anyway im tired of the 'im 1/16 cherokee' comments its dumb #cherokee nation does not have a blood quantum requirement. its pointless bringing it up in the discussion of who is or isnt cherokee]#also mandatory disclaimer that im reconnecting. i didnt grow up connected to the culture of even knowing my ancestry #this is all from my looking into this stuff over the past year or so. i cant claim to be an authority over anything regarding this #this is p much all my repeating things ive heard said by people who know a lot more than i do haha #man. and this isnt even starting to get into the fake tribe stuff. the only legit cherokee groups are the 3 federally recognized bands #cherokee nation of oklahoma. united keetoowah band. and the eastern band of cherokee indians.#any others that are state recognized or not at all arent acknowledged as legitimate by any of the legit cherokee groups #anyway. my final message goodb.ye #cherokee #tsalagi

282 notes · View notes

simplyjellyfish · 2 years

Text

Not to be negative but I'm just saying after seeing the Fire Emblem Engage protag designs that we all need to look Fem Byleth in the eye and give her and her wack ass tights an apology

#fire emblem #like I'm sorry but #the hair is distractingly bad for me #at least with Byleth I can just joke they have no fashion sense #and make it a personality trait #but with ol toothpaste head the design is legit all I can focus on in the trailer 🥲

2K notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

notyourtypicalfuturepsych

Individuality and Self-actualization

collarbones

adrian

heavemercy-blog

katroodlism

13 sim lane

magix-winx-club

forever loving Winx