#learning to let himself stand out and be seen in certain things

[interstellar-productions]

I simply cannot elaborate at this time but years down the line when Aaron finally makes peace with himself he starts wearing pastels. Like obviously black and darker colors are still a part of his base wardrobe but also his favorite sweater is light pink. His favorite socks are sky blue. The scarf he’s got for when he’s somewhere where it snows (bc he obviously goes to see the other OG foxes play pro exy when he gets the chance shut up) is sage green.

He lets his hair grow out and it flops in his face when he doesn’t have it styled for work.

Just when Aaron finally finds peace he learns to be soft, not entirely and not in the “traditional” way. But he does learn to be softer.

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[uisceb]

Endlessly baffled every time I see people water down Glinda’s actions in Defying Gravity to “oh she was too cowardly or too selfish to stand by Elphaba,” as if she didn’t spend that entire sequence from Chistery’s transformation onward doing everything in her very limited power to keep Elphaba safe.

Like the second things start going wrong, Glinda’s entire focus switches to “keep Elphaba safe at all costs.” This girl does not have any magic. She does not have any physical survival skills. She probably has no idea how to throw a punch. She can barely run in those heels. Her one power is her charm and her ability to work a crowd. She is desperately trying to get Elphaba to come back with her not because she agrees with what the Wizard and Morrible are doing, but because she thinks maybe if she can just smooth things over, Elphaba will be forgiven, and she’ll be safe. 

In that regard, there’s a very obvious selfishness to Glinda’s actions - she lacks perspective; she lacks scope; she prioritizes Elphaba over what we as the audience would understand as the “Greater Good” and over her own morals about what’s going on with the Wizard’s agenda; she’s visibly horrified by what happens to Chistery but her first instinct is to comfort Elphaba above all else, despite having no understanding of what's happening.

I am the last person who’s ever going to argue that Glinda isn’t selfish, because she very clearly is, it’s one of her defining characteristics, and it’s one of the main things she has to learn to overcome in order to actually become “Glinda the Good.” This is in no way me trying absolve my very selfish girl who very much made the wrong decision.

But it does kinda boggle my mind when I see the argument that Glinda betrayed Elphaba or is a “fake friend.” Especially because ultimately she comes to the conclusion that the best thing she can do for Elphaba in this moment is to let her go. She knows she would only hinder Elphaba if she were to go with her, she knows there’s no happy ending for them if she tries to run away with her (I think in that moment she might even suspect there’s no happy ending at all). Elphaba is going through her own personal revelation which is beautiful in its own right, but it’s also impulsive, and there’s a certain level of unsustainable grandiose fantasy to it. Glinda almost lets herself be swept up in it for a moment, but her rational side kicks in, because, of the main trio, Glinda really is the most grounded in reality.

I’ve seen a lot of weirdly smug people out there proudly saying if Fiyero was there he definitely would’ve gotten on the broom with Elphaba - and honestly, I think they’re probably right. But it’s not because he’s somehow morally superior to Glinda, or that his love for Elphaba is more pure. Our boy is depressed, he’s nihilistic, he’s lost, and truly doesn’t have any attachments to anyone.

He was genuinely moved by Elphaba’s fearless convictions and he fell hard and fast for her, so I agree he’d be on that broom in a heartbeat, he quite literally has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. He’s found himself wanting to believe in something for the first time because Elphaba brought that out in him, his whole world revolves around her. And that’s very romantic, but because of that, the stakes are much lower. For him, leaving everything behind wouldn’t be a sacrifice, it would be freedom.

Glinda’s gone through the world much differently, much more carefully. She doesn’t have Fiyero’s sense of nihilism or detachment, she’s lashed herself tight to the reality of the world around her. Where Fiyero has been regularly kicked out of schools and freely wandered from place to place experiencing new things and getting into trouble on purpose, Glinda has never stepped outside the predictable comfort and safety of her bubble until meeting Elphaba. She lives in constant fear of failure and being looked down on. She is forever clinging to this persona she’s created because she’s terrified of what will happen if she’s anything less than perfect.

She has constructed her entire existence around being an icon rather than a person - in the beginning, she literally doesn’t know how to be her own self, she’s just barely learning, because of Elphaba. And it scares the shit out of her. 

Fiyero would likely play action hero if he was there for Defying Gravity, and that’s great, but Glinda is weighing a million things in her head, not least of which is “holy shit the person I love most in the world is in imminent danger and I have no magic and no strength to keep her safe, so I will beg and plead and insult and fight her tooth and nail to keep her with me inside my privileged bubble because maybe I can smooth this over, maybe everything will be okay if I just do what I always do and use my privilege to get my way.” She understands the rules of her world, so she’s going to play by those rules because that’s how you win the game.

Elphaba, of course, refuses to play a corrupt game at all, and Glinda gets angry - she lashes out at Elphaba because Elphaba has just put herself in such a dangerous situation, and Glinda is completely powerless to change it. Every little bit of control Glinda is used to having is obliterated.

Her “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think you are” when Elphaba doesn’t grow wings is so desperate - the words border on cruel, but her tone is both painfully apologetic and above all filled with RELIEF because while her heart hurts for Elphaba, she’s terrified that Elphaba would hurt herself the way Chistery was hurt, and she’s cleaving to the hope that maybe if Elphaba isn’t as powerful as she thinks she is, Glinda stands a chance at undoing the damage, and protecting her. 

Glinda’s selfishness is just so fascinating to me because it’s so rich and so contradictory - she loves Elphaba so deeply and destructively that she fully paralyzes herself when the chips are down and it breaks them both. She fails to be what Elphaba wants her to be, and she fails to be a good person, but there’s no “fake friend” about her actions - she is acting on pure desperation to keep this person she loves safe in literally the only way she knows how, at the cost of everything else, including what’s right, which is something Elphaba could never abide by. Elphaba would never compromise her own morals, but at this point in the story Glinda is willing to compromise everything as long as Elphaba is tucked away in her bubble with her, and that difference in values is irreconcilable to both of them. 

So, realizing this, Glinda does the one last thing she can think of to protect her at this point, and wraps a cloak around her shoulders to keep her warm. That’s all that’s left.

She’s selfish and she’s cowardly and she’s brave and she’s loving and she fails Elphaba and she fails herself and she regrets her decision for the rest of her life and yes I am writing all this with glass under my tongue and between my teeth, she makes me insane.

[sp0o0kylights]

Grass is green, water is wet, and Jonathan Byers does not like Steve Harrington.

These are known facts in the universe.

Computers were going to take over the world, a “mobile” phone was being invented, and Steve Harrington had lost most of his hearing.

These were unknown facts--rumors even, if you will. Eddie had never seen even a grain of truth to support any of them. 

(Well, maybe the computer thing, but only because Grant and Dustin both had made a couple of convincing arguments.) 

So he doesn’t think about it, when his freshman gang up on him. 

Doesn’t even factor the “can’t hear well” thing in, when he was tasked (demanded, whined, bitched and moaned at) with helping them explain to Steve why going to the release party of the new D&D box set, located at a hobby store only a mere 2 hour drive away, was important.

Eddie’s not even sure how the little shits got him to agree to do it until he’s standing in the parking lot in front of the former King himself. 

“The store’s leading up to the release with a handful of one-shots.” He’s explaining, unsure whether to pull out the bored act or play up his court jester persona, and thus mixing and matching on the fly. 

He does not care if Harrington doesn’t know what a one-shot is. 

“They’re releasing the set at midnight. You have to be there to get it though, you can’t have someone else pick it up for you because they only got a certain amount in.” 

Harrington’s frowning (no surprise) but it’s not until Eddie is well into his spiel about how his van is already full with the elder members of Hellfire, and thus has no room for the freshmen, that he realizes Steve isn’t quite looking at him. 

Is in fact, looking over his shoulder.

Eddie stops. Follows Harrington’s gaze.

Parked across from Steve’s Beemer, is Jonathan Byer’s barely working clunker car. 

A handful of steps in front of it, and thus nearly right behind Eddie, is the man himself.

His hands are still moving, mouth shaping words silent as he goes, his gaze locked not on Eddie or the kids--but on Steve. 

Who turns back around as Harrington’s eyes slide right back to him. 

“And this is taking place next Friday?” He says, in that sort of annoyed but resigned way parents aim at their children. “After school?” 

“I’d like to go during  school, but the freshmen insist you wouldn’t let them ditch out.” Eddie tells him. “They had two separate arguments about it.” 

Loud ones, that had interrupted the game and given Eddie a migraine. 

Once again Steve’s eyes slide away from him, to Jonathan. 

“They’re not skipping school.” He says suddenly, a glare forming and Jonathan makes an annoyed noise. 

“They argued about skipping, they’re not going to.” He says aloud, and finally steps up so that he’s next to Eddie instead of behind him. 

“Munson slow down, I can’t sign as fast as you’re talking.” He adds, in the hang-dog grumble he’s notorious for. 

Eddie stares at him. 

“Can he seriously not hear me?” 

“No.” Steve and Jonathan answer together. 

“I can kind of still hear,” Steve adds, gaze returning to Eddie’s face. “But its more loud music or noises. I can lip read, but you’re also talking too fast for that.” 

Without pausing, he turns back to Jonathan and says; “Why can’t you take them?”

“It’s Friday.” Byers deadpans. 

Eddie’s not an expert on sign language, but his hands somehow looked deadpan too. 

He’s not sure how Jonathan did that. 

“So?” Steve snarks back. 

What follows is an argument that Eddie is not, at all involved in, mostly because he’s too busy handling the fact that Jonathan Byers has learned sign language, for Steve Harrington, apparently, and given the tone the argument is taking they still don’t even like each other.  

Eventually the argument ends, Steve throwing his hands in the air and demanding that Jonathan owes him. 

(Eventually Eddie will corner the ever so quiet Will Byers and ask why the hell his brother learned sign language for someone he clearly fucking hates.

“Oh they don’t hate each other.” Baby Byers would say, in that shy, quiet way of his. “I think they’re actually friends now?” 

“You think?”

“Well--you’ve seen them.” Will shrugs. “I think being mean to each other is kinda their thing.” 

‘What the hell.’ Eddie would think, right up until he stumbled across one of the kids sign language books. 

Byers the Elder, he decides, isn’t the only person who should learn sign language to chew out Harrington properly.

The pay off is immediate. 

Or at least, the pay off of watching Steve’s shocked face the first time Eddie signs something vulgar at him is, anyway.)

[miraclewoozi]

SPECTACLE. -j.ww

in which your new boyfriend, wonwoo, doesn't give a crap about his expensive eyewear.

pairing : wonwoo x fem!reader. content : smut. pwp. tags under the cut. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. w/c : 2.7k. notes : yeah i kinda. went insane over this idea. so. bon appetite to you, and also to wonwoo ? i guess.

content + smut tags : established - but new - relationship. making out. FACE SITTING. impact play? (one gentle butt slap). the shenanigans are on a couch if that matters, i don't know. reader is a little shy about doing it. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.

Wonwoo looks flushed when he pulls away from where he’s been kissing and nipping at the side of your neck, hair stuck up in every direction thanks to your tugging fingers and your gentle guidance to help him find your sweet spots. His lips are pink and a little plumped. His glasses are steaming up, sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose, and every slightly heavier breath he takes makes his broad chest rise and fall where it’s pressed wholly against yours.

You can’t help yourself from leaning forward into another kiss; he’s completely irresistible. Maybe the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And while this isn’t really news to you, the dynamic of your relationship with him shifted a month or so ago and you’re still getting used to the privilege of seeing him this close up. 

He’s still adjusting too, if the way he groans directly into your mouth, hands groping harder at the curve of your ass as you shuffle in his lap is anything to judge by. Still learning, still figuring you out. But – and this is how you know what you’re building here might be the real deal – even when it’s clumsy, and when you knock teeth while you’re kissing and burst into slightly pained giggles, or when things accidentally slip out of place while you’re getting steamy… everything Wonwoo does makes your spine tingle. Makes your stomach flip. Makes your core throb. 

Even when it doesn’t always work? It makes sense, and it’s perfect, and losing yourself in the way his lips caress and worship yours is so damn easy when he murmurs your praises just for letting him do this in the first place.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks after a small forever, pulling back just far enough that he's not breathing up your nose. His hands have made their way under your – his – hoodie now and he’s grazing his fingers over your ribs, tickling enough to make you whimper, not enough for you to want to swat him away.

You think you’d give him the world if he asked for it in that deep, rough voice he adopts when things start heading in this direction. The moon too. Shit, if you could get a lasso around the sun and bring it closer to keep him warm, you’d do that as well. So, whatever his little request is now, you know you’re going to agree; resting your hands on his shoulders (finally leaving his gorgeous hair alone), you lean back from him and nod your head.

“Anything,” you say. You’re certain that you feel his cock twitch in his sweatpants where it’s pressed against the inside of your thigh, but you’re not quite sure why. 

It makes you feel hot, though. More-so when he bites back a grin, lips curling in that adorable way. It feels greatly unfair that you can’t swoop down right this second to kiss him again, and again, and again; as painful as it is though, you do exercise enough grace to wait for him to come out with it.

“Get up,” he says softly, dropping his hands down your sides and squeezing at your hips once. 

You do as he asks and move off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch; he doesn’t say anything else as he stands up himself, pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it to one side before sinking all the way down to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t see you. He shuffles into place with his back against the edge of the seat and only once he’s comfortable does he turn to look at you over one shoulder, grinning brilliantly.

“Okay,” he says, bending his knees and planting his heels into the floor. “Come here.”

You stand up off the cushions now and look down at him for a second, wondering what on Earth is going through his mind, but you know better than to start questioning his strange ideas. Especially when he’s in this sort of a mood. You step over him, one foot either side of his hips, and start to drop down too, but he puts a hand on each of your knees and stops you before you’re in his lap once again.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. His hands then make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pushes forwards, trying to guide you where he wants you. Your knees bend of their own accord and press against the couch on both sides of his head. “Like this.”

You don’t exactly freeze up, but it is as if you forget how to control all of your muscles for a second. The ones in your legs seem to turn to jelly and you know it’s only because the sofa is currently taking a portion of your weight that you don’t buckle completely and fall onto the top of his head. The ones in your face give you a slack-jawed, wide-eyed, unblinking expression. 

Your abdominal muscles tighten and your cunt flutters at what you’re sure he’s trying to suggest, the rush of wetness you feel only worsened by the intensity in his eyes as he tips his head back and looks at you.

“Please?” He asks, all sweet but deep and rough at the same time. 

“Are you s–?” You start to ask. 

Wonwoo clicks his tongue at you and tries to encourage you further onto the couch to prove his point. “Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. 

And then, just so you really can’t mistake what he's asking for–

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your entire body heats up at how bluntly he says it. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek so that you don’t accidentally laugh with the nerves already trying to burst out of your tummy. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. If you had a penny for every time you’d thought about him giving himself up for your pleasure this way, you’d be rich. You do. You’re going a little crazy just imagining how good it’s going to feel. 

It’s just that him being so bold about it has you feeling shy, and that’s never happened to you before. You’re at a loss. You’re totally stumped.

When you open your eyes again and look down at him, Wonwoo is just as earnest and hungry for you as he was a few seconds ago. If anything, it’s as if he wants it more. It’s without a doubt the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re nodding at him; his fingers start to drag up and down the backs of your thighs happily, before they hook under the waistband of your shorts and gently make that first little pull.

“If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he says to you, only pulling them all the way down when you start to help him. They get tossed over to the side to join his hoodie after you step out of them. His eyes glance to the panties you’re wearing – the last barrier, the final thing keeping him from what he’s so desperate for – before he looks back at your face and flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay?”

“It’s not that,” you laugh softly, taking off your own jumper and throwing it onto the pile. Wonwoo groans at the sight of you; you roll your eyes at him. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“Good,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and letting you settle onto your knees in position over his mouth, pressing his fingers into the top of your thigh. 

The first soft press of his lips over your panties makes you gasp and you hold a little tighter onto the back cushions as you look down at him. His eyes are closed already as he breathes your heady scent in, deep enough to hopefully stain his lungs, enough that he’ll never get rid of it, that he’ll be able to carry you everywhere he goes. 

But Wonwoo’s closed eyes aren’t the only thing you notice between your thighs and a soft laugh replaces the pleased sounds already spilling from your lips. One hand drops down to where he's settled and your fingers brush against his temple as they try to pinch at one side of his glasses. He looks affronted when he catches your gaze.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, gently moving your hand away. 

You tilt your head at him. “Your glasses,” you prompt, moving to reach for them again. His fingers curl around your wrist and he shoves your hand into his hair instead, rubbing the tip of his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“I want to keep them on,” he tells you.

“What if they break?”

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing his way back towards your covered pussy. “I’ll buy a new pair. I just wanna see you.”

You swallow at this and decide that you’re definitely not going to try and change his mind, instead choosing to tilt your head back and let his skilled tongue work you up through your underwear. It’s a mess of arousal and spit and they’re soaked, translucent, clinging to you by the time he’s frustrated with them; frankly, so are you, and it's a relief when he concludes that enough is enough.

“Baby,” he groans as he pulls your underwear to one side and has to crane his neck up to lick the flat of his tongue in a stripe up your slit. You whine, the cool air and his hot breaths a menacing mix of sensations, but you don’t have the sense to respond; one soft slap of his hand against your ass makes you look back down at him, though, and you’re met with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and a practically frenzied Wonwoo in the space between your hips. Your sweet, softly spoken boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“I said, sit.”

His strong arm tugs you down and your knees slide against the cushions, bringing your pussy even closer to his face, literally forcing you to rest against his lips. He chuckles triumphantly and buries his tongue between your folds, tasting you so much more legitimately than before. The way he loves – straight from the source, the spring. You feel him prod at your hole and your walls clench around what he gives you – barely just the tip, but it’s enough to have you reeling already, and when his other arm hooks around your other thigh, when he starts to move you back and forth, you take very little convincing to start to rock your hips down against him on your own.

“Oh,” you whimper as his lips seal around your clit and he sucks at it once, giving a few experimental flicks of his tongue at the same time. The hand in his hair tightens immediately and Wonwoo groans with you still in his mouth, sending delicious vibrations through your sensitive nerves and making you gush onto his chin. 

“So fucking pretty like this,” he tells you, stroking his thumb over your waist. “Might be my new favourite view.”

He keeps lapping at you teasingly, testing circles and sideways motions, precise swipes, long drags; every subtle change as he tries to find what makes you scream in this position draws a different sound from your throat. He tenses the muscle and fucks your dribbling hole with it while encouraging you to move enough forward that his nose bumps against your clit with every jerky rock of your hips. You’re grinding faster, now, pressing down against his mouth harder, caring less by the second about whether his glasses are actually going to break in two. Besides, the way he drinks you down tells you that he could do this for a week straight without getting tired; he doesn’t want you to stop, or slow down, or ease up. He wants more. And if you’re too shy to give it to him, he’ll just take, take, take.

“Just– oh, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again and he laps at it with so much zeal that he could rival your favourite vibrator. “Just like that–”

Both of his hands grasp you tighter, squeezing and massaging and kneading at your soft skin as you chase your high on his pretty face. His eyes are tightly closed in his own rapture, and you hope that he won’t blame you for wanting him to open them; your hand pulls harshly at his hair again, hard enough to make him cringe, enough to make him stop for just a second before he sees how wound-up you look. You try to pull off from him a little, at least enough for him to catch a couple of breaths, but Wonwoo captures your pussy between his lips before you even hear him inhale.

“You– you wanted to s—see me,” you stutter out as the fire starts to catch and you feel warmth and ecstasy start to build at your core. “Fuck– ah–”

So he does. With big, hungry eyes, Wonwoo watches as you hurtle towards oblivion, as you writhe and squirm and grind down against his ardent mouth.

He sends you crashing over the edge with a wet sob, your own eyes closing now as you see stars in the darkness and ride your high out on his still-moving tongue. There are tears on your cheeks before you can do anything about it. Your walls spasm around nothing. He barely slows, taking back enough pressure so that your pleasure doesn’t turn to pain. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink until you’re out the other side of your climax, though.

When your pants start to die down and you’re twitching to get away from him, so sensitive that even his tiny kisses make you shudder, Wonwoo drops his head back down to the pillows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You don’t have the strength to move yet, still reeling, still too floaty to try for any level of coordination, but he doesn’t mind. Your swollen, glistening pussy right over his face is something he'd pay millions to see.

“Didn’t even break the glasses,” you laugh weakly once your voice decides to come back to you. 

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, sliding them off his nose and inspecting them. He ‘tsk’s before putting them back on. They’re steamed at the edges and a little smeary now, and he surely can’t actually see that clearly through them. He obviously doesn’t care. “That’s not good enough.”

“Huh?” you ask, moving carefully so as not to plant your knee into his jaw but still trying to bring your legs together so that you can sit to one side. He isn't having it, though, and slowly shuffles up onto his knees, turns around to face you and lays his fingers on one of your ankles, wasting no time in trying to pry your legs apart again.

“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” he repeats, using his other hand to palm himself over the fabric of his sweatpants. The tent in them would be comical if it weren’t for the animalistic look in his eyes; there’s nothing laughable about the way he’s looking at you right now, though.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” You ask, opening back up for him and not hiding how you stare as he rips his shirt off over his head. Then, he slides his fingertips up the inside of your calf, to your knee, down your thigh… he drags them over the lips of your pussy and collects a little of your slick on them before bringing his hand to his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he tells you, groaning at your sweet taste as if he wasn’t just drowning in it a minute and a half ago. He lowers himself until he's once more level with your cunt and guides both of your legs over his shoulders, smirking up at your expectant face. “Maybe try to squeeze your thighs a little more this time. See if that does the trick.”

thank you so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyed this hehe. as always, likes, reblogs, replies, feedback and asks are always super appreciated.<3

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Series Masterlist

Part Six

Cap- who finally introduced himself as Steve- leads you down multiple hallways. He seems to be feeling quite awkward in your presence as he continuously glances at you. You almost expect the entire walk to be in silence until he finally speaks up.

"Until we can get more things figured out you'll be staying in a guest room. Every room is equipped with Friday, Tony's AI, so if you need anything you can just let her know. If you can't talk to the AI you can simply write down your request for her to scan or sign it once you learn."

You nod along as he continues to explain things. Your main concern is communication with the others. You've never tried speaking to AI before so you're unsure if your abilities will affect it at all. What you do know is that you need to learn sign language to make things easier on yourself and the others. Your lack of writing skills will only be a hinderance.

Steve stops outside of a room, motioning towards it as he turns towards you with a small sigh. "This will be your room. There's a bathroom inside so you can go ahead and shower. I'll have one of the girls get clothes for you. They tend to keep extra clothes in different sizes just in case so one of them should have something for you."

He leaves you alone after that so you can finally take your first shower in weeks. You almost feel a bit excited as you rush into the bathroom, staring around in awe at the large size of it. It's bigger than your old cell was which is ridiculous.

Everything looks expensive, as well. The shower is a walk in with glass doors and is large enough to fit more than one person in it comfortably. The tub is also unnecessarily large and you're almost certain it could fit three of you in it. Everything else seems basic yet still expensive looking in it's own way. You feel like you don't belong in there with how filthy you are compared to the cleanliness of everything.

You push the sudden thoughts away knowing there's no point in comparing yourself to anything or anyone within the large building. Sighing, you slowly strip yourself of your tank top and baggy torn pants, avoiding looking at the wall covered in mirrors as you do so. It's been a long time since you've last seen your body and now doesn't feel like the time to look it over to see how much it has changed. Perhaps you will after the shower.

It takes you a moment to figure out how to start the shower and even longer for you to fiddle with everything to get the water to the perfect temperature. Stepping under the stream you sigh, your body instantly relaxing under the hot water. You stand there for a while simply enjoying the feeling of the water running over your body before finally using the provided soaps to wash your hair and body.

You cringe as you watch filthy water pool at your feet before swirling down the drain. You're certain that from the amount of dirt coming from you, you must've looked disgusting to the others. Then again, none of them really showed any indication that they cared about anything other than getting you out of the Hydra base.

Finally forcing yourself out of the shower after what feels like hours, you enter the bedroom wrapped in a towel. There's a pile of clothes waiting for you on the bed consisting of underwear, sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt. Slipping into the clothes, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You've been so used to wearing the straight jacket that wearing such a baggy shirt feels like heaven. At the same time it also feels a bit unnatural.

The sudden feelings of tears flowing steadily down your cheeks startles you. Reaching up, you shakily try to wipe them away only for more to replace them. A sob wracks through you as you sit down on the bed, pulling your knees to your chest. The feeling of finally being free is almost too much to handle.

Between the memory wiping and being placed into cryo for weeks or months at a time makes it impossible for you to truly know how long you were stuck in that hell. You know that you were with them since you were extremely young at the very least but that does nothing to tell you of how exactly long that was.

A light knock at your door makes you jump, choking slightly on one of your sobs. You debate with yourself on whether or not you should let them in. You haven't felt vulnerable or exposed like this in a very long time and the idea of someone seeing like this is unnerving.

The decision seems to be made for you as the door creaks open a bit as someone peaks their head into the room. You recognize it to be the young female from the jet who was sat next to the man with a bow. She gives you a gentle smile as she steps into the room, gently clicking the door closed behind her.

"It's a bit overwhelming, huh?" Her voice has an accent to it as she speaks softly to you, obviously trying to come across as anything but a threat. You hesitate before nodding, moving to wipe more tears from your marked cheeks. "It will get easier with time. When I first left Hydra and joined the Avengers, I was scared and overwhelmed. Luckily for me I had my brother by my side to help me through it."

She pauses before sitting down on the bed next to you, making sure to move slowly as to not scare you. There's a few inches of space between the two of you so she doesn't touch you without your permission. "I would like to be here to help you through it, if you allow me."

She hesitantly reaches out, giving you time to pull away. When you don't, she gently grabs your hand, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.  You almost start crying again just from the kind gesture. It's probably been a lifetime since you last experienced a caring touch.

Noticing your still watering eyes, she slowly pulls you into her arms, holding you against her as you break down for a second time. One hand runs through your damp hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. She whispers reassurances in another language, only a few words being recognizable to you.

You sit in her arms for nearly an hour before Friday alerts the both of you to dinner being ready. You pull away from her, embarrassed but thankful. She gives you an understanding smile as she stands, holding her hand out for you to take. You slip your shaking hand into her strong and steady one, the difference helping to soothe your nervousness.

You're terrified to meet the others, but having her by your side eases that feeling a small bit. It helps you know that even if the others reject you, she will be there for you through it all.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @that-b-word-lol @keshet2k @cl0u-dy @randoes-world @nynxtea @cinnamoroll-things @emily2003alzaga @cookiemonstermusic258 @qardasngan @ashhlsstuff @worthless-wordvomit

[awkwardsonicphotos]

I assume you're pretty bummed about the Lilo and Stitch remake being... how it is, then?

I've been a Sonic fan so long and have seen all the different takes on the world and characters. So I'm aware all writers have their own style and show certain aspects of Sonic's personality more than other traits, some write him more laid back and cool, others show his short temper or his quietness in the forefront, and others show his kindness and joking side. I've learned to not take that stuff seriously or let it ruin my enjoyment of some of that media. That's not to say the media itself doesn't deserve some criticism or that I think it's flawless. It's just the nature of having multiple hands on an IP as big as Sonic.

But I have never seen such blatant character and story assassination as this remake has done. spoiler rant incoming

IT WAS SO EASY DISNEY THIS WAS AN EASY WIN??? I know they already made so much money so they don't care. I was not looking forward to this remake at all. I at least thought it would be medicore I knew story changes would probably happen that it would not be a 1:1 movie. That's fine that's okay to have some story beat differences or scene changes as long as the heart and message of the film come through. But that ending is disgusting and insulting.

How does the freaking sonic movies do found family better than LILO AND STITCH?! The OG Lilo and Stitch probably was one of the first kids entertainment that brought the attention of found families and unconventional families to mainstream media. Why would you butcher Nani's character like that? Why is Jumba the villain? HE'S NOT EGGMAN HERE. That's NOT his character, Jumba actually cares and loves and takes pride in all his experiments they are basically his children. It's stupid to make him the villain or at least not be redeemed by learning from watching Stitch himself change.

Having Nani give up Lilo to CPS so she can go to college is just stupid and wrong. The original Nani wanted Lilo in her life so badly she did give up a ton of stuff for herself. Yeah I would have loved to see her finally pursue some things for herself but she was willing to temporarily put that aside because Lilo was more important and their relationship meant way more and as Nani told cobra bubbles in the movie, “I’m the only one who understands, if you take that away she won’t stand a chance.” She’s the only one who gets Lilo and what she’s going through. Lilo is also a troubled child and Nani is worried no one will understand that or give Lilo the patience and care she needs. she already lost her parents she wasn't ready to lose her sister too, she was willing to fight for Lilo, you don't feel that in the live action film. Lilo is already bullied by her peers. Before Stitch Nani was the only person on Lilo's side. I don't care Nani has a ring power/portal gun and can still see Lilo. That's not the same.

ALSO YOU ARE IN HAWAII you can learn marine biology right there!!! WHY ARE YOU GOING TO CALIFORNIA??? Nani really just needed a support system that's why the aliens moving in took pressure off Nani so she could work. Having the friendly neighbor is fine but it kinda already offers a solution in the beginning of the movie. The neighbor could babysit and offer support. It takes away the stakes of Lilo and Nani situation right away. You could have the community come together at the end to offer support to Lilo and Nani and still have Nani keep custody of Lilo without sacrificing Nani's dreams. I don't know there's just so many ways to fix that ending and still have the Ohana message.

Stitch's arc is also greatly lacking without the ugly duckling scene or having him be honest with Lilo that he is an alien.

Lilo and Stitch means a lot to me, I had just turned 9 when the original film came out, I remember the trailers and I had never wanted to see a movie so badly. I have never felt that way for any other movie since. I knew nothing about that film but knew I had to see it. It inspired my art style as well, I love all the rounded shapes and character designs, the water color backgrounds. I have a very close friend who I consider a sister even though we aren't related, I have that movie to thank for that. Lilo and stitch has spin off media as well like the anime, manga, comics, Stitch and Ai but they at least honor the source material better than Disney's own remake. But also please don't harass people who do happen to like the remake or at least aspects of it. It's just not for me but if others can find enjoyment out of it good for them.

[emoisthenewemu]

YUTA OKKOTSU SMAU SERIES

SUMMARY: My man! My man! My man!

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You don't think you've ever felt this nervous in your life. You sit on your bed, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket as you pick at the skin at your fingernails. Heart pounding so loud you can hear it, taking deep breaths in and out. Somehow, the anticipation of knowing you and Yuta are about to confess to each other—finally certain that the two of you are on the same page, makes it all so much more nerve wrecking. So many things can happen now, what if it ends bad? What if things don't work out and you go back to being strangers? How could you ever be okay with that? And although you are ninety nine point nine percent positive he likes you back (because, duh) there will always be that little voice in your mind which works hard to convince you that you are about to embarrass yourself.

So when you hear someone fumble with the door handle, having left it unlocked for him you swear the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. In he walks, in baggy pajama pants and some graphic tee shirt of a horror movie you've never seen, his hair is rustled, a small smile on his face as it feels like all the negative thoughts have left his body.

All except one, an idea which cannot be entertained right now.

You can't help but laugh at the idea that this is the boy who is making you feel so nervous that your hands tremble, you clasp them together in an attempt to keep your cool. He doesn't look so intimidating as he saunters over, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist.

This hug feels more intimate than others, the closeness at which he holds you leaves not a single gap of space between your bodies. His head nuzzles itself into the crevice of your neck, exhaling a deep breath that feels as if he had been holding it the entire day. "Yn" Is all he says, almost as if to remind himself who the hell is latched onto. His hand slides to your hip, you watch curiously as he untucks himself from the comfort of your soft skin. "I like you"

Oh, he is wasting no time. You expected to dance around the subject a little longer than this. Your breath catches in your throat, unable to say anything.

"And I'm tired of.....hiding from it" Lying is the word he would rather say. The confession is on the tip of his tongue but he cannot find it in himself to do it. Especially not when he is finally certain he may have a chance with you. He would do anything for just a moment of your time. "I've liked you since I started at this school...and I thought if I would just ignore it that it would go away. Or maybe I'd just wait until we graduated but by then you'd probably have a boyfriend which means I'd never get a shot but I was fine with that. I-I've never been with someone before. I don't know how to be a boyfriend but I want to learn for you. I wanna buy you flowers and make you feel special. I want to be the only person who makes you feel that way"

You are silent, too quiet that it makes him nervous. You aren't even smiling, just staring right at him. "Are you sure?" Out of all the things you could have said-he is confused that is the reaction. As if the speech was not a plea enough.

He practically laughs in your face. "Did you not hear  a word I said?" He wipes his sweaty palms down the side of his pants again. "Is the sky blue?"

"Well don't be a smart ass" A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, cocking your head to the side as you study the way it seems like every part of his body has tensed up in anticipation for an answer. "A-and Rika? She's okay with it?"

The fact that it would even come across your mind to ask a question like that lets him know that he is choosing the right person for him. You are so considerate and kind hearted, it is the thing he admires most about you. "Of course she is" He stops for a moment to think. "If she wasn't then I think we'd know by now"

The boy takes a step forward, heart beating fast but his mind feels calm. He brings a shaky hand up to cup your cheek and leans in—until he pauses and takes a shark breath in. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tries to fight the quiver of his voice. "C-can I kiss you?"

You gulp, suddenly back to being the shy one. Maybe the two of you can bond through that awkward feeling. The fine line between rushes of emotion that make you bold before reverting back to your usual self. Things with Yuta have been a rollercoaster to say the least, you'd like to indulge in the fact that you finally have what you want.

So before you can even let the words leave your mouth you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss that certainly takes his breath away. Uncertain of where to put his hands, they rest uneasily at his sides. When you pull apart they gravitate to the place they need to be the most, cupping either side of your head to ensure he can get the best view of every square inch of your face.

Breathless, he speaks. "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole world yn"

You are honest in your emotion, a thing you have always cowered away from until now. Perhaps it is a growing point for both of you. He showers you with compliments the rest of the night, gazes into your eyes with nothing but pure adoration as you rub the skin on his aching forehead. He always looks so exhausted when you see him, it makes you worry.

So you make a promise to yourself—and to Rika. As Yuta lay asleep on your chest, your manicured nails lazily scratching his scalp you say it out loud, just to make sure she can hear you.

"Rika....I promise I'll take good care of him" You can feel the slight shift of cursed energy wavering through the air, as if she is trying to communicate something to you. "I have enough room in my heart for both of you"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

TAGLIST: @loveyislost @ravenbc @practicoi @chiefinvestigatoremma @gradmacoco @yuzurixx @pumpkintoad @digitaltrippers @sexylexy12 @sttaejoon-blog @galactacium @kekeanna266 @jfbwiwndinrkaidbrnskzhr @2dmenfr @love-me-satoru @kaidostwin @timascorner @artsjiwoo @underlinedkasis @lightbluefog @seleyaaaa @isuckatmakingnames @restrictionsapply @domainexpansionmypants @masternutswag

@tryingtofeelbetteraboutmywriting @isuckatmakingnamess

LMK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

[omiomi]

Master list

Part 6

Code Red: Unfinished Sutures (Part 7)

Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

The first thing Y/N felt was warmth. A slow, steady heat pressed against her skin, traveling through her veins like a quiet reminder that she was still alive.

The second thing she felt was pain. Dull and heavy, curling in her chest with every breath she took.

The third was him.

Baek Kang-Hyuk was slumped forward in a chair beside her, head bowed, his hand wrapped around hers like a lifeline. His grip was strong—almost too tight—but she didn’t mind. It grounded her.

She tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. She swallowed and tried again. “Malak…”

His head shot up so fast she thought he might have hurt himself. Bloodshot eyes met hers, filled with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper—something raw and unguarded.

“Y/N,” he breathed. His voice cracked.

She managed a weak smile. “Did you… cry?”

Baek exhaled sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a scoff. He rubbed a hand over his face. “You almost died, and that’s the first thing you say?”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp. “Did I?”

His jaw tightened. “You were gone for a moment. You lost so much blood—” He stopped himself, exhaling shakily. “I had to transfuse mine while operating. If you had—”

He broke off.

Y/N’s chest ached, but not from her injuries. She had seen Baek serious before, even afraid, but never like this. Never like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“You saved me,” she murmured.

Baek let out a breath, slow and unsteady. “I couldn’t let you die. Not after everything. Not after waiting so damn long for you to be ready.”

Y/N frowned. “Ready?”

“For us.” His fingers tightened around hers. “For you to find your own reason to live. Your own identity outside of this place. So that when you chose to come with me, it would be because you wanted to, not because I asked you to.”

Her heart clenched. “Kang-Hyuk…”

He shook his head. “I never wanted to take you away from Black Wings if you weren’t ready. I never wanted you to follow me just because of what we have. But damn it, Y/N—” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

Y/N stared at him, her breath shallow.

It was always unspoken between them. A love tangled between stitches, between lives saved and lost, between the battlefield and the quiet moments in between. They had never needed to say it.

But now, with the weight of near-death between them, silence wasn’t enough.

She reached up with trembling fingers and cupped his cheek. His breath hitched, eyes dark and searching.

“Then take me with you,” she whispered.

His whole body went still.

She let out a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t know how to live outside of this place. But if you’ll have me, I’ll learn. I want to learn.”

Baek inhaled sharply, as if trying to hold himself together. But then, in the next moment, he was leaning in—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

Her heart pounded. “Take me with you.”

Baek Kang-Hyuk closed the space between them.

The kiss was everything and nothing like she imagined. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady, certain. A vow sealed between them, whispered through lips that had seen too much war and too little peace.

She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, and Baek held her like he never intended to let go.

And for once, he wouldn’t have to.

Because this time, she was choosing him, too.

—

Y/N hated feeling weak.

She had spent years training her body, sharpening her skills, surviving war zones most people wouldn’t last a day in. But now, she was stuck in a hospital bed, her body stitched together by Baek’s hands and sheer luck.

She let out a slow breath, shifting slightly against the pillows. Even that small movement sent a dull ache rippling through her body.

“Don’t even think about moving,” Baek’s voice came from the doorway.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. He had been hovering ever since she woke up, and though she’d never admit it, a part of her found it… comforting.

Baek walked into the room, carrying a tray. “Brought you food,” he said, setting it down on the table beside her. “You need to eat.”

She eyed the tray suspiciously. “Did you make it?”

Baek scoffed. “You think I have time to cook?”

“Then I might actually eat it.”

Baek gave her a dry look but didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the blankets around her—fussily, she noted—and sat down on the chair beside her bed.

Y/N studied him for a moment. His face was sharper than usual, dark circles under his eyes, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something quieter.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

Baek shrugged. “Since we got back.”

She frowned. “That was—”

“Two weeks ago.”

She blinked. Two weeks?

“You haven’t left?”

Baek leaned back, crossing his arms. “Where the hell else would I be?”

Before she could respond, a sudden knock interrupted them.

Baek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s them.”

“Them?”

Before he could explain, the door swung open, revealing three unfamiliar faces.

“Finally!” Jae-Won stepped inside, arms crossed. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up, you know.”

Beside him, Jang-Mi with neatly tied hair and a clipboard tucked under her arm sighed. “Dr. Baek has been an absolute menace these past two weeks. You’ve caused us so much trouble.”

Gyeong-Won nodded quickly. “We had to drag him out of here just to make sure he didn’t pass out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, glancing at Baek. “They sound like they know you well.”

Baek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately.”

Y/N blinked at them, then turned to Baek. “So these are the people keeping you in check?”

Baek exhaled. “Barely.”

Jae-won grinned. “He’s been a pain in the ass ever since he got back. Snapping at everyone, refusing to leave this room—”

“I was not snapping—”

“—and scaring the interns half to death,” Jang-Mi finished.

Y/N smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Baek shot her an unimpressed look.

Jae-won nudged her foot lightly, careful not to touch any of her injuries. “But seriously. He’s been out of his mind worried about you.”

Y/N glanced at Baek, who was suddenly very interested in the floor.

She softened.

“Well,” she said, meeting Baek’s gaze. “I’m still here.”

Baek exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

And for the first time since waking up, she let herself breathe.

—

The hospital rooftop was quiet, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the railing. A cool breeze carried the scent of rain, the sky painted in hues of deep blue and fading gold.

Y/N stood at the edge, leaning against the railing, the wind playing with the loose strands of her hair. She inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs.

She was alive.

The thought had settled into her bones over the past few weeks, but it still felt… surreal. Black Wings was behind her now. The life she had known—the one that had once defined her—was gone. And yet, here she was. Still standing.

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Baek.

“You say that every time,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Baek stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his white coat, watching her with that same unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too much.

Y/N smirked. “Shouldn’t you be working, Dr. Baek?”

“I should be.” He stepped closer. “But you’re more important.”

Something in her chest tightened.

He stopped beside her, resting his arms on the railing as he looked out over the city. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“What now?”

Baek’s voice was quiet, but there was something beneath it. A careful question.

Y/N let out a breath. “I don’t know.”

Baek hummed. “Liar.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

His gaze flickered to her. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you?”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “I’ll stay.”

Baek didn’t react at first. Then, slowly, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I knew you’d come around.”

Y/N scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Baek chuckled, shaking his head. But there was something warm in his expression, something that made her feel steady, like she wasn’t just floating in uncertainty anymore.

Like she belonged.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hospital ID. He held it up between them, the dim light reflecting off the plastic.

Her name was printed on it.

Y/N stared. “You—”

“I pulled some strings,” Baek said casually. “Figured you’d need a place to start.”

Y/N took the ID slowly, running her fingers over the letters. Dr. Y/N.

Her throat tightened.

She looked up at Baek, finding him already watching her.

“Welcome to the team, Malaika,” he said softly.

Y/N swallowed.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for his hand.

Baek blinked, caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled around hers, warm and steady.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of the future.

Because this time, she wasn’t facing it alone.

—

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the aisles lined with instant meals, snacks, and drinks. It was a quiet night, the streets outside empty save for a few distant headlights, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Baek Kang-Hyuk had nothing to do but stand beside Y/N as she debated which ramyeon to buy.

She tapped her chin in exaggerated thought. “Should I get spicy or extra spicy?”

Baek gave her a flat look. “You cried last time you had extra spicy.”

Y/N gasped, clutching her chest as if personally wounded. “I did not!”

Baek smirked. “You did. You downed three bottles of milk after, and then you swore you were ‘never eating again.’”

She huffed, turning back to the shelf. “Maybe I was just being dramatic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

Y/N swatted his arm. “Fine. I’ll get the regular spicy.” Then she turned to him with a teasing glint in her eyes. “And you, Dr. Baek? Still going for the mild one?”

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a cup of spicy ramyeon and tossed it into the basket. “I can handle spice.”

“Sure you can, Malak,” she said, smirking as she walked to the register.

Baek followed her, shaking his head but smiling.

As they reached the counter, the elderly cashier glanced up at them, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Newlyweds?” she asked, ringing up their items.

Baek choked on air.

Y/N, however, just grinned, tilting her head playfully. “Something like that.”

And just like that, the warmth in Baek’s chest grew a little stronger.

—

The world outside their window was slowly waking up—birds chirping, the occasional car passing by—but inside their small apartment, everything was still and quiet.

Baek stirred first, his body instinctively attuned to early mornings, but the weight against his chest made him hesitate before moving.

Y/N was curled up against him, her face buried in his shirt, her breathing slow and even. One of her arms was draped over his stomach, her fingers loosely curled against his side as if she had fallen asleep mid-thought.

Baek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He had never been the type to stay in bed longer than necessary, but this—having her warm and safe in his arms—made the idea of moving seem absurd.

A soft mumble escaped Y/N’s lips.

Baek glanced down. “Did you just call me ‘Malak’ in your sleep?”

She groaned, shifting but not pulling away. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Never.”

Y/N buried her face deeper into his chest. “Five more minutes.”

Baek exhaled, shaking his head. “Hopeless.”

But he tightened his hold around her and closed his eyes again. Maybe, just this once, he could stay.

—

The soft strumming of a song played from Y/N’s phone, filling their small living room with a gentle melody. She swayed lightly to the rhythm, barefoot, the fading sunset casting golden light over her figure.

Baek sat on the couch, arms crossed, watching her with an amused expression.

“You know I don’t dance,” he said.

Y/N turned to him, hands on her hips. “You stitch people up like it’s nothing, but this scares you?”

He frowned. “It’s different.”

She grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. “It’s not. You just follow my lead.”

Baek hesitated, then let out a resigned sigh. He let her place his hands on her waist as she rested hers lightly on his shoulders.

“Just sway,” she murmured, guiding him in slow, simple movements.

At first, he was stiff, too focused on getting it right, but Y/N smiled up at him—so effortlessly, so freely—and something in him melted.

He exhaled, relaxing into the rhythm.

Then, without thinking, he twirled her.

She let out a surprised laugh, her joy infectious. “Look at you, Dr. Baek. Who knew you had moves?”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, her voice softer now. “Too late.”

And as they swayed in the quiet of their home, Baek realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind dancing as much as he thought.

—

Baek had always been the type to focus intensely when studying, while Y/N had a habit of making notes… and then promptly falling asleep in the middle of them.

Tonight was no different.

He looked up from his textbook to find her slumped over the table, her head resting on her folded arms, soft breaths escaping her lips. Highlighters and open medical journals were scattered around her, her pen still loosely gripped in her fingers.

Baek sighed, shaking his head. “Hopeless,” he muttered under his breath.

Carefully, he pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen over her face, tucking them behind her ear. He let his fingers linger for just a moment, tracing the soft curve of her cheek before exhaling.

Then, without waking her, he scooped her up in his arms.

Y/N stirred slightly, her head lolling against his shoulder. “Where we going…?” she murmured sleepily.

“To bed,” he said softly.

“Mmm… ‘kay,” she mumbled, curling into his warmth.

Baek chuckled. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Even half-asleep, she smirked. “You love me.”

And damn it, she was right.

Baek exhaled softly, tightening his hold on her as if to ground himself in the reality that she was still here—warm, breathing, alive.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice rough with quiet conviction. “I do.”

Y/N made a sleepy sound of acknowledgment, her fingers curling weakly into his shirt, as if she knew, as if she had always known.

Baek carried her through the dimly lit hall, each step feeling heavier with the weight of everything they had been through. The fear of almost losing her, the years of waiting for her to be ready, the desperate, selfish need to keep her in his life.

But now, for the first time, he wasn’t just holding onto a memory or a fleeting moment. He was holding her—his future, his reason to keep going.

And this time, she was holding on just as tightly.

End

Taglist: @study-with-reine234 @redhoodedtoad @celestialstar111 @ryujinxzyy @urfictional

Thank you for accompanying me throughout Malak and Malaika’s journey! i hope we all find someone like Malak who would wait for us, and someone like Malaika who is worth waiting for. fear not, we’ll certainly see more of them in side stories and one shots!

[dreamersparacosm]

ahhh i read the entirety of under the checkered flag last night and got like 4 hours of sleep 💀 so so good! i’m curious can we get jungkook’s pov of what went on in his head when oc rejected the first kiss that led him to sleeping w that model bc i wanna knowww!

ok so i have had many thoughts on this. not even kidding ive been shook by this request bc it’s so REAL. like, yeah i also want to explain what this man was thinking… bc perhaps it may not make sense why he is the way he is.

at the end of the day… he’s toxic internally and that is ALL he’s known before you. i mean, the guy has fucked so many girls in a past life.

this is how i see it.™️ if you disagree… well, good luck charlie (I don’t write for the weak.) enjoy!!

warnings ; talk of previous sexual activity!

prompt ; in which she isn’t you.

part of the under the checkered flag universe

He knows.

God, he’s known for as long as he’s been in your presence. It’s not your fault, nothing you can contain. He’s just known that you were never his to claim.

When he invited you to the afterparty, a tiny part of him, some subconscious section of his mind, hoped you would deny the invitation, so that he wouldn’t have to keep dreaming of you, dreaming of what your lips would feel like against his, dreaming of your touch against his warm skin.

He knows many things, but what he knows for certain is that he should not have brought you onto the balcony.

“You were really something out there today,” You speak softly, and his brain goes to mush, palms sweaty and hesitant with some sort of desire he can’t contain. Any form of a compliment from you causes his breath to hitch.

All he can respond with, after a gulp of saliva, “Yeah?”

You don’t dare look at him. He just stands there, inhaling your scent from a mere few inches away, trying to collect a part of you he can’t touch. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

And the thing about Jungkook is he’s received compliments in his lifetime. Too many to count. From fans, from reporters, from faceless voices who say his name like it belongs to them. They’ve called him beautiful, breathtaking, a living work of art. They’ve told him his voice drips with a smooth tone, like honey and sin, that his body was carved by gods who took their time. He’s learned to accept it, to let the words wash over him, to detach from them entirely.

But when it’s you? When it’s your voice, soft and careless, dropping a compliment like it means nothing?

It kills him. He feels devastatingly and utterly ill.

Because you’re his friend. That’s what you’ve always been. And that word friend feels dirty in his mouth now, like a lie, like a word someone else assigned to the two of you before he ever had a say in it. He barely even knows if it means anything anymore. Not when you look at him like that. Not when your voice wraps around a simple, thoughtless phrase like it’s just syllables in a nonsensical sentence.

There’s more words exchanged, things he doesn’t fully process because he’s so stuck on how beautiful your curves look in the dress Jisoo picked out for you, the dress he sent her money for and told her not to tell you.

He doesn’t really process anything until you say, “ Sometimes I think I like being alone so much because it’s the only time I don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”

It’s so inherently him, the things that you say sometimes. You’re a mirror image of him, some version of himself looking back, only better. Sharper where he is dull, softer where he is rough, a perfect contradiction that somehow fits him more than he fits himself. You say things he’s thought a thousand times but never dared to speak aloud. You see the world like he does, or maybe you see it clearer, untainted by the noise, the expectation, the weight of what people want him to be.

That’s how he knows he’s royally fucked.

He can’t be just friends with you, not when your voice slips into his thoughts so effortlessly, lodging itself in the quiet spaces between his ribs. Or, not when your words make his skin feel too tight, his body too aware, his heart too loud in his own chest.

Not when it feels like you’re crawling inside his head and making a home there.

His body moves before his brain does. He can barely breathe, every hum of oxygen being ripped from his lungs when he shifts to look at you, stare into your eyes that longingly look into his own, like you’re analyzing every part of his soul.

There’s a glimmer of hope behind his eyes, he knows it.

He feels it like a heartbeat in his throat, pulsing, thrumming, betraying him. He’s staring at your lips, watching, waiting, praying for a sign that you’ll kiss him back if he lets himself cross that final, irreversible line. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to do it.

He needs to close the space, to drown in you, to let his hands map the curve of your jaw and finally give in to the thing that’s been eating him alive from the inside out.

He reaches out, brushing the lightest touch against your wrist. It’s barely anything. Yet, there’s a slight hesitation from your body language.

You take a step back. Small, barely noticeable. It’s enough.

It’s enough to tell him he’s made a mistake, that he can’t cross this barrier, can’t shatter the fragile thing you both pretended was friendship, can’t be so foolish as to believe that this could survive the weight of his want.

You swallow, exhaling shakily. “We’re just friends.”

Three words, that when put together, shatter him completely.

God, he’s known this whole time.

Then, slowly, because it’s all he can muster, he smiles knowingly. “I know.”

He offers to go back inside, and you smile sweetly. There’s an awkward silence that takes its place between you two, and he immediately distances himself from you. From a few feet away, he watches you shuffle over to Jisoo, whisper something in her ear, and she walks with you towards what he assumes is the restroom.

The grave mistake he has made is so irreversible he wants to kick himself in the face.

He marches right up to the bar, asking for a whiskey on the rocks, something he hasn’t dared drink since he met you.

Realistically, you ruined it for him. Ruined everything. Whiskey used to be his escape, his sharp-edged comfort, the thing that burned just enough to remind him he was still alive. But then you happened, and suddenly, nothing tasted quite the same.

Tonight, however, he drinks. He drinks like he used to. He lets the dark liquor scrape down his throat, letting it seep into the cracks of his mind, letting it pull him back into old habits.

It’s easier to fall back into the emptiness, to slip into the hollow space where his ego and his loneliness curl up together like old friends. To let himself believe, just for a night, that the answer to whatever this ache inside him is doesn’t have your name on it.

He doesn’t want to be the man who can’t sleep without the ghost of your touch. Doesn’t want to be the man who looks for you in every crowded room, even when he knows you’re not there.

So, he downs another glass. Then… another.

At some point in the night, he stops caring about where you are. Stops caring if you got home safe, if you’re tucked into bed, if you’re even thinking about him at all.

He starts wanting something simple.

A mindless thing. He craves something that doesn’t look like you, doesn’t talk like you, doesn’t make him feel like his skin is too tight over his bones, like his heart is clawing its way out of his chest every time he breathes.

So when a model—one he’s had before, months ago, a lifetime ago—slides up next to him, trailing a perfectly manicured hand down his arm, he doesn’t even blink. He does not react when she leans in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, asking in that sultry, practiced voice, “Your place or mine?”

He should feel something. Excitement, relief, even just the slightest flicker of interest.

But he feels nothing, just a dull, gnawing ache in his chest, the kind that no amount of whiskey or soft skin or easy pleasure can fix.

Still, he nods… takes her hand. Prays to every god he doesn’t believe in that it works this time (Except nothing works. Nothing ever fucking works. Because no matter who he touches, no matter whose lips ghost over his skin; they are never you. And that is something he will never be able to drink away.)

So, the next time you see him, when you inevitably find out, when you stomp to his house, all rage and jealousy, everything he knows fades to dust.

Now, surely, undoubtedly, you are his to claim.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[cloveroctobers]

THE BEST THAT I HAVE. | Bo Chow (Sinners) — summer prompts

A/N: idk should I keep offering my little percentage of feeding Bo’s tag? This is only happening because I came across a prompt and thought about a specific part that I included in the other thing I wrote about him. Not necessarily connected but still works as if it is. Also heard this song that fit the late night summer vibe so that really put a stamp on it. Not anything big but with summer prompts I like to be a little more soft hearted lol.

S/N: I’ve officially seen sinners (only) twice now and I’ve definitely missed out on a lot the first round lol—which happens! I appreciate this film even more and need some merch now 🤍

PROMPTS ARE FROM @urfriendlywriter since I can’t find the exact post but thankfully I jotted down which user I got this from & I’m using: when they wear tank-tops while doing manly labor and you're just there admiring the sight. + going out to get ice-cream at 2 am (this has got to be a love language)

<- read my previous summer anthology prompt here.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚

“You alright over there, doll?” Bo’s voice holds humor in it as he steps down from the wooden ladder, empty box held underneath his bare muscular arm.

You’re on the outside aisle in front of the pear jam and canned plums in heavy syrup, crouched down as you hold a clipboard on your knee, blinking rapidly to bring yourself out of a daze.

That daze being Bo Chow’s arms in that tank top, with a light sweat patch around the neckline.

He hops off the last two steps of the ladder with a grunt, using his wrist to wipe any droplets of sweat from his forehead away as he continued on, “You’re lookin’ like you might just pass out. And I got a feelin’ it might be the sight of me.”

He’s half teasing, letting you know that he’s seen your stolen glances the moment he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it towards the back hallway. He’s even wiggling his brows at you while you huff and get up to your feet.

“Please. If anything’s gonna damage my eye sight and send me to the ground, it’ll be the smell of your musty underarms, and these dust bunnies hiding in the air vents.” You sass, making Bo chuckle as he peeks upwards at the ceiling fan that was squeaking and shaking about.

He fixed that thing over five times with the help of his soon to be father-in-law, Jian, who worked down at the laundry mat. He was the number one Mr. Fix-It, managing to repair lots of dryers to save money and because he got the run around from certain clear colored repairmen. Bo was convinced that this fan was on its way out and considered turning it off completely, even if you gave him a hard time about it.

It wasn’t the only fan in here anyway.

You move towards the opposite end of the store which the said fan stood on its own on the floor, blocking the air that cooled you from behind as your own shirt stuck to the skin of your back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you peeled one eye open to see that Bo also moved to stand behind the register, checking the shelves underneath it.

“Shouldn’t your fiancée be here anyway?” You’re not necessarily prying since you were the one who offered to help once you got word that Bo was having a late night to do inventory.

Bo pops back up from behind the register laughing to himself, “Can’t get that woman to do anything after midnight but to chat about wedding dresses, do her skincare routine, party, or tell me how I’ve gotten on her nerves at some point during the day.” He begins flipping through some pages peering up as if thinking about it then finishes, “I’ve learned my lesson messing with her sleep.”

You tried not to think too much about that, considering Grace just recently started working on the other side and across the street of the grocery store.

“So you have your best friend here instead…it all worked out in the end.” You smirk.

Bo laughter lines appear while he grins, “Yeah you can say that,” he tosses whatever booklet he was browsing back underneath the register, “Plus you’re the ultimate night owl here. You’re mostly alive in the night time and live for the graveyard shift madness.”

That much was true yet that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. You’re not passing much judgment by any means, since everyone operated differently at certain times of the day and had many things to consider in times like these. The fact of the matter is, you didn’t mind helping, even if it meant sweeping built up dust, with your face starting to itch and couldn’t stop sneezing for a solid five minutes, or almost getting bit by a spider—spending time with Bo was no crime.

Bo notices your quietness and adds, “You can go on and take that cot in the back if you need the rest. Dawn isn’t for a few more hours but if you need to, go right ahead. Or should I follow through with my promise to your momma and bring you on home myself?”

“I just may,” you shrug being in tune with your body to see what type of energy you had left, “If you decide to stick me with those leaky freezers again.”

A grin tugged at his lips as he glanced the wall for the time. Bo definitely tended to get bossy once he was truly locked in. Granted it was just the two of you so of course the work would need to be put in. If Bo needed the extra hands, it would be like pulling teeth for him to ask any other family members…although Bo & Co. Delta Grocery & Market has been in his family’s hands for a while (under different names) Bo Chow was really the type of man who was particular and liked to do things himself.

The only good thing about the freezers was getting blessed with the cool air but that seemed to vanish the harder you worked, pulling what you could to take count and check expiration dates.

There had to be some bruises on your backside from constantly holding the freezer open with it or rather getting smacked with it, since you couldn’t really figure out the mechanism that would hold the door open for you. Until Bo did the honors, his hands messed with the screws so quickly, tempted to lock you in the freezer for jokes once you had to almost climb inside to reach the top, foot slipping from the condensation on the glass of the door while you let all the cold air out. Since the freezer was left open that meant the defrosting process happened thanks to no AC.

And twisting up your ankles on the damp floor was a sight to see.

“Damn doll and here I thought you were doing a new dance.” Bo teased, already behind you with a mop.

Bo speaks, “Nah, I’m callin’ time. We’ve done enough and I think we should reward ourselves don’t you?”

“Meaning?”

Bo exhales with his hands resting on his hips, “Well…Double Chin Harry’s been closed ‘round ten. Our only option for now is Milkshakes at Pepper’s Diner. The ice cream here doesn’t hold a candle to what we really want and I ain’t ashamed to say it.”

A crooked grin plays on your lips then, “I can’t believe my ears right now. Are you actually giving credit to another establishment, Mr. Perfectionist?”

Bo pulls a cigarette from his pocket to tug behind his ear, “‘Course I am. This is a community after all and it’s okay to say what’s lacking in your own business. If Double Chin Harry’s worked with a packaging distributor, I’d get them in here in a heartbeat and hope I get some sorta discount since we’re their favorite customers.”

He winks while you scoff stepping over to place the clipboard down on the counter.

“Well, remind me to write Double Chin Harry a thank you card, since they’re the only reason I’m about to get a milkshake with Bo Chow and not his fiancée.”

Bo clicks his tongue at you with a shake of his head.

Soon the both of you make it around the corner and up the street to Pepper’s which always sits right on the corner, brightly lit and facing the back road. Before your hand can even touch the handle, Bo beats you, yanking the door back and playfully rolling his hand about.

“After you madam.”

You snicker, lightly punching at his chest, “Why thank you, Pally.”

Leading the way into the diner, with the bells above your head signaling your arrival, you’re welcomed with the blast of chilled air that almost makes you hunch your shoulders at its brisk greeting compared to the muggy Mississippi heat, and the stench of burnt coffee, syrup, and grease.

You pick a booth somewhere in the middle, thankful that you wore pants for this occasion while you picked up a menu, eyes already skimming the words. Your ears perk up as you hear Bo greet one of the waitresses but don’t move your eyes from the dessert section. 

Bo sits across from you, hands immediately going to the jukebox tabletop, which you whack away with the menu. “Now what was that for?”

“We talked about this. No hoggin’ the radio.”

Bo puffs out a breath, “You’re acting as if I don’t have impeccable taste.”

You tilt your head to the side, “There’s only so much Skip James, Mildred Bailey, and Duke Elllington you can play.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” He grinned, resting an arm along the back of the booth. “You’re welcome for that experience.”

You’re shaking your head at him but the smile is dead giveaway.

It’s Bo’s turn to tilt his head at you, eyes flicking back from you and the menu after fiddling with the jukebox for a little. “There ain’t no point studying the menu so hard when we’ve been here enough. We both know exactly what you want.”

You give him a look.

“No pouting.” He wags his finger at you before dropping it to knock against the menu to the beat of the music.

You tighten your stare, “I don’t pout!”

Bo smirks, “That’s what you think but I know you too well to know what a pout is and you certainly do. It’s adorable though sweetheart, so it’s fine.”

A waitress arrives before you could tear him a new one. She’s one of the ones you’re familiar with, salt and pepper curls always neatly pinned back into a bun, tall as billboards, and gap in between her two front teeth.

Bo sends her a charming smile, “Hey there, Ms. Lynette, right on time as always! We’ll do the strawberry milkshake with extra whip for the lady and a vanilla malt with the caramel syrup mixed in for myself.”

Ms. Lynette winks at the two of you, knowing not to ask if anything else was needed but still says, “Comin’ right up. I’ll be back with some water to tune down the sweetness if needed. If anything else comes to mind, be sure to holler.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lynette.” You smile as she sends you one right back.

Bo gives her a two finger salute, “Will do.”

You lean forward, pressing your chin on top of your hand as you squint over at the dark haired man across from you, “One of these days I’m just gon’ surprise you with my order and you won’t know what to do.”

Bo quirks up a brow, also leaning forward, resting his fingertips on the edge of the table, “Today ain’t one of them days, doll.”

Always matching your energy, you can’t help but to laugh, almost flinging yourself back against the seat of the booth. At Pepper’s the selection was limited compared to Double Chin Harry’s where there were many varieties and a routine. It was your thing to try every flavor together and Double Chin Harry’s had over a hundred and swapped them out during the seasons. Even when winter came along, you and Bo were his number one customers.

Outside the streets were still and quiet, with only the streetlights and moon being the main source of light. Even the neon sign of the diner buzzed like it was half-asleep. Inside, the hum of the AC and faint clanks from the kitchen filled the comfortable silence between you.

“So,” you start, taking your time for your eyes to meet Bo’s dark ones, “Less than a month huh?”

Bo reached up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck, “Yeah…it’s comin’ up fast. End of September, right when the weather is bearable to be outdoors for longer. A change. Kinda poetic…at least that’s what Grace’s mama says.”

You hum, “Grace get to pick the date?”

“We were told a date,” Bo informs, “Yet Grace got to do the invitations. You know she’s real crafty and gets a kick out of shit like that. Had to put her foot down with that one.”

You can only imagine. You remembered being a in a wedding a few years back (a whole bridesmaid) for your old childhood neighbor who used to live here in the Delta until she met that Lawyer who was here on business and he swept her away to Alabama.

They have triplets now.

Yet it felt like a wedding close to hell if anyone asked you.

Bo’s eyes drop to his hands now, “This ain’t how I imagined a wedding, y’know? In someone else’s hands. Smoke said it’s all about being sure in your love and showin’ up. But families talk, make the decisions, things get knotted if you don’t agree hell—maybe it’ll all be fine.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you’re unsure what to say. You’ve seen them together, see that there’s love there and sure anyone should be nervous or a little…since your life has to change once you’re planning to spend forever with someone you deeply love.

Could it really be that deep if someone had to tell you how your relationship should be instead of just feeling it?

Ms. Lynette placed a pitcher of cool water down on the table followed by two plastic cups.

Then she leaves you to be.

You make quick work of downing the water, not realizing how much you needed it.

His eyes catch yours in the way that it makes your stomach tighten, “You know you’ll always be part of my world, don’t cha?” he said, gently. “I’ll give you the best that I have…and then some.”

Bo meant those words, this you knew.

Which is why you’re deeply exhaling, “…That’ll change the minute y’all say, ‘I do.’”

Bo doesn’t reply right away, choosing to let his eyes burn into your skin. Somewhere inside Bo already knew this moment would be the last of what you were before.

The milkshakes arrive not long after, Ms. Lynette still read the room, realizing that she didn’t need to say a thing but offered a polite smile and tap on the table in understanding, before retreating back behind the counter to chat with the only other customer in here.

A man named Ernest who tragically lost his family in a house fire right after New Year’s Day. For years he had a drinking problem but it seems since then he’s been cutting back on the booze, chews tobacco, and increased his caffeine intake instead.

Wrapping your fingers around the stem of the glass, you bring it closer to you, leaning forward to place your lips around the stripped straw. You’re hit with the perfect balance of sweet and creamy for this summer’s night.

Bo also quietly takes his spoon, dipping it into the glass to stir as your attention turns back to the window which brings you back to another day, ways from August, back in spring, and a painfully bright memory.

It was just touching mid-spring the day you met Grace Quon.

You’re walking along the sidewalk, bouquet lounging against your forearm, sunlight bouncing off the colorful petals just right. The SmokeStack twins requested a bouquet full of roses and lillies to be sent over to Mary’s mother’s residence for her birthday from your family’s flower shop.

On your way out from the shop you made a promise that you would deliver them after stopping by the market. You honestly didn’t plan to stop at Bo’s since there was a market—more of a run in and out type of market—closer to Mrs. Connie’s but he had been outside rearranging the strawberries and blackberries in a crate out front.

He caught sight of you from his peripheral, strand of dark hair hanging over his forehead, “Now I know I’m seein’ things. You, a creature of the night out and about before noon?”

His hands clasp down on your shoulders, lightly shaking them about that you’re tempted to whack him with the flowers…if they weren’t for someone else.

“Special delivery for Mary’s mama, Mrs. Connie,” you smile brushing his strand of hair back against the top of his head, “Momma also sent me for snap peas, rice, and beets. So don’t get used to me in the daylight.”

Bo steps back playfully raising his hands in surrender before letting his gaze eye you up and down before settling back on your face, “The sunlight looks mighty nice on you, doll. You should let it happen more often…but any time I get to see you is a good view.”

A soft smile appears on your face before you can even think to roll your eyes or let out a scoff.

“Who’s this?” Her voice cuts through, as she takes her spot right next to Bo.

Grace had emerged from the other side, the side catered to the whites. She had perfect posture, lipstick untouched by the heat, a knowing look in her eyes that hardened once fully settled on you.

Bo blinked once towards Grace and then back to you, “Hey, honey. This is uh,” he says your name, “A good friend of mine. Been a long time friend since I was a boy.”

There’s a polite smile on your face as you shifted the weight of the bouquet in your arms to hold out your hand, “Nice to meet you…Grace right? Bo’s bride to be.”

Grace looks at the flowers and then your hand, taking her time to place her’s in yours, “Mhm but just Grace is fine. I’ve heard about you, you work night shifts at that hotel.”

It wasn’t fully rude but it wasn’t innocent either, the way her hand slid into yours pinching at your fingertips instead of letting her full palm touch yours. It was as quick of a shake as you can imagine.

“Yes at the Willow Dune,” you answered smoothly, “Just good enough to have somethin’ in my pocket. My old man isn’t pleased but I do alright.”

Grace hums turning her gaze to fix Bo’s collar, “Working hard keeps you out of trouble doesn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question as she slides her hand down the length of Bo’s arm before looping her wrist around his, a move so casual it couldn’t be called possessive—yet it was, “Keeps you out of trouble,” she repeats, before softening her tone, “and focused on your responsibilities.”

Bo quietly catches on, clearing his throat to send Grace a warning look as she side eyed him before settling them back on yours. She doesn’t even bother to offer a faux smile.

“Right,” you trail off awkwardly glancing towards the market, “I won’t keep y’all. Just gonna grab a few things and get these babies delivered. See ya, Bo. And…it was great to finally meet you, Grace.”

Was it though?

Grace says nothing and you don’t wait for more. Her gaze stays on you like a hawk while Bo watches her now—reading her with fresh eyes, recognizing something he hadn’t before.

This was bold.

This was territorial.

By the time you push into the market, the sharp eyes of Grace Quon is still on your back but so was the sun.

You move around the store with ease, grateful for the brief shield of walls and glass—even with the front doors cracked just enough to let in the spring air…the couple on the outside share hushed words of their own that start to rise.

You ignore it.

Back inside Pepper’s, the spluttering of the coffee maker starting up was enough to pull you back into the present.

Bo was watching you with the same look—quiet, and careful, like he wasn’t sure what happens next.

Sliding the glass back and forth between your hands for moment, you stop and offer a smile.

A real one.

Even if it hurt, this was your time.

It was best to make the most of it.

“Just promise me one thing,” you said softly, clammy hands cooling from the sweat of the glass, “Don’t you sing your vows.”

Bo furrowed his brows so deeply that one would have thought you insulted his entire being, “I may not be skilled in that department, but I get by! My lady might even like it.”

Although that would be off the cob…who knows? Grace might be into it.

“Mm,” you can’t help but to smirk around the straw in between your lips, “If that’s y’all thing then who am I?”

Bo’s leaning in again even if it’s only a bit, “Who told you I was even thinkin’ about that? Annie?”

You didn’t answer, just smiled at him with your eyes.

That same kind of smile that used to make him weak in the knees once upon a time.

It should’ve felt like any other summer night.

To some, it appeared to be.

Then Bo reached across the table, gently pulling your hand away from the glass and toward the center. He rests his veiny warm hand right on top of yours, just staring at them for a moment.

Studying your hands as if he’s trying to pick the right fruit.

You don’t move.

The ache could wait.

The milkshakes and late hours were also in your grasp with a shared silence that said a lot of things.

Perhaps?

That is what was best.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚

Continue with my summer anthology prompts here.

[imaginesmai]

Right around the corner - Azriel

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

Plot: four times someone notices something weird about Azriel, and that time someone figured it out.

Remember, I'm taking requests! This Azriel fic is an Azriel x reader, but she doesn't appear yet. Let me know if you want a second part with a formal introduction to the family!

Through the years, Cassian had learned a few things about Azriel. He could proudly say that, even if he wasn’t a spy master himself, he was quite observant. Picked things here and there about people, noticed small habits and routines. For example, he knew that Rhysand liked his coffee boiling hot, that Mor always brought something red from wherever she traveled, and that Feyre ordered the colors she painted with in certain way.

From all of them, he spent most time with Azriel, so it made sense that Cassian knew him. Or thought so.

Cassian knew Azriel sometimes talked to his shadows, even argued with them. The male liked his boots clean and couldn’t stand blood on his clothes. He preferred tea over coffee and liked bad jokes, even if he always scoffed at them.

Cassian thought Azriel was a picky eater. That he hated berries, because he had never seen his friend eat any.

So, when after a tough monthly shopping session for the house, he found a berries box, he opened it without a second thought. It was what he always did – eat from the box before he put it away, infatuating Rhysand, who liked everything in its place.

He only had time to open the box and touch the first berry before Azriel snatched it from his grip, tucking it away.

“Don’t touch it” he grumbled, still focused on putting the eggs away.

“Why not? Rhy’s not here. He won’t mind” he would mind, thought. Not that Cassian had cared about it. “It’s just one berry. I barely ate lunch”

“That sounds like your problem” Azriel gave him a wary look when he tried to get closer. “Don’t”

“They’re berries. Give them to me” Cassian replied, putting his palm up and waiting for his snack.

“You’ll have to wait until dinner”

Cassian frowned, because it might had been one berry, but berries were brought because he liked them and usually ended up in a bag in his room, either way. The only problem he had faced so far was Rhysand disappointed face when he found the empty box laying on the counter.

He rounded the kitchen island until he was next to Azriel. Once more, he reached for the box of berries. That time, he was met with a cold, aggressive grip on his wrist by one of his shadows.

“Dude. What’s with the berries?” he asked, staring at his unmoving wrist with morbid fascination.

“I bought them for me, they’re not for the house”

“You don’t… like berries”

Azriel seemed surprised at the statement, and finally looked at him. And for the first time in a long time, Cassian realized he had surprised him. That he had caught Azriel in a lie, or maybe in an omission of the truth. A truth he didn’t want or feel like sharing.

Maybe, any other day, Cassian would have let it go by. If it had happened with any other food, or with any other person, it wouldn’t have made him suspicious. But Azriel actually looked surprised, and Cassian had tried enough to know it was impossible to catch him in a lie.

“Well, I do now” he shrugged finally. “So keep your nasty hands out of the box”

Before Cassian could reply, the shadow holding his hand curled back into its master and Azriel winnowed away, berries in hand and a soft smile on his face.

-

Even though Mor didn’t like Azriel the way he liked her, couldn’t love him like he wanted to, she appreciated him as a friend. As a good friend, who was there for her always and through everything. And it was selfish of her, she knew, but she had grown used to the details of being loved. Appreciated, cared for. Wanted.

When she caught his gaze across the room, she was used to watching him blush and look away. When they went out to have fun, she was used to his eyes fixed on her back, not subtle at all. And worst of all, she had been kind of taking advantage of the presents he gave her every now and then.

They weren’t short of money, and Azriel had bought her many things through the years. Something she stared at, something that made him think of her. Multiple things that warmed her heart, not in the way he wanted to.

It was only logical that when she found Azriel at her door with a velvet box, looking nervous and shy, it was just that.

“Az. What a surprise” she tried to smile. Tried not to think about his dejected face once she told him she appreciated the gift but wanted to be alone. “Isn’t it too late for you to be up?”

“Yeah, I… it’s been a rough day” he shrugged.

The first indication that something was different was that he didn’t shy from her stare, nor hid the box behind his back. The second was that he didn’t leave it at her hands like a timing bomb.

Mor raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. She had been about to go to sleep, after a long day for herself, and supposed half of Velaris was already deep into it.

“Maybe you want to come in?”

She couldn’t physically let him down, drop his expectations and hurt him. More than once, she had given him false hopes in fear of losing the friendship. And when she opened a little bit farther the room of her apartment, she intended to do that.

To accept whatever he had brought her, to hug him tight and thank him, and to let him know that she was really tired and would see him tomorrow, maybe. Then, she would go to bed feeling like a horrible person.

Mor didn’t expect Azriel to open the box himself, and show her something she knew wasn’t for her.

Inside the box, was a beautiful blue sapphire necklace, encased in a silver tear that shone under the moonlight. Everything Azriel had got her, everything anyone got her, was always red. Because that was her color, that was her soul. Not blue and delicate, like the piece of jewelry he held in his hands. 

Azriel didn’t have to say anything else before she noticed the problem.

“It broke and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s… really important for me. And I need it for tonight. For right now” he rambled, like she had never seen him do. “I stayed working late and now the shop is closed”

“It’s beautiful” she whispered, having seen nothing so soft, so beautiful lately. “How did it break?”

“Doesn’t matter. Can you fix it? Like, right now?”

Azriel could have asked her to go through her own jewels and pick the most beautiful to give it to him, and she would have said yes, because she owned it to him. So she nodded and ushered him inside, with her eyes fixed on the necklace.

She didn’t mention that it was too delicate for him, that it was obviously for a woman. Mor ignored her conflicted thoughts about it as she touched the broken chain.

It only took her thirty minutes to find a chain similar to the original one, and another ten to convince Azriel to take it and don’t worry about it. Any trace of sleep erased from her body as she stared at him. At Azriel looking at the fixed necklace with a crooked smile.

“Who is it for?” she asked finally, as she opened the door for him once more. “Anyone special worth mentioning”

“No one. It’s a family relic, from my mother I think” he explained, looking between her and the open air. As if he couldn’t stand staying in the ground a second longer. “Thank you for fixing it. See you tomorrow, Mor”

Two thoughts were on her mind as she closed the door. The first one, was that she knew for a fact that blue was his color, not his mother’s color. She wore green, purple, black. Dark colors, if the portraits were correct.

The second thought, that was confirmed when she looked at her stunned face in the mirror, was that Azriel hadn’t acknowledge her outfit. A thin, black nightgown that barely covered her thighs, and that other nights had sent the shadow singer stuttering apologies right and left before leaving in a rush. 

-

Amren stared with half-closed eyes at her friends, noticing the change right away.

She usually wouldn’t entertain that type of activities, thinking ‘family game nights’ were a waste of time. But since Feyre appeared in their lives, she had to admit she liked her family better. She liked the way Rhysand softened around her, how at ease he was and how relaxed she made everyone.

True to her habits, Amren had chosen the farthest chair and the most expensive wine, and was watching the night unfold in front of her.

At the begging, she had thought it was weird that Azriel, almost as closed off as her, had walked in with a bright smile on his face. His hair had been ruffled in a windless, summer night, his shoulders wider.

It took him almost an hour to identify the new smell in the room, and find the source around his wrist. Almost unnoticeable between all of the scents combined – yet clear enough for her.

She stared at the black rubber band around his wrist, similar to the ones Cassian wore but not quite the same. Amren made it her mission to unfold the different smells and identify the new ones.

Rhysand’s was dark and fresh, like the night. His was intertwined with a sweeter one, Feyre’s, that smelt like vanilla and power. Raw, beautiful power that Amren admired.

Cassian’s was wild and abundant. He smelt like war camps and sweat, but somehow, like home too. Nesta’s scent was there too, even if the female wasn’t around. Amren could identify her just fine – and the new scent wasn’t hers.

After filtering the rest of presences, she finally focused on the band. Azriel was still unmated, that much she could tell. His was like ashes and candles. And behind all of that, she finally found it – baked bread, fresh food, vegetables.

“What are you looking at?”

Her line of sight was interrupted when Azriel pushed his sleeve farther down his arm, covering the rubber band. He knew where Amren was looking, and Amren knew that the question wasn’t rude. Still, Azriel’s voice held an edge she had only heard in Cassian or Rhysand’s voice before.

She smiled lazily at him before answering, making sure everyone was busy trying to guess what Rhysand was gesturing.

“Nothing, boy”

“You were staring quite hard for being nothing” Azriel replied. He fixed his hazel eyes on her, a hard edge on his features.

“I thought I smelt something on you” she purred, enjoying way too much the way the spymaster tensed. “Have you grown a sweet tooth lately?”

Amren usually didn’t stick her nose where it didn’t belong. She liked her life quiet, and minding other people business wasn’t her thing. Every now and then, she did like riling up Cassian or messing with Mor, but she had yet to play with the shadowsinger.

She respected him just as much, if not more, as the rest of the family. Understood the difficulty of his job, the people’s souls he carried behind. Most of their interactions were friendly and cordial, nothing more.

However, that night she felt like she had found something wort digging in.

“Do they know yet?” she asked him when Azriel didn’t answer.

“That I stopped in my way here to buy food?” even if the irritation and protectiveness fell from his face, a muscle of his jaw twitched. “Yeah. Cassian already ate half of the banana bread”

“He did, now?”

They silently stared at each other for a long minute. She dared him to deny it once more, to tell her that the smell under his sleeve was just from a quick stop to the bakery. He dared her to ask about the rubber band and give him an excuse to leave the game night.

Finally, Amren looked away and answered correctly to what Rhysand was trying to represent with gestures. Cassian got up and quickly started an argument about how to gesture correctly, while Feyre just laughed her ass off and Mor scurried off to bring more wine.

The next time Amren looked at Azriel’s wrist, the rubber band was gone.

-

The clock chimed five times in a row when the door finally opened, and Rhysand looked up from the papers on his desk. Apparently, he had to write a formal apology to the summer court in Cassian’s account, and certainly, he wasn’t any close to writing it than what he was in the afternoon.

Now, at five o`clock in the morning, his worry had gotten the best out of him. Rhysand had promised himself that, if by the time the sun came up Azriel wasn’t back, he would start destroying Illyrian camps until he found him.

“Before you say anything” Azriel rose a bloodied hand towards the high lord, and no matter how old Rhysand was, he felt his heart plummeting to the ground in worry. “Not my blood. Not even a scratch”

“Hard to believe. You’re leaving a puddle of it in my carpet” his voice was stained, his anger and worry mixing together.

“I…”

For the first time, Rhysand watched Azriel lost at words. The male looked down at his clothes, that were indeed soaked in blood and gore. He was still carrying all his swords and knives. And from where Rhysand stood behind his deck, he could see none of them had been left unused.

He had received a note from Azriel a day ago saying he was going to check on some Illyrian camps for illegal wing clipping, and that he would be gone for a few hours. Since then, Rhysand had had to deal with the worry and panic of not knowing if he was alive, since he closed his mind to Rhys.

Azriel looked back at him, and any type of sermon would have to wait until the morning. Rhysand got up and circled the desk, until he was in front of his friend. Who looked at him with sorrow and pain.

Rhysand didn’t let the surprise of seeing the shadowsinger, the spy master, so vulnerable. He only gripped his shoulder tight.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t even deny it” Azriel admitted, his voice tight. “One of the girls in the village was brave enough to show me where they keep them”

“Keep what?” even if he asked, Rhysand had a feeling he knew.

“The wings. They kept all the wings pinned to a tavern’s wall, like fucking hunting prices. Rhys, they were so… so many. So many”

He knew his brother’s history with the camps. Had seen what they do to women for himself, had fought for years against it. Still, Azriel had always been the calmer one. Cassian often went into carnages when he found an illegal clipping, but Azriel was the one to ask first and kill later. To organize trips into the mountains with reinforcements and not take decisions by himself.

The Azriel covered in blood in front of him, with tears shinning on his eyes, was new.

Rhysand was at loss as words, torn between beating him for his stupidity of leaving alone and going back himself to look for survivors and kill them slower.

“What you did… Az, anything could have happened to you” he tried to reason. “You know better than to do this on your own. What happened?”

“I got a strong hold. Knew where to find them.”

“How?”

Azriel didn’t answer, and Rhysand didn’t need to pry into his mind to know he would find it closed. Sighing, he pulled Azriel close. It didn’t matter that he was staining his clothes too, that Feyre was still waiting for him in bed and that he was ready to drop dead from worry.

Rhysand hugged Azriel and let him grip his vest until it wrinkled, until he was ready to talk. He trusted him with his life, and he had a feeling whatever was what had brought Azriel to that camp wasn’t ready to be shared yet.

He didn’t count the minutes that passed by until his body relaxed between his arms, didn’t acknowledge the wetness on his neck.

“I need to do something”

“What? Unless it’s a fucking bath and – “

“No, I won’t – it’s not what you think” Azriel took a deep breath and locked his eyes with Rhysand. The high lord nodded. “I’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise. But just tonight, I need you not to ask question. I won’t be sleeping in my dorms”

“You need to take a bath and rest”

“I will take a bath and rest”

Rhysand knew Azriel had an apartment, somewhere. He knew where Mor lived, where Amren had bought a house, but his brother had lived as long as he could remember in the wind house, with him. He didn’t have many personal details, but in the room at the end of the corridor he kept his weapons and clothes.

He even kept the horrible scarf Nesta knitted him last year that everyone else had thrown away.

Before he said anything else, something in his soul told him to shut up. To accept his request, the only one he had done in a long time, and leave the details for the next morning.

“I guess it’s time for me to go home too” he smiled softly. “Just – clean off that blood. And don’t forget to report in the morning. We need to talk”

“We will”

Without further explanation, Azriel disappeared between his shadows. And Rhysand was left with the sudden smell of burnt bread under his nose.

-

What Feyre missed the most about her human life, and from the spring court, were the quiet walks in nature. The smell of leaves and grass, the sounds of the animals and the absence of other voices. Velaris was a busy place, and even if the people were more than nice, she missed quiet.

Nyx had made sure that his mom never knew quiet again.

He was a happy baby, loud and cheerful, and slept less than any person Feyre had known. Always wide awake, smiling and babbling. Before he even turned one, she had grown used to taking midnight strolls down the Wind House like another routine.

That night, Nyx was playing with her tattooed fingers and munching on his pacifier, still managing to babble some words. Rhysand had gone to bed late and was sleeping in their room, unaware of the night walk. And Feyre, who held Nyx tightly against her chest, felt like falling asleep on her feet.

She was considering turning around and letting Nyx lay awake staring at the ceiling when the baby stopped moving.

“Time for a diaper change?” she guessed, used to that type of silence. “I’ve never met a stricter person when it comes to schedule. Most people use the bathroom at day, you know?”

“Bah”

“Yeah, most people sleep at night, I guess” she sighed.

Still, when she felt his diaper, she found it empty, and after a quick inspection of smell, she discovered it was clean. Through her sleepy haze, she frowned and looked at Nyx. He was pointing to the open door to the kitchen, to the table next to the entrance.

As the rest of the house, the kitchen was empty. Not even Azriel’s shadows, who usually snuck around and entertained Nyx for a while, were there.

Feyre walked inside the kitchen as Nyx became more restless, until the baby was close to the object he pointed at. Then, almost dropping from her embrace, he put his chubby hands on the surface and tried to crawl to his destiny.

“Nyx, baby, it’s late. You already had dinner” she sighed, trying to pull Nyx back.

But as soon as she separated his hands from the table, Nyx let the pacifier drop and whined pitifully. He smacked one rebel hand against Feyre’s cheek, showing her his utter disapproval of the action.

All Feyre needed was another slap to the face before she gave in and let Nyx have his way. She let the baby sitting on the counter, and holding his back, she bent down for the pacifier. When she rose again, Nyx had found his prize – something that certainly didn’t belong to their kitchen, since the most complex food she could make was soup.

Large and thin like a fork, Nyx was holding a kitchen tool made of plastic. It ended in soft peaks, similar to a brush. Similar to the baby brush Feyre used with him.

“Did you winnow that here?” she asked Nyx, not expecting an answer. “Please tell you didn’t steal anything”

Lately, Nyx had picked up his father’s power and was starting to conjure things he wanted or needed. It was cute, whenever it was a toy or a plushie. Last month, it was a very distressed Cassian that fell on Feyre, and it was not cute.

But before she could think about Nyx winnowing the tool, she recognized the already familiar smell of bread and cinnamon. Feyre smiled as Nyx brushed its end against his face, and the baby giggled.

During the next ten minutes, she brushed the tool herself against her baby’s hair, tummy and neck. It might had been a little unhygienic and certainly not very mom-like, but it was getting Nyx to drop his eyes and lean against her.

She ended up carrying the baby asleep on her arms, still gripping the new acquisition tight on his fist.

As Feyre let him rest on the crib and tucked him in, Rhysand finally woke up. He apologized softly for not getting up and urged his mate to get in bed with him. Just before he could fall back into a blissful sleep with his family safe besides him, Feyre spoke.

“Remind me tomorrow to wash that thing and give it back to Azriel’s mate. She’ll be happy to know it also works as a baby wand to sleep”

Feyre drifted off with his back to Rhysand as the male got up from the bed, processing the new information.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (Completed)

The comic I'm working on is taking... a long time (understatement of the year, been working on it since July 31st...) so I wanted to make another post like this

Like last time, there's no shared theme between these beside having multiple chapters and being completed (both SFW and NSFW)

As always please check the tags for CWs, and if a link doesn't work you're welcome to reach out!

Every Morning by sauceboss_yahoo - Ghost is back on base with the rest of the 141, ready to fall into his usual routine. Someone else, however, is itching to be a part of it and wants to peel back the curtain concealing him more than he already has, whether Ghost likes it or not.

Mask of my own face by Avidcatperson - Ghost takes great offence to the implication that he’s going to eat his cell mate, who is clearly sentient, with his bare hands. Soap is fairly sure he’s about to die. Chucked into a cell with a human? Pretty much a death sentence…hopefully Gaz can get out at least. [Space AU, multiple works in this series!]

bare my skin by Cristinuke - A study of moments as Ghost learns to trust Soap's touch.

Anomalous by Brigadier - Ghost, a SCP-056, finds a certain human worthy of his love, trust and adoration.

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns - When the news of three weeks’ forced leave reaches Ghost, he’s resigned himself to loneliness in an empty base. That is, until a certain Sergeant offers him an invitation he just can’t seem to refuse. Or: the sheep farming fic nobody asked for [this one hurts so bad but comforts so well]

Punch Drunk by Drolly - If you told Soap the second time he’d see Ghost’s face was in a shitty bar on a shittier block of Chicago… Well, he might have asked for a little more pomp and circumstance. At least then he’d have an excuse for the way he could hear his blood pumping faster in his ears and why he could feel it, hot and burning behind his eyes.

Simon's Gateway by wayfaredsoldier - When things get too rough on retired soldier Simon, his friends help him out and unknowingly provide him a gateway to something, or someone, beautiful. [veteran support hotline operator Soap]

A Bit Too Much by cod_dump - Soap always acts confidently, brave. Almost always has a smile on his face. But the fact is… He’s a bit too much. [locked for non-AO3 users]

Until The Nightfall by Mikhail - Upon realizing their friendship had grown into something deeper and more serious, Ghost is left torn between duty and longing. With each mission, Ghost is reminded of all the things he can't control, and it's becoming clear that this - whatever it is - he has with Soap, just might be one of them.

Philematology by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny) - Ghost kisses Soap while begrudgingly playing spin the bottle, and tries to repeat it with other party games.

stick up by amongthebooks - While off base, the 141 are unexpectedly caught up in a robbery. The raiders clock Soap, Gaz and Price as SAS operatives…but without his usual gear, Ghost was seen as just another guy. His team is rounded up, whilst he's treated as a civilian. Can Ghost take down the attackers and rescue his team without exposing his identity?

I Will by lemonwrap - After going missing on a mission, Soap has been gone for an entire year. Ghost finally rescues him, but he’s not quite the same.

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence - To take the edge off his maddening attraction to his aloof and inscrutable Lieutenant, Soap decides to try his luck with the local barflies off base. To prevent Soap from fucking anyone else but him, Ghost offers himself up under the guise of mutual stress relief. Soap thinks he’s just taking one for the team, but Ghost has just had everything he’s ever wanted fall right into his lap.

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane - After an encounter at a club, Soap needs to know if he's actually into men… like into men. In a fit of desperation and homoerotic panic, he arranges a one night stand with a prostitute. It was just supposed to be a one off arrangement. But when Ghost shows up, it sets a series of events into motion that neither men could have predicted. [locked for non-AO3 users]

They Blame it on the Times by WildFlowerSolitude - "We were never anything. You need to get that through your head." Soap laughs hollowly into the empty corridor. I can live with that OR Ghost says some fucked up shit and Soap crumbles.

home is where the heart is by Anonymous - Soap vanishes from base one day. The Captain says its nothing to be concerned about. Ghost disagreed. [literally so so good]

Personal Affairs by sannikovs_bastard_son - Ghost got injured on a mission in Spain and was forced to take a temporary leave, leading to some buried feelings being brought to light, and Soap doesn't make his inner turmoil any easier by being the casual flirt he is.

Tug A Little Harder by puffyfish2006 - Ghost really really really likes Soap's long hair.

Burned and Broken, but Not Beaten by sick_of_sleep - Ghost ends up burning his hand pretty badly and Soap help his lieutenant while it heals. But Soap ends up helping Ghost in more ways than one.

Lofticries by Arodana - The mafia had always escaped John "Soap" MacTavish. No matter what evidence he found, it would disappear. For lack of words, it pissed him off. On top of that, he has to find a serial killer that has been evading the police and any efforts they've made for months. Soap finds himself stuck between his sense of justice when he is offered an opportunity to work with the one man that had been making his police career a living hell. Soap might just get what he wants.

Freely Given by Tatzelwurm - After the stress and danger of Los Almas and Chicago, Soap is finding it near impossible to let go and relax. He can’t sleep, jumping at shadows. Ghost wants to help him, dutiful lieutenant that he is. But Soap can’t bear to take any more from Ghost than he already has. At least, not without feeling exceedingly guilty about it.

Hold my hair up, Darlin (Ice packs on my neck) by JackiboysHorrorHouse - a fic where Soap's wisdom teeth end up having to be removed when he's in the 141, and ghost is the one who takes care of him during recovery!

Misplaced Jealousy by dyn42ty - Soap hinted that he had been crushing on someone within the base to Gaz. Overhearing the conversation, Ghost wonders who has Soap captivated. Not to mention it wasn't him? The more he thought about it, the more angry he had gotten.

lotus flower by exavibus - a new flower shop opens across the street from 141 Tattoo, in london's shoreditch district. one of the florists already seems to have something against him. the feeling's mutual.

Cry by kcisbroken - Ghost always leaves. After an intimate night together, Ghost picks up his things and doesn't look back, leaving Soap to sit in silence and ponder on whether or not it's worth breaking his heart over and over again.

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless - Soap spends three and a half days in Ghost's house after getting injured on a mission.

used to hide behind a mask by kj_crwn - What a pitiful thought; the scary hound of 141 force turned into a pliant mess by one simple man. “’Bout your scary mug,” Johnny clarifies, as expected. He leans down again and settles against Ghost’s chest, his head resting just beneath Ghost’s chin. “Yer a bloody gorgeous lad, Simon.” Except that Johnny is anything but simple.

We Are Ghost by Murmeloni - Instead of having to crawl out of his own grave, Simon escapes Roba's clutches with the help of Ghost. A klyntar stranded on earth who decided to make Simon his new home. The two of them were content with each other. Until they met Johnny.

Emergency Contact by soapsbeloved - John MacTavish is about as unlucky in love as you could get, never finding someone that would give him enough of a chance for a second date, resorting to sleeping around when he gets stood up. Simon, his best friend, seems to be the only person in the world willing to give Soap a chance, but the dumbass can’t see past the fact that Ghost isn’t very good at talking about things, and is completely and utterly oblivious to how Ghost feels about him.

dicentra by crown_twist - There's someone new joining the 141 and everyone is happy about it. So happy, in fact, that they don't seem to realize one of them is slowly slipping away. Johnny's only all too aware. [I reread this one so many times it's the ultimate hurt Soap fic]

and i wish i could change by SoftKing - Which meant he also noticed when Ghost frowned heavily and murmured, “Not really my thing.” “Oh,” Gaz said with his brows raised. “So you haven’t got one then.” He slapped Price on the shoulder and grinned. “I do.” Ghost interrupted, taking another long sip from his nearly empty glass. “Just think they’re rubbish.” [soulmates AU]

Night Has Always Pushed Up Day by Sillililli - Simon "Ghost" Riley is stuck in a shared hospital room, which has been fine up until then. He'd been alone, alone to fight the shame of having his face uncovered and having failed his team. But they bring someone into his space, a younger soldier, temporarily blind.

Domestic by Sillililli - Simon and John are coworkers. Both ex military, they relate in ways others can't. Soap is facing hard times at home and finds a safe place with Simon.

So Call Me Maybe? by cripplingchips - Ghost is trying to focus on the mission at hand when Soap starts getting a little… strange.

A Kiss For Luck by iamtheidiot - Soap and Ghost start playing gay chicken.

Mission: Cardsharp by nyxite - Soap (accidentally) gets a love reading from a fortune teller.

death is in the air (wish i could be brave) by aetherealmoss - Ghost gets injured severely and is sad and upset about it, until Soap appears at his doorstep and makes it better.

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane - After a mission goes wrong in Russia, Soap has to patch Ghost up... and keep him from freezing. Huddled together in a tiny cabin in the middle of the frozen tundra, something warm blossoms. [locked for non-AO3 users]

demolitions threat by amongthebooks - Home on leave, Soap has to instruct Ghost on how to disarm a bomb over the phone. The pair make a good team - but not every mission can end well. Ghost has dug himself out of his grave once already. Can he do it again?

i'm something else when i see you by oh_ellie - The first time Ghost had enough courage to plant his lips against Soap’s they’d both been drinking. They're fairly heavily intoxicated.

In the Middle of the Night by JDigital - “Go!” Came his Sergeant’s gruff exclamation as he threw his elbow into the Shadow’s face, an alarming amount of blood still soaking through his clothes. “Get out of here, go!” A few Shadows stopped their assault on Ghost’s cover to subdue their captive, and he was forced to watch as Soap was brought to his knees by a cruel strike of the stock of one of their rifles. “Ghost, move! Get out of here!”

Racing hearts season by Nuria123 - The F1 COD AU no one asked for SoapGhost style.

Through His Eyes by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost accidentally finds Soap’s sketchbook, is taken aback when he sees a familiar face looking back at him.

Peeping John. by A_BitOfStrange - When he considers it properly, the only person that would be either brave or stupid enough to go into Ghost's room while he’s away would be Johnny. The little fucking shit.

Surviving You by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost forced himself not to feel frustrated, had to admit to himself that Soap might be the most challenging sub he had ever had assigned into one of his units.

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish has been medically discharged following a mission gone wrong, which left him with severe agoraphobia and PTSD. He joins a programme which connects both active service members and veterans through the act of writing letters. Although things get off to a bad start, the connection he forms with his letter mate slowly becomes unbreakable. That is until he gets too close and strikes a nerve. [one of those fics that will not leave your brain for weeks]

Doing Time by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: On leave from the 141, Soap lands himself in Strangeways prison, home to some of the worst criminals in the UK. When his soulmark activates on the inside, Soap must contend with Ghost, an infamous soulmate-hating killer who seems intent on haunting his every move.

Spiorad agus Corp by Oud_smoker420 - A bet is made between the notoriously reckless Soap and Alejandro to try and get their respective crushes and the most stoic and traumatized men of the 141 in their beds. It definitely has the potential to go so bad.

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven - Soap and Ghost are sent on a mission to the middle of American suburbia to protect a Russian journalist targeted by Makarov. Their cover is that they're newlyweds. And very much in love.

Bathe in Sunlight, Take Deep Breaths by coderaven - Ghost gets honorably discharged after taking a bullet to his shoulder that completely obliterates his rotator cuff and leaves him with nerve damage. He joins a gym to help with his recovery. He meets Soap, ray of sunshine personified, a trainer at the gym. He falls pathetically in love.

Learning Experience by AvaLoren - Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.

If tomorrow you don't open your eyes by Swiftwater_Prawn - Ghost loves Soap but is bad at feelings and gets stuck in a time loop. [multiple works in this series!]

Collecting Strays by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost didn't trust Soap, couldn't know for certain what a year and a half of forced fighting in the pits did to something as volatile as a Wolf. But Price insisted that the man may have valuable intel, might be enough to finally bring down the Fighting Ring where they'd found him.

Driving Myself Home by Aether_Ghoul - Gaz insisted that he was just the thing for Soap. Soap insisted that everyone had a "but" and for the life of him, Gaz wouldn't tell him what this Simon guys "but" was.

all that's said in the low light by headlocket - After a near-fatal injury, John MacTavish finds himself back in his hometown in Scotland. Fresh off an untimely discharge, he's forced to cope with disability, his dysfunctional family, and the lingering knowledge that there are some things he's just not ready to leave behind… [literally if you haven't read this yet what are you doing with your life]

Lay back and think of England by Aether_Ghoul - From the outside, Ghost is well adjusted. He seems like everything recruits and rookies could ever wish to be. Inwardly, he is falling apart. It is when Soap asks him to spend their leaves together, that he makes a decision that will haunt him. Do everything Johnny wants, needs or dreams of because if Ghost is useful, maybe Johnny will finally love him. [this is another one I keep going back to T_T]

Our Time Is Right Now by ChaoticEmeline - A serial killer is making their mark on the newly installed crime factions in London. Smart, savvy, and undetectable in a city covered in CCTV. The man operates…like a ghost. Captain John Price and his team aren't afraid to get their hands dirty and do a little ghost hunting. But what happens when the ghost starts hunting them back?

Spectre-Unit by Zosch - The Spectre-Unit was a task force shrouded in mystery, not much was known about them and it was a rare occasion to witness one of their members in action. Until the Task Force 141 gained a new addition; S-U: 25, John "Soap" MacTavish.

Velocity Of Envy by leathfaic - Soap has a friend with benefits back home in Glasgow and Ghost, Ghost doesn't have a problem with it of course. After all, Johnny is his sergeant and anything else would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?

Crystalline by Sillililli - Soap and Ghost end up captured at the same time and as much as they'd like to save each other, they can't let their captors know they could be used against each other. Easily. Simon concocts a plan to save them that he can't let Johnny in on, hoping the lie won't shatter what little is left of them when it's over.

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Robb I

Previous part, Arya I, here.

x~x~x

Robb was not allowed out riding, or to join his father’s knights and men-at-arms in search of the ruffians who had kidnapped his young half-brothers and dragged them to Winterfell for ransom or worse, which meant he had sought the yard instead. Even that was a mistake. He could not thrash the targets the way he desired to, not with all the curious eyes upon him.

Show anger, and all would know that there was strife between him and his lord father, that the dishonor had caught their family unaware. And while it would be satisfying to express his fury at the depths of his father’s disloyalty, it would draw attention to his mother as well, inviting cruel whispers.

Robb lowered his sword, stepping back from the target. He exchanged it for his bow, and although the rhythm—draw, aim, release—stilled his thoughts for a short time, they wandered instead to Bran’s excitement when he had found Robb and Jon in the yard that afternoon, touting his discovery.

It seemed a lifetime ago, rather than mere hours. A part of him had known from the moment he laid eyes upon the boys, the dark-haired twin so alike Jon that it had felt like staring at his brother from across the span of five years. Jon’s own shock had been little comfort.

The rumors had not reached his mother before Robb did, after his father’s curt dismissal, and he had been faced with an impossible choice: let her learn of her husband’s betrayal through the whispers of her ladies or break the news himself as gently as he could.

I do not know for certain, he had told her, still fostering the faintest hope that there might be another explanation, but she had paled nonetheless, her attempt at masking her heartbreak to spare him all the more painful.

She loves him. She has always loved him. Robb had thought the same true of his father, and he did not know how much it would hurt to learn otherwise. That Jon’s mother had not been the tryst of a man who thought he might die in battle, but a bed he eagerly sought out the next time fate took him south for war.

Robb lowered his bow, the arrows of his quiver spent, and stared at the distant target, flickering in the torchlight. For once, he was glad that Theon was nowhere to be seen. His friend would have nothing but crude japes, and Robb was in no mood for such.

He desired answers.

His feet took him past Sansa’s room, where he had gently guided her after supper and promised her, with a kiss to the hair, that things would seem less bleak in the morning. Then past his father’s solar, where he could see the glow of light escaping from the crack beneath the door.

Hiding away, like a coward. It was not how he would ever have described his father before today, but there was no other way of putting it. If he is not begging Mother’s forgiveness, then he should be comforting the terrified children whose dishonorable birth turned them into pawns.

Robb paused outside Jon’s door, then rapped lightly with his knuckles. A few moments passed before the door opened, and it was not Jon who he found himself staring at, but rather his smaller counterpart. Willam, Robb reminded himself.

“Would you like to come in?” Willam asked, gazing at him with such raw longing that Robb found himself torn between tenderness and fresh fury.

Did Father even look in upon them since hiding them away in Jon’s chamber? A glance past him revealed no Jon. His twin sat on the bed, his gaze at Robb more wary, and telltale plates from the kitchen were stacked on the small table in the corner of the room. Their supper, taken alone to spare the family further shame today, when it was their father who should be shouldering its brunt.

His little half-brothers were innocent in this. Had they even known of their origins? They had the bearing of highborn children, but none of Jon’s quiet acceptance of his lesser standing.

“Yes,” Robb said, realizing he had not answered. He stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and found that the other child had risen to his feet, though he maintained his distance. “I—” Has Father even told them of their siblings? “I am your half-brother, Robb.”

The boys reintroduced themselves, Willam tripping over his own name. Robb wondered whether their mother had knowingly named another son after her first. Or was Jon’s name of their father’s choosing?

Now that he was in the room with them, Robb did not know what to say. His gaze kept straying to Raymar, who was as unalike his trueborn siblings as Ghost was to his littermates, as though their birth had split them between each parent.

That is what she looked like, then. The woman he traded his honor for. Pale hair, silver as the moon’s glow through the window, his eyes an unnatural violet. They both shared Jon’s slighter build, which must have come from her as well.

A foreign woman, with that kind of coloring. A courtesan, perhaps. That was the fancy name they gave their whores across the Narrow Sea, and bravos fought for the honor of bedding them. But where had his father stumbled across her?

He had been silent for too long, Robb realized. He did not know what to say to them. “Where is Jon?”

“He went to take Ghost back to the kennels.”

“Oh.” He felt almost numb, staring into the face of a strange child who looked like his brother, and another who looked like betrayal. “How are you faring? Did your captors harm you?”

There were no obvious bruises or cuts upon them, but then, his father had said that their captors had dosed them with dreamwine. The twins assured him, however, that they had been unharmed—unbound, even.

“He said that if either of us caused trouble, he would hurt the other.” It was the first Raymar had spoken since introducing himself, his expression haunted. Willam too had tensed, watching his twin with obvious upset.

I should not have asked, Robb thought, chagrined. Not when they have yet to sleep. These are questions for morning.

“Father’s men will find him,” he said, offering his best reassuring smile, but it did little to ease their distress. In fact, both seemed on the verge of tears now, and he stood helplessly. If it were either Bran or Arya, I would go to them. Comfort them.

But the circumstances of their relation held him back. They did not know him, he reminded himself. It was not the same as Father abandoning them with Jon, all of them tied fully by blood.

Jon’s return caught them all off guard, his brother quiet as his direwolf pup as he slipped back into the room. He halted in place as he marked Robb’s presence, and they stared at one another for what felt like an age. There was no hiding from Jon, or Jon from him.

What hurt was the wariness, as though his brother was expecting Robb to lash out at him, when he had always strived to intervene whenever Jon happened to draw his mother’s ire. And what cut even deeper was the way his brother’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the twins.

Jon rushed over to them, then turned back to Robb. “What did you say to them?”

“Nothing,” he replied, unclenching his fists. “We greeted one another, and I assured them that whoever kidnapped them would face justice.”

“Is that why you came at this hour?”

“I came to see how you and our new brothers were faring,” Robb said defensively, but he knew it to be a lie when he spoke it, and by the tightening of his mouth, Jon did as well. “What did Father tell you?”

“About my dead mother?” Raymar flinched, and his twin’s hand grabbed for his, but Jon did not seem to have noticed, his gaze locked on Robb. “What business is it of yours?”

Jon did not often snap at him, and he felt himself bristle in response. “It is my mother who was dishonored by their actions.”

His brother regarded him coldly. “She was beautiful, born to a noble house of Lys, and Father swore beneath the weirwood tree that he loved her.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Robb’s fists clenched again, denial rising in his throat, hot and ugly. “Whatever love he had was for her cunt, or he would not have left every time he stuck a bastard in her belly.”

His vision whitened as Jon slammed him into the door, knocking his head back against it. He could taste blood in his mouth from where his teeth had cut into cheek, and it did not matter that he had deliberately provoked his brother, all he could feel was a betrayal that quickly soured to anger.

“I do not care how beautiful her face, but how rotten her heart,” he said, ignoring the glitter of his brother’s eyes as his grip tightened around the fistful of tunic he had grabbed. “She knew of his marriage and still enticed him into her bed. A woman can be highborn and yet a whore.”

Jon’s right hand drew back, and Robb could feel his brother quivering from the effort of refraining from punching him, so he stared back in challenge, inviting it without knowing why. Let him prove himself to be what all bastards are, said an ugly voice that sounded like his mother. But he also longed for a scrap, to throw his fury at someone if it could not be his father.

The castle itself rattled then, a rumble of what sounded like thunder resonating deep within his chest. But the night is clear, he thought in confusion. Jon took a step back from him, the tense moment broken, his expression equally confused.

He became aware then of one of the twins speaking in a foreign tongue. Valyrian, he assumed, gazing past Jon to find Willam speaking frantically as he held back his fiercely struggling brother, who was staring death at Robb even as tears streamed down his face.

It is their mother too. His anger abandoned him, taking its short-lived respite with it and leaving Robb with a fresh guilt atop the hurt that ached within him.

The castle rattled again, the thunder more distant this time. An apology danced along the tip of his tongue, but he could not force it out.

“Just go, Stark,” Jon said, releasing him. His jaw worked a moment, then he turned his back on Robb, steps quick as he closed the distance to the twins and wrapped his brothers both in a tight embrace. His true brothers.

More words caught in Robb’s mouth, some remorseful and others not. Misery rose in his throat, bitter like dandelion tea, and he swallowed it, feeling worse now, with more answers, than he had before foolishly deciding to come here.

Robb left, closing the door quietly behind him, and stood in the hall for a time, staring at the opposite wall. He could hear crying in the other room, soft and pitiable. Father’s doing, he told himself, but it rang hollow. A few minutes passed, Jon’s voice muffled but audible as he spoke to the twins, and Robb awaited another roll of thunder that never came.

Finally he left, mumbling something he could not recall to Cayn when the guardsman’s patrol crossed his path back to his bedchamber. His nerves danced with the need for action, and he desired nothing more than to court his father’s displeasure by slipping out to the stables. He could claim a horse and ride into the wolfswood—find the men in search of the twins’ kidnapper and join their efforts.

But his mother would need him, and Sansa too, so he stared at the ceiling instead and settled into a long, sleepless wait for dawn.

[crimsonkingart]

Head Canon About Void, Bob and John

I already did a similar post, but this is more in-depth.

(CW for rape mention, it's very short)

I think Void is, at the same time, scared and attracted to Walker, this for various reasons, situetion and, more or less, simbols hidden in the movie

John is full of rage, he doesn't repress it, he lets it out and reacts to difficulties, John reacts immediately if he feels threatened, even when he shouldn't it.

Anger is an important emotion, fundamental for survival and psychological well-being, it helps us understand if we are hurt or in danger, but obviously it can have negative effects if not managed correctly.

(I myself had/currently have anger management problems and John is very dear to me for this.)

Bob, surely, has seen himself as weak and defenseless for a long time, and I wouldn't be surprised if he could envy John because he seems like a "real man".

(In the Watchtower scene Bob/Sentry exchanges many icy glances with John, as if they were two dogs challenging each other.)

Void, whether we want to see it as a side of Bob's personality or a second identity, might think that someone like John would never let himself be walked all over.

Not even by someone like Bob's father.

Which is what actually happens in the Void: John, when he found himself facing that shitty man, hit him.

Bob, probably, never lifted a finger to his father, too scared to do it.

Which can stimulate both fear and anger in Bob/Void. As well as attraction for someone so brave.

In the lab scene, when they are all held back with metal furniture, John is the only one stabbed in the chest.

Of course it could be coincidental, but since I like to get lost in symbols, the chest is linked to the symbolism of the heart.

The chest, as the seat of the heart, is associated with emotions and feelings, courage and strong emotions, so love, anger, fear, courage…

(Of course these emotions are also linked to the other members of the team, but here we are focused on John and Bob and rage.)

John does not stand to watch Bob falls in self-destruct, he is the second to free himself, tearing that blade from his own chest.

(In different cultures, swords, daggers, any weapon that can be used to cut or stab, is linked to the phallic or sex or rape symbolism, so in a certain sense, Void/Bob are penetrating/raping John.)

But let's go further, John chose to help Bob again, so as not to let him be consumed by that anger, because he knows how dangerous it is.

John, in fact, is the one who blocks Bob's hand, the fist for both is a way of expressing anger; John sees himself in Bob.

John leans into Bob and hugs him and, in a way, accepts his anger more than anyone else and holds him close.

(In this scene Yelena accepted his sorrow and John his anger)

The fact that Bob and John are united by anger is, for me, wonderful, because they can understand what consumed them and they can help each other to manage their hard emotions.

(The whole group can learn a lot from each other, both from negative and positive emotions.)

I think it's beautiful that John, once outside the Void, tells him "You were good in there." and Bob smile to him, and this is beautiful, because it's very sweet and sincere and he's pleased that John was so kind to him, even if he doesn't know why he receives that compliment at first.

The anger they feel for each other is gone in that moment and they can become friends. (Lovers. A girl can dream.)

A quick analys about Sentry:

Sentry seems to want to challenge John more in a sort of "I'm a real man now" thing and they challenge each other with this game of eye's touching.

As I said before, almost like two dogs challenging each other.

Sentry in my HC is more a side of Bob's personality, which takes over when he feels "in a high mood", like a sort of euphoria.

The wiki reports that it is a dissociative schizophrenia, so we can see Sentry and Void as more of the moods that Bob uses, even if unconsciously, to manage his traumas, I think.

In any case I don't perceive Sentry as just a big danger, without negative influences, maybe he could be quite stable.

But I won't risk a more in-depth analysis since it is the side of Bob that emerged less during the film.

[rendiamberspirit]

Tobirama & Mito friendship

Mito is the first to see the way Tobirama flinches from Butsuma.

Tobirama is only 15 while she is 18, just like Hashirama. Even though it's only a 3 year age gap he just seems so much younger. Vulnerable in a way no one else seems to see.

When she first tells Hashirama she thinks Butsuma is mistreating Tobirama he waves her off. Insists that Tobirama is the spitting image of their father and clearly Butsuma's favorite.

Mito is certain Hashirama is wrong, if anything it feels to her like Butsuma dislikes Tobirama entirely.

But there isn't much she can do about any of it, especially if Hashirama refuses to see it.

It only takes her a couple of months to realize the rest of the clan seems to dislike Tobirama as well.

Again she tells Hashirama and he insists that she is wrong, that everyone constantly praises Tobirama for his skills, for the ruthless way he dominates the battlefield. He says this with obvious irritation.

When she asks him why that upsets him he tells her that he thinks Tobirama is becoming a monster. That he will grow to be just as cruel as their father and never let peace happen.

Mito again feels that Hashirama is wrong, but what does she know? She has only been here a few months.

Though in those few months what she saw was a boy that tried his best to please everyone around him, avoided people as much as possible and flinched from his father, and sometimes even from Hashirama. As if just waiting for a cruel word or a physical blow.

Mito made it her mission to get to know her new little brother.

It took a while but Tobirama opened up and seemed to thrive under her attention.

He would smile when it was just the two of them. He made jokes, he loved to show her all his jutsu research and what little he had learned about sealing.

Mito happily taught him everything she knew.

Tobirama was a completely different person when it was just them.

It was something she had to show Hashirama.

So once she was a little more secure in the bond she had created with Tobirama she started telling Hashirama about something funny Tobirama said that day, or about how big he smiled when he figured something out.

At first Hashirama didn't believe her. But the more stories he heard the more he wanted to see this side of his little brother. Mito explained to him how wrong he was in his thinking. Now with proof that Tobirama wasn't unfeeling it made Hashirama look back and see the casual cruel comments he made. He started to see what Mito was talking about with Tobirama flinching from him and their father. He saw the way Tobirama isolated himself. And when he listened hard enough and paid attention to everything being said, he realized his clan didn't prefer Tobirama the way he had always thought.

The true turning point was when he witnessed Tobirama and their father ‘training’. Only it wasn't training, it was just Butsuma beating Tobirama down and calling him worthless, cursed, weak.

Hashirama wasn't about to let that stand and for the first time ever he truly stood up to their father. He physically got between them and actually punched his father.

Hashirama promised if he ever saw Butsuma harming Tobirama again he would grow a vine around his heart and stop it from taking another beat.

Butsuma was shocked, enraged, and a little fearful. He snarls a few words that Hashirama realized don't hold weight for him any more. Not now. Probably never again.

But he leaves.

Hashirama turned to Tobirama and began healing his wounds. He apologized for overlooking Tobirama. For not being there for him. For every thoughtless and mean word that he ever directed to his little brother.

Tobirama nearly cries. He has dreamt about this moment. Of his brother loving him again.

Between Mito and Hashirama they put a stop to everyone mistreating Tobirama. They make it clear that an insult against him is an insult against them.

It doesn't get better overnight, but it does change things. Especially when it's seen even Butsuma won't say anything against Tobirama either.

It's been a year since Hashirama married Mito and Tobirama is living a completely different life. It's not perfect, they are still at war, but most of the things he spent years wishing for are his reality now.

Hashirama will always be his big brother, he will always have his loyalty.

But Mito is his big sister, his first confidant, the first person to look at him and only see good, she saw something to live about him when he no longer even liked anything about himself.

When Hashirama takes his place as the clan head Tobirama swears his loyalty to him, after he looks at Mito. Between the three of them, they all know Tobirama's first loyalty will lie with Mito.

Tobirama will serve as he always has, unless Mito gives him reason to do otherwise.

She changed his life and gave him a reason to live, a reason to keep trying and he will forever be thankful for that.