#so i updated it and chose to repost it

[keikakudori]

“  you’d accept a caress from the same hands that leave you bruised, just to feel warm.  ” / @godkilller

memes for that specific brand of ships

                 There was a weaving of sunlight in the office today, pouring in golden through the windows and slanting across the bowed head and setting golden sparks of fire to life in the tousled brown locks. The shoji doors pushed open just barely to allow a chill breeze to wash through the room, bringing with it a crisp, clean scent of further snow in the air to add to what already covered the division's grounds. Today was one of those days in which the second-in-command of the Fifth was slow in his work, slow for many reasons all his own; it would've been enough to raise questions had anyone else been there with him,him, but at the moment, he was alone in the office. His captain had vacated the area as soon as the notion of catching up on overdue paperwork had dropped out of Aizen's mouth and as for his little silver shadow... well, Aizen could sense Gin somewhere but he didn't pay focus enough to that hint of power to really place exactly where.

                 The frigid wisps of breezes slipped freely through the bangs that hung over his forehead, teasing gently at stray hairs, and Aizen simply focused in upon the brush he held. A slow day of work for already it promised to be cold and the cold ever distracted Aizen in some ways; he preferred the sharp chill of winter for many reasons. Winter, when he could slip by the eyes of others around him and never raise their notice, with the long hours of the dark there to keep him shrouded from eyes of searching hazel, eyes that would narrow at him from time to time when he was sure Shinji didn't know he was looking, the way his mouth would downturn for a moment at the corners as if he had caught wind of a smell that aggravated his senses.

                 But oh -- winter was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful season. He enjoyed seeing ice during this time of the year and the way snow would blanket the Seireitei, muffling it, masking the blood that had seeped through it long ago. Beneath the veil of ivory powder, one could almost believe that it truly was as good as it claimed to be.

                 Almost.

                 But yes, Aizen had many reasons to appreciate the cold months of wintertime and how he might smile some days for reasons all his own -- not the least of which was the fact that he could often wear moesode beneath his shihakusho, snuggling down into the warm fabric as he pleased. It seemed to send his admirers into fits of swooning when he wore such things as these kinds of layers or when he might show up wearing a scarf that was patterned in some strange way or another; gifts from thin hands that he'd coveted throughout the years. The cold did always seem to bring out their admiration when he dressed warmly as the cold filled the air and he finally rose to go close the doors, sleeves falling back slightly from the warm fabric which covered his hands, his wrists. And Aizen was glad for that, for it gave him a chance to wear his uniform with longer sleeves, long enough to cover his arms down to the heels of his hands. He had reasons to wear the sleeves on this day.

                 So up he got, at last, moving to slide the shoji doors shut. When he turned around, Gin had somehow slipped in past him to perch in his favorite chair by Aizen's desk. It didn't surprise him to see the younger shinigami there in his usual spot, mouth curled up towards his ears at the corners and it drew a smile of his own as Aizen took him in with a single glance. He had known Gin was around since earlier, but whatever he'd been up to - visiting his classmate, perhaps - it did not bother Aizen to see that the boy had made himself comfortable as the air began warming with the circulation of a fan washing over a space heater to help fill the room with the sweet smell of camellia oil and more.

                 Today was a slow day, a day where his wrists ached quietly from the cold and from other reasons as he moved to sit down once more, staring down at the paperwork as something painful and heavy curled in his chest. It took a lot to make him ache anymore, the mornings after, but he was aching today.

                 It was not in the sense of the physical word, but an odd pang filled his chest and his throat time and time again; today, it seemed, it all pressed down on him. Aizen knew what he would see if he but slid the moesode up along his forearms and the older of the two in the office at current had no doubt that Gin would know as well, for the silver viper always seemed to know which days were the worst days when a night prior had been … busy, for lack of a better phrasing. He had seen them this morning when he'd stirred, awakened by the lingering presence of Gin at the door to his choice of room in the barracks.

                 Aizen did not speak of the dapples of blue which settled upon his wrists and while he had never expressly forbidden commentary upon them, it was seldom that his right hand - for already Gin had displaced Kaname in these last few years - spoke on them either. The brunet knew that those sharp blue eyes had ever clocked the darkened coils of skin when such nights had been involved, when it had been more use than actual, mutual want. Right then, he didn't want to speak on those marks, didn't try to bring them up at all. Instead, the elder simply moved a hand and set a plate of persimmons within Gin's reach, having absently gone to pick up such snacks earlier for the both of them.

                 Aizen had never tried persimmons before Gin had entered his life.

                 And now--?

                 Now, he was quite partial to them. So it seemed only fair to use his paycheck from time to time for such things when he knew they would be openly appreciated.

                 And yet, Gin was here, perched to his right where he usually favored to be, as if ready and willing for a hand to lift and direct him with a command. They were still learning one another and Aizen could admit that their learning was taking time for while he did not seek to reign Gin in, not entirely, he was pleasantly indulgent of him all the same. So those brown eyes turned to the youth, studying him as he found himself studied in kind.

                 Perched and observing him with a flicker of blue visible from beneath his lashes, a blue that seemed focused upon him -- or perhaps upon what Aizen had not fully revealed. Nine years since the night he had seen this youth under a spring moon, the silver moonlight on that evening  making him feel as if he were gazing upon a spirit of the forest instead of a Shinigami like himself. Whatever he had seen in Gin, he had been gleefully satisfied. Yes -- rumors abounded where this boy was concerned and Aizen had been validated in his assertions when he'd seen how easily Gin had dealt with the third seat; that fool of a man had put his hands where they didn't belong.

                 How easily ( if, it seemed, uncomfortably ) Shinji had accepted the youth, eyes flicking to where Aizen had set a hand upon Gin's shoulder, to the smile on Aizen's face, to the way they stood together. It was always easiest to make such moves if he used a person's lifestyle against them, as he'd done with the old Third Seat. The old man had been a hoarder of information, eyes cold and hard, and Aizen knew -- he knew what he'd overheard from the older man one day when he'd gone to take something to Shinji. Removing him from the picture had been a cold sort of joy and in the process, he had seen the skillset that had been promised by the paperwork included with the application to the Fifth from the boy who had come to be his own shadow.

                 So no -- he was not surprised his captain did not ask too closely, did not look too deeply, into the death of his subordinate. Two birds, one stone -- a benefit for both of them in the end. A benefit for Aizen for he had taken in the scraps of information the former third seat had curated, a benefit for Shinji because one threat to him and his public image had been removed. Aizen was not hesitant about removing threats to his captain, even if he remained one himself. Such was how it went. But he tried. He wanted and he tried. Yet trying had become such an effort of late, no matter what he did. Last night had proved one thing when he'd woken this morning; that gulf between them that sometimes seemed to lessen would never truly be bridged.

                 Aizen sighed, once, and then carefully lowered the calligraphy brush to the inkstone, dipping the pale bristles into the freshly made ink. The lieutenant enjoyed doing things with his own hands and he always had. A streak of creativity dwelt within him and even simple things like this could please him in a way and sometimes soothe an otherwise ragged mood; the precision that was demanded of his own hands made him focus on the ink strokes and far less dwelling took place where his own moods were in question.

                 Such little things, creativity; they had become a comfort for him. Making ink was one of those activities which could soothe and the dutiful second-in-command would spend his carefully curated funds on getting well-made inksticks for himself -- the older, the better. To grind them down was a ritual of sorts, and how neatly he wrote, his hand steady and his brush strokes were precisely laid out without any display of hesitation. There were such things as regular pens to be found, but Aizen was a traditionalist of sorts. He preferred the smell of fresh ink, the weight of the brush in his hand.

                 It was lighter than the weight on his wrists.

                 Sometimes Aizen preferred the quiet but today he was finding himself agitated by it, the silence only helping to agitate a somewhat surly and dour mood. The concept of talking did not appeal and there was no wind to speak of, no white noise to drown his thoughts out. Their excursions, himself and Gin and Kaname's, were starting to produce fruit. Out in the rukongai, no one cared if souls went missing. It was enough to make his lips curl with contempt in the days following the experiments, understanding that those in power did not care about the lost souls, these shinigami that he lived amongst, these individuals that were there to usher the dead along to their next stage of life.

                 There, in the Rukongai, living memories faded away slowly for some, quickly for others. But not for those like him, who'd been born into it. Silence clung to every corner of the room, every breath of air, and all the while he could feel that gaze upon him and it added tension to his shoulders. Too much silence and he was debating going to put on a record, to fill the room with the airy rippling of the jazz which Shinji had grown fond of - and, unbeknownst to him, Aizen as well - when Gin suddenly spoke up.

                 He spoke up and Aizen did his best not to freeze up for some reason he dared not name.

                 Sometimes, Gin's observations cut to the quick and Aizen's hands stilled in the middle of reaching for the paperwork. He knew it was a tell, but Gin enjoyed to test the boundaries, to see what was a button to poke, where the tender parts were. Here, in the twilight fading of devotion and something more pure, something warm and bright, that had turned sour, turned -- turned into something dark and cruel, all sharp edges and cutting notes -- Aizen truly found himself tender to such remarks.

                 So it was that he didn't expect Gin's hands to suddenly move for him, shoving up the sleeve of his uniform, of the garment he wore beneath the shihakusho, to stare at the chain that he was bound by. The links of it were rusting, rusting away, a leash he was no longer content to be held by, and Aizen took in the way those small fingers moved as if he would touch -- and his arm pulled back before contact could ensue, leaving him to reach and slide the sleeves back down. There was no need for him to look to Gin's face as he did so. It was not the first time that the little viper had seen the bruises and Aizen certainly didn't want to think about what had possibly been overheard by those small, sharp ears; but it was the first time that Gin had made such a move to bring direct attention to them.

                 Don't leave marks, he was always told. Sometimes, perhaps out of spite or some impish whim, he disobeyed that order to sink his teeth against skin and rake his nails over flesh to do that very thing yet he never strayed beyond the boundary of what could not be hidden. More often than not, lately, Aizen chose to disobey, no matter that Shinji would brush him off afterwards with a sharpness that would chew at his bones and burrow into the hollow void which dwelt in that powerful chest.

                 But the aching today was especially poignant, for he'd seen that rare softness in his captain last night, the way those eyes of olive brown had regarded him, the way fingers had seemed to brush his cheeks -- a softness that'd stirred the same feeble flicker of hope within Aizen as it always did, that maybe -- maybe this time, this time, he had begun to bridge that distance between them. And then they'd shot suddenly to gunmetal gray, steely, as the man he called his captain pulled back and away from him, turned to show his back and that long drape of sunlit hair, had flicked his hand in the way he did and oh so bluntly said that it was time for him to leave. That had been akin to ice water, a cold shock that had left the younger man still where he laid and with something much like tears in his eyes for how bluntly the words had been hurled at him.

                 Shinji pulled back and Aizen was sure, so sure, that his captain could not be so blind as to not see what the pulling back was doing to him in kind. How could Shinji not see it, not see how much his withdrawal affected the brunet every time he did so--? Perhaps that was why it felt like the bruises were far more common of late. As if his captain sought to contain him. And yet he would pull back when Aizen tried to reach out to him, even where no one else could see them.

                 Never again had the brunet attempted to repeat the one single time he'd reached for Shinji's hand at a festival that he had gone to and found his captain at. He hadn't expected it. He had only smiled on that evening, bubbling and bright, when he'd run into the older man. And then he had made a mistake. Just one mistake. He had tried to reach out for the other man where everyone could see them and that had been the worst thing he could have done it appeared; the look that had been cast his way had been sharp, a warning laden into that glance that had made AIzen's hand freeze and something cold had been crushed into his chest.

                 It had been an impulse, a desire to take the older man's hand, to take him over to a food vendor. Aizen had thought of treating him, buying him something to eat, had planned to laugh and perhaps even tease the older man. To be playful. It had been an inspiration of sorts, a whimsy that had been cut down before it could even bloom into life. He had not followed his captain immediately, busy feeling a burning shame and humiliation filling his chest and stomach and his gaze had gone to the ground. That single look that he received ensured that he'd never attempt that again. It was a lesson.

                 Only the sharp crack of his name in that accent and beckoning fingers had finally made him move at last to follow him but he had not repeated the gesture. And when they had walked by the river, out of view of others, when those spindly and thin fingers had found his hand ---... it'd hurt. It had hurt in a way he'd never experienced before.

                 Oh, it seemed that his captain would provide him with shows of affection --- but only, only, when no one else would be able to see them. Aizen never dared to use his Kyoka Suigetsu too often upon his captain; he didn't want to be subtle with him, to be hidden. But he was. Like he was --... unwanted. This was different from all those times before. The look -- something between disgust and hatred each. That was what he saw; that was something that he could never explain and something he didn't dare ask his captain about.

                 Shinji kept pulling back from him every time he thought that he might be able to lower the mask in full, to show himself, to speak of what should be changed. Surely the man could see that. Surely he had to understand. Why did children of the Rukongai have to suffer? Why couldn't they change that? But every time he tried to speak of those thoughts, eyes would narrow at him if he so much as hinted at his beliefs, no matter how innocuously he'd hint at it. So he had stopped doing that years ago.

                 No matter what Aizen did, Shinji kept pulling back from him, puling away, pushing to keep that distance between the both of them. How could his captain not see it, not see the yearning, not see what he so desperately desired and dreamed of and wanted--? A connection. Their connection to one another. He tried, tried, tried so much, tried so desperately to acquire the closeness that he desired with the man he loved.

                 Closeness. Something that so many had. So many wanted it. He wanted it but it was not something which he had.

                 A nearness between them that he could only call want, hope, desire -- born from an emotion which had curled gently in his chest for so long but now the pool from which it bloomed was going stagnant, growing rancid within him.

                 How long could one sustain themselves upon false hope, upon having the realization time and time again that no matter what they did -- it would never be good enough?

                 When he found those oft-hidden eyes of blue on him in the weeks following Gin's arrival at the Fifth, Aizen realized just what it meant for him to be seen by someone; even if the someone was a dangerous little viper that seemed eager to coil himself around Aizen's wrist, as if he would shield the skin from accumulating the bruises which were not always there -- but they were fully present today in vulgar shades of dark blues and purples.

                 How many times of seeing Shinji seem to overcompensate for those moments of seeming affection, of seeming care, only to feel something inside himself break again and again every time his captain turned away from him--? 

                 He'd found himself snared by an arm before he could leave for perhaps the older man had seen something in his face that'd produced a retroactive sense of guilt for what he'd said about how it was time for Aizen to leave, for it was rare for Aizen to be the first to leave the blankets which would become tangled from their intimacy, had been dragged back down to the futon for a time and had made his escape later to his own quarters once the older man had fallen asleep. There, the man who wore that badge had laid down and slept fitfully, restlessly, tossing and turning and waking up again and again in starts of awareness and had not truly gotten any rest whatsoever. 

                 So he sat there now, sandy-eyed, head pounding, staring down at his own wrist where it had been exposed before his eyes lifted to Gin. How long could a resource be tapped until it was no longer available--?

                 Gin had not been here for the bulk of their -- whatever they were to one another. Not lovers nor partners. Whatever Hirako Shinji and Aizen Sousuke shared, it was nothing so kind nor romantic nor respectful -- at least, not from the older man, no matter how much his adjutant tried over and over and over to make it be otherwise. Aizen had worked himself to the bone, it felt like, to make his captain look at him, to let him in. He had thought if he had been perfect, if he did everything right, if he was just good enough--- if, if, if.

                 But he wasn't good enough, was he? He wasn't good enough and never had been.

                 Because, if he was good enough, if he was enough at all--- ... then wouldn't Shinji have wanted him? Wouldn't that man want him, if he was good enough? But he didn't. That was the thought that kept curling through Aizen's head. He wasn't good enough. How Aizen tried to excel in everything he did, working late, taking on his captain's paperwork; everything he tried to earn that attention.

                 He was never good enough.

                 --- who would ever want a man who wasn't good enough?

                 ❝ -- I don't tend to find myself very warm anymore where those hands are concerned. ❞ 

                 He had spoken at last, breaking the silence which had dropped heavily into place between himself and Gin. Gin understood him where others did not -- he asked questions, saw what even Kaname missed. Kaname, who was afraid to disappoint him, to speak against him, who used him in kind as Aizen commanded him in turn. 

                 ❝ … I don't think i've felt warm under their touch in a long, long time. ❞

                 Gin seemed content to wait, to let Aizen speak at his own pace, his own rate. That was perhaps one thing Aizen adored about this young man. That Gin was content to sit back and allow Aizen to collate his thoughts, as if waiting to see what answer he would get to his questions. Even as Aizen's fingers moved to curl over the fabric, he found his mind turning things over. He wanted to keep that man and he wanted to break him. Break him the way he'd been breaking the brunet down over long years. He wanted to make him hurt and there were so many thoughts and ideas of how to vent out that slick viciousness that had been building for years.

                 A rage, a pain -- pain, from something that could have been so gentle and warm turning dark and vicious. What did it take for him to be seen by a man he wanted to see him in turn--? What did it take to make those eyes look at him and truly behold him--? He had allowed the mask to slip from time to time, watching the way the gaze which landed on him would take in the teeth, the claws. Only a brief showing of them. Only brief. And yet he would be called in to keep him warm.

                 All Aizen felt now was cold.

                 Cold, cold, cold -- cold from indifference, cold from distance. Cold, when once those hands had warmed him. Oh, true - his body responded to them. He was well-trained. He knew what looks meant, the way a hand might move, the slow curling of fingers to beckon him closer, closer, to come close and dip to press mouth to mouth, as the hands would lift to fist into the locks of brown were he on his knees. He knew. He knew what look meant to bend and what meant to kneel, what meant for him to lie back or roll over or -- he knew. Just as he knew the rule: don't leave marks.

                 How absently Aizen tugged at the fabric now, the fingers of his opposite hand curling into the warm fabric as he stared into the distance. Something dark wrapped in his mind snarled in the wake of what he said. Rage that made teeth itch to sink into flesh.

                 ❝ … I think, Gin … it's time we begin to move things along. The timetable. … I find myself curious to see what will happen next. ❞

                 And he did not see the souls that would fall under the sway of his Hogyoku. He did not see the potential for other shinigami to fall in its wake. His eyes looked ahead, forward -- towards a back that was thin. He knew where the muscles of that body were at their strongest, upon his back and abdomen. How well he knows the feeling of that body against his own, the scars his fingers have touched to for years upon years. Of how it could tense, of how he was never sure if Shinji would see how he would hunch in on himself more and more, head bowing to hide the burning in his eyes -- not of glossy wetness but something else, something he yearned for, craved, something he needed to feel.

                 How could his captain not see it--? How could he ignore it--? But Shinji was not here now. Meetings today, leaving the second- and third-seat to play captain and right hand. A precarious thing, that. Aizen filled that role easily. So did Gin. As if they were already woven together, but Shinji did not seem to pay heed to it.

                 ❝ --... I think it is time to begin seeing just how far we can push things and see if the experimentations will win through or not. And I think... ❞

                 His fingers drummed once over the surface of that desk. A desk where more than once, he'd had a thin frame bear its weight down upon his own, a frame his legs knew the slotting fit of, the frame where he would find bruises upon his inner thighs when it could be rough. But not always. He remembered when Shinji had been gentler. Almost kind. It only made him want to swallow now, to find himself besieged by doubt -- even now. Even now. But the doubt was a small thing compared to that obsidian sharpness that scraped through every vein; he had been hurt. It made sense to employ hurt in return. He knew the weak points. He knew how to apply pressure to them. And if his mouth curled into a cold, sharp smile whilst his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, he didn't seem aware of it.

                 ❝ I have the perfect candidate in mind. ❞

[orbch]

my friend did u see thomas posted your remus to his story. you're winning

i did see yeth. also i checked his story before even seeing that he liked and commented on my post so i was jumpscared by my own art lol

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[moonchild9350]

Within My Grasp

Summary: Hyunjin’s outfit for an event has you needy for your man.

Pairing: idol Hyunjin x fem reader

Genre: smut-18+ MDNI please

Word Count: 809

Warnings: sex and creampies, that's it folks (but wrap it up though)

Note: Hyunjin's insta update...enough said lol. I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated :)

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

You were needy for your boyfriend not being able to wait until you got back to the hotel. Hyunjin and the members had just got done with their event, meeting tons of stay. You were in love with his outfit he chose to wear for the event. You needed him and you needed him now.

You grabbed his hand as he walked backstage, right as he was about to greet you. You pulled him to his dressing room and pushed him against the door for a heated kiss once the door closed. The kiss was quick and messy, urgency in every nip of the lip and suck of the tongue.

“Angel wha…” Hyunjin tried to say in between kisses, but you cut him off each time with another kiss.

You bit his lower lip before pulling back. Grabbing Hyunjin’s hands again, you pulled him to a chair in front of the makeup counter, pushing him down in the chair. Straddling his legs, you grabbed his tie that was loosely tied around his neck, wrapping it around your hands a few times before giving it a tug. Hyunjin let out a groan, your dominant behavior turning him on with each passing moment. He grabbed your waist, giving it a squeeze as you rolled your hips against his, a groan coming from both of you with the movement. You gave another tug of the tie causing him to lean forward, crashing his lips onto yours once again.

You rolled your hips faster and faster, moaning into his mouth. Hyunjin’s hands guided you along, nudging your clothed core against his buldge. Each rock of your hips forward hit your clit just right as you were wearing a skirt, nothing between you besides your soaked panties.

You leaned back and stilled you hips, reaching down to unbuckle hyunjins belt, his eyes on you the whole time. You locked your eyes on his as you unzipped his jeans, tapping his hips to signal for him to lift his butt up so you could drag the offending clothing down his thighs. Once out of the way, you reached your hand into his boxers, giving his cock a few pumps, gathering the pre cum from his slit to help the glide.

You reached down to move your panties to the side before sliding his cock through your folds, gathering the slick that was dripping out of your pussy, sighing at the feeling as it brushed against your clit again and again. Lifting your hips, you lined his cock with your entrance before slowly sliding down his length until his cock was snuggly nestled within your warmth.

With a shaky breath, you placed your hands on Hyunjin's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. His pupils were dilated, soft pants leaving his lips. He looked down at where you were connected before dragging his eyes back to yours. You slowly lifted your hips before lowering yourself down on his cock, a low moan leaving your mouth. Grasping his shoulders harder, you started to bounce on his cock a little faster, the sound of your ass hitting his pelvis each time.

Soft moans could be heard throughout the room, Hyunjin’s eyes never leaving yours as you used him for your pleasure. No words were said, none were needed, as pleasure was the only goal.

You rode his cock faster and faster, feeling your high approaching. You grasped his tie once more, tugging it again and again. Hyunjin let out a loud moan with a hard tug and particular swivel of your hips on his cock, his fingers reaching for your clit. Hyunjin rubbed your bundle of nerves again and again, his fingers slipping and sliding with the amount of slick that was pooling out of your pussy, your whimpers and moans getting louder and louder. You felt the coil in your belly tighten and with one more bounce you came, your thighs shaking. You leaned your head down on Hyunjin’s shoulder letting out a shaky breath.

Hyunjin grounded himself before lifting his hips up again and again to pound into your wet pussy, his high approaching. With a hard thrust he came, hips stilling, his warm cum spilling into your pussy before slowly dripping out of your pussy.

You both sat there, letting out shaky breaths as you came back down out of your highs.

“That was hot angel,” Hyunjin finally said with a chuckle.

You whined at his statement, lifting yourself up and out of his lap, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“Sorry babe, but you looked too hot out there to ignore,” you said with a wink.

Hyunjin just shook his head watching you walk to the in suite bathroom to get towels for both of you.

Hyunjin sat there with his pants pulled down to his thighs, and his now softened cock hanging outside his boxers before chuckling out,

“My little minx.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek

[princesssascha]

It will happen if you don't give another option

Some time ago I watched this video on TikTok about a man who never believed in manifestation until a friend told him to try it. She told him to decide that he is going to see something that he hasn't seen in a while, and so he did. He decided that he is going to see an animal (I believe it was a turtle) and he gave it no more thought. He just decided that he's going to see that animal within the next 24hrs.

Surprise, he did.

I also did the same thing a few days ago. I was doing my makeup in front of the mirror as I chose what I wanted to see and I confidently said that there is no other option. I will see that thing, duh. Around 1-2 hours later I saw that thing.

This is the perfect explanation of what every blog here is trying to teach you. You will have it. There is just no other way. It's about confidence, patience and self-assuredness. I saw a post about a girl comparing it to placing an order (i also reposted that post, I'll try to find the author and update!!). And she is right! When you place an order you know that order is going to come. You don't check if your order arrived every five minutes and then be sad and discouraged it's not here yet. It will come. You know that it will and you can be excited about it. That's all there is.

Give the universe no option but to give you what you desire. Because there is no other option! It's like saying the sky is blue, obviously it is. There's no way it can't be blue. It's as simple as that

[itsaship-literally]

𝘽𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙡𝙚𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙚𝙨: 𝘼 𝙃𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮

Reposted

There are many names for the ship and friendship of the dynamic duo known simply by their names: Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz.

In the beginning, they were considered a horror-comedy icon. She is strange and unusual. She wants to die and be part of the land of the recently deceased. He is wild. A pure chaos machine who lives up to his side of the deal. He knows the ins and outs of the hereafter and wants to get the fuck out. For good.

Lo and behold! The trope of a quid pro quo marriage. He gets out. Her friends are saved from an unknown doom.

Then marketing took over. Merchandise! Toys! And ultimately a cartoon. Who would be the star of Beetlejuice: The Animated Series.

Well, Beetlejuice, of course. And why not make it friendly to the kid's world by taking the youngest character and making her more vulnerable and spooktacular? They could have carried the show without a Lydia but they chose not to do this.

They chose the one girl in the movie he tried to marry: deal or no deal. The girl was in a wedding dress and instead of making them enemies... They make them friends. Friends who share and anniversary, terms of endearments, and blatant flirtations.

Thus, the first shippers were born—a bunch of kids who saw two chaotic characters who were perfectly balanced with each other. We grew up, and so OUR IDEA of Lydia grew with us. Granted, a few of us are freaky and wanna jump the ghost, but rarely will you see a shipper want to split up the duo.

Now for the names; Beetlejuice x Lydia, Beetlyds, Beetz and Deetz, Beetz, Beej and Lyds, Beetle and Babes and now, unintentionally, Beetlebabes.

Ironically this was not the intended name for the ship. We (as in my friends and I) called ourselves Beetle Babes. As in We are the Babes. Fans, mostly ladies, who love to obsess over a ghost from an old 80’s franchise.

The second meaning came naturally because, Didn't BJ call Lydia ”Babes”? Yes, he did in almost every episode. Lyds, Babes, Lydia. Three names he uses for her his best friend.

So Beetlebabes became an easy identifyer for the crew. And it became a standard name for shippers when the new fans came in, but I bet you didn't know that some OG Beetlebabes only Friend-Ship them? And some Relation-Shippers don't like smut or sexual content of any kind.

Beetlebabes are Kids, Teens, and Adults. They are students, parents, CSA survivors, therapists, cooks, homemakers, artists, animators, and filmmakers. They are strangers on the street who don’t even know the musical came to be and only remember the deadly duo through fond memories of two close pals who, for all we knew, were living out their impromptu wedding in the only way they know how.

Now, as I update this, we have a new movie in which Beetlejuice and Lydia are once again affianced. BJ refers to her as the love of his life, bringing more shippers into the fold.

So here we are, The Beetlebabes. We ship the gal who wants death and the ghost who wants life. The balance. The dichotomy. The polar opposites.

This has been the revisit of the history of Beetlebabes. I hope you all are enjoying your time in the fandom and you all have my best wishes to stay happy, healthy, and creative.

Keep being awesome, Babes! 🖤

[ariesqueencobra]

what we used to be | Xlll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're in love with a boy but then the rose-tinted lenses fall off and suddenly you're not so sure about anything.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, bullying, mentions of violence

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: We've now entered Hawk's red hair era...

Thank you to those who already reblog and comment, I see you and I love you all for it!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

You met Eli at the tattoo parlor after brunch with your parents and grandmother. It was a pleasant meal, your grandma being happy to see more of her first grandchild now that you were on summer vacation. 

Now that familial duties were out of the way, you could spend the rest of the day with your boyfriend and friends. 

Eli was laid out on the table, updating the color of the hawk’s hair to match his new hue. 

You liked the red he chose this time around. It was bolder, fiercer, and badass. You watched as he got up, thanking Rico as you stood up, walking over to him.

That’s when you noticed the new tattoo. “Lavenders?” Your heart swelled, placing your hand on his chest and tracing around the fresh ink.

“Since they’re your favorite,” he smirked, taking his shirt from you. “Snuck one of your drawings the other day, Rico was able to trace it,” he added.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him, something he welcomed. You pulled away, licking your lips as he wrapped his arm loosely around your neck. Making your way towards the entrance, he stopped, calling out to Chris and Mitch.

“Hey, asshole twins, grab my bag,” Eli ordered.

You snickered as you walked out, loving the confidence he carried.

~

Later in the day, the entire dojo was hanging out at a restaurant in the mall. You were sitting with the girls, Eli was somewhere, and Miguel was working really hard on his computer.

“So, you and Hawk have been making heart eyes during the last few classes. What’s up with that?” Aisha asked, a teasing smile on her face.

“Wait, you’re just noticing that?” Tory laughed.

Their comments made your face heat up but you answered anyway. “We kinda said “I love you” a couple of weeks ago” you beamed.

“Woah, that means it’s serious,” Aisha’s eyes widened. 

“Look at that, young love,” Tory smirked, laughing with Aisha.

You grinned just as Eli walked past your table, he smirked at you, sending you a wink. To which the two girls teased you about. 

“He also got a tattoo of my drawing with my name,” you bit down on your lip to hide your smile.

“That means he’s totally whipped,” Tory explained. “Getting something so permanent?” She huffed.

“It’s insane, right?” You hummed, unable to hide your smile.

“You think?” Aisha raised a brow. 

You all laughed just as your food arrived. Beginning to eat, you noticed Eli was nowhere to be found but you ignored it when Aisha and Tory started talking about Sam LaRusso and what went down at the country club the other day.

“I still can’t believe she did that,” you shook your head after being told she accused Tory of stealing her mom’s wallet. “So what if you swiped a few bottles and some silverware, a place like that is not gonna miss it,” you scoffed.

“Exactly my point,” Tory said before glancing at Miguel.

You and Aisha sent each other a knowing look before she stood up and walked over to his table. 

“I’m probably gonna head out, do you need a ride home?” Aisha asked.

“Nah, Eli’s taking me back to the dojo, I left my bike there,” you said. 

You said bye to her, deciding to go on your phone and text your boyfriend. 

It wasn’t a lot longer that Tory and Miguel were leaving, something about her showing him how to get over Sam.

Now alone in the restaurant, you grabbed your bag, making your way out in hopes of spotting Eli. You barely walked into the mall before you knocked into him.

“Where’d you- what happened?” You quickly noticed the black eye, hands reaching up to cup his face. Your heart picks up at the thought that he got into a fight. 

He pushed your hands away and you frowned at that. “Let’s just go to the dojo,” he brushed past you, jaw clenched, eyes cold and forward. 

You were worried, only able to follow him as you made it to his car. Even inside, he didn’t tell you. 

“What happened?” You repeated. “You’re scaring me, Eli,” you gulped, glancing back out into the road.

“I’ll explain later, I just,” his fists clenched the steering wheel. 

You let out a shaky breath, nervous that he was driving while clearly under duress. Thankfully, the drive to the dojo wasn’t far and you were able to arrive just as the sun had set, the night sky settling above you.

“We fought Miyagi-Do and we lost,” he huffed, turning off the ignition and sitting back in defeat.

“Why would you fight Miyagi-Do?” You furrowed your brows. “Did they do something?”

His jaw ticked, exhaling. “Yeah, they did,” he looked over at you. “Demitri left a bad review about Cobra Kai like the pussy he is, we found him in the mall so we taught him a lesson,” he smirked. “Such a fucking traitor for joining Miyagi-Do after all the credit he took from Cobra Kai,” he scoffed.

You looked down, feeling guilty as you were aware that Demitri did join Miyagi-Do but then his words processed. “What do you mean taught him a lesson?” 

“I told him to take the review down or I’d take him down,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to do. “Thought we were gonna win even when LaRusso and Keene showed up, but,” he huffed, not finishing his thought. 

You paused.

“You would hurt Demetri?” Your heart fell, realization dawning.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He spat, annoyance laced in his voice.

You shook your head, stepping out of the car. 

“What the hell is your problem?” He walked over to you, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you to face him.

You pulled away from his grasp. “You think a bad review warrants cornering your best friend at the mall?” You scoffed, raising your hands. 

“He asked for it when he joined Miyagi-Do!” He screamed. 

“Why does that matter?” You shouted back. 

“Because he’s a fucking nerd! He always will be!” 

You frowned, taking a step back. It broke your heart to see him believe that was a terrible thing, you tried so hard but you couldn’t defend it. “And being a nerd warrants being bullied?” You asked, tears welling in your eyes.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Because it’s one thing to beat on assholes like Kyler, but Demitri?” You winced. “If you can turn on him, then who’s to say what you’d do to me?” You asked. 

His gaze softened and he reached for you. “You know I’d never hurt you,” he glanced down, anger returning when you avoided his touch. 

“You did when you hurt Demitri,” you stated. “I think we should take a break,” you wiped a stray tear, taking a few steps back. 

“Y/N, you’re crazy,” he stopped you by grabbing your wrist. “Are you really about to do this?” He realized, voice changing back to an icy cold. 

“Get your hand off me,” you gritted, ripping away from his grasp. “You’re not the Eli I remember falling in love with,” you said. 

“What happened to you saying you’ll love all of me?” He inhaled.

“I guess you managed to show me a side of you I don’t love,” you pressed your lips together. 

“No,” he shook his head. “We’re not ending things, not over him,” he gritted before pulling his shirt over his head. “Do you know what this means?” He pointed at the tattoo he got for you. 

“I do,” you nodded. “Clearly, you don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t have hurt Demitri,” you shuffled on your feet, backing away. “Goodbye, Hawk,” you swallowed before walking towards your bike.

He called after you, but you didn’t turn back. Instead, you biked home, tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest aching with a broken heart.

~

You cried all the way home and you tried your best to hide your tears when you entered your house but your mom was sitting in the living room when you entered.

“Eli and I broke up,” you didn’t try to hide it before falling into the comforting arms of your mom. 

“What happened?” She cradled you, rubbing your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she kissed the top of your head. 

“He hurt Demitri,” you sobbed, voice muffled by her shirt. “He attacked him at the mall and he didn’t care!” You looked up, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. “I didn’t think he’d change this much, it hurts!” You clutched your chest, doubling over as another wave of sobs wracked through you.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she cooed. “He was your first love, it’s normal to hurt. But you did the right thing,” she said. “If you felt it in your gut that you needed to end things, then that’s all that matters.” 

You were glad your father wasn’t home because you could only imagine how he’d say he was right about him. Probably saying “I told you so”.

But right now it was just you and your mom. 

The next morning, you made it to the dojo, nervousness filling you knowing you’d see Eli again.

“Are you okay?” Aisha asked, she and Tory were standing in front of you, worry on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

“Umm,” you scratched the back of your neck. “I ended things with Eli,” you breathed out, voice weighing heavy. 

“Shit, what happened?” Tory rubbed your arm reassuringly. 

You took a deep breath in but the bells signaled an arrival, you stopped when Eli and Miguel walked through. You made eye contact with him but when the girls saw who it was, they blocked you from his line of sight. 

Thankful, you took your place on the mat before class began.

You spent the rest of the class sparring with each other, practicing your techniques. You finished off with Tory, you scored more in the end but it was a close match. Now, you kneeled next to her, the class watching Eli and Miguel fight.

Miguel scored a point, hitting Eli in the stomach. Sensei ordered them to go again until the bells of the door jangled, signaling an arrival. 

Mr. LaRusso came storming in, pissed off, searching for Sensei you assumed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sensei asked. 

“Like you don’t know,” Mr. LaRusso sneered.

“Take your shoes off the mat. You’re disrespecting my dojo,” Sensei stalked over.

That pissed Mr. LaRusso even more. “You’re seriously gonna talk to me about disrespecting dojos after what you just did to mine?” He came face to face with Sensei, hurt and aggravation spread on his face.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to your dojo.” 

You watched as Eli and Miguel walked out of the way, but a look on Eli’s face gave you suspicion. 

“Just like you didn’t slug one of my employees, hug?” Mr. LaRusso said. 

You furrowed your brows.

“You know, part of me felt bad for you at one point, but you make it so easy to remember who the bad guy is in all of this,” he snickered. “You call yourself a sensei, you don’t even know what a sensei is. A sensei mentors, a sensei elevates. He doesn’t teach destruction and disrespect!” He shouted. 

Sensei narrowed his gaze. “I already said I don’t know what you’re talking about, LaRusso,” he stepped closer. “And I know you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about either.”

“Yeah, well I know you don’t- you don’t earn the Medal of Honor by stealing it,” Mr. LaRusso got choked up. 

You frowned, wondering what had happened.

“Let me tell you something about your sensei,” Mr. LaRusso began, taking a step back. 

Your attention was drawn back to him. 

“He may know how to fight, but he doesn't know what it takes to truly win at life,” he said. “If you want to get out before it’s too late, now’s your chance.”

“You think you can come here and poach my students?” Sensei spat. 

“And what are you gonna do about it? You know I’m not gonna strike first,” he smiled, almost enticing Sensei. 

Sensei came face-to-face, almost like he was going to strike first but he took a step back.

“I’m gonna be a bigger man,” Sensei said, shocking you.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Mr. LaRusso said before walking out. 

A beat passed and you saw as Chris gathered his things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sensei asked. 

He didn’t respond until Mitch called after him, saying, “I never liked it here.”

You sympathized but the more students that began filing out, the louder your gut was screaming to follow. You stared at the mat for a second until you did. Tory tried to stop you but you sent her a look. 

“Woah, Miss L/N?” Sensei called after you.

“I joined Cobra Kai to fight assholes, not become one,” you said before you grabbed your bag, walking out, leaving the place where all your problems started.

[lemotmo]

I'm so happy she answered this 😅😅😅. I have no words. Yes to all. Love. Love. Love. They're so mad.

Q. The reason we can't be free of the Buddie nonsense is because the entire cast including the show runner has been conditioned to mention them even when it isn't necessary. It was a question about BUCK and TOMMY. Their relationship. Their progress. There was absolutely no reason for him to mention Eddie. Give us a break. He's ridiculous and you all are ridiculous.

A. He mentioned Eddie because Buck's entire relationship with Tommy is about Eddie. Eddie and Buck have been the entire point of that relationship. It only exists to put in motion Buck and Eddie's eventual relationship, which after today seems even more likely. The only reason Tommy is there is to lead Buck to Eddie. And everyone who watched the actual canon scenes that aired, and paid attention to the actual context of what was being shown, has been telling you all this for months now. You were sold a tissue of lies for personal profit and self promotion. And you wilfully chose to believe the lie over what you were actually being shown and told by the show. That's on you and that's on him. You paid him to tell you what you wanted to hear. And he was clearly punished in some capacity for it because he's hung you all out to dry. None of this has ever been about Tommy. It has always been about Eddie. And it was obvious. They weren't subtle about it. And judging by your message, and the many other messages currently sitting in my ask box, you all know that. And you're angry today because it sounds like you're about to watch jealous Eddie. Which sounds delicious quite frankly. It's always been about Eddie. So you'll see your guy in some capacity this season but his entire reason for being will be so Eddie is the one who ends up with Buck. And, for the record, your guy knew that as he was taking your money. Redirect your anger where it actually belongs, anon. And then enjoy all the Eddie content.

Thank you Nonny! I appreciate this!

Okay, I don't think this needs any extra thoughts to be honest. I've already talked about the Buck, Tommy and Eddie parts of this article in a previous post. If you're interested you can find it here.

Ali is a lot more straightforward than I was in my post though.😄😋

Enjoy!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[lou-struck]

Coming Home

Izuku Midoriya x reader

~Izuku has worked three days straight on a rescue mission and you are ready for your hero to come home.

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Mentions of injury, rescue missions gone awry, loneliness, overworking, mutual apologizing for something out of their control, a bit of angst but with a happy ending.

*reposting because when I post on mobile the tags don't work.

You have never felt so aware of the sound of your own knife scratching across your glass plate. The screeching scrape fills your empty home as you try to eat the meal you had just cooked, only to feel your appetite being robbed by the deep-set feeling of worry in your gut.

Your eyes flick between the empty place setting across from your own and the front door, hoping, praying that Izuku will come home safe tonight.

This nightmare had begun three days ago in the small hours of the morning when a group of villains managed to board and hijack a small underground train line filled with commuting passengers.

The railways have been shut down completely, and you heard through the grapevine that the Villains are beginning to panic, disagreeing amongst themselves about what they should be asking for as a ransom for all the lives in their possession. 

With Law Enforcement at a standstill, they called in the Pro's Izuku, being chosen as one of the country's top heroes, to go underground, infiltrate the stopped train, and put an end to this whole nightmare.

Before leaving, he had told you that this mission was supposed to only take a few hours and that he promised to be home for dinner, but that wasn't the case. The villains chose to stop the train in a dead cell zone meaning that the rescue team has no service in the tunnels. You haven't heard anything from Izuku since that morning. You were assured that he was still safe, but the mission has taken much longer than normal.

The media is also in the dark about what is going on, and they keep playing the same initial cell phone footage that one of the passengers took before the train was stopped, along with a few interviews from the hostage's loved ones.

It's maddening.

And so the television remains off.

With a heavy sigh, you get up from your place at the table and stare at the mess awaiting you. Unable to keep the food warm any longer, you began to put it away carefully. It looks like Izuku won't be home anytime soon. 

Before you put everything away, you take out a special Tupperware container. One that has multiple compartments for each of the dishes that you made tonight.

If Izuku comes home in the middle of the night, he will have a full home-cooked meal waiting for him. With his meal boxed up, you place the container on top of the other two in the fridge. The untouched, multicolored lids only make you feel more lonely.

It doesn't seem fair to rest while Izuku is working overtime, doing god knows what. Although the details make you sick to your stomach, you have to check for updates.

Plopping down on the couch, you turn on the television to check the broadcast, hoping for new footage, a progress report, anything.

But the broadcast has stopped completely, which can only mean one thing. The mission has ended. 

Izuku is coming home.

These last three days of radio silence have placed a heavy weight on your chest. And with the initial disaster dealt with, you feel a bit lighter, but it won't be fully lifted until you can stare into Izuku's loving green eyes and hold him close.

~

You've been watching the driveway for what seems like forever, but you don't see him pull up. Only the headlights of a few passing vehicles mock you. 

Until you hear the sound of the front door opening curiously, you walk towards the sound. Even in low lighting, you are able to make out the familiar figure leaving up against the doorway. 

"Honey, I'm home," he calls, stumbling through the door. He looks exhausted, his skin looks sickly pale and deep dark circles rest under his eyes, and various scrapes and scratches litter his arms.

"Zuku?" you ask, stepping towards him cautiously, "Are you hurt."

He reaches forward and envelops you in a hug, "M' okay," he says, "just wanted to see you."

His tired words make your heart flutter, and you run your fingers through his messy green hair, gently untangling a few strands. "How long has it been since you've gotten to rest, Zuku?"

"I dunno, 3 days?' he hums; you notice how limp his body is on top of you. "The agency wouldn't let me drive home, so I had to call a cab."

"After 72 hours, I wouldn't let you drive either." You say, brow furrowing in concern. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

You try to turn towards the bedroom, but he stops you stubbornly. "No, I can't stop now," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, his figure sways tiredly. "I have people to rescue."

"Shhh, they're safe." you soothe, "you saved them; let's get some rest."

He nods, and you help him to the room. His lids flutter sleepily as he sits down on the mattress. But he doesn't take his eyes off you for a second. He hardly has enough strength to sit when you try to let go of his hand to grab a sleep shirt for him. His grip tightens protectively. "Where are you going?" 

"I'm just grabbing you something soft to change into Zuku," you answer, shaking off his grip.

"Oh, you're so smart, y/n." he chuckles tiredly. "I've missed you. Did you know that?"

You toss the shirt over to him for him to put on. "I've missed you too," You wouldn't dare tell him this when he is in this kind of deliriously tired state, but his hero suit reeks, and the sooner he gets it off, the better. 

You watch as he unzips his suit and tosses it on the ground; although the look of his chiseled chest and abs usually are breathtaking, now you cannot take your eyes off of the deep bruises and scrapes from under the suit. You feel uneasy looking at the marks, but you can't look away, even after they have been covered up by the clean sleep shirt. 

He notices this, and his face falls suddenly. He looks guilty. "The mission… didn't quite go as planned," he mumbles, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt self-consciously.

"I know," you say, noticing just how small your voice sounds. "You helped a lot of people though, Zuku." You sit down on the edge of the bed as he does the same.

"Still," he sighs, leaning back onto the sheets, not trusting himself to look at you. "I know I let you down, and I worried you. I don't like making you feel this way."

His words make your eyes turn glassy, and you let out a shaky breath to hide the choked sob that threatens to escape your lips. Your relationship isn't rocky or anything, but Izuku hates to let you down. The whole situation is weighing on him much more than you had thought. 

You scoot much closer to his side of the bed and grab his hand. "Hey, look at me. Please?" you murmur. He turns his head, and you see that his eyes look just as teary as yours must be. "You're a hero; things like this happen," you say, giving him the most comforting smile you can muster. "I just worried about you."

"But I want to be a Hero for you, too," he mumbles, raising the back of your hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell you what was going on. I wanted to more than anything, but I- I couldn't." He looks so tired, but he is using the last bit of his energy to stay awake, to stay present for you. He has the biggest heart.

"I know," you say, "And we can spend these next few days taking it easy together. But for now, you need to get some rest, Izuku."

"A-are you sure?"

"I'm positive," you smile, curling up next to him. As soon as he lays back fully on the pillow, he is out, and the soft sounds of his breathing fills the room. Even in sleep, he pulls you closer; the weight of his arms around you is so comforting; you feel in that moment that nothing can hurt you. 

Because he is here.

[hawkeyejrhuntress]

BISHOVA HOLLIDAY CHALLENGE 2024 PROMPT VOTING and Challenge Rules

Background

On November 24 it will be three years since Marvel brought the Hawkeye series to the little screen. 6 episodes and 5 weeks of getting to know Kate Bishop with a hint of Yelena Belova. Despite having less than 45 minutes of screen time their chemistry was explosive. Since then, amazing fanfiction writers around the world have created amazing stories about these two. So, with the anniversary of the show coming up, I decided to bring back the Bishova Holiday Challenge.

Last year when I created the challenge, all the prompts came from my scary but wonderful imaginative brain. This year I decided to reach out to Oh Alpha, My Alpha discord.  Which I will have linked below. There my wonderful virtual friends I have made gave me wonderful prompt ideas. 20 -25 to be honest. I do not feel like counting. So now it is time for us to vote.

Below you will find a link to prompt ideas. Voting will close Aug 31st. You can vote as many times as you want. The top 5 prompt ideas will be chosen for the challenge and announced early September. The remaining prompts that did not win will be reposted just as prompt ideas for the public mid sept.

After the Prompts are Chose:

Once the winning prompts are chosen in Oct, I will post an update of the challenge rules with the prompts for each week. This year the challenge will be 6 weeks with the last week being the writers’ choice.

Challenge Rules:

These prompts will have mini ideas attached to them but you do not have to follow them to a tea, just stick to the general theme. The stories must be posted on A03.

You can prewrite your stories and co-write them with others. But they cannot be published before the challenge. It is encouraged that you participate in all 6 weeks but if you can it’s all good.

Challenge Weeks:

Week 1: Nov 10th – Nov 16th

Week 2: Nov 17th – Nov 23rd

Week 3: Nov 24th – Nov 30th  

Week 4: Dec 1st – Dec 7th

Week 5: Dec 8th – Dec 14th

Week 6: 16th – Dec 21st

There will be 6 weekly winners and one Grand winner. After each week I will create a poll with the stories that qualified, and readers can pick the winner. To qualify as the Grand Winner, you must write a story for all 6 weeks.

[e-leohiss]

"Debts & Owes" || A Soap MacTavish fan-fiction

Characters involved: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, & Laswell, + others. Pairing: Soap x Fem!Navy!Reader Wordcount: 7.9K Contains: violence, blood, cursing, swearing, rage, abuse, near-death scenarios, aggression, vengeance, bit of fluff, slowburn, I-like-you-but-I'm-not-aware, Song link: Devil in a Dress - Teddy Swims

Autor's note: Finally dropped the final output for this Soap fanfic *weeps in Victorian*

**PLEASE DO NOT translate, repost, or in any way reformat my work on this site and on any other social media.

"Debts & Owes"

Fingernails impatiently tapped the clipboard’s surface. Kate Laswell checked the wall clock for the nth time since the minute-hand had passed four o’clock. Forty minutes were closing in excruciatingly slow and there was a lot they had to discuss. However, the last set of people required for the meeting have yet to show. 

Kate’s eyes shifted to the clock and the minute-hand struck the 8th. “C’mon, Laswell. Take a seat already, would you?” the Brit’s smooth voice pleaded to the Station Chief. She’d been leaning down on her palms bowed over the head of the desk for quite a while which disquieted the sergeant. However, she didn’t give in to Garrick’s plea.

To the right of Gaz, Soap scoffed as he flipped an unsheathed pocket knife in his hand, “Bunch o’ tardy toads they are. Professional my arse –”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sergeant,” Captain Price chided. The Scot combed his mohawk back with a curse under his breath. Price shook his head and leaned back further on the edge of the desk with crossed arms. “Where the fuck is the Rear Admiral?” he questioned. He, too, was restless.  

Kate stood up straight. “Let’s give them a couple more minutes. We’re commissioned to work with the Navy for this operation so we will have to wait,” she reasoned. Though her expression exhibited a cool, spiking displeasure at the tardiness of their awaited guests. Kate had been given an update earlier that Rear Admiral Myers and her party had touched down on time. So, what could possibly be stalling them?

Gaz perked at the new information. “The Navy, you said?” his gaze shifted between Laswell and Price. “You interested in tellin’ the Navy Admiral to sod off if they show?” asked the third Brit in the room. The corner of Gaz’s mouth quirked, “You’re barking at the wrong tree, mate. Soap appears to be a better candidate than I.”

Soap scoffed yet his spirits seemed to lift at the topic. He pointed his pocket knife at Gaz and Ghost, “Naw jist haud on. Dinnae ken about that, but I’m gaunnie skelp a memo up those navy numpties’ unpunctual hides. Aye, make ‘em greet layk wee bairns.” he said.

Gaz released a half-suppressed laugh at Soap’s words that he didn’t fully understand, whereas Ghost rolled his eyes. “Fucking Scots,” he drawled. On the other hand, Price and Laswell chose to disregard Soap’s flippancy due to mutual thoughts…and because they were slightly amused. 

But their banter was cut short when the door rattled open. 

Speaking of the devil, Rear Admiral Myers sauntered in sporting the prominent dark navy blue service uniform. Her sleeves displayed two golden bands and above her chest two silver stars. The Task force formally acknowledged the presence of the rear admiral by standing up at attention, addressing the Navy admiral simultaneously. Kate met R.Adm. Loraine Myers halfway offering a handshake, “We’ve been expecting you, Rear Admiral Myers. I’m glad you’re here.”

“My apologies for my late coming, Chief Laswell. Got side-tracked a bit back there with a call,” R.Adm. Myers apologized, to which Gaz deliberately raised a daring brow at Soap. Laswell proceeded with brief introductions of herself and Task Force 141.

At last, the remaining navy sailors entered the meeting room led by an older soldier.

Laswell espied your five-member group which Myers noticed. “Laswell, here’s the team of the S.W.C.C. I mentioned before: Captain Benson, Lieutenant Junior Grade Hunter, and Lieutenants Griffs, Weston, and…” the admiral pointed at each respective sailor, ending with your surname. 

You all acknowledged Laswell and the Task Force. The captains even exchanged a couple of words between themselves. Both men were well-experienced through years or service yet Benson was on the older side. “Captain Price, I’m looking forward to working with you and your team,” said Benson, who grasped the Brit’s hand firmly. Price gave the slightly shorter man a curt nod, “Same here, Captain Benson. Hope the trip hasn’t made you all knackered.”

“Been a while since I’ve left my post, very refreshing. The air out here is less salty, if you ask me,” Benson jested. Smile lines decorated his cheeks under his salt and pepper scruff. 

Your team walked further in just as Laswell revived the projector. Soldiers from different military branches eyed each other's unfamiliar faces. Ghost, with his skulled balaclava on, received second looks. But being himself he simply looked back unabated. Surprisingly, one of the female sailors, named Hunter, paused behind him, bent down, and asked plainly, “‘Scuse me, sir. Not to be rude or anything but where can I purchase a cool mask like yours?”

Soap and Gaz, who sat on either side of Ghost, overheard. They exchanged looks — stunned by the woman’s boldness. Soap was about to interfere but someone got to it before he could act.

You landed a heavy hand on Hunter’s lower back eliciting a yelp from her. “Quit being rude, fool,” you scolded Hunter with a frown. Fortunately, none of the captains, the admiral, and Laswell had noticed the interaction as they were occupied skimming through each other’s printed files. 

You clicked your tongue, cocking your head to the side for her to continue walking. A sigh erupted from across the table, it was Lieutenant Frederick Griffs.

“Apologies, Lieutenant Riley. My comrade lacks proper manners when…inquisitive,” Griffs let out a strained cough. “We’ll sort her out ourselves after. Please, excuse her.”

“She’s all yours,” Ghost simply dismissed. He distinctly remembered a similar encounter with a certain Scot who demonstrated a rather bold greeting as well. 

You escorted Hunter as she rubbed the sore spot on her back. 

Ariel Hunter is the youngest in your group, 26 summers old, who still had the aura of a young-in. But, you and your group knew that she only seemed immature due to her curious nature. Honed exemplary skills of a promising sailor no doubt, but you looked out for her most times because the eldest-child-streak in you runs on auto-pilot. 

“Third hit today, really?” Hunter groaned. You pulled out the chair for her, “You’re incorrigible, Ariel. Keep your head straight, will ya?” 

Weston turned in his seat to present a teasing grin, “Yeah, Ariel, focus or else Ms. Sebastian here is going to be all up your ass. Poor you,” he used a thumb to point at you. Ariel snickered behind her hand at his joke referencing ‘The Little Mermaid’.

You flashed him a mocking grin while choosing a seat at the end of the table, right across a sergeant named MacTavish.

“Mind if I take this seat, Sgt. MacTavish?” you asked him. He looked up at you and shook his head. “No. Ye go ahead, Lieutenant.” You thanked him softly and took your seat. The minutes to follow required your full attention. 

“Soldiers, you are here to be informed that our target is a smuggling organization operating on the East shores. A covert mission with an assault team formed between Task Force 141 and the SWCCs, mission ‘Shark Coast’,” Laswell began. 

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

// 3:53 P.M. //

On the East coast within one of the hidden sites of the smuggling organization.

Soap pushed the battered door open and immediately ran to your crumpled form on the ground, walking right past the wounded corpse of a patrol guard that you’d taken down. The walls of the 3-story building weren’t going to hold much longer. The brittle concrete echoed throughout the compound sprinkling you in powder of cement. 

“Lieutenant! Ye awright, lassie?” He examined your body for signs of injuries even when you’d said you were good. “Thought I saw a familiar ally sneaking past the warehouse,” he hoisted you up by the arm. “Right, let’s get out of here.”

Your forehead scrunched further and critical eyes snapped to him. “MacTavish,” you spoke, voice hoarse, “what the fuck took you so long–”. The sudden urge to cough struck your tonsils. You coughed up the dust stuck in your throat spitting the mixture of saliva and dirt to the side. Soap stepped back to give you space at an arm’s length. You heaved, feeling the irritation in your throat alleviate a considerable amount. 

“Ten damn minutes of no response. Captain was about to burst a vein whether to come back for you or consider you K.I.A, sergeant,” you apathetically addressed the soldier. “Price wanted to stay back — refused to even get near the boat — but Benson agreed that I come look for you so everyone could exfil to secure intel at camp. Reinforcement will wait at the extraction point.”

But before Soap could explain why he had temporarily become M.I.A, small chunks from the ceiling began to drop. Both soldiers heard the metallic screeches around the building, solid pressure forcing metal to succumb.”Shite,” grunted Soap. Both of you ducked instinctively when a bigger portion of cement fell nearby.

“Take cover!” he shouted as the floor began to shake. Both of you leg it. Slinging rifles over your shoulders, you both maneuvered across the rubble heading straight for the desk by the opposite wall — the only furniture to shield both of you. You made it under the desk first, palms pressing up its surface to stabilize it. Soap gets underneath it beating the plummeting chunks and dirt a second early which would have landed on him. 

Eyes shut and faces turned the opposite way avoiding the cloud of gray powder that followed. “Fucking hell!” cursed Soap, coughing a bit into the crease of his arm. “No fucking shit!” you commented. Bits and pieces rolled over the edge of the desk overhead; all three floors projecting the wails of the collapsing building. 

You pushed up harder as the desk rattled. One hand goes down to check your radio, “Damn it all,” you cursed. You saw its wire torn right at the top, unmistakably caused by the physical fight with an enemy earlier. All of a sudden, Soap’s comms went off, his earpiece projecting mere glitches and static due to the weak signal; yet he spoke into it with hope that the receiver would catch his message. “Shark-Seven-One, negative on exit route –” a loud crash interrupted him. He doesn’t waste another second, “Building’s ‘bout to give out. Second floor fourth room on the right! We’re trapped!” But no clear response from the receiver came through. 

His comms weren’t working, that’s why.

Your thoughts are frenzied as you list the possibilities of your awaiting fate.

(a) I could be buried alive.

(b) We miraculously survive yet are halfway dead.

(c) I’d lose a limb or two, or paralyzed.

(d) Brain matter coats this sorry excuse of a building.

(e) We’re found but as good as dead.

Try me. Let it fucking try me. 

Your eyes scanned the area frantically. The wall to your left was almost entirely full of sliding glass windows. Large enough for a person to climb out of, luckily Soap can fit through. Your hands searched the pockets of your tactical bag for the dynamic rope. Soap noticed your sudden behavior. “Ye’ve got a plan, lass!” he exclaimed over the noise.

You cocked your head towards the windows explaining hurriedly,  “We rappel down and pray we’ve got some cushioning down there if we need to jump.” He mimicked you and pulled out a rope he had from his pack. “Getting buried alive isn’t my thing.”

You tied the rope around your thighs and waist. “Are you in?!”

The look in Soap’s eyes changed as he listened to you. His baby blue eyes shrouded with valor, “Aye, I’m with ye!” 

“Then keep up, Sarge!” You stepped out and bolted for the windows with cautious steps. You both heard glass crackle as the portion above the window breaks. A split in the glass lengthened gradually. Pressured by the time running out — you sent a gloved fist through the brittle barrier. “God damn —” you swore.

“Sufferin’ Jesus — are ye good?” he yelled. You replied sarcastically, “Jesus is perfectly fine.” 

Soap scoffed butwore a subtle smile as he tied the end of your ropes to the frame with haste before he slid it open for a wider exit. You ignored the pulsating ache of your fist as you swiped at the edges of the metal frame with a large portion of cement you’d picked up to clear off the shards.

Both of you peered down; twenty feet above, give or take. “There’s nothing,” you huffed. You’d both have to rappel all the way to the ground.

 A piercing crash outside the room had both of you duck out of reflex. Then a second crash —

“Jump, Soap!” He turned to face you, shocked. “You first–”

You grabbed the top of his vest and tugged it hard, giving him a firm, persistent look, “Show yourself out, or else I’m kickin’.”

Third crash. Fourth…

You pushed him toward the exit, twisted a section of his rope around the metal frame and both of your palms, and braced your foot on the window frame.

“Run for the open field once you get down. Now move it!” 

Soap quickly climbed out and took position by hanging on the edge of the window sill. He paused to look up at you. “I’ll see down there, L.T.,” he said, words solid they could have been stone. You nodded, “Affirm.”

He sucked in a breath then repelled his way down as fast as he could while you stabilized the rope for his safe descent.

Once his rope lost tension, you climbed out; you even lost your footing when a portion under your boot came off which made your heart pause in alarm. The air was thick in your nostrils as gray particles accumulated behind you. “Shit, shit, shit…” you chanted.

You mindlessly continued to talk to yourself out of stress, “Don’t be a coward. You’re a sailor who dives off the warship. Better I be shot between the eyes than be a damn pussy in this bitch–”

“Jump, woman!” Soap called out from a distance, warning you of the seconds that had passed unbelievably fast. Although you barely heard him over the noise as the second floor finally gave out right as you jumped with all your might. 

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

// 8:26 P.M. //

Within the heavily guarded grounds of the military campsite.

The dark of night mostly kept the camp shrouded from outsiders. Dim lights and lanterns lit the interiors and exteriors of the surrounding tents.

“If ye’d seen what she did, L.T.. A dare-devil, that lassie,” Soap voiced exasperatedly at his passive teammate. Task Force 141 had just finished being debriefed and both Soap and Ghost were headed in the same direction for a well-earned break. As soon as they had left Laswell’s tent, Soap began to run his mouth describing your near-death experience. 

“Jumping off a bloody window; hangin’ from a shabby branch as if ‘em messenger storks dropped her from the skies like those wee bairns carried in white sheets,” exclaimed Soap in disbelief; forehead crumpled and hands waving in the air as he walked backwards facing Ghost. 

Ghost rolled his eyes subtly at his companion’s behavior, “Quit that Johnny or you’ll lose your bloody footing—”

“And then the lass cursed at me! For not helping her down sooner!” Soap’s mind vividly replayed the scene of you hanging for dear life by arms and legs on the dingy branch, rope connected to the debris a few meters away pulling your hips down a bit. 

“Don’t just stand there gaping like a fish and cut the rope you useless bastard!” you yelled at him as he stood stunned, gaping up at you from a distance.

He huffed at the memory, and it was almost as if he could hear your stern voice now.

Under his breath he muttered, “Jings, crivvens, help mah boab.”

Ghost shook his head. “It’s one thing your comms were bollocked or you’d’ve heard me cursin’ your ear off for not reaching the boat on time,” he blatantly commented.

Soap raised a taunting brow at him, “What’s the difference? Ye’d take pleasure cursin’ me anyway.”

“Hit the nail right on its fucking head.”

“— beat you Ford, drop it already!” Your sharp voice that pierced through the dark of night made Soap react instantly. He caught Ghost’s eyes scanning him up and down because of how tense he suddenly got.

Soap regained his composure before turning around to spot the source. And there you stood outside a large green tent with two of your comrades, Weston and Griffs. He and Ghost both watched as you landed a low kick behind Frederick Griffs’ legs; whose laughter doubled at your sudden aggression, side stepping out of your reach.

Gerald “Gator” Weston perked up when he noticed Soap and Ghost a few paces away. “Evenin’ fellas!” he called out with a hand up. “You two done for the day?” he asked.

You and Griff’s bicker halted to acknowledge Soap and Ghost who’d walked closer. Ghost nodded his head whereas Soap quirked his lips in recognition.

“Lieutenants. Aye, I’m accompanying Ghost for a quick smoke,” replied Soap. “Said I’d spook the others if I’m found alone out here,” Ghost added.

This caused the three of you to react and Soap’s grin to widen. Griffs chuckled, “Respectfully Ghost, with them shadows on your side, you’d be mistaken for a phantom.” 

“And you’re an idiot, Ford…” You commented lowly, using his nickname. Griffs held his hands up in surrender, a mischievous smile plastered on his lips, “My bad. Just kidding.” He tipped his head at Ghost. 

“Tell me something I’ve yet to hear,” Ghost scoffed.

“Thank you, Ghost but I’m passing that privilege to the next person  — oof!” 

You stepped in, “What he means, L.t. Riley, is that it is a privilege his tongue can wag even when threatened of being cut off.” You peered down at Griffs who was hunched over from your jab, and you fought the urge to grimace at him. Weston was busy containing his laughter behind his hand. 

Soap couldn’t help but be attentive with your behavior. He took note that you seemed to frequently keep your teammates in check, under control. And he couldn’t help but somehow trace the same behavior back when you had risked your life coming back to search for his missing ass, and perhaps to shoot him down yourself.

Weston spoke up, “And it seems Ford here deserves a couple of minutes to self-reflect on the matter,” he jerked his head towards Griffs, “so don’t let us keep you both from goin’ about. Have a good evenin’ then.” 

Griffs straightened his back carefully. His right hand hovered above his sore gut but he still managed to flash a pained smile at Ghost and Soap, waving a hand in the air. 

“Lassie.”

You looked up and found his eyes on you. Soap stood about three-feet away, yet strangely he felt near. Everything else even felt too quiet as you focused on him.

Odd. 

The feel of the air surrounding you had shifted quickly. You would’ve taken a step back weren’t it for the sight of his chin hovering above the top of his chest as he gazed at you through his eyelashes. “I just wanted to say…” Soap’s tongue fumbled as he said your name. 

Much odd.

Soap blinked in realization that he had been looking at you unusually longer than normal. His eyes alternated between you and whatever. “I’ve yet to properly thank you, havnae I?” Soap sounded more embarrassed as his own words sunk in. 

“Thank ye for getting me out alive. Ye saved us both. I could be laying in my grave — or in a jar, if it wasnna for you,” his boots shuffled the dirt underneath. His eyes met yours again, but this time without breaking eye-contact. “I owe ye one, Lieutenant… Truly.”

Soap may not have noticed himself but the sudden sincerity that coated his words had you momentarily stunned. “But, it was you who found me first. Remember?” you reminded him.

“I ken. But it was your idea. And yer threat that got my hide moving, remember?”

You scoffed as if to say, ‘alright, fine’. “It’s no problem, really. I was just doing my job. You’re welcome, Sgt. MacTavish,” you responded quite flustered.

“Soap — call me, Soap,” he corrected quickly. The corner of your lips quirked upward, “Alright, Soap. If you insist.” You offered him a hand, “Go by San, or Saint, whichever you prefer. Though I’m afraid I only earned such a title through a joke. May God forgive me.” You shook your head at the memory. Soap gave your hand a firm shake.

“Saint, eh? Cannae say it doesna fit ye.”

His accent took you a second to comprehend his words but you didn’t comment on it. “He said it suits you,” Ghost explained from behind.

Soap turned to him, “Och, none o’ that! She understood what I said, L.T.”

“Whatever sings you to sleep, Johnny.”

“Haud yer weesht!”

You and the others couldn’t help but watch amused at their exchange. ‘They both get along very well’, you thought. Soap turned to you again, “I’m serious. As long as I’m able, I’m at yer service…San. Ye have my word.”

Instinctively, you would’ve told him to think of such nonsense, that his words of gratitude were enough. But the look in his eyes, the very same look you’d seen back in the mission, were compelling.

You took a step closer to him, bringing a friendly fist upon his collarbone. “I see no reason not to take your word,” your hand dropped to your side. “I appreciate it, Soap.”

Soap’s expression brightened. His hand reached around to clap you on your shoulder.

“I kent ye wouldna.”

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

Days, weeks, till almost four months have passed with the team consumed in carrying out mission after mission against the smugglers. It was tiring for everyone due to battles being fought on both water and land.

Although soldiers — no matter how tough — always found a way to raise their spirits, as did you. And to your surprise, conversing with a certain Scotsman became a daily routine.

As the entire mission was coming to its near end, the sight of him from a distance had you thinking back to some of the memorable interactions with him from the past couple of months.

One time, Hunter had snatched your unfinished written report and ran straight out of the tent. Most probably to reference some ideas to include in hers. Coincidentally, Soap had been nearby.

“Ariel — your ass is mine!”

“Pipe down, lassie, or you'll be mistaken for a bear. And there are no bears here, ye ken.”

You crossed your arms. “Better a bear than a rubber bird. Ain’t that right, ”

His mouth stretched into a grin, “I aim to charm, milady.” He did a neck bow while his hand twirled in the air. “Dear damsel, how may I allay your misfortune?” 

You released a sigh at his gentleman-act but accepted his offer to help. “Tell you what,” I looked him in the eyes, “you get my papers back unripped, and I’ll consider our agreement fair and done. Hm?”

He clicked his tongue. “You cannae be serious about getting yer papers back as being equal as when ye saved me.” He walked closer, stopping to stand before you. “I’ll go an’ get ‘em but my debt still stands. Unpaid, mind ye.”

He returned a while later with your report, with its thief.

Or that one time when almost every team member had gathered to eat dinner by the bonfire and you’d taken upon yourself to tend to other’s needs so the hungry soldiers could eat undisturbed after a hurricane of duties.

“Take it already…Where’s the water? Weird how you ask me as soon as you sit down, huh?...Captain, can I get you anything?...You too, Gaz? Anyone else want some water? Alright.” You made your way ‘round back the camp’s mobile kitchen in hope’s of this being a one-time trip.

You were preoccupied filling your hands with bottles of water when a hand unexpectedly plucked two from your clutch. “I’ll take it from here, San. Go on and eat yer dinner. Ye can take my spot over there, I’m done anyways.”

“I can manage. I’ll pass these around first then eat,” you declined and grabbed another bottle before turning on your heel.

He blocked your way. “Don’t you worry. I got it. Here, let me take them from ye,” he persisted. He left you the second he’d taken every single bottle.

“Now who ordered water?! Garrick? Didna you walk just fine seconds before? Here’s yer blasted water. Get you a spoon? There’s one by yer feet, wash it with yer water, eejit. You’re wasting fine utensils.”

And another, after a recon mission at a different hostile hideout that almost lasted two days.

“Medic! We need medic now!” someone yelled from the warship’s weather deck. 

Your speedboat was the last to exfil out due to the heavy cargo on board, causing your trio to be sitting ducks for the hostiles to take out. But using bullets wasn’t an option for them due to the fragile cargo. Whatever was in those couldn’t be damaged, and as their final attempt to retrieve the cargo, they utilized a chemical weapon called “mustard agent”. 

Luckily back up on-land were able to take the hostiles out making it possible for a narrow escape, but with a cost.

“I’m fine so help Ford!” you stepped back to steer clear of the two medical members. They had been attempting to calm you down since you got on the warship but your eyes always checked to see Ford. You tried to ignore the intense itch on your forearms as you held them up to avoid physical contact. A hand suddenly grabbed the collar of your vest forcefully. “Lieutenant!” bellowed Cpt. Benson.

You looked up at him with trepidation. Not because of him, but because of Ford’s state. You could hear the pained noises as other medics tended him. Benson jerked you back once, “Wake. Up.”

You both stared each other dead in the eyes. And with that look a lot was spoken. He immediately released his grip when you had realized your irrationality.

“Let them help you,” he motioned for the two medical soldiers. “Ford is in good hands, I promise. But if you die from infection, I’ll make sure to write your cause of death as ‘stupidity’.” Benson’s gaze shifted to look behind you. “Ah. Sgt. Soap, mind if I ask you to accompany Saint while she gets examined?”

You turned your face halfway to look behind you through the corner of your eyes. Soap wore a neutral expression as he replied, “Not at all, sir. I’ll stay with her.”

With that, he made sure you got everything you needed to recover the rest of the day. He’d even updated you on Griffs’ state, leaving you a handful of times to check for himself, even when you’d told him not to. No matter how many times you’d told him it was fine to leave you in the infirmary, he did not budge and continued to run his mouth to “entertain”. Soap accompanied you till past midnight to switch with Hunter, much to your relief.

Stubborn, mohawked Scot. 

Your hands may have been covered in blisters but your foot did the job in interrupting his rambling. Twice. 

Heaviness in the air.

A dark gray sky spread overhead. “Move aside,” Griffs grumbled. Gaz mimicked his movement, blocking him. “Easy, mate. Let them finish first, yeah?” Gaz reasoned, but was disregarded.

Griffs looked past Gaz to face Cpt. Benson. “Tell me which one did it,” he fumed. “Ford, get your head straight, son,” Benson ordered. “You’ll get your answers but I ain’t gonna listen to you actin’ like that.”

Every soldier present could see how infuriated your comrade was. Weston was angry as well but he controlled it far more better. His attention, however, was too focused on Griffs to notice your furtive movements headed elsewhere.

In the center of camp, soldiers crowded the front of the makeshift interrogation room. Soap and Ghost stood from the sides, each guarding an assailant. 

Three assailants had perpetrated the attack off-camp earlier and one of them was being questioned inside by the captains, including Laswell. Their group of six — now with three dead — ambushed the soldiers patrolling the camp in the early hours this morning. Hunter had been with the group doing her rotations.

She’s currently secluded in the camp’s infirmary being examined. One of the men was responsible for dislodging her right arm, plus a stab wound — unsure yet how many — aimed for the kidney.

How greatly you both wished to reciprocate an eye for an eye.

Griffs’s fury came from the battered state he saw his teammate in; your wrath came from the thought of Hunter’s suffering.

The captain turned on his heel to join the interrogation. “Damn it, Cap’n! I won’t kill the man!” he called after Benson. But he’ll wish he was dead, he mentally added. 

Everyone knew he’d charge with belligerence.

 Weston approached Griffs. “Listen to them, man. We need your head clear since more of them could come. I get how you’re doing this for Ariel’s sake, but don’t do it. Just — not like this.”

Unfortunately, reasoning with him was no use. Especially not when something upsetting caught Griffs’s eye.

“The fuck you smiling for, shitface?” Griffs reacted, chest heaving from anger. Everyone was stunned at his outburst but quickly found the cause.

One second their eyes were on one of the assailants; a second later they shifted to you.

No one had noticed you’d gotten close enough, except Ghost. The moment you pulled out your handgun, Ghost aimed his own at you. Your arm stiffened and hand tightened around the grip; gun’s muzzle aimed at the face of the smirking man guarded by Soap.

 “Got something you want to say?”

“San?” Soap exhaled under his breath and immediately lowered his gun as his gaze alternated between you and Ghost. He had reacted on reflex when he heard the cocking of a gun thinking it was an enemy. His heart fell when he saw you.

You took heavy steps towards the arrogant scum. “Pleas, prayers, confessions,” you spat, “now’s the fucking time to wag that tongue before I put a bullet through it — ”

“Stop there, Lieutenant!” Ghost commanded raucously. His warning fell on deaf ears but his finger hovered over the trigger. Soap’s eyes took in the dark look in your eyes, aggravation took over your senses. But, he empathized with your actions.

Soap knew the feeling all too well and decided right at that moment that he wouldn’t stop you. Not unless your intentions were to commit a grave mistake, only then would he interfere.

At the same time, Weston walked up behind you. “San, drop the gun.”

“I did,” confessed the man, adding fuel to the flames. “Too bad that girl didn’t kick the bucket or I’d’ve broken her neck too — “ Soap yanked him back by the collar tightly that made him choke. Griffs roared in frustration from the back. “Son of a bitch!”

Weston whispered in your ear hurriedly, “Give me the gun and I won’t stop you and Griffs from roughing him up a bit. No blades, just hands, clear?”

You give it thought.

Ghost lowered his gun as you surrendered yours. Soap’s eyes never left your face — taking in the fiery satisfaction that seemed to reflect in your eyes at the expense of your gun. Immediately, you advanced toward them and strode with feral purpose.

His organ lurched at the smirk that appeared on your lips, teeth peeking behind the flesh as it stretched. 

He drank in the sight, greedily.

Arrogance seemed to drain from the man’s face as you drew nearer. With the momentum of your last step you landed a forceful blow to his gut. The force knocked him back on to Soap, who only pushed him back forward.

“Where’d your smile go?” you mocked. “Forget about the bullet, so smile, asshole.” 

“You fucking cun—” You landed a second punch. His coughs doubled from the pain. Still, between broken breaths, he managed to make an empty threat. “I’ll kill you.”

He's painfully straightened back up by his hair. Soap tugged harder as the man thrashed against him.

Soap shot you a look, holding the man steady.

Do it. 

One look was all it took you to tighten your fists again then delivering three hard blows to the man’s stomach.

Third.

Fourth.

The fifth punch on his cheek.

Splat. He spat out a mixture of blood and saliva.

You breathed heavily as you scrutinized his state. 

He looked far better compared to Hunter’s. So you grabbed the halfway-unconscious man from Soap’s hold, dragging him roughly by the shirt as his legs struggled to catch up.

The man dropped to his knees and arms once you pushed him towards Griffs.

Griffs looked vengeful as he studied the weakened assailant whose smirk was long gone. His body thrummed with anticipation to finally get even. For Hunter.

“You wished you had broken her neck, you said?” he repeated dangerously.

Fear gradually enveloped the man, his legs scrambling to push against the dirt to get away from the soldier. “I had orders, okay? I was just following orders!” But he’s grabbed by the shirt once again hauled back up by Griffs.

The man wasn’t given a chance to respond when two punches pummeled the center of his face. “Your words, scum. Not theirs.” The consecutive punch that followed goes for his nose. 

Crunch.

 A string of blood and mucus seeped out his nostrils, stringing itself onto Griff’s knuckles.

A gurgled cry broke out. Weak, but panic-filled rush drove the man to push against the soldier. Holding on tighter, Griffs delivered a sharp and swift blow to the man’s forehead using his head.

“Mph —” Cross-eyed from the sudden blow, extreme dizziness clouded the man’s senses. “Fucking coward,” Griffs spat. He let go to flick the sap off his knuckles.

Another pair of arms wrapped around the man from behind.

“No, no! Please, stop. Get away from me!” the man cried out. You soldiers wouldn’t actually kill him on the spot… Right?

The muscles of your arms contracted around his neck, cutting his airway. 

“Ack —”

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two…

“Right. That’s it, both o’ you.”

With contempt, you released the unconscious man whose body fell sideways on the ground. “Johnny,” Ghost called out, and jerked his head towards you. “Get her out o’ here.”

Without delay, Soap led you away with his hand atop your shoulder guiding you forwards. 

Ghost’s authoritative voice gradually rendered the soldiers back to attention. He called out to Griffs, “Prop that sod somewhere else. You’ll bring him in, and he better be up an’ talkin’ by the time the boss asks for ‘im. ”

The lieutenant’s further instructions tuned out the further you got.

Now quiet and sobered, you followed the sergeant without resistance. Amidst the chilly air, his palm and arm gradually warmed your shoulders as it remained there. Soap’s silence was odd to you; he was never this silent, not even on duty. 

You picked up the pace which had him let go of you. You took a seat on the firm ground by the large roots of a tree. “Lost a tongue, MacTavish?” you asked without sparing him a glance.

Soap scoffed, feigning annoyance. “Och, again with the ‘MacTavish’, lass.”

You huffed from the ache in your hand that started to throb. Shallow peeled-skin had a fine layer of dried blood, but the rest of it was from the other guy and a mixture of other slimy substances.

You breathed in, then out. 

“If you plan on reporting us to the superiors,” you started, “it’d be wise for a promising soldier as you to get on with it; the faster the paperwork ‘bout our roughhousing gets done.”

Soap took his place on the other side of the tree; shoulder against it, weight leaning on one leg. “I’ll leave the decision to Ghost,” he answered, which you thought confirmed what you assumed: that you’ll end up suspended, or something fair. “But I wager he’d say ‘twas a disciplinary act. Probably less.” 

Soap saw how swiftly you eyed him through his peripheral. “Lieutenant Riley?” you asked with disbelief. Ghost would never let that ruckus go undisclosed, especially from the captains. The man doesn’t seem like the type of soldier to do such a thing. Plus, he seemed unbothered with shooting you down earlier till you passed your gun.

“You’re messing with me.”

Soap reacted with an upside down smile. “Am not.” He distinctly remembered the almost non-existent chuckle — more like scoff — from Ghost when both Griffs and you were passing the unfortunate man back and forth.

You slumped, unsure whether to believe his words or not.

“He wouldna stop a bonnie lass from getting her fill. A sight for sore eyes, you were.”

“‘Bonnie’?” you asked. Soap clicked his tongue at his forgetfulness that the Scottish slang was still new to you. “Means pretty. That gaze-stealing charm the likes of ye have.”

His answer is met with a stretched silence. 

“‘The likes of me’ — you calling me pretty now, sergeant?” 

Your teasing voice felt like a warm breeze seeping in the chilly air. Relieved by your response, Soap hummed in approval. “Bonnie and strong. Poor lad’s lights went out,” his tongue clicked with feign empathy. “I wouldna want to suffer a shameful fate by the same hands. I’d shit mah fuckin’ breeks — unconscious or no’.”

You bellowed a hearty laugh, eyes squinted from the stretch of your lips. Soap basked in the melting sound of your laughter warming his insides. It was his first time seeing you unguarded, all seriousness gone. It made his heart thicken knowing that he made you feel so. 

You stood as the last echoes of your giggles dissipated. Your head and heart were no longer heavy and throbbing. In fact, anger still lingered with the thought of Hunter being in the infirmary.

The sight of his raised brow and smirk was so contagious that you flashed him a playful one in return. “Bet you Scots shake people up with flattery. Nice trick, playboy. You got me.”

Soap relished with the nickname you called him, like he could flaunt it this second to anyone. His confidence grew by the second that at the height of the moment he spurted…

“Yer in luck. We only flatter the real bonnie ones we like.” Soap shrugged his shoulders as if to show triviality behind his reason. It was quite the opposite. 

He tried to mask his mini-confession by adding, “Well — people and whiskey.”

His words earned another fit of chuckles from you. “You like whiskey, huh?”

“ Aye. Hand me a glass of fine uisge, I’d nurse it the entire night.” His accent oozed. You watched as he swept a hand through his buzz cut hair.

Without really thinking you uttered the word, “Uisge… uisge…”

From his hair, his hand subtly moved down to cover the growing grin on his lips. “Uisge–beatha,” Soap slowly repeated in hopes to hear your best mimic. His hearing heightened with anticipation.

And you did not disappoint. 

“Uisge–beatha.” Before you could turn to see Soap’s reaction, he’s already walking away returning to camp. Confused as hell, you crossed your arms and waited a few seconds for him to call you to follow. He didn’t.

You were oblivious to notice how Soap flushed just from you mimicking him. He adored the way you put so much care in your pronunciation. His own reaction shocked him that he began to walk it off in hopes it would die down before you could see. 

You began to walk with rapid steps. “Where’re you going…Soap? Hey!” you yelled.

“You need to clean your hand. And I need a drink,” he said nonchalantly. 

“No drinking on-duty,” you reprimanded glaring at the back of his head, still unable to catch up.

With one further stride of your own, you knocked your shoulder against his arm. It was firmer than you thought. Curse his muscles. “That was for leaving me,” you said with a frown, staring ahead.

“I’m not drinking alcohol, I’m just thirsty. You, however, have that arse’s muck on ye with an open skin. It’s unsanitary, San.” Soap glimpsed at you. “Wash it thoroughly an’ I’ll patch it up for ye.”

Soap led you to the mobile latrines leaving you to wash up, whereas he left for the spare medical tent nearby to get the necessary medicine. Your shared tent with Hunter was closer compared to his. “I’ll meet you there.”

You’d been sitting on your bed, droplets of water dripping down your cheeks, chin, and fingers when he’d rejoined you. “I didn’t leave you looking like that,” he said amused as he drew nearer. You hummed, not bothered by your appearance. The cool water provided a refreshing sensation. 

“Do you want to stay in my good graces and help, or get kicked out?” His heart surged for the nth time that day seeing your heated temper spark from its brief slumber. 

Soap dropped down on one knee to your right while laying out the items on your bed by you. “Wee devil. Done with hands, using legs now?” he surmised. He offered up a hand and a raised brow asking permission.

You shot him a pointed look before placing your damp hand in his. He shook his head, hiding a small smile. He took an antiseptic wipe and carefully dabbed your knuckles with it. Observing his actions, you took note how precise his process was. He even cleaned the underside of your nails that hadn’t washed off entirely. 

“Thanks, Soap.”

“It’s nothing.”

You clamped your mouth shut from making him think otherwise. It is something you damn Scotsman.

“Consider us even. You don’t have to keep a lookout for me anymore.” 

He paused. For some reason, neither of you could look at the other. “You want me to stop?” he asked.

Soap felt how still you got, even your breathing paused a second too long. Your fingers in his palm pulsed a fraction before you nodded. “You’d waste your time if this went any longer.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. You took in the sergeant’s grim expression, even the brightness of his eyes were different. And based on the tone of his voice, Soap was angry. 

His expression had you confused all of a sudden, but sparked your own temper. “You don’t have to. I am telling you to stop.”

You were about to pull your hand back but his fingers clamped to your wrist. You bit back a swear and tugged harder. His hold slipped but he took you by surprise by lunging forward to pin you against your bed; arms caging you in place. His knees had pushed both your legs to the side preventing you from kneeing him in the crotch. 

You hissed, “How dare you —” 

His hand reached out to pin your wrist by your head. “Ye want me to stop?”

“Yes and get the fuck off me!”

Soap released a deep sigh, and shook his head. “Looking out for you, do you want me to stop?”

Your glaring eyes tore away to look past him. “Yes, and don’t make me repeat myself, asshole. Get off.”

The pad of his thumb on your pulse loosened. “Lying again,” he accused. Your heart rate and your behavior. He’d confirmed you were indeed lying.

Piece of shit. This idiotic piece of shit! You swore in mentally.

Seeing how emotionally strained you were, Soap did not like how he was the cause of it. He knew you would’ve fought against him harder but your confliction was apparent. You didn’t want to lay a violent hand on him. Not on Soap. Not on another good thing that made your job more bearable and worth it.

Soap fixated his gaze on your joint hands. “Back in our first operation, ye asked me if I was with you,” he said. “I am. I’m here an' we’re in this together. Just… say the word and I’ll get my hands bloody so you don’t have to.” He took another deep breath in. 

“I dinnae mind lookin' out for ye. It’s no' a waste of my time. Just, please, don’t push me away.”

As he waited for your reaction, subconsciously, he started to rub your wrist soothingly with his thumb; a quiet apology for pressing down on it earlier. 

“I’ll push you right now if you don’t get off of me.” Your sudden threat had him back off. Both of you were facing different directions, avoiding any accidental look at each other. “Sorry,” he muttered, the feeling of embarrassment creeping in. You covered your face with a hand, the ghost of Soap’s soothing touch left tingles. 

You couldn’t see how Soap had started to cave into himself from embarrassment. 

Soap couldn’t see how red your face had gotten. Or the palpitation of your heart.

Soap wanted to leave so bad but he wouldn’t, not when you haven’t given him an answer. He mustered up the tiny bit of courage he could. But your voice beat him first.

“Do whatever you want. I’m not the boss of you,” you breathed out exasperated with your feelings, dragging your palm down your face. “But if you cross a line, so God help me —”

'I'll get my hands bloody so you don't have to.' Your heart lurched.

You’re pulled back by the shoulder to properly face Soap. The shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“D'ye mean it, San?” he asked, elated with your answer. The frown on your lips dipped further but so did your flushed skin. He had a clear view of it now, and he drank it in as much as he could.

You wanted to escape from him. 

Soap withdrew when you stood. “Don’t follow me,” you spoke through clenched teeth as your hand swiped at your balaclava from atop your table. His longer legs caught up to you easily. Was even able to dodge your swinging arm while you demanded he leave you alone. 

He even held up the flap of the tent’s entrance as you marched past him. 

He was back to acting like his old self the moment you two were outside. “I dinnae like to leave ye. I'll keep ye company, wee Saint of mine.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph —

You pulled your mask down taut, shielding your identity from bypassers. One of the soldiers even called out to Soap as you walked — more like jogged — past. “Sergeant Soap! Garrick’s been wondering where you are. Said you’re needed by Cpt. Price —”

“They can manage without me! Thanks, chum!” Soap dismissed foolishly. Swatting his hand in the air like an insect was bothering him.

You turned back 'round to get up in his face. Scowling. “The captain’s looking for you, dumbass! You better get going or else I’m —”

“Or else you’ll, what?” he leaned down to your level. Smirk widening. Your brows, eyes, and nose bridge may have been the only skin visible but he caught sight of the slight tinge of red creeping beneath the hem.

He expected you to turn away and resume your escape, but he did not mind that you only stepped closer.

As if you weren’t close enough, you dared to challenge it. 

“You think I’m bluffing?”

“I dinnae believe it till I see it, lass.”

Your eyes pierced, accepting the challenge. “Bet.” 

the end

[kellyvela]

🚨 Sophie Turner 'TRUST' Movie Update 🚨

¡¡¡IT'S A WRAP!!!

Trust filming wrapped on Saturday, April 20th, 2024:

~~~

Here's a little video from the final day of shooting 👏 👏

You can see Sophie and Director Carlson Young hugging each other ❤️:

~~~

Some farewell pictures from the crew members!

Here's Sophie with the Make Up Team:

They posted this pic with this caption: "A great pleasure to work with @.sophiet thank you for the flow every morning and your good mood after 1:15 min in the makeup chair. #makeup&hair #makeupdesing #movie #mexicancrew🇲🇽 @.c_o_q_u_e_t_a_makeup_lab"

~~~

This is a pic collage of Sophie with some of her cast mates & crew members:

~~~

The caption of this picture says: "We are going to miss this Queen":

~~~

Loving the two orchids in the middle of the roses 💐

~~~

The caption of this picture is the sweetest: "DAY 30/30 🎬 @.sophiet eres humilde mi chiquita DIOS TE BENDIGA 💖 #trust #chicomalo":

They praised Sophie for being humble, they called Sophie "mi chiquita," which is such endearing expression (something like my little girl) & they also wished her God's blessings ❤️

~~~

Trust Assistance Director reposted a pic collage from a fanpage & praised Sophie's work ethic:

~~~

A Trust producer shared this picture of Sophie having a beer (Modelo black beer) with some crew members:

~~~

Here's a group picture of Sophie with several crew members:

You can see that they gave Sophie a bouquet of pink and red flowers & a bottle of what I presume is Tequila or Mezcal 🇲🇽

~~~

This is a cast/crew group picture from early stages of filming, cos' we can see actors who departed earlier, Sophie's not in the picture but I think this is the secluded house where Sophie's character take refuge after the high-profile scandal . . . .

~~~

I didn't find any good picture from Trust Wrap Party, just this extremely blurry one 😢:

I hope they had a blast!

~~~

And finally, Sophie chose a very suggestive picture from the Lucha Libre Show she attended on March 30, 2024, to say goodbye to Mexico City, with also a very suggestive caption:

👀 😂

~~~

So much love Mexico 🇲🇽 ❤️

[sugarikiz]

Me or her?

Niki x reader

NOT PROOF READ

synopsis: you set your bff Riki up with Eunchae, one of your friends, on a date.. but what happens when you realise that you might have caught feelings for him along the way. So who will he choose, you or Eunchae?

PART ONE

Nishimura Riki has been your best friend since kindergarten and you don’t remember the last time you went out without him. It was safe to say that you did everything together. You’ve been through crushes, breakups, and all of that stuff together. You were in college now.

And, here you are texting him whether he would like to go on a date with your friend Eunchae. And he said yes. That answer was one you did not expect at all. ‘Okay, sure’ you type into your chat. You already asked Eunchae and she said yes as well. You told them a bit about each other since they'd never met before, just to have a few convo starters and prevent very awkward silences…

It was now the day of their date and you took it upon yourself to find Riki the perfect outfit and damn, did it look good. You chose a black shirt with his favourite anime’s print on it and some baggy blue jeans. It looked perfect. While you sent him off, you actually felt like a proud mom who was watching her son graduate…

You were super happy about this and god, did you hope this went well. He always told you how it always seemed like he pushed girls away when actually he was just trying to get to know them before a relationship. So this was a chance for him to redeem himself and finally get a girl… you couldn’t wait till they got together and you could tell everyone about you playing their Cupid.

Now you just needed to wait until he got back in a few hours.. a few hours without him wouldn’t be that hard, would it?

You got off your bed and made your way to the couch to watch tv but you just couldn’t without him there to watch with you. So you resorted to scrolling through social media with a cup of instant ramen next to you. A FEW HRS LATER

You hear the keys to your apartment jangling and watch as Riki walks in with a big smile on his face

“Phew,” you think “it must have gone well if he’s smiling so much”.

“y/nnie, the date went so well, we talked a lot, shared a bowl of ice cream and we walked around the place for a bit! I hope we could do that again…” he says, happily. “That’s great riks, did you get her number too??”, you ask, excitedly. “Yeah, I did and oh my god she’s so pretty! Like I know you told me she was pretty but she was just more beautiful than I thought!!!!”

“Okay that’s really great ki! And also, wanna watch that new kdrama with me? I’ve been wanting to watch it for a while…” you say with a soft tone towards the end.

“Okay sure Y/nnie! Even I've been wanting to watch that one”

You make some popcorn and sit down next to each other on the couch, your head on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined(in a friendly way of course….)

Physical affection wasn’t something rare in your friendship and that’s why a lot of people thought you two were dating. Well, all you had to say about today was it was a great day! Riki’s date went great, and you were watching a new kdrama with him too! What more could you ask for?

•____________________________________________ A/n End of part one! And also tell me if you want to be added to the taglist. By the way i Don’t have a schedule for updates so it will be a bit irregular! pls interact with the story if you want. Re blogs, comments and likes are appreciated! Hope you liked it! And this is my first series so pls keep that in mind before giving hate comments. Also, rude and judgmental comments will be deleted and blocked. sorry for the long note!

TAGS; @leaderwonim @mandukkul @copyhanni @nikiswifereal27 @stariikis @ad0rechuu @copyhanni @jungkit @rk1stars @rikihqq @wonryllis

DOUBLE UPDATE YAYYYY okay bye!

A/n pt 2 @ms-no1kpopstan’s not yours. Please do not translate, or repost without my permission and it must have my credits if so.

[rowebug]

UPDATED INTRO POST‼️‼️ (once again)

HI Y'ALL!! my name is emmet or jay. either one works :p I have recently come out as bisexual and transmasc! I'm mexican and also bilingual. also a minor so NSFW ACCOUNTS DO NOT FREAKING INTERACT

INTERESTS TIME!

WALL E🎉🎉 i love this movie so much y'all dont freaking understand 😿😿 will tweak out when it is mentioned in conversation SGYUHJDBGK

THE LEGO BATMAN MOVIE!!!!: not hyperfixated on it but I still LOVE IT ❤️ i love the joker hes so silly FOR WHAT. not really into batman outside of this movie tho

THE LEGO MOVIE! this movie is so funny and whimsical HOW COULD YOU NOT LOVE IT?! favorite characters are benny and emmet (how i chose my name 😭)

NINJAGO <3: CURRENT HYPERFIXATION!!!!! started watching in september and i have now finished watching it (up to dr s2 pt2) MY FAVORITE CHARACTER IS JAY GUYS I LOVE JAY SO FREAKING MUCH GSHJBJHDV ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

the other stuff im into that i might occasionally repost DO YKWIM?: mlaatr, total drama, bluey, ruby gloom, toh, amphibia, and gravity falls

random non important info

i draw! except i have art block all the time so i dont. its been going away though!!

i sometimes crochet. kind of bad at it

ive been learning how to make kandi so i might show some of the things i learned to make

i have absolutely bonkers music taste. its not consistent like AT ALL. (my main playlist is mostly movie soundtracks and europop 😭😭😭)

my strawpage if anybody cares

DNI: proshippers, transphobes, homophobes, nsfw/18+ accounts

thats it i think

[yuyu1024]

Falling

Pairings: Yunho × y/n

Genre/tags: relationship issue

Warning: ghosting, insecurity, cursing [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 1.2k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: repost. Check pinned post for more.

*********

Three months have passed. You've cut your hair, updated your wardrobe, listened to all taylor swift's album on repeat and even read books you've always wanted to read but had no time before. You kept yourself busy.

Within those three months you focused on yourself. Helping yourself get up from being broken hearted. Finding the good of being alone and finding the bad of being with him. Loving Yunho. Trusting... Yunho.

It's fucking painful, really. Within that three months of you trying to move on, you did your best. Gave you best smiles, laugh and squeezed all the positivity you have in your body. It's tiring. You'd be probably dead if it weren't because of your friends.

"Don't tell me that your crying again because of that guy." A hand appears in front of your face, handing you a can of rootbeer

You break a small smile as you take the drink from his hand. "Seonghwa..." you shake your head, "I'm just admiring the view okay?"

"Just checking..." he sits down beside you, dipping his feet in the pool to. "Does he still contact you?"

"Yes... Everyday actually..."

"Do you reply?"

"No. Not once." You look down at your hands, "I just... look at the notification and...yeah..."

"Y/n, I know you've asked Hongjoong, Jongho and I to give you time... to not ask you anything at all... just... be with you... but..."

You sniffle, trying to smile. You know that a day would come that one of them will ask you. The real reason why Yunho and you are not together.

You try to keep it together for so long and hiding it.

"Do you think... I'm stupid?" You turn your head to face Seonghwa, looking at you, eyes filled with curiousity and concern. "For... leaving Yunho? For ghosting a guy that I've been with for the last three years... the guy that every girl ever dreamed of... the guy that everyone thinks is a perfect man... an achiever, passionate, hard working, loving, kind, sweet and good looking..." you take a deep breathe, "a guy that loved me so much... more than I derserve..."

"Y/n..."

"I know what I did is 100% wrong..."

"Fuck yeah." He mumbles, making you smile a bit even though tears are swelling up your eyes

"And yet... here you guys are supporting me... or if not... atleast staying beside me..."

"We're your friends... even we think your wrong... that doesn't mean we will leave you..."

"Yeah... thanks for that..."

"But what the fuck is your reason? For breaking Yunho's heart... even yours..."

"I got scared."

"Of what?"

"Not being enough... not giving him what he deserves..." you start to tear up for real now. "It probably sound fucked up for you guys but... Its eating me up inside. That when I look at him, giving me all his best, all his time, all his love and everything he can give... but then there's me, just receiving and not matching what he's capable of giving... I feel bad for him... I... I feel like... one day... he'll get tired of me that... that he'd leave me because he might've feel that I don't love him the same way..."

"Do you?" Seonghwa asks, "do you not love him the same way?"

"I do!" You weakly cry out. "I love him..."

"But... you chose to leave and hurt him?"

"I got scared that what if... one day he got tired of me, talking to me, listening to my nonsense... and that he might not need me anymore... I know my decision is fucked up because I don't want to be the only one hurting... I just... I don't know!" You cover your face with your hands and start sobbing. "I... I just... that night... at Hongjoong's party... I was feeling so down and stressed with everything happening in my life. Already overthinking about us... and then I saw him... I saw him with the girls that looked like the same level as him... my insecurities just wrapped my whole body and..."

"Y/n... I get how you feel... whatever you are feeling within you... it is valid... it's not wrong for you to worry and feel things like that... but you should atleast talk to him... discuss these with him... its unfair for him. You two have been together for three years... he's been good to you. Don't you think he deserves an explanation... an acceptable reason for you two to break up?"

"I know..." you wipe your tears. "But I'm so scared to confront him...I don't know what to say... or how..."

"You can start by reading my texts and answering my calls..."

Both you and Seonghwa freezes before turning around. It's him. It's Yunho.

"Sorry...I tried to ask him to leave but..." Hongjoong is standing behind him.

"It's okay." You say to him.

"We'll leave you two then..." Seonghwa stands up and leaves with Hongjoong to to back in the house.

Silence fills the air between you two as the others left. However the tension is up in the sky. You can feel his stare from behind you so you try to avoid looking back at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get you back."

"It's been three months, Yunho..."

"So? I don't care!" You hear him walk closer. "We never broke up in the first place... you just went silent."

You get up from dipping you feet in the pool and face him. "Please..."

"Please what?" He looks angry "The fuck y/n! Why are you doing this to me? Why are you hurting me?"

"I...I'm sorry..." you cry

"I fucking love you so much! You have no idea... the pain I felt when you suddenly vanished and avoided me. I... I don't get it. What did I do to to give you a reason to leave me?"

"I'm sorry..."

"No, I don't need your sorry. Y/n, I want you back! Please... Please!" He rush towards you and hugs you tightly, like his life is hanging on to you. "Please... talk to me about your feelings... I will accept it... all your pain and worries... I will carry them with you... just... please... don't leave me... stay with me..."

Hearing him beg and cry for you to comeback is painful. It makes your heart weaks and regret things.

"Don't you love me anymore?" He asks, his face burried to your neck

"I... still do..."

"Then why... y/n... why can't you just... love me...?"

"You deserve more..."

He let you go to look into your eyes. "I deserve whatever love you could give me. I'm not asking for more... all that matters to me is you."

"You will get tired of always giving..."

"That's for me to decide... if I get tired of picking you up at school, carrying your bag, cooking dinner for you, watching romantic movies with you or going shopping with you or whatever... I will tell you... I will work it out with YOU... but even though I get tired of taking care of you one day... that doesn't affect the amount of love I have for you. I love YOU and not the what and the whys. I just... love you."

He wrapps his hands around you even tighter.

"I can't live without you..."

"Yunho..." you finally hug him back, sobbing. "I'm so sorry!"

[aruanimess]

TOP 10 favourite AA fanfics? (if you have one)

Hi, anon!

I love the (if you have one) addition, you guys are really getting to know me 🥹

Okay, so my fanfic reading has slowed down considerably, because I've gotten my teeth into some juicy books instead these days. Basically, anything you find on this ask and this post are still some of my favourite fics.

HOWEVER

I shall take this opportunity to shout out a tiny, incomplete crack fic from 2014, which I unearthed with great effort (not really, I just found it).

Fic is called I Shall Slay by GoldenDoodleLover and it's MAGNIFICENT!

Listen, there's no chance of this updating, but trust me when I say you don't want to deny this experience to yourself. Armin and Annie are involved in RAP BATTLES in this. DO I NEED TO SAY MORE??? THIS IS CRACK OF THE HIGHEST QUALITY. Not to mention that the diss lyricism is surprisingly compelling! If you've read my fics and you like my sense of humour, you will for sure love this.

The link I give is from ffnet. There's a similar fic (as in pretty much the same) on ao3 and that's how I found this one, but I'm not certain whether someone reposted it or if it's the og author revamping their work. That fic has been orphaned so I can't figure it out from there either. I chose not to link this because I want to be sure I send people to the right person.