#because these last few weeks has been too much

[hansoleil]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “chris”.

— chan × reader. — 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut. — 𝘄. 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2217. — 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: afab reader, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, daddy kink, degradation & inappropriate language. — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i love me an obsessed ex-boyfie [🍽]

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you can't get over chris.

The studio door unlocked with an electronic noise. You didn't make a fuss about entering — it wasn't your first time there, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

"Took you long enough.", he mumbled without bothering to turn around.

"There was too much traffic," you threw your bag on the couch behind him, sitting there right away. The sound of the keyboard echoed in the room for a few more minutes, as if it was inside your head. There was no room for shame, you'd been in this position more times than you'd like to admit.

The chair finally turned around, letting you see the man for the first time that week. Okay. Maybe there was room to feel ashamed. You followed his eyes scanning your body from head to toe, lingering on your legs that were barely covered by the short dress you were wearing — it used to be his favorite, you didn't expect a different reaction.

"So? What have I done to deserve the honor of your presence?", the sweet tone dripped with sarcasm, as if the cynical smile wasn't already a great indicator.

"Cut it, Christopher.", you weren't in the mood to entertain his jokes today. His shameless laughter made you question whether being there was really a good idea, but unfortunately, you needed him.

"Oh, you mad, princess? No need to stress. I'll fix your issue right now." he pressed his tongue against his cheek, smiling mischievously — he was always a tease. He spread his legs even wider, settling himself in the chair. Chan looked at you as if he expected something from you, smiling when he noticed your shyness. "Are you gonna just sit there? We both know why you're here." conceited, he said as if it was obvious (and it really was). You stood up, feeling even more embarrassed, but didn't exactly know why — Chris knew how to make you shy, even after so long. "Take off your panties while you're at it." You gave the man an offended look, as if he had insulted you. "What? You wanna get fucked, don't you?" the man let out a chuckle. You reluctantly took off your panties, there's no arguing with facts, and sat on his lap right after.

Your body and mind felt like two different entities that didn't have the same goal. There was a voice in your head telling you how wrong that was, but you could barely hear it. At the end of the day, it was Christopher. And, somehow, he was still yours. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Not with you in his lap.

Grinding against him like a kitten, your nose pressed to his jawline, breathing in his scent. Chris always had a "manly" scent, you couldn't really explain what it was, but it turned you on — and that was the biggest problem when it came to the man: everything about him turned you on and you feared you'd never be able to let him go.

"Why are you so needy, princess? Your little boyfriend can't handle you?", he asked mockingly. His skilled hands lifted your dress so he could knead the soft skin of your ass — he was obsessed with that part of you, squeezing and playing with it whenever he could.

"He's not my boyfriend, Channie. I only went out with him a few times," you justified the fact for the thousandth time in god knows how long. There was no point, you knew Chris would still bring this up in the future.

"So you should stop giving hope to the poor guy. He must think he has a chance with you," he looked at you smugly. Chris was convinced that he was the only man for you — the fact that you had returned to his lap once again only confirmed the theory.

"I like him though...", it was a lie. You said it just to mess with the man's ego, because even if he knew the truth, he would still feel a little threatened.

"Oh, do you?", his voice full of disbelief. "So you're calling him when you want to fuck? Tell me.'", one of his hands grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "What's the point of breaking up with me if you can't get off my dick, hm?", his eyes fixed on yours made your body shiver.

Christopher's pretty lips were all you could pay attention to, trying to get closer, as if they were calling your name. He knew how obsessed you were with his lips — no wonder why you kissed him every five minutes when you were still together. Having that in my mind, you were sure of how merciless his next actions were. Your movements were suddenly stopped, the man's hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place.

"No.", the warning came coldly, but not enough to hide how pleased he seemed with your disappointed expression. "There's no point in making that face either. "No feelings" remember?", he reminded you of the rule you made sure of repeating every time you asked to meet him. "You're the one who wanted it to be like this.", it was painful for him and he wanted it to be for you too. Despite missing your lips as badly as you did, he would deny it, because maybe that would force you to take him back — you both knew he was trying to wear you down, but you were too stubborn.

"Chris, you said that-"

"I said I was going to fuck you, I never said anything about kissing you. You're not my girlfriend, remember that too?", irritated, he interrupted you. It was stressful having to continue with this dynamic just because that's how you wanted it to be. Chris was aware of your reasons, but what was the point of not taking him back if you always ended up at the same place every time? Christopher wasn't able to understand. He had already made a thousand promises in order to change himself, to be better for you... but none of them seemed to convince you. On the other hand, he also wanted to have the courage to get over you and end things for good. However, nothing seemed to overcome how fucking crazy he was about you.

You nodded in defeat, the sadness in your expressions almost making Channie give in. Almost. But he knew just how to fix your disappointed face. The man hurriedly pulled down the straps of your dress, letting the fabric rest below your breasts. Wasting no time, he sucked on them, letting the saliva drip on your skin. Even bitting on them just to feel you pull his hair.

He pulled you by the waist, positioning your body right on top of his cock — the thin fabric of his pants letting you feel almost all of it. He left a slap on your thigh, silently demanding that you start moving — his busy mouth was only able to emit an almost annoyed hum. You grinded down carefully, speeding up as soon as you realized that the position was perfect to stimulate your clit. You could feel him throbbing under you and that was too tempting.

You struggled to get him out of his pants, wanting to feel it closer. Sitting right on top of it when you finally managed to do it, now grinding the wet length against your panties — the movement hitting just right on your swollen clit. You moaned softly, mentally thanking the soundproof walls of the studio.

"Channie.", you knew you could cum like that, but you didn't want to. He finally stopped sucking your tits.

"What do you want now, princess? I'll be good today, I'll even let you choose.", his fingers opening your folds more, making you feel his cock with more intensity. "Want my tongue inside your little pussy?", he rubbed his nose against yours as if he was going to kiss you — it was pure teasing. You shook your head, face frowning, it was pretty obvious what you wanted. "Oh, so you want to get fucked already, sweetheart? Are you that needy?", if you were being honest, that was the only thing on your mind — you didn't even think you needed to get stretched out first. He nodded, your innocent face making Channie smile nastily. "Get on all fours then, princess. I'll give it to you just the way you like it."

[...]

Your nails almost pierced the sofa's fabric, it wasn't your fault though, you needed to take the sensation out on something. You felt him so deep, filling you to the brim, making a mess out of your little hole. In moments like these, you lose all your composure. Swore you could go as far as shamelessly admitting you were fucking addicted to his cock — and you would probably feel pathetic after the high came down, but Chris had the ability to make you act like a bitch in heat. The horniness always spoke louder than you ever could, forcing your body against his, trying to fuck yourself harder. But a sudden slap on your ass made you halt your attempts.

"Can you fucking stay still?." he sounded irritated, your walls tightened almost immediately — a detail that didn't go unnoticed by him. "You know better than move when I'm fucking you. Thought I already taught you that, princess.", his hand tangled in your hair again. He made pressure, forcing you face against the couch. Thrusts getting slower, it was all on purpose — he wanted to punish you little.

"Channie-"

"Shhhhh. Like that, see? Stay still.", he whispered, burying himself deep inside and grinding into your cervix. Chris smiled mischievously when he saw your legs trembling, he loved how dumb you got for cock. You were drenched, slick running down the inside of your thighs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to be fucked for real, you needed Chris to break you — the way he always did.

"Daddy, please...", you pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster. Even with your face muffled against the couch, you knew he could hear it. The nickname wasn't used for nothing, you knew very well what it did to Chris — it was one of the man's biggest guilty pleasures, something he only let slip out when he was almost out of his mind.

Your memory full of all the times he had asked you to "let daddy fill your little pussy" when he was right about to cum. There was no better time to take advantage of it — the length spasming inside you only confirming the fact. You heard the man mumble something you couldn't identify, his hand letting go of your hair and gripping your waist tightly. You knew you had won him over. The thrusts increased the pace.

"Fucking slut.", an intoxicated smile decorated his features. Oh, you were so sure you won him over. His calloused hands forced you against his hips as if you were a toy, you whimpered, unable to deal with the change in pace. You felt Chris slap you a few times, he seemed not to be measuring his strength, hitting you without mercy.

"Channie!" you complained, but it was just pretend — you both knew.

"So I'm not "daddy" anymore? Hm? If you want to act like a whore, you gotta learn how to take it.", he sounded groggy. You throbbed, getting wetter — if it was possible. He brought one of his hands to between your legs, desperately playing with your clit. "Daddy's little slut gonna cum? Yeah? You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.", your body writhed, unable to handle it.

You were barely able to grasp when you tipped over the edge, your eyes squeezed shut, releasing a few tears in the process. The man didn't stop thrusting. He used your sensitive body, almost as if he couldn't hear the painful way you whimpered beneath him. It was delicious and torturous at the same time.

"Gonna cum inside you, love. Ah! Fuck, l-like that...", he moaned in a daze, not even aware of what he was saying — a clear sign that he was right about to cum. "I fucking love you... you're mine, love. R-right? Mine.", his body trembling, the orgasm taking away any and all signs of sanity for a few seconds. Chris' soft moans made you squeeze tighter, messing with him even more, filling you up until it leaked.

It took a while for your sensitive bodies to calm down.

Chris was now resting on top of your body, holding his own weight to not crush you against the sofa. He stood up suddenly, his presence disappearing for quite some time. Mind still hazy, you felt him turn your body around, opening your legs to clean the mess he made. You were exhausted, usually falling weak like this whenever you two had sex — Channie was the perfect sleeping pill, he always put you to sleep.

A soft blanket was placed on top of your body and your eyes closed almost automatically. You felt a long and soothing kiss on your lips, body lighting up, you couldn't hold back a smile. You missed this so much... you would even feel a little sad if you weren't so tired.

"Good night, love.”

# — © 2025 hansoleil ᯓ��� masterlist.

[saeist]

what people don't know about sae itoshi is that despite being known as the nonchalant final boss, he's actually the most chalant person known to man when it comes to his lover

it's quite hilarious really. people who know about your relationship usually come to you and ask how the soccer super star prodigy has been treating you but you always answer the same— he's treating you well

although people don't really buy it. the way sae acts around you in public is rigid at best. yes, he's your boyfriend and yes, he loves you very much but when you two are out and about, media outlets just can't help but publish articles about how the famed middle fielder is totally "an emotional unavailable partner" (sae reports every single article about this btw)

sae itoshi is a man of few words. letting his actions talk for him is one way to put it

but behind closed doors? it's another story

it might be considered a legend that the sae itoshi is actually a pretty hands on boyfriend. in fact, sometimes it becomes a little too much when he dotes on you so much

one time you texted him that you had a headache for a while now and you almost forgot who you were texting the second he replies that it's because you didn't do this and that today

[3:14 PM] mi corazón: ? [3:14 PM] mi corazón: did you drink water today? i didn't see you drink before i left for training [3:15 PM] mi corazón: have you eaten? fucking hell don't tell me you "forgot" to eat again because you were caught up at work? [3:16 PM] mi corazón: wya? i'll order you food. ask your shitty co workers what they want too so i can treat your department while i'm at it. tsk [3:17 PM] mi corazón: tsk. what will you do without me [3:17 PM] you: sae... it's just a headache.... it's hot out today [3:18 PM] mi corazón: you forgot to bring the fucking umbrella i got you from pasotti? [3:19 PM] you: ykw i don't have a headache anymore [3:20 PM] mi corazón: read 3:20 PM

another time was you had joined him into going on a hike with his friends (shidou and aiku) and you accidentally had spluttered mud all over your legs

aiku and shidou were kind enough to stop so you could clean yourself up but you simply brush it off and say that it's part of the nature experience of hiking but sae thought otherwise

he grabbed a wet wipe from his backpack (another hc: he comes prepared like a boyscout with shit like this like personal hygiene shit💀), kneels down behind you and starts wiping the mud off your legs

much to everyone's surprise

"be careful next time" sae mutters, wiping the last bit of mud on your calf before disposing the now dirty wipes away

when you don't say anything, sae looks up and raises a brow

"what?"

he then watches your eyes motion to the bystanders being aiku and shidou, who both had their jaws dropped to the floor

who knew their little soccer super star friend could be this down bad to their lover?

sae immediately gets up from the ground, brushing his trousers as he clears his throat. as if that could erase that beautiful moment shared with you from aiku and shidou's minds

"tsk. don't make a big deal out of it" sae clicks his tongue in annoyance as he leads the pack back on the trail. consciously ignoring aiku and shidou's loud giggles and teasing

sae knows damn well that they won't ever live this down but who cares. if it's you, he'd do anything in a heartbeat

a few weeks pass by and my, was sae was right. those two idiots did not in fact live it down. so much that they just had to leak it to the media that the nonchalant final boss, sae itoshi isn't the final boss to nonchalance after all

the first thing he sees on his phone was a new article posted by pop base

[EXCLUSIVE] SAE ITOSHI ISN’T EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED AFTER ALL? JUICY INSIDERS SCOOP!

when he takes a peek at the article (before he reports it), it was oddly specific and detailed about that one hiking trip you had a few weeks ago. he didn't have to put two and two together to figure out who these "juicy insiders" were

"god damn it" sae clenches his jaw as he continues to skim through the article

suddenly sae hears you burst out laughing from the living room

oh no.

sae trudges to your shared living room with your own cup of kombucha for the day and sees you laughing your ass out while reading the same article

"stop reading that" sae groans, settling down the cup on the coffee table. he takes a seat next to you and leans his head on top of yours

"they're right you know" you giggle, reading the article "for a guy who acts all cold and collected on the outside, you sure are the exact opposite on the inside"

sae rolls his eyes, "gee. i wonder where they got that information from. i'm going to kill both of them" he mutters, pertaining to shidou and aiku

"you're just embarrassed that you've been exposed for the secret lover boy you are"

"they don't need to know what goes on behind closed doors" he points out. true

"okay lover boy. whatever you say" you laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. there was no point with arguing with sae when it comes to shit like this

there's a moment of silence after that. you glance up to catch sae quietly looking at you. like he was all caught up in the moment within your shared humble abode

"jesus. you really are down bad" you gasp quietly, covering your mouth pretending to be shocked. sae snaps out of his little trance hearing your words and flicks your forehead

"am not!"

"are so!"

"no!"

"yes!"

"i love you" you interject, catching sae slightly off guard

you meet sae's eyes as they soften. he simply shrugs and wraps an arm around your shoulders as he pulls you close to his chest

"and i love you more— now stop reading that stupid article before i report you and that damn news media outlet"

"sae!"

[moon-ttokki-x]

ninth member!reader who got her period on stage and leaked and after all the boys like cuddle her and stuff??

ooooohhhh that would be a nightmare . . . i'd be mortified >< hope all the female kpop stars out there don't ever have to experience this <3 here you gooooo~~

when you get your period on stage - skz x 9th member! reader

pairing: ot8!skz x 9th member!reader who gets their period

summary: you get your period on stage and skz helps you out !

genre: fluffy all the way through pretty much, idol! au, cute but confused innie, changbin is also confused but he's got the spirit, minho is horrified (not in a bad way i promise), blatantly feminist seungmin, reader has a period, mentions of eating, drinking, mentions of medication, period stains, and pads (does that need a warning?)

a/n: i've had a few period requests but this one was funny lol. div by @thecutestgrotto

skz masterlist

It begins with a dull ache.

It's not one that you notice, actually; you're too busy trying to reach something on the top shelf, munching on tteokbokki as you do. Jeongin and Felix stand by, watching curiously as your fingertips brush one of the extremely-caffeinated drinks that Chan has stocked out of reach. Seungmin watches, lying on the couch with half a smirk on his face.

You and the maknaes have been eyeing them since you were all ushered into the dressing room to be fitted for outfits. Now, you're making a daring attempt to try and sneak a few sips before the hyung line comes back from getting their makeup done.

Your stomach pangs from the amount of food you've wolfed down in the past ten minutes. At least, you think that's what it's from, but you don't have time to ponder it, because the speaker call for Stray Kids sounds over the intercoms.

Five minutes.

You're all ushered out into the backstage area, where the glitter and buzz of the upcoming performance lifts your energy more than the caffeinated drinks ever could. For the first time, you're glad that Chan has restricted something from you.

You turn just as a stylist does a few last-minute checks on your outfit and makeup; she adjusts the star stickers dotted around your nose and cheeks; you've been breaking out a lot lately, and you grin sheepishly as she peels a couple more off a plastic sheet, placing them systematically around your face.

She rolls her eyes affectionately as you feel Chan's warm hand on your back, pushing you gently to the space just before the performance stage.

Your intro music comes on and you're rocketing into the first few moves of the performance, smiling and dancing with all your might. It's exhilarating to be out on the stage after countless practices and lessons; this is everything you've worked for in the past few weeks.

You feel shiny and in the spotlight as you sing your lines with a flawless tune, relishing in the cheer of the crowd. Other artists sitting in the front few rows and looking through the stage wings look impressed as you shoot the camera a wink.

This is the most confident you've ever felt.

That is, until the performance slowly comes to an end, the music swelling and becoming louder until you feel your ears might burst. You push through, like always, and put every single iota of energy from your body into the last few moves, twirling perfectly into your ending position. You almost stumble, but catch yourself, covering it up flawlessly. You catch Minho's knowing smirk as he positions himself behind one of the other members, and you fight the confused look as his face as his face drops, eyes widening, and he turns back to look at the front.

You don't have time to overthink Minho's strange reaction to you either, because you spot your fancam, and that's when you feel it.

The gush.

You know that feeling well enough to know that it's not discharge, or anything of the sort; you even hope you've just mildly pissed yourself because you would rather it be anything but that. Anything.

Unfortunately, your wishes aren't granted.

You fight the wince on your face as everything starts falling into place; the breaking out, the overemotional responses to dance feedback, and even the unusual amount of fatigue and headaches you've been fighting for most of the week. And of course, those stomach pains earlier were most definitely not from an overdose of delicious tteokbokki. They were cramps.

You press your thighs together and hope there's not a cameraman behind you filming. Putting on your best smile for the fancam, you hold your ending position and make a few cutesy faces to satisfy the fans as the lights go down.

The stage momentarily darkens as the live camera filming crew make their final cuts, and the next artist lines up at the wings as you all hurry off stage. You bow hurriedly as your hands hover embarrassedly at your behind, hoping against hope that you haven't stained the pretty star-cutout jeans you've been given. Because, of course, it had to be lightly coloured, and not the usual dark leather pants you always wear. Denim should hide the potential stain, right?

Of course, no such luck.

You look down and see a pair of muscled arms as your belt; Jisung has whipped off his jacket is and tying it hurriedly around your waist, looking as far away from your lower half as possible. You look up, and see most of the members looking at you; they all hastily avert their gazes at your cheeks burn in shame.

"You feeling okay, Y/n?" Changbin, who has just come back from taking off his mic, looks you up, then down, his brow creasing in concern. "Jisung, why'd you take your jacket off?"

Jisung retracts his arms from around your waist, his face going red. "I- uhm, uh.. you- she, um.. you know..."

Changbin stands in confusion, not understand his friend's stuttering. Felix facepalms and steps forward, taking your hand. By now, one of your arms is wrapped around your waist, trying to soothe the dull, throbbing pain in your lower gut. He starts leading you away, and the boys follow, looking anywhere but you.

Chan immediately takes control as soon as you all step into the dressing room, sending one of the boys to fetch a pair of sweats and a new top from their bag. He gently pushes you to the bathroom and takes out your emergency kit from your bag, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile.

In the bathroom, you tie your stained underwear in a scented plastic bag and put it in the bin. They were old, anyway. Changing into a new pair of underwear and pressing a thick pad to the fabric, you wash your hands and then stick a hand out the bathroom door to receive the spare clothes from one of the boys. You change and exit the bathroom.

Hyunjin has managed to steal several teabags from the staff waiting room, and the rich scent of floral tea fills the air, instantly soothing you. You sit down and try not to make eye contact with anyone.

"Hey, Y/nnie."

You look up as your gaze meets Chan's again. "Yeah..."

"It's okay. I don't think anyone noticed, hmm?"

You groan, your face going red. "What if they did?"

"Then who cares?" Seungmin adds from the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone, where a game screen is loading. "It's normal."

You blink at the unexpected show of support, however blunt it is, and fight a weak smile, crossing your arms over your stomach. Hyunjin hands you the cup of tea and you inhale the light steam, taking a hot mouthful and swallowing slowly, the liquid heat caressing the aching contractions in your abdomen.

You look up just as Jeongin shyly hands you two hand-warming pads. You take them with a smile, fighting the urge to squish his cheeks.

You do it anyway. "What are these for, Innie?"

"Mhmmff- noona, stop... they're for your stomach.. I heard that heat helps, but we don't have a heat pad-"

A tear spills down your cheek at the cuteness (and maybe the hormones). The entire room riots and yelps fill the silence.

"INNIE YOU MADE HER CRY-"

"NOONA DON'T CRY PLEASE-"

"You look so ugly when you cry, Y/n."

"AYEN WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

You groan and cover your ears. "It's fine, I'm just getting hormonal- thank you, Innie. These will help."

He nods and smiles cutely before moving to rest at your side, his warmth providing instant comfort.

I wonder what happened, he thinks, resting his head on your shoulder. I still doesn't know why she's bleeding out of your butt, but at least she's not crying.

Chan comes into the room again with a staff member who, on coming up to you, hands you a blister packet of two tablets. You take the painkillers with a grateful smile and down them in a mouthful of the tea.

"Thank you," you say quietly to the group.

Jisung grins, still without his jacket. "Feeling any better, cutie?"

You nod, smiling.

"Yeah."

a/n: yayyy ! anyway idk how i was supposed to end this . . . anyway

[oceantornadoo]

ch13 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: allusions to torture. reader has some ptsd. SMUT.

also i did not edit this srry

masterlist | next

“Again.”

Johnny sighs to his right, but Simon ignores it, too concerned with the man in the chair in front of him. “Say it again.” The man in the chair (Richard, 34, nephew of a Price uncle, twice-removed or some bullshit) spits out a glob of blood on the floor before clearing his throat. “The night the weapons were stolen I was at home with my wife. We watched a new episode of one of those trashy American shows, The Bachelor, that dropped that night. I was off-shift. Came in at 6am because of the Mrs. Price emergency.” Simon’s eyebrow twitches under his mask. Three days after getting his sister back and this is what sniffs out the rat? An American show Johnny loves to pirate? He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Johnny catches his eye and he can’t fault the man for the grin on his face. When Simon turns back to Richard, red in the face, he’s pretty sure the man’s figured it out. “The Bachelor drops Mondays.”

Richard sputters, twitching. “We were catchin’ up from the week before.” Simon shakes his head, glancing at the papers on the table to his left. “You had off every other night that week and only got to it by Sunday? Tellin’ me the wife keeps up with the drop schedule but waited six days?” He walks closer to Richard, gloved hands gripping the man’s jaw tightly. He presses his fingers into the bruise near his mouth, pressing hard until he breaks.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m in debt, man, 50,000 Euros. No one knows so when I lost to the guy at that shithole of a bar and he offered me a job, I couldn’t say no! He said it was just a few documents, wouldn’t hurt anyone…” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Before Simon can grab a tool from the wall, Johnny clears his throat. “Let me, sir. Gaz called. You’re needed at base.” That could only mean one thing. Simon nods, swallowing thickly as he leaves the room to the sound of screams. 

It’s a half hour drive back to the Castle, but it feels like eons. Simon changes his gloves and mask with the limo partition up, even swapping his sweatshirt out for your benefit. The smell of blood fades when the fabric is removed, bundled into a trash bag he leaves in the car. When Simon double checks his phone, his hands are shaking. Another oddity of the week, too miniscule to dwell on.

It’s been three days since he last saw you, cuddled up in Price’s arms like an injured stray. For all Simon has tried to protect you from, the insults of childhood and your shared shitty father, it worries him to think you got hurt despite his greatest efforts. There’s no doubt that you’re a strong woman, but he’s not sure what Shepherd did to you and no matter what, there’s only so much a person can take. The guilt that’s been following him since the marriage is heavy like a chain, weighing down his every motion. Did he marry you off too early? Was Price the wrong pick? Thoughts swirl like a snowstorm in his head, only stopping when the car pulls up to the Castle.

It’s the perfect home he would have picked for you, given the chance. Sophisticated wealth, nothing flashy or too pretentious. Gaz mentioned that you redecorated, and he can see parts of you in the artwork, in the new chairs meant for casual conversation instead of just functionality. You’ve turned the base into a home and the guilt creeps up again thinking of how you might have never returned to it.

“Mr. Riley.” The door guards nod at Simon as he walks through. He feels out of place in his hoodie, used to his lax uniform in Manchester. Price styles himself more as a businessman than Simon ever has. He hides the scars with gloves and a mask but he doesn’t delude himself into thinking of himself as a professional. He’s more like the head of a wolf pack, barking and snarling at anyone who gets too close. Nothing like Price and he’s glad for it. You deserve someone who can give you a semblance of a normal life, pretending like he’s going to work at an office instead of meeting illicit weapons dealers on the edge of town.

Gaz is waiting for him in the foyer, immaculate in a deep blue button-up. It’s the first time he’s seen the man shaved, a testament to the bonds that you forged with Price men that were tested in the past week. “Ghost.” Gaz nods, leading him through the Castle. “How is she?” Gaz walks slower than usual, seeming to need more time before bringing Simon upstairs. “She’s…recovering. Been talking with a trauma therapist the Captain trusts.” Simon nods. He can’t imagine what they put you through, why John ordered him to find a new set of clothes when they found you. Everything he learns is a strike against Phil, whenever Simon finds him. John promised him retribution.

“How is she physically? They hurt her?” Gaz stops in front of the stairs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “She’s skittish. Can’t approach ‘er from behind, got t’ give ‘er plenty of warnin’. I only saw her last night when she came down for some food, ‘s the first time she’s been out of the room. The Captain’s given me a temporary title while he’s taking care of ‘er.” It’s not temporary. Simon can sense it, leadership senses setting off alarms. Loyalty, initiative, intelligence - Gaz has it all. A fine replacement if he’s ever seen one. Too bad Johnny hates him. 

Simon nods, ready to see his sister. Before he can step up the stairs, Gaz clears his throat. “If you can, sir, convince her to drink some water? Last night, all she could do was look at the glass.” Christ. What did they do to you?

When Simon climbs up the stairs, you’re lounging in the sitting room, swathed in clothes too big for you. The couch you’re on is out of place, tugged from its original spot so the back is now against the wall. Tactical. He ensures his steps are loud so you sit up with a smile instead of a shudder. “Si!” You grin and his heart stops at the fact you still have the ability to. They didn’t take everything. “Hey, love. Can I hug ya?” You nod, setting your book down with your arms reaching up. “I missed you.” You murmur as he hugs you. The angle is awkward as he towers over you but he doesn’t particularly care, sitting down next to you while keeping you in his arms.

“How ya doin’, kid?” He asks when you release him. Simon slips off his medical mask into his pocket. On closer look, you’re wearing John’s clothes, the name of some obscure London footie team emboldened on the chest. He can hear the man’s voice come from behind the closed bedroom door, likely on a phone call. “I’m okay. John got me a therapist and she’s really helping. She specializes in kidnapping victims and immediate solutions and…yeah. Isn’t that a bit weird, saying I’ve been kidnapped?” On second look, you don’t look your best. There’s circles on your eyes and faded bruises on your jaw, like someone grabbed it and forced it open. Instead of answering, Simon brushes the soft skin of your neck until he can find your pulse. You don’t jolt like he expected you to, instead curling into the feeling of his familiar touch. 

“I knew somethin’ was wrong ‘fore Gaz called. Had this dream of you screamin’ my name, askin’ for my help from somewhere far. When I woke, I just knew. Ready to tear the world apart f’ you, kiddo. You’re still my little sister to protect.” A tear escapes your eye. He brushes it away, then squeezes your cheek like a grandmother would before pulling back. “I’m still lookin’ f’r others who were involved. They’ll get what’s coming for ‘em.” You nod, catching his hand before he pulls back completely. “Thank you for that, Si, but also, I just- just need you here, you know? I think your presence here will do a lot more for me than being an avenging angel.” He gets it, he does, but he didn’t get to kill Shepherd. He was John’s but Phil is Simon’s and no matter what, he will be found. “Think there’s a way f’r us to split it?” It. His time. Your wants, his needs. 

You squeeze his hand and nod. “I think so.” You croak out. Simon can sense the need for levity, so he starts telling you about how Johnny almost got himself blown up a few weeks ago when dealing with a Chinese chemical supplier. Simon’s not usually the joker between you two but he channels the infectious energy of his husband, in pursuit of making you laugh. You finally giggle when he mimics the windblown look on Johnny’s face, even putting in the effort to mimic his mohawk with his hands. It’s goofy and reminiscent of your childhood, the ghost of Tommy making a rare appearance in the corner of the room. Your kidnapping has sent Simon off the edge and out of character, desperate to do anything to repair what has been broken.

The bedroom door creaks open and John’s heavy footsteps follow. “Hi, sweetheart.” John approaches the couch head on, kissing your forehead before nodding at Simon. “Simon.” He nods back, not feeling the need to put his mask back on. “John.” “What is this?” Your eyes flick between the two of them, brows furrowed. Simon looks at John, who shrugs. “What’re ya talkin about?” You frown at Simon’s words, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Since when is there a bromance? What did I miss?” John sighs, dragging a hand down his face. Simon reaches out to ruffle your hairdo, smiling when you screech and bat his hand away. “‘S called mutual respect, sweetheart. Not sure what a bromance is.” You mock John’s sigh, rolling your eyes. “You’ll be wearing friendship bracelets by the end of this year if you keep going on this trajectory.” The men lock eyes with twin glances of horror.

“On that note, you good if I pop in downstairs, sweetheart? Gaz needed help on something.” A look of understanding passes between you two, a look Simon has felt time and time again with his husband. It’s like a punch to the gut in the softest way possible. “All good, I’ll be here with Simon.” John nods, kissing your forehead before taking a few steps back towards the staircase. Before he can leave, Simon clears his throat. “John, you have any condos or safehouses in the area you aren’t usin’?” John’s eyes flicker with a different kind of understanding. “Enough space for two, I gather?” Simon nods, ignoring how you’re kicking his shin. “For a month or two, at least.” You kick him harder and he shoves your foot away in a playful push. “I’ll see what I can do.” John responds, nodding before heading down the stairs. 

“You’re stayin’?” When he turns to look at you, your lip is quivering. He sighs in faux exhaustion before tugging your legs on top of his. “‘Course I’m stayin’. Can’t let my baby sister fight alone.” You shyly wipe your eyes before meeting his own. “What about the business in Manchester?” He shrugs, acting like he didn’t spend hours on the phone with his best men last night. “It’s what I’ve got men for. Plus, you can show me ‘round.” Instead of squealing or jumping him, you give him a small smile. It feels older and mellow, something he hates. “Thanks, Si.” He squeezes your foot. He wants to bring up the water drinking, but you seem a little fragile right now. He’s got time now, something he won’t miscount. “‘S what I’m here for. Now tell me the rest ‘f y’r redecoratin’ plans. That entryway could use some work.” You grin and he’s reminded of the toothy five-year old, playing hide and seek in the Riley house of horrors. A survivor, through and through.

-

Every day passes faster than the last. You find out your therapist, Marie, is actually Dr. Marie Laswell, Kate’s wife. She promises you that despite their marriage, everything you share is confidential and stays between you. It’s hard work, recounting everything that happened in your daily meetings. John is there, kissing your forehead and cuddling you after nightmares, like the perfect gentleman. As the adrenaline drains and you find yourself living again, you crave more than that.

You want to go back to your last fight. You know it could be self-sabotage, but in the confines of the Castle, it’s like nothing can harm you. John only has guards you know working. Terrance stops by once or twice, telling you he got promoted. Simon visits whenever he can. Your reunion with Johnny is heartfelt and strong. Gaz feels like a son now, protective and firm about your security. All of these facts coalesce into a suit of armor, knowing that as long as you don’t leave the building, you are safe.

Marie tells you it’s not the healthiest mindset. You remind her progress is progress. She sighs in a way that reminds you of her wife.

The one-month anniversary of your kidnapping creeps up on you, haunting the corners of your mind. There’s an ache deep in your heart to return to normal, no matter what he said about finding a new one. You want so badly to change without looking over your shoulder. On rainy days, there’s a phantom ache in the side of your arm that Phil sunk a syringe into. He’s still in the wind, a fact that agitates Simon more and more. Small wins happen too. There are days you don’t need John at home, content with phone calls throughout the day and a long dinner at night. You’ve gone on two (2!) walks by yourself, passing through the park across from the Castle as guards trail behind you and at the corners of the park. You’ve progressed to Gatorade and flavored carbonated water but still jump at unknown touches. Except, of course, John’s.

Every night runs like clockwork. You shower, John standing outside the door like a protective hound. Then you slip on a robe and let him in, brushing your teeth and finishing your routine together. He leaves to ‘check something’ and always returns with a new non-water liquid he wants you to try, like a new Gatorade or flavor of tea. In the time he’s gone, you change. You’ve graduated from speed-changing to taking your time, rubbing lotion on your body before slipping on pajamas. When John comes back, you cuddle and talk, and then lights out.

The same damn routine. Every. Night. You feel like a nun.

The anniversary passes without little fanfare. John takes the day off, unusual but part of the new normal. Gaz is left in charge again, a fact he’s getting more used to. When you wake in the morning, something else new happens.

Morning light warms your eyelids. John’s arm is a comfortable weight around your waist, his forearm hair rubbing the patch of your stomach exposed by your raised shirt. Something pulses low in your belly. When he turns to pull you closer into him, your stomach flutters. His face tucked into your neck, the weight of him searing as his body is half-slung over yours. It’s a welcome change from how you usually find yourself on top of him, like he’s pinning you to reality. A body scan reveals wetness between your thighs and a keenness between your lips.

When you cant your hips slightly, chasing that fluttering feeling, his cock twitches in his sweats where it’s against the outside of your thigh. You tilt them higher, fighting against the weight of him, and smile when his cock twitches again. “Go t’sleep.” He groans, rough and sleepy into your ear. Instead of listening, you push your thigh outwards to the heavy weight of him.

“Watch what y’r doin’, pet.” Pet is new. Unlocking a new nickname sends a thrill down your spine. You ignore the connotations behind it. “John…” You whisper, injecting an extra breath of air into your speech. He pulls his head up, hair mussed and eyes blurry. He’s beautiful.

He props himself up on his forearm, giving your own arm freedom to move. You do so, sliding it from his neck to his torso, snaking down to follow his happy trail. “What d’ya think y’r doin’?” You run your fingers through his trimmed body hair, only dipping slightly into the elastic of his boxers. “I want to feel you.” You blink at him with wide eyes. He pulls his core backwards, letting your hand drop on the mattress. “Y’r not ready.” You frown, scooting back into your pillows so you can properly meet his eyes. “I think I get to decide that, John.” He closes his eyes, sighing. “I was readin’ an article and-” You huff, pulling back further until you’re sitting on the opposite side of the bed. 

“This is the problem we have, John. You trust external sources more than me.” If he was a weaker man, he’d look whiplashed. Unfortunately, you got a husband prepared for anything, a man who can argue at the drop of a hat. “I’m jus’ sayin’, sweetheart, maybe we wait. I don’t want t’ hurt ya.” You scoff, pulling your knees to your chest. “Can you trust when I say you won’t hurt me? That I can handle myself and know my limits?” He’s silent for a second too long.

You launch yourself out of the bed, heading for the bathroom. He’s faster than you, weak from weeks of lethargy, beating you to the punch to stand in front of the door instead of tugging you back into him. “Stop.” You place a hand on his chest, intent to push him away, but all he does is cover it with his own. “Can you jus’ wait for a second?” That’s when you take a second look at your husband. How he’s panting like he’s out of breath, even if you know he goes for runs every day. His pupils are blown and feral, a predator in the wild. You stand for a bit, letting your palm track how his breaths go in and out of his chest.

“Deep breaths for me, baby.” How nostalgic it feels, the roles reversed as this time it’s you talking him off a ledge. His breathing calms after a minute, eyes going tame as he squeezes the life out of your hand. When he’s calmed, he speaks. “The last time you ran from me after an argument, you were taken from me.” Your heart breaks a little at the weakness he lets you see. Your hand slides up into his beard, brushing over the rough strands as you look in his eyes. “I wasn’t running, John. I just needed some space.” He shakes his head in disagreement. “Ya don’t know what it felt like, seein’ you step into tha’ car an’ gettin’ a call hours later that you were gone.” You nod, biting your lip.

“You’re right, John. I don’t know. And you don’t know how my brain works. You don’t know how harsh grips trigger me but yours never have.” Understanding brews in his eyes, cloudy like a cup of coffee. He pulls you in closer by the waist, lining you up until your pelvises meet. “I get it, sweetheart. I trust you.” You exhale a breath at his words.

“I didn’t take ya on tha’ trip months ago because I was meetin’ a new supplier an’ I didn’t trust him. You know firsthand now how dangerous my world is. I know you’ve lived this life, but London is more cutthroat than Manchester could ever be. ‘M not sorry f’r smotherin’ ya, because at least y’r safe. ‘S my number one concern in this world.” It’s terrible, how you don’t care that he’s admitted that he smothers you. How all you care about is how he knew what you were referencing, even if it was from months ago.

“How do I know you want me for me?” Another concern of yours from your fight before the kidnapping. He shrugs, giving you a wry smile. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

You drag him into the bathroom, jumping onto the counter and pulling him between your legs. You practically maul his face, kissing him with unrestrained want. His admission flipped a switch in you, a longing that’s been asleep for a while. It wakes up when he pulls you closer to his pelvis, your clothed cunt rubbing against the outline of his cock. You’re still wet from earlier, your folds sticking to airy fabric. 

“Didn’t want it like this.” He breathes behind your ear. John sucks a soft patch of skin there, licking at the sweat from your sleep before trailing down your neck. “Wanted t’ eat ya out f’r an hour ‘fore even pullin’ my cock out.” You run a hand down his rigid back muscles, pulling at the fabric until he lets you tug it off. John laves his tongue at your neck, alternating between sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin. His hands grip your hard, thumbs inching closer and closer to your core. You’re wearing shorts without underwear, a perfect combination that he soon discovers. “What else?” You moan, leaning your head back until it hits the mirror behind you. It’s perfect, knowing there’s nothing but a wall behind your back. It calms the worried part of your brain, letting you fully focus on the moment.

“Then I’d let ya suck my cock, get it nice an’ warm in tha’ mouth of yours. Let you rub y’r cunt against me.” You whine at the image, nails digging into his back as he continues making out with your neck. Finally, he tugs your sleep shirt off, trailing downwards to suck at your tits. He squeezes one while sucking the other, pulling hard enough to make it hurt. There’s no part of him you can reach, the angle of it awkward and wrong. The solution is to trail your free hand up your thigh, passing his hands to push the fabric of your shorts aside and thumb at your clit. “Wha’s this, hm?” He murmurs, switching to your other tit. “Wanna be ready f’ you, John.” The wetness seeping from your cunt makes it easy to slip a finger in, stretching yourself in preparation for your husband. He’s letting you set the rhythm in a way he usually doesn’t, and you love him for it, something you don’t think too hard about.

“Let me?” He asks and you nod immediately. He replaces your hand with his own, sliding two thick fingers into your hole. You clench immediately at the intrusion, more out of tension than fear. John stops, glancing up at you from where he’s leaning down. “Need me to stop?” You shake your head, moving your hips forward so his fingers slide in deeper. “It’s just been a while.” John is still stopped, searching your face for something. “I trust you, John. I need you to say it back or this won’t work.” His eyes don’t leave your face, nodding slowly. “I trust you with my life, baby. An’ I trust ya with yours. You gonna let me stretch you out?” Instead of answering, you start to grind slowly, fucking yourself on his fingers. His gaze drops down, watching your cunt squeeze him tight. 

“How’d I get so lucky, hm? Perfect wife, dropped right into my lap.” John makes you work for it, angling his thumb so your clit hits it with every grind. It’s the most work your body has done in months and you love it, love the burn in your muscles as you command them to work. “This is goin’ t’ be a lot shorter than I wanted it t’ be, pet. Can’t focus when y’r mewlin’ f’r my cock like this.” You whine at his words. John pulls his fingers out, a string of slick trailing after them. He rubs them against your chest, pointed nipples scraping against your own wetness. The friction makes you delirious and needy in his arms. “John, I need you.” He hums, that same hand pushing down his sweats to reveal his cock, thick and heavy in his hand. He gives it a pump and you watch him spread your slick around it, mixing with his precum to make it even smoother.

“Last chance, baby.” John lines his cock up with your cunt. He rubs it up and down, catching on your clit every other time. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me, John.” His name on your lips is punctuated with a gasp as he pushes into you. You let out a string of curses at the intrusion. No matter how many times John has given you his fingers, the blunt width of his cock is so much more. It’s been over a year since you’ve fucked someone, and it’s never been like this. It’s never been dark blue eyes filled with trust and care, flicking down every so often to watch his cock go in and out. It’s never been dangling over the precipice of an orgasm so fast, the speed of it hitting you like a lightning strike. He fucks you through it, his hand on the back of your neck, forcing you to look down at where you’re joined. You watch your tits and stomach bounce at his movements and you watch as he hungers for it.

John’s a talker. This you’ve known, but it’s never been like this. 

“Look at you, taking my cock so well. Fuckin’ made f’r it.”

“Y’r cunny’s so tight, baby. This all for me?”“So desperate for it, pet.”

“Such a good girl for daddy. C’mon, say it.”

It makes you clench and mewl and claw at his back. He tries to kiss you but all you can do is let your mouth fall open and pant against him. Your first orgasm left you weak-willed, eager to follow his instructions. You nod your assent to every word, sweat dripping into your eyes. The second orgasm builds slow in your core. It burns with every thrust, every brush of your clit that John’s thumb makes. You lean your head back so it hits the mirror, suddenly realizing that your actions echo each other in the mirror behind John.

Your mouth is open. Sweat makes your skin glisten. You settle your weight on your hands and arch your back, a glimpse of your tits visible in the glass. It means you look almost whorish but it doesn’t matter because it’s for your husband, whose muscled back ripples with every thrust. That’s the image that sends you over the edge, whining John’s name as you fall off the edge. 

“Where, baby?” John meets your eyes with a burning question. You look down at the creamy ring around his cock, the slight of it sending another hazy spark to your core. “Inside.” This time John’s the one cursing, dropping his forehead to your collarbone as he watches himself come inside his wife. Finally, with his soft cock still inside you, John slows to a stuttering stop.

“Oh fuck.” John looks up at your panicked words with a matching expression. “Somethin’ hurt?” Your mouth opens, then closes. “What? No. I just remembered I stopped taking my birth control because of what happened. I haven’t been on it in over a month. And Plan-B’s really mess up my cycle.” John laughs. Your husband laughs, with his forehead on your collarbone and his cock inside you, pushing his cum in further. “This is not funny, John!” He shakes his head before meeting your eyes. “I got a vasectomy.” You blink. “What do you mean, you got a vasectomy?” He drags a hand down his face. Instead of answering, John eases out of the tight hold of your cunt. He fishes for a washcloth somewhere near, running warm water over it before swiping at your inner thighs. “When we had tha’ conversation about Gaz. Didn’t want it to happen after tha’ an’ not be prepared.” You squint in confusion. “I timed it with your period.” You bark out a laugh of disbelief.

“You’re fucking crazy.” He looks up at you with worry etched into his face, like he’s done something wrong. All you do is smile and pull him in, kissing his nose like he’s adorable. “I hate you.” You say, laughing. “You love me.” He murmurs against your skin. You don’t refute it, shutting him up with a kiss.

-

Phil watches and waits.

Her husband keeps leaving her alone. Phil’s camera screens flicker, shots of her through windows and from the park. The brother is closing in but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s so close to completing his mission. He must watch and wait.

-

one. chapter. left.

i barely edited this so if you see any mistakes no you didn't

-

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[intimidating-fettuccine]

A free request! Write whatever you feel like writing! :D

Thank yooouuu. I've been feeling really stressed lately, so;

How a few of my favorites comfort you after a rough day

Jeff's first instinct when you're having a rough day is warmth and snuggles. He gets your favorite drink, gets your favorite snacks (even if he has to make a quick run to the store for them), and carries you very gently upstairs with him. He'll place you in bed and wrap you in as many blankets as he physically can manage, to the point you just have to laugh about it, and then he'll pull you against him and just hold you. He'll insist he has to be the one to serve you your snacks and drink, and he'll tickle you if you disagree and you won't be able to escape him because of the aforementioned blankets. He'll let you ramble about anything you need to, or he'll distract you by telling you a bunch of random stories about things that have happened to him the last week. Anything to get your mind to a better place.

BEN takes a somewhat similar approach, with having your snacks prepared and your favorite drinks, but luckily he doesn't have to run to the store because this little guy keeps your favorites in/on top of a mini fridge in his room. Before you can even make it to his room at the end of the day he's already got the best blanket fort you'll ever lay your eyes on crafted up, and both your favorite videos/movies and games queued up, for whatever kind of mood you're in. BEN is the master listener and advice giver of the mansion, so it's common for you to curl up into his side while watching dumb Tiktoks or kicking his ass at Mario Kart while ranting about what you have going on, and he always gives you really solid advice on how to handle it that makes you feel better. You'll always be curled up in a ball in that perfect blanket fort laughing as hard as you can and feeling much better by the end of the night with him.

Helen struggles a bit at the beginning of your relationship when it comes to comfort, but he gets better over time. He's just so bad at communicating his own feelings, so it's hard for him to help you communicate yours, but he gets pretty good at helping you relax. Aromatherapy with the scents you find most relaxing, placing you in his incredibly soft luxurious robe you always try and steal from him, and an endless supply of cuddles because actions can speak louder than words sometimes. He gets pretty touchy when you're having a bad day, always gripping and squeezing your hand, running his palms up and down your back or through your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead. I think another thing he does would be to draw on you. He'll pick your favorite colors and doodle across your skin in a way that both relaxes and distracts you. I can see him making it a guessing game, where you're not allowed to look at what he's doing and you have to guess what he's drawing. He does a good job of making you feel seen and cared for, even if he's not great with words.

EJ always uses the excuse of doctor's orders when he can tell you're too stressed out, and who are you to refuse your doctor when he's just so convincing? And by convincing, I mean draping himself across your body for the entire day and begging you to curl up in bed with him so he can take care of you. He makes sure you're staying hydrated, and he'll have Slender cook you up one of your favorite meals to make you feel better. I think he also likes giving you massages, and he's really fucking good at it, always immediately finding your tense areas and gently working them out and getting you into a state of sleepy bliss he can take advantage of and cuddle you until you're begging him to let go of you so you can get up. He's quite good at talking you through things from a doctor's standpoint, and he uses that skill to help you work through your problems in a way that helps you feel more calm about the things going on in your life. He does worry about you when you get stressed, both as your partner and doctor, because he doesn't want your health to start deteriorating, so he keeps his eyes on you and does his best to catch your stress early.

[highway-143]

back then <3

(my first time posting a work of my own, so dont come at me hehe. idk how to use tumblr well so bear [bare? idk at this point] with me)

genere: fluff, smut (MDNI) friends to lovers <3

pairing: childhood friend sunghoon x female reader, reader is presumed to be a few inches shorter than him. sunghoon is an idol (fellow delulus where you at!?) and his members make cameos (jake, heeseung, and sunoo) your friend, hannah, is also mentioned but doesnt actually appear

smut warnings: (unprotected sex, [DONT, ITS NOT WORTH IT] fingering, creampie, breast sucking, size kink, buncha crap really) its just straight up porn towards the end, you've been warned (hey, at least its got plot) i will say it is more public sex (while the guys are over) there is also swearing :D oh yeah, sunghoon has a big dick too.

word count: also not willing to figure that one out, but its a medium sized oneshot, probably about a 5-10 minute read?

(not fully proofread, but i did scan)

synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been best friends since you were in third grade, but what happens when the line of friendship and romance is danced across too often for feelings to allow?

(this is a work of fiction. all scenarios are fake)

song: paranormal- enhypen

back then:

"ow ow ow! ow!" you shouted as you covered you bleeding knee with your hand, the other grabbing your back like an old lady, something a nine year old shouldnt be experiencing.

turns out, falling off the firemans pole on the school playground hurts. your scraped up knee was looking rough as you clutched it. your lower back ached with a duller pain, definitely less piercing as your poor knee.

you saw a shadow cover your spot on the woodchips. "are you okay?" said the squeaky voice of a boy your age.

you looked up at him, the sun making your eyes glitch while you tried to see his face.

once your vision was cleared, you saw a short boy with dimples and a cute bowl cut standing over you and looking at your busted knee. "do you need a band aid?" he asked, pointing a thin finger at the bloody skin.

"yes please." you said, tears forming in your eyes. you couldnt cry, not now, not with a boy standing right in front of you.

he ran to the first aid station by the bathrooms and fumbled for a bandage. when he hurried back over to you and knelt down, you tried to grab the band aid, but he wouldnt allow it.

"I'll do it, your hand looks scraped up too." he said while peeling apart the wrapper. you pulled your hands off of your leg and back and looked at them. both were bruised and the skin was dented from the failed attempt at catching your fall. just wonderful.

"im sunghoon," he put the large bandage over your knee and patted it with his hand. "who are you?"

"im y/n," you say, timidly walking into a conversation. "who's class are you in? i haven't seen you before."

"im in mr. jung's class, i just moved here last week." he crouched to sit on the pokey woodchips across from you, beding his knees to his chest.

"oh cool! im in mrs. lee's, we're right next door!"

he smiled and looked around the playground, searching the other children's faces. "do you have any friends?" he asked, wanting to get to know more people.

school had been rough for sunghoon so far. he couldve chalked it up to the fact that he was new, or that the kids needed time to get to know him, but the truth was that he was just an introvert. so were you, in a way. that's why you assumed he was talking to you, because you reminded him of himself, whether consciously or not.

"not really," you mutter, blushing and picking at a funny-looking woodchip. "i dont talk to people very much, i just do my own thing"

he grinned at your words, happy to find a new friend that was like him.

now:

"SUNGHOON!" you called from the kitchen, staring at the dishes in the sink, piled up like someone was trying to recreate the leaning tower of piza out of ceramic plates and silver cutlery. "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DO THIS?"

he slinked into the room, a suppressed grin teasing his lips. he knew exactly what he was doing.

every time you come to hang out at his house, there are either dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, or socks on the lamps. you honestly dont know how he does it.

"im just magical" he said, taking the plate out of your hand and opening the dishwasher. "you do know its my house, right?"

"you do know that if i never came over, it would be an absolute crime scene, right?" you retorted, earning a laugh from sunghoon.

you couldnt help but stare when his forearms flexed, the veins in his hands showing very well as warm water flowed over them. the brush in his hand didnt make it better. you sat back and leaned against the marble counter, watching him clean up.

he glanced over his shoulder to catch your attention. "what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"probably gonna get dinner with hannah," you say while giving him a quizzical look. "why?"

"do you want to hang out with me and some of the guys? we're doing a movie night and they said i should invite you."

"why not? i just wont ask hannah then!" you say, laughing. you only ask hannah to hang out when sunghoon is busy and you need a friend, which is kind of rude, but you two arent as close as you and sunghoon.

he laughs along and flicks you with water from his long fingers, and you shriek in shock. "sunghoon! dont you dare, or i swear-" but you were cut off with another flick of hot water and a smirk

the water soaked into your oversized tee, clinging to your skin as sunghoon continued to pelt you with droplets. you ran to the couch and covered yourself with a blanket, and he tackled you onto the plush cushioning, his legs tangling with yours and his hair sweeping over your nose.

when you realized that your best friend was currently lying on top of you, his hips pressed against yours and his lips only inches away, you scrambled to push him off of you, huffing "youre too heavyyy!" and "get off you weirdo"

your heart hurt when he pulled away, the knife twisting a little bit more.

you knew that any romantic relationship with sunghoon was destined to fail, that being with him was practically impossible. the fandom would go absolutely insane and sunghoon would be in too much turmoil to fix it. just rumors of dating could ruin a career in k-pop, let alone actual relationships.

so you kept your distance, or at least as much as you could. you shut down any romantic feelings because you loved sunghoon too much to jeopardize his job. sometimes, all you could hope for was a crack in the kpop world, one where "fans" wouldn't try to hurt someone for finding happiness.

"i should head to work. lock the door when you leave" said sunghoon while standing from the couch.

"sounds good! i'll finish those dishes i guess." you mutter, rolling your eyes out of a mixture of amusement and annoyance. you stand up and go into the kitchen to get to work.

back then:

sunghoon pushed his legs back and forth on the swing next to you. it had been almost two months since you two became best friends, and you were practically inseperable. every morning, you would walk to class together and talk about your soccer practice or his figure skating or whatever you thought of. it was great being able to finally have a friend to talk with and share things with.

you hand him a bag of kimchi, chewing on a piece of your own while slowly rocking back and forth on the swing.

sunghoon turned to you, opening his mouth to say something, but he stopped himself.

"what is it?" you asked, wondering what he was going to say.

"do you want to come to my competition this weekend?" his cheeks flushed when he asked you, and you laughed at his embarrassment.

"sure i'll come! i wanna see you on the ice!" you beamed at him and he grinned back, thrilled to have a friend that he could share his interests with.

now:

"hey sunoo!" you said as he stepped into the house, kicking his shoes off and giving you a hug.

"hey y/n!" he started to walk to the couch, where jake, heeseung, and sunghoon were already sitting at. sunghoon was flipping through movies, pausing at a few to see if they looked interesting.

"what do you guys want to watch?" he asked, looking at everyone.

"i personally vote rom com, but thats just me" you said, laughing when everyone rolled thir eyes in an 'as usual' way.

"im feeling that too," said jake. "theres a good one on netflix that my mom liked"

"me three," said heeseung.

"its looking like rom com, you good with that sunoo?" asked sunghoon.

"i was hoping for avengers, but that works too," he laughed when you looked at him, confused. sunoo has never once expressed interest in any action film ever.

"im kidding!" he says, and you all burst into an insane laughter.

once the movie started, you and sunghoon went to make popcorn in the kitchen.

he pulled a packet of kernels out, handing it to you. "so, feeling romantic lately?"

you scoffed. "what makes you say that?"

"come on, we both know you only watch romantic movies when youre either on your period, or have a crush. and your period was last week, so im hoping its a new crush."

you smack his bicep and roll your eyes. "number one, no, i dont have a crush. number two, youre wrong, im ovulating. youre gonna have to deal with the rom coms i guess."

his face went blank, a lost in thought look that he had on a lot these days. you wished you could see into his brain, what he was thinking, what he was plotting.

"so, youre ovulating, hmm?" he whispered, pressing his chest against your back and putting his hands on your waist. the touch made your cheeks flush. "i can think of a way to cure the... excitement."

you leaned into his touch, soaking in his warmth. you let out a small gasp when he runs his hands in between your thighs. he cups your mound, gently stroking at your sweatpant-clad skin. the intimate touch sends your nervous system into a frenzy, scrambling to make sense of what you were feeling.

your best friend of over 15 years was finally touching you where you needed him most. however, as soon as he started, he pulled away.

"not here. ten minutes." and he walked back to the couch with a slight swagger to his step and a smirk on his face.

when ten minutes had passed, you "went to use the bathroom," but really snuck into sunghoon's room, taking a seat on his bed and twiddling your thumbs nervously. what were you doing? this was not best friend behavior.

sunghoon walked in, shutting the door quietly behind him and turning to you. "before we do anything, theres something i want to tell you"

your heart was beating faster by the second, almoat loud enough to the point where you couldnt hear him talking.

"i love you, y/n. ive loved you ever since that day on the playground. you have always been my best friend, but now i want you to be more. please tell me you feel the same." his voice trembled as he laid his feelings out.

"hoonie.... of course i love you. you are the sweetest, funniest, and most amazing person i know. i want more too."

you stand up and stand in front of him, grabbing and holding his hands. you look him in the eyes and kiss him, softly, tenderly.

he moans against your mouth and grabs your hips, pulling your knee up to his waist and deepening the kiss past the territory of "tender". your cunt throbbed while waiting for him, the pressure was too much.

he brought his hand down to your sweatpants and hooked a finger under them and your panties. he slowly pulled them down your legs and went straight for your slit with his nimble fingers, sliding them in while he continued to kiss you.

you whimpered as he thrust his digits in and out of you, hitting deeper than you ever could have yourself.

you felt your insides tighten, muscles clenching and your breathing becoming labored as he continued to flick his fingers inside you.

he grinned against your mouth when you let a soft "hoonie, im gonna come" slip out. and the band in your stomach loosened as you poured all over his hands, head rolling back and legs giving out. he held you up with one arm, the other hand still in you and feeling your flow.

sunghoon pushed you onto the bed and climbed over you, licking his fingers in the sexiest way possible, then sliding them in your mouth. you tasted yourself on his fingers, an impossibly arousing sensation coursing through your body.

he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and worked at the button of his jeans. you could see his erection pressing at the zipper. deciding this was as good a time as any, you tore off your shirt and bra and leaned back down.

sunghoon came back over you and kissed you again, putting a hand on your bare breast while the other arm held him up. he slid his tounge into your waiting mouth and let his tounge circle yours. you groan against his lips as he fondles your tender flesh, pinching and rolling your hard nipple.

"h-hoon... in me... please" you whine, pleading for him to finally enter you. you felt his length hard against your stomach.

he pulled away slowly, leaving your lips hungry for more while he lifted your legs. he moved your knees over his shoulders, a position that had you leaking, your cunt insanely wet.

"tell me if i hurt you, please" he says, his breathing labored.

"unh-" you moan as he slowly enters you. his tip was so large, he just barely fit it in. you squirm, the pain both pleasing and slightly uncomforatable.

sunghoon placed his hands on your hips, holding you steady. "you got this baby, so good... so good..." he groaned when your walls clenched around his slowly furthering length.

once many sounds had come from both mouths, as well as the point of your connection, sunghoon bottomed out, his large cock fully sheathed in your aching pussy. your head lolls to the side of your pillow as he leans forward, kissing your breast.

"h-hoon... i need... go... plea- ugh!" you let a loud whine slip out as sunghoon pulls out and slides back in harshly. you hear the squelches of your pussy against his cock and blush, feeling embarrased for the unholy sounds.

sunghoon only laughs at your shyness, grinning up from your chest. he looked so beautiful, your legs around his neck, his dick buried deep in you, his hair messy and his lips swollen and red.

he continues to thrust in and out of you, whimpers escaping your mouth as he repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you.

sunghoon placed a hand on your abdomen, feeling the bulge of his cock pounding into you. he smirked in satisfaction, his size perfectly fitting you.

your eyes roll back as you feel the band in your stomach tightening again. it felt wonderful, your sweat falling down your neck, sunghoon panting against your breasts and his tounge licking up the dew forming between your mounds. it was everything you had wanted for the last 10 years, and yet... everything felt so different. in a good way, but different.

sunghoon let his head roll back as he pumped harder into you, your pussy in so much pain, the stretch so wonderful, yet too much at the same time.

"y/n... please tell me youre close.... i need to come... with you..." he pleaded with you, and that was all it took to tip you over the edge.

"sunghoon- ohhh" you whimpered his name, strings of curses coming out of your mouth as your cum spilled over his dick and eventually the bed.

he gripped your hips tightly as ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, pouring out of you only to be desperately fucked right back in by sunghoon's still thrusting cock.

your back arched with the orgasm coursing through you, your legs slumping to the sides, the strength to hold them on sungoon's too much.

"baby.... oh my god, that was fucking wonderful," sunghoon said as he slumped over you. his chest pressed against yours, his legs tangled around you.

"mmmh- it was.... i love you so much hoon." you kiss his cheek, slowly pushing him off of you. "we should get back to the others now. theyre going to wonder where we went."

"yeah," he said, smiling at you. "but once theyre gone.... we're gonna stay up all night"

copyright- highway-143, 2025

DO NOT plagiarize, but reposting is welcome (credit is appreciated)

authors note: feel free to comment with recommendations! i need ideas hehe. im open to writing about anyone from skz, txt, enha, ateez, p1h..... basically any bg lol. please give me inspo :D

also- i hope yall enjoyed it!

[karatekels]

~*My Cobra Kai Rant*~

I finally watched the final episodes of Cobra Kai! And I feel… a lot.

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT DON'T @ ME

I know that Terry was going to die (and that it was going to be an explosion) before the episodes came out, as I don’t care about spoilers as long as they aren’t leaks of pictures/videos. As you know, I had a crazy busy week, so I DM’d @holydongbird / @cobra-wives Thursday morning (I knew she was planning on watching already) and just straight up asked:

“Is it worth watching the episodes now, or am I going to be disappointed and should just wait until work dies down?”

She was (understandably) devastated by the episodes, so I decided to wait while continuing to read spoilers and getting increasingly grumpy about things. (It’s fine, I love being grumpy about something that isn’t the harsh realities of the real world.)

I waited until last night (and watched the last episode this morning).

And I think it was mostly a good call to wait.

The tl;dr of this review/rant is:

I think that they did a decent job (for them) of wrapping up most of the other character’s plotlines. Obviously there were pacing issues and a lot of speedrunning getting people their happy endings, which felt cheap, and we spent too much time with meaningless characters and/or plotlines, but for these writers, I was somewhat pleasantly surprised. EXCEPT FOR JOHN AND ESPECIALLY TERRY’S ARCS AND ENDINGS. A MESS. A COLOSSAL DISAPPOINTMENT. A JOKE.

*deep breath* Okay, let’s get into it.

This is likely going to be very all over the place, but I’ll do my best.

Contrary to what my detractors (if there are any lol) may believe, I’m not mad about Terry dying. I think it could’ve been done effectively and had a payoff not only for his character but for the plot and message of the show as a whole. But GUESS WHAT? IT WASN’T!

1. The Terry illness plotline.

On the one hand, I’m always here for peak TIG being hot – how can you not be? – But let’s be practical for a second (yes, in the hyperbolic karate soap opera).

I don’t care how exceptional Terry Silver is, how much money he has, none of that: you can’t tell me that this is a dying man. If he’s as sick as we learn he is, I’m not buying his physique, his ability to help Axel train, none of it. It doesn’t make sense. And it shows that, once again, the writers don’t think about the implications of what they’re writing. Terry being sick could’ve meant something, if that’s the direction that they want to go in. But they needed to commit to that and consider how it changes everything.

Sure, illness could’ve explained Terry’s “this is all I have left” attitude in the last few episodes, but then they needed to address how that shift in attitude developed from his initial return to the franchise, since his illness has been hinted at since his appearance in Season 4, and in the intervening years (or however long the Season 4-6 timeline is; it’s a weird jumbled mess).

I don’t think it was a necessary component to the plot that we ended up getting. Terry doesn’t need to be dying to have nothing left; everything’s been taken from him regardless.

I still think his arrest at the end of Season 5 was stupid and unrealistic, but if we’re sticking with it (and we have to, if we’re staying in the canon of it all), then we don’t really need the illness plotline at all. He’s lost his money, his students, his dojo, his reputation. Daniel won’t forgive him, John certainly won’t forgive him… he’s already in that state without needing to be sick on top of it all. Putting a hat on a hat just leaves more room for viewers to go “okay, but why?”.

So, while we did get a couple glimmers of vulnerability from Terry (and, of course, some fantastic acting from TIG) because of this plotline, it was unnecessary, unsatisfying, and unrealistic.

The moral of this part of the story is: EDIT.

The writers have always said that they went into the show wanting it to be six seasons, that they had fleshed out a lot of the plot, but if that’s true then why do we get these half-baked, dead-end plots incorporated into the story for no reason? If you knew where you were going, why was this the best you could do? HOW?

I shared a screenshot of my rant on Twitter about this last week – the Big 3 write like many of my undergrad students. There are some good ideas sprinkled throughout, but the execution is messy, illogical and unsatisfying. They don’t think about the big picture and how all the cogs in the machine fit together, or how it comes off when a piece that doesn’t fit in is jammed into the mechanism anyway. It’s not just true about Terry’s character, it’s caused a bunch of other messy, unnecessary plotlines and pacing issues that have really impacted the show.

But this particular rant is about Terry, and John too I guess, so we’re moving on.

2. WHERE THE HELL WERE NICK AND BARRETT?!

One of my favourite elements of the entire show was the development of Terry and John’s history through the flashbacks with Nick and Barrett – y’know, back when the writers actually seemed to give a damn about developing our beloved villains.

I thought they did a really good job with the flashback scenes and showing the parallels or implications in the show’s present day (for the most part), and both actors did a phenomenal job. The transition from Twig to Scary Terry in Season 6 Part 1? I STILL GET CHILLS THINKING ABOUT IT.

It was a complete missed opportunity to not incorporate them more (read: at all) into the second and third parts of the final season to help fill in the gaps and give both characters a more satisfying conclusion. They could’ve had such a phenomenal final fight (yes, even if it was aboard that stupid yacht) cutting between Thomas and Martin and Nick and Barrett (kind of like how they did with John in prison in Season 5). Show the legacy of these characters and their relationship over DECADES. They are responsible for all of this, for everything in the lore of the show. There is no Daniel and Johnny without John and Terry’s Cobra Kai. Terry didn’t get the legacy that he wanted, but there is a legacy – their legacy – that we could’ve (and should’ve) gotten to witness. They are Cobra Kai, at least the way it was.

Honestly, this might be the most disappointing part of the final episodes for me.

But no, we needed to spend a ridiculous amount of time checking in on Kyler in college. FUCKING KYLER!

3. The lack of resolution/closure for our beloved Cobra Husbands.

This isn’t even about them needing to admit their love for one another (though they 100% should’ve admitted their love for one another), but about how unresolved things remained between them.

The yacht blowing up just felt like the writers realized they were incapable of writing a meaningful ending for either John or Terry and were just like “let’s get them outta here and no one will ask questions”. WELL, I HAVE QUESTIONS.

What was the goal here? For either of them?

Terry asks Dennis to go threaten Carmen and the baby? Kidnap them? Does he want his win to feel like a win or not? If it’s going to be hollow either way, then what exactly is the point of any of this? What does Terry want, really? Is he just grasping at straws? Fine, but give us a scene – even this last one – where he actually acknowledges that so that there’s some closure for him, and for us.

John heads to the yacht after his Apology Tour ™ to confront Terry, but they don’t really get to that, do they? Instead it’s just to protect Johnny from whatever Terry has planned. It’s a couple of verbal jabs just to immediately jump to a tussle. John reconciled with KDE, with Tory, with Johnny, however unrealistic that is – what’s stopping him from doing the same for Terry?

And as soon as John mentioned Johnny, that he’s not going to let Terry get away with whatever he’s got planned for him and his new family, you can see that pain on Terry’s face, and in his eyes as, once again, John is willing to forgive Johnny but not him. Never him. Why?

We needed something here to make this  – a flashback with Nick/Barrett or with Thomas and Marty, something – feel earned, feel like a conclusion. But no, instead they go boom and that relationship, all that history, all those feelings and words that needed to be said… they never will be.

And then nobody even notices? REALLY?

Wolf being the only one to even question Terry’s disappearance in the finale is wild to me. Granted, I know that some of us are way more likely than others to immediately notice TIG’s presence or absence in a scene – our Spidey-sense, if you will �� but come ON. The big bad with nothing left to lose is about to have his last chance, and he’s nowhere to be found?

Kreese has been an ominous presence in the show before he appeared at the end of season 1, and Terry is one of the most powerful, effective and terrifying villains I’ve seen in decades. Both have been the driving forces behind so much of the show, and for the writers to suggest, as Hayden so idiotically put it earlier today, that the main characters aren’t worried about either man’s sudden disappearance is, for lack of a better word, BANANAS.

Daniel, of all people, would have alarm bells going off in his head if Silver wasn’t around for the grand finale. Terry is always three steps ahead and unpredictable, and if you can’t even keep an eye on him…

In Summary:

I’m happy for people who enjoyed the finale, and there were moments I liked too (more than I thought I would, tbh), but I genuinely don’t understand how anyone can find this ending for the show’s villains satisfying in anyway whatsoever, regardless of whether you loved or hated them.

I think that’s what I find so disappointing about all of this – like a lot of other elements of the show, this is a case where they had sprinkled in some decent ideas that could’ve been something, but took it in such an ultimately unsatisfying direction while leaving those breadcrumbs of better ideas behind that it’s just left me and other Terry fans feeling frustrated. Two thirds of the Big 3 claim Terry is one of their favourite – if not their #1 – characters from the original trilogy, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it when his character is probably the least respected in these final episodes. I think blowing up Kreese was also stupid and cheapened his arc, but at least he HAD some development in these episodes (even if it felt rushed).

What a disappointing end to the FOUNDERS of Cobra Kai. The epitome of unsatisfying, missed opportunities, wasted potential.

I pray to all the gods I don’t believe in that we don’t get a spinoff from these hacks.

END RANT (for now, anyway).

P.S. Something More Positive:

This should be evident, but I’m going to say it anyway, but none of this is on the actors. I thought they all did a phenomenal job, especially considering what they were given. With respect to our boys in particular, I’ve always thought Thomas was an incredibly compelling actor to watch, but Martin, especially in these final episodes, really blew me away with his commitment to the role. As much as I hated the direction the writers chose to take things, I think their performances lessened the blow a bit.

At least they gave us this moment that we can take out of context in perpetuity for our own inappropriate daydreams:

GOODBYE, BABY COBRA HUSBANDS. YOU DESERVED BETTER.

(If you want my takes on anything else from the finale - or the show in general - feel free to send an ask!)

[bronze-bell]

He is safe, completely safe here. The longer he stays, the tighter he's wrapped up in comforting strings, the more sure he is of that fact. He does not mind how the weaving wants to restrict him, because a body paralysed by exhaustion does not want to struggle any more.

And besides, when they promise sanctuary, how can he refuse it? Oh, how they fill his head with what he wants to believe. It's almost funny. With how much he always questions every word, every intention, every thought, it's strange to be so... Blind. Letting the wool be pulled over his eyes because the softness puts the fears to sleep.

He has to give Aesop the same. That's only fair, after all, to give his anxious brain the same kind of rest. There's so many things in Aesop's head, things that Victor could drown out in warmth. He could help. He could work, just for a moment, do something, anything to repay him. He could lead Aesop away from anyone who wanted to hurt him.

It's nice, to be so close to a human being. Victor was human once, too, but... He lost that years ago. To them, he was simply "Postman", and he will never be anything else again. It's strange to be considered something else. It's wrong.

But the way Aesop treats him, somehow, feels right. Not too human. It would be strange to embalm a living human, but a doll can be practiced on whenever. And Victor is much closer to one than the other.

Victor would love anyone who praised him, he's faintly aware, but he's never connected with anyone like he has with Aesop. Not even Frederick, who came close to sharing his secrets, really has his trust. (If anything, he's a cause for worry, though Victor is pretty sure the man is trustworthy.) Aesop does, though. Victor does not care about his strangeness, only for it. They're the same.

How long has it been since Victor has been truly awake? He's not sure anymore. The last few days, weeks, months, he's been slowly grinding to a halt, existing on less and less sleep as he completes his rounds, halls blurring into concepts as he finds himself staggering forward, snapping awake somewhere unfamiliar after his body gives up on him.

(If he remembers correctly, his record was 4 days straight stumbling through the halls before he got too tired to even move, world spinning as he made the mistake of sitting on the foyer steps. He woke up in the doctor's office. He hated the following conversation.)

His days off never help, because they just put him deeper in the hole of wanting more. He knows too well that any attempt to get up will lead to him standing in the hallway blankly, nothing to deliver and no idea what to do next, eventually succumbing to the lure of sleep again.

Shame burns in his chest. Not only for his failure (he can imagine the stern gazes upon him now) but also for burdening Aesop with this. Even in such comfort, he can't stop himself from worrying. Aesop can't be unprepared. Victor can't risk anything.

"y- you- i-" he draws in a breath, shaky and stuttery as always, forcing the words out his throat when all he wants to do is shut up and shut down. "I- i... w-wont b-be bet-tter... to-tomorrow... s-so sorry.. to d-do this t-to you..."

Message communicated, he goes back to anxiously nestling in Aesop's clothes. He's done all he can muster.

He hopes, selfishly, that Aesop won't leave him tomorrow.

[@bronze-bell ✉︎]

They are quiet together, as always. Silent friends. Nobody who could witness it would understand the conversation between them, the muted gestures of fear and trust and hope.

He slips past Aesop as his request for access is given, and he is, once again, greeted by the safe haven (Hopefully.) that he's starting to become used to. The thought makes his heart skip a beat in worry. What if somebody realises he frequents here, and it becomes a target? (And after all the trust he's put in...?)

He can't show this though. It's his "birthday", he needs to be picture perfect. He waves his hand over his face, the practiced motion helping reset himself to default emptiness and smiles.

Victor turns almost a little too sharply when he realises his back is facing the doorway, but it has been closed and latched since he entered.

He can't seem to get his head out of the clouds today...

(continued from here!)

The quiet they share is comforting, in all these ways they don't need words or voices to understand each other. Conversations held within the way they stand, their expressions, it is a language that the two have taken time to learn. Taken time to understand the other and how their motions and gestures show their meanings, and when something is a concern. If Aesop had known he would find a silent friend that he could speak to, and that would return such words to him, he wonders if he would have less of an assumption that he would need all these words and bowed heads.

The postman moves past him, and once he knows the other has entered, Aesop locks the door with a practiced motion. When he turns back towards Victor, the other's expression is back where it usually is, and as he turns in a stilted manner, Aesop tries to hide the smile that creeps up onto his face and becomes visible in his eyes, though a slight hum does escape him. Victor must be worried... but at the same time, these little idiosyncrasies of the postman's movements are one of the many reasons he finds the man so special, so memorable.

As he feels the lump in his throat from the doubt, from the worries his thoughts would be misinterpreted, he looked away anxiously, holding a hand out for Victor, both to gauge the other's feeling through the way the touch did or didn't reach him, and as if to say that he was here, and he had no intention of leaving the postman.

After all, Aesop needed no words to make a promise.

[somedayillbepeterpan]

I miss them so much 😭😭 but I need to move on from seeing them together again until S4. And even that seems like a remote possibility these days.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

[longagoitwastuesday]

I have learnt things about Geto that I wish I could unlearn

[sainz100]

idk how to explain it, but I feel this small bubble of hope. as if some good news is right around the corner 🫧🌅 not yet, but maybe soon, I'll always feel that hope that the next chapter will be better than the last

[no-light-left-on]

hi I am still not normal about how we never get much of an epilogue for Emily and Corvo in the second game we are told how the rule turned out and that Emily is the beloved empress now but nothing beyond that and I get that the entire game is very much built on that I get that the first game we have close relationship with Emily and become fond of the staff that work with the Loyalists so we feel alone because we do not quite see eye to eye with our allies and all we have left is this little innocent child that sees Corvo as someone who can do no wrong in this world which is strongly contrasted with the second game where Emily (or Corvo) has few trusted allies that they can actually rely on and it feels like a group of almost-friends working to dismantle the conspiracy but at the very end of it all Emily is all alone, even her return to the Tower is so much more grim, her taking down Delilah, the entirety of Dunwall- it all feels so incredibly and thoroughly isolating, she is all Alone now, and maybe that's why it bothers me so much to see the story end so abrupty.

it would've been so, so poetic if both the first and the second game ended with Corvo and Emily embracing

[the-grape-entity]

When a bad day at the end of a few bad weeks turns into being terrified you’re getting worse and terrified you’re never getting better

[koushirouizumi]

{Shaman King} ~ Yoh Asakura & (Aspec!/Demiromantic Queer!) Manta Oyamada + "At the Beginning" {+{Minimal} Anna as Support) (near very End)}

By Me {Do Not Reproduce/Re-upload my AMVs/Video Edits Without my Permission Under Any Circumstances} Music (C) D o n n a L e w i s & R i c h a r d M a r x A N A S T A S I A (C) FOX/D O N B L U T H

[scarfacemarston]

.