#for the love of god I hope that doesn't happen in the US

[witherby]

Wait I kinda wanna see mousy’s blow up 🤭

You can absolutely see the blow up 😏

The Littlest Wayne: Boiling Point

The post that inspired this response is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

You can't remember what started the argument. An errant comment, some joke in poor taste, an accusatory question — it could have been anything. All you know is that you said something you felt was important, Damian ignored it, Tim dismissed it, and Dick acted like you hadn't said it to begin with, and now you're livid and don't want to finish your dinner.

"May I be excused," you say to Alfred, already pushing your chair back from the table before he can respond. Your grandfather gives you a concerned look, but nods.

"Shall I bring something up to you later, young master?" He asks. You don't know if you'll have any appetite by then, but you agree anyway to spare his feelings.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asks, frowning as you stand to leave. "I haven't seen you in a week, honey. Even if you're not hungry, can you sit a while?"

"Whose fault is that," you snap. The room gets real quiet after that, a mixture of surprise and incredulity painting your father's face.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not making you go anywhere, dad," you scowl, "if you missed me then you'd find the time to see me."

"Hold on. I don't think that's very fair," Hal speaks up, reaching for your hand. You pull it away from him. "Mouse —"

"It's fine," you say, "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. I'm well aware. It's fine. We'll spend time together some other day. Go stop a robbery or rescue some damsels or something."

"What's with the 'tude, Flitty?" Dick pipes up, standing to block the door. "Pump the brakes for a sec. Talk to us."

"Talk to you? What, so when you inevitably forget this conversation happened you can pretend we never had it to begin with?" You sneer at your brother, looking him up and down. "No thanks. I'm not interested in being gaslit today."

"Gaslit?" Dick balks, looking like you struck him. "I've never —"

"Let them go, Dick," Tim says, twirling a bite of pasta around his fork. "It's just hormones. They'll go back to normal by tomorrow."

"Oh, of course it's just hormones," you scoff, whirling around to point a finger at Tim. "If it's got a logical explanation it's not worth dwelling on. Isn't that right? I can't be upset because I'm just going through puberty! There's no way it's acceptable for me to be upset over anything! My feelings don't matter, so they should be swept under the rug, just like your parents did to you!"

Tim drops his fork in surprise. A bit of pasta sauce hits Damian's check, and he grabs his napkin with an irritated grumble.

"This is such nonsense," the boy mutters.

"Everything that doesn't interest you personally is nonsense," you hiss at your youngest brother. "God forbid someone try to share their love for a hobby that's outside of what you find enjoyable. If the Blood Son doesn't give it his seal of approval, it's not worth the effort! Honestly, I should feel grateful you've blessed us with your presence at all! Surely your inferior siblings are barely worth your invaluable time!"

Your heart's racing. All the little, irritating things about your family that's been piling up inside you are spilling out. Your anger turns the internal hurt into external jabs and low blows, the darkest part of you wanting them to feel just a fraction of your pain at how flippantly they treat you sometimes.

"Sorry, did that upset you, Dami? Aww, it's okay! Like Tim says, it's just an emotional response brought on by some underlying factor! It won't last so it's not worth devoting your time to! And if you're like Dicky, you can just wave it away and say it never happened, no matter what you show him to prove it did! Maybe if you hadn't had the time to make it to dinner and spent weeks or months rushing off to do something more important at the start, you wouldn't have to sit through this conversation at all! Hope that helps!"

A hand comes down on your shoulder, silencing your rant. You whip around to find Jason staring down at you with a heartbroken frown. He looks so genuinely upset that any remaining anger dissipates immediately.

"Mousey," he whispers, "stop. Take a breath."

He looks so blurry. You blink a couple times and realize your panting and crying. No one will look you directly in the eyes except for Alfred, who's visibly tired. There's pity in his eyes.

It stings. God. Everything stings. Your face flushes with color as you realize what you've said and done. You want the earth to open up and swallow you.

It doesn't have to be the earth.

Before anyone can protest, your shadow wraps around your ankles and drags you down, then dissipates.

"Mouse, don't —" Jason kneels on the floor, just a hair too slow. "Fuck."

[lych33dragoncookie]

Ooooohhh how glad I am he was characterized well this update. No, he doesn't hate himself. No, he doesn't feel any guilt for his own actions, past or present. No, he's really not all that sad, all things considered. Loneliness and sadness are, really, not exactly synonymous. Loneliness can very well manifest in other ways; as, in the end, it is an emptiness. A lack of something. How each person individually handles it is where it really varies. Shadow Milk Cookie, at his core, is angry. He's not sad, he doesn't feel guilt, remorse, regret, nothing of that sort. He's too caught up in his own little tangled web of contrivances and excuses he uses to bury any and all more rational feelings under childish sadistic urges! In his eyes, nothing that happens to him is fair, if he doesn't get his way, if he doesn't get exactly what he wants, it's not fair, he feels like he SHOULD have gotten what he wanted, like he should ALWAYS get exactly what he wants, and the only way he ever deals with any burden that MAY be on his mind, however briefly, is to lash out. Thrash, inflict pain, break shit, throw a little goddamn tantrum. He's already assumed, for so long, that he knows better, he SHOULD get what he wants, he's ALWAYS in the right, and if he can't get what he wants, he WILL take it by force.

He chooses to be this way, he SO desperately wants to be in control, he SO desperately wants a world that is strictly his', and that's just kind of inevitably a lonely road, since to him, no one will ever be important as he is to himself. And, for a moment there, he got his childish needs fulfilled; someone just like him, someone who can just as well be important, and do everything he wants them to do. Essentially; he just wants another of himself. He doesn't WANT actual love, any actual meaningful relationships, he just wants someone JUST like him. Never have his views or beliefs contested, never have to change. That won't fix the loneliness, but he doesn't care. He doesn't WANT it to be fixed. He just wants to have all his own petty little urges met.

He is awful. He is positively, extremely, irredeemably awful. But he is human. And that alone, the fact that there are feelings there that will inevitably rise up for anyone in his position, no matter how absolutely irrevocably and horribly evil, is enough for someone like Pure Vanilla to hold on to hope. Somewhat misguided hope, yes, but hope nonetheless; the very thing that makes every facet of his being. They may remain opposites and apart for all of time. After all, both of them choose to be opposites, both knowing what they could be if they didn't choose to. They both wish they weren't this way, that they could be on the same page, but they very well may never be. And that's both their choices to make.

God this update was fucking good.

[arc-misadventures]

The beach. Imagine how pent up Pyrrha is. She could be the worst. Probably not but what would hers be?

The Beach: P

Jaune: Huw... Is this another beachside pool, or is this a different one...?

Jaune: No this is a different one... The showers are on the other sided, not over here.

Jaune: Hmm... Probably has something to do with this place being, 'Kink Beach.' No doubt if one person likes doing it public, others will follow...

Jaune: Mehh. Let's go for a swim in the pool...?!

(Splash!)

Jaune: Ahh, what?! Who?!

: Oh? Hello, Jaune~!

Jaune: H-Hi... P-P-Pyrrha...

Pyrrha: Hi~!

Jaune: S-So... you enjoying the water...?

Pyrrha: I'm enjoying it, I'm enjoying it very much so~!

Jaune: So... w-what's up with you...?

Pyrrha: Oh, I've been waiting.

Jaune: Waiting... Waiting for what?

Pyrrha: You~!

Jaune: Oh...

Jaune: Why?

Pyrrha: Well, this is, 'Kink Beach,' a place where you tell those that you fancy all of your most depraved sexual desires, in a hope that the two of you act them out~! So, I've been waiting for so I can tell you mine, and ask you all about my sexual fantasies, and to hope you will enact them out with me~!

Jaune: Oh... okay...

Pyrrha: So, would you like to hear me out~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay...

Pyrrha: I want to be taken out in public~! I want my lover to absolutely defile me, to spank my bar ass, use my hair like a reigns on a horse, reshape my insides so that no one will ever fit inside me, and to absolutely cover me, drench with his seed as he calls me his bitch~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay... W-Why...?

Pyrrha: Why? Well, everyone thinks of me as the prim, and proper, 'Invincible Girl~!' Imagine how swiftly their oh so precious imagine of me will fall apart if I was being ravaged like some common whore for all to see~! Gods~! I feel so horny just thinking about it~! But, to actually do it with you, Jaune~! Now doesn't that sound fun~?

Jaune: Ha... well... just because you asked me to do it... doesn't mean I will...

Pyrrha: Oh? But, I wore this swimsuit especially for you~!

Jaune: M-M-Me...?!

Pyrrha: Yes~! I know how much you love one piece swimsuits~! How you love that they perfectly display the female form~! You love how they encompass, and enhance the allure of the female form~! How it retrains my heaving bosom so it isn't bouncing for your enjoyment, but it makes you question how, and how much they would bounce if they were freed from their tight, nylon prison~! You want to know what happened if you pulled it what sound it would make when it slaps my wet ass~! You desire to run your hands up, and down my body, feeling the tight curves of my swimsuit as they hold my thic body within it's grasp~! But, I know what you like most of all, Jaune~!

Jaune: W-What is it that I like the most...?

Pyrrha: I watched your eyes, you weren't staring at my breasts when I came out of the water. No, you were watching the water as it slid of my body. How it pooled in the crevice of my breasts, how it slide down my body onto my wide, thic, child bearing hips. Which then made you think, how much bigger all of me will be. When. You. Put. A Child. In. Me~!

Jaune: Oh gods...

Pyrrha: So tell me, Jaune~? Would you like to live out my sexual fantasies~! Take me right here, right now, and let every one know who I belong to~? You, and your big friend here~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: ...

Pyrrha: I'm waiting, Jaune~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Pyrrha... Pull my trunks down, and get to work...

Pyrrha: As you command, Master~!

[ihyuka]

Of regrets and other tells | Choi Soobin

summary: Soobin has been building his acting career for years. Sacrificing his time and personal life in more aspects than one, holding onto a broken heart for over 5 years, and perpetually wishing his past relationship didn't end the way it did. Now, he's gotten an imminent return to his hometown thanks to a wedding, the high possibility of seeing his ex (Very possible because she's the groom's sister), and oh, it turns out the groom doesn't know he ever dated his sister. A recipe for disaster

word count: 11.5k

pairing: soobin x female reader

warnings: exes to lovers (sort of), brother's best friend, taehyun is our matchmaker bec he adores his friends, yeonjun is oblivious, tiny bit of angst, soobin is a sweetheart, they're Overthinkers, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, cute and soft love making, unprotected sex, they have feelings for each other, reader can be nasty at times (soobin isn't doing any better tbh), huh, i hope i'm not forgetting something☝️

note: happy valentine’s day! 💕 welcome to my blog!

this idea has been sitting in my drafts forever, so i’m really excited to finally bring it to life today. i’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice—this is my first time posting 🫣).

i hope you enjoy this story! it’s slightly inspired by those classic early 2000s rom-coms we all love. also, english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes—i’m working on improving!

Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The first glance had him intrigued. The second? Addicted.

Here’s the thing—he’s known you all his life. He was always the kid befriending older guys at school, constantly seeking the company of those ahead of him. He loved it. Until, of course, life happened. One by one, his friends left for university, leaving him behind for one last year of high school. It wasn’t all bad, though—because that’s when he met you.

Yeonjun’s little sister. A friend of his. Someone his age who helped him adjust to a new social scene, introducing him to people and boosting his confidence. You were always there. Always helping. And now? Now he hasn’t seen you in years. He has a life in Seoul. He’s moved on.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he sees you in that red dress, smiling, radiant, otherworldly—he realizes something painful and undeniable.

He’s so fucked.

And worse? He’s dated you before.

He’s so, so fucked. Yeonjun is going to kill him.

Soobin is hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He always is. It comes with the territory of being a high-profile actor. He’s gotten used to sneaking around, blending into crowds, avoiding unnecessary attention. Weddings in South Korea, though, are practically public events. The worst place to hide. He’s trying to be subtle—maybe if he stands still long enough, he’ll blend into the walls.

“Hi?”

He freezes. He knows that voice anywhere. Familiar, warm—like home. And like regret.

It’s you.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s standing there, towering over everyone, wearing sunglasses in the middle of December, looking every bit as awkward as he feels.

“Um, hi?” His voice comes out strained, awkward. God, why can’t this be easier? “How have you been?”

What a stupid question. He hasn’t seen you in five years. You both took different paths, built your lives apart. He dated you for two months, so why does it feel like he can’t breathe now that you’re standing in front of him?

“Good.” You smile. “Let’s not make this weird, shall we? It’s been a long time.”

You’re so over him.

And he’s regretting everything.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Someone calls your name, and you walk away.

Fuck.

That’s the only thing running through your mind, too.

Why did he have to be this attractive? You had a plan. Approach him, make small talk, prove to yourself you were over him. That was it. But the second you saw him? Plan out the window. He looked unfairly good—taller, broader, blonde. Blonde. What kind of sick joke was this?

And thankfully, mercifully, he didn’t notice the way you reacted.

God, you’re so fucked.

Soobin tells himself he’s fine.

He gave his speech as best man. He made people laugh. He shared embarrassing photos of Yeonjun for everyone’s amusement. He did his job.

But now? Now he’s pissed.

And he knows he shouldn’t be.

You aren’t his. You haven’t been his in years. Even if you were, he doesn’t own you. He understands that—logically. But watching some guy dance too close to you, hands lingering where they shouldn’t—his instincts are screaming.

He knows that look. The same one he’s giving you now. Hunger. Want. Need.

Maybe the guy is your boyfriend. Maybe he isn’t. All Soobin knows is that he hates him.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her if you want her so much?” Taehyun’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Ever the straightforward one, Taehyun has had the front-row seat to Soobin’s misery for the past five years.

“I don’t deserve her.” The words come out bitter. Regretful. “I broke her heart.”

“Maybe. But she still wants you to try.” Taehyun doesn’t hesitate. “She’s dancing nonstop with Jihoon, but everyone knows he’s chasing her, not the other way around. This isn’t like her. She’s doing this because of you.”

Soobin swallows hard.

“Besides,” Taehyun adds casually, “she told Yeonjun about you two this morning.”

Cold dread washes over him. “What?”

Taehyun shrugs. “I overheard. You know that tree in front of their house? They were talking there.”

“So what did he say?” Soobin asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“No clue. I had to get to work.”

Soobin groans. “How do you just drop information like that and leave?”

“Because I trust you’ll figure it out.” Taehyun smirks. “Now go get your girl. She’s drunk, and she looks done with that guy.”

Soobin didn’t think it through.

You were drunk, and all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe. A chair—that was the plan. That should have been enough. But then you whined about wanting your bed, and Yeonjun, in a rare moment of brotherly responsibility, decided Soobin was the best person to handle it.

“The party’s ending soon, and I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” Yeonjun had said, handing you over like you weren’t his problem anymore. “Just drop her at her apartment.”

And that’s how Soobin found himself here—standing in your building’s dimly lit hallway at an ungodly hour, praying to every higher power that no one was following him. The last thing either of you needed was for the media to sniff this out.

Not that he was worried about himself.

It was you. You, who deserved a normal life. You, who had worked so hard to distance yourself from him, from his world. And yet, here you were, tangled up in his orbit again.

And here’s another thing: you’re just as bad as Yeonjun when it comes to alcohol. Soobin knows this. He also knows you have a soft spot for that fruity soju, the kind that creeps up on you before you even realize you’ve had too much. And he knows you’re probably going to feel sick soon, which is why, in the worst decision he’s made today, he stays.

You’ve been awake for an hour now, your body heavy with the aftermath of last night. The alcohol is gone, drained from your system, but the discomfort lingers—hunger gnawing at your stomach, the stale aftertaste of regret coating your tongue.

You should get up.

You should get water.

But the thought of stepping into an empty apartment makes your chest tighten.

The memory of his hands—gentle as he guided you to bed, careful as he removed your shoes—lingers. He was being nice. That’s all. He was being nice.

God, you still like him.

Five years, and you still haven’t gotten over a man. Two months were all it took for him to ruin you, to make every fleeting touch feel like a shock to your system. You’ve tried. You’ve moved forward. And yet, here you are, terrified of facing an empty space because for a moment—just a moment—he had been here again.

Your breakup had been your fault.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

You were young—barely nineteen, selfish, and desperate for attention. Soobin was chasing his dream, working himself to the bone between university and his company’s relentless trainee schedule. He had asked you to understand. He had begged you to wait. But you got tired. You fought. And the cracks in your heart never quite mended after that.

Soobin has only slept for four hours before deciding he should leave something behind for you—a quiet, impersonal gesture. Some homemade food. A note about how busy he is, how he can’t stay, but he hopes you feel better.

That’s the plan.

And that’s what he’s thinking as he stands in your kitchen, stirring ramen—the closest thing to homemade comfort he can manage.

But then you appear.

The dress from last night is gone, replaced by something that barely qualifies as pajamas. Soobin freezes, spoon clattering against the pot.

December. It’s December, and you’re walking around like this?

Jesus Christ.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “I made ramen. I hope you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away, moving past him to grab a glass of water. He watches as you take a slow sip, the silence stretching between you.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Soobin shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” you insist. “I can handle my alcohol better now. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” The words slip out before he can stop them. Too honest.

You pause. Then: “Add an egg. They’re on the top shelf.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment. Not quite forgiveness. But you move to set the table for two without another word, and Soobin understands. He’s staying.

There are things that need to be said.

And it’s not safe for him to leave. You know that. The cameras follow him everywhere. You’d never risk him like that—not after everything.

“It’s done,” he says, bringing the pot to the table. “But I should—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. Your voice is steady, decisive. “The cameras could be outside. Stay.” A pause. Then, softer, “Besides… we need to talk.”

Easier said than done.

The ramen sits between you, steam curling into the air. Neither of you moves to eat.

Soobin watches as you fidget with the edge of your sleeve, pressing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something to hold onto. It’s a nervous habit—one he remembers all too well.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“So… How have you been?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Too small for the weight between you. Too casual for two people who haven’t spoken in years.

Soobin exhales, forcing a small smile. “Busy.”

That much is obvious. His face is everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, TV screens. He’s the one people stop in the streets, the one whose name is whispered in admiration or envy.

But you nod like you don’t already know, like you haven’t seen his face staring back at you from the glossy pages of magazines while waiting in line for coffee.

You reach for your chopsticks, stirring the noodles absently. “And… are you happy?”

That question lands heavier. He doesn’t answer right away.

He should say yes.

He should tell you that everything worked out, that he got everything he wanted, that all the sacrifices were worth it.

Instead, he looks at you—the way you avoid his gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly before you curl them into a fist—and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover quickly, schooling your features into something unreadable.

You look away, pretending to be focused on your bowl. “I thought you would be.”

Soobin swallows. “I thought you would be, too.”

That gets you. Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, but you don’t say anything right away.

Soobin leans forward slightly, watching you carefully. “You left first,” he says, quiet but firm. “I waited. I called. And then, one day, you just weren’t there anymore.”

You let out a slow breath, finally meeting his eyes. “And if I had stayed?”

The question is quiet. Almost a whisper.

Soobin blinks. “What?”

“If I had stayed.” You search his face like you’re looking for something—confirmation, maybe. Closure. “Would anything have changed?”

The answer sits heavy on his tongue.

Would it have?

Back then, he was young and hungry, chasing a dream he wasn’t sure he’d ever catch. He was terrified of losing you, but he was also terrified of failing—of choosing wrong, of looking back one day and realizing he had given up too much.

And you—God, you just wanted him. Not the future version of him, not the one he was still trying to become. You just wanted the boy who used to walk you home, the one who held your hand under the table, the one who promised to love you even when things got hard.

Soobin looks at you now, older, sharper, still devastatingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

The room settles into silence again, but this time, it’s different. Softer.

Soobin watches as you finally take a bite of your ramen, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment at the warmth.

And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s too late.

But for the first time in five years, you’re sitting across from each other, sharing something that feels dangerously close to peace.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

“You should go.”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave your lips.

Soobin stills. His chopsticks pause midair before he lowers them onto the table with agonizing slowness.

His eyes meet yours, searching. “You really want that?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

A lie.

But you say it anyway, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that his presence is unraveling you piece by piece. That sitting across from him like this, pretending there isn’t history between you, is torture.

Soobin exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Right.” He pushes his chair back, standing. “I should’ve known.”

He’s hurt. You can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. And it makes you want to take it back—swallow the words down and tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

You stay seated, gripping your hands together in your lap as he walks toward the door.

He hesitates.

For a moment, it feels like the universe is holding its breath.

Then, his voice—low, steady. “Why do you always do this?”

Your head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Push me away.”

You freeze.

Soobin turns, expression unreadable. “I don’t get it. You let me take care of you. You let me stay. And now you want me to leave?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Is this a game to you?”

Your stomach twists. “No.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping through. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart pounds. “I just—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “It’s not that simple, Soobin.”

“It could be.” His gaze softens. “If you let it.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand.”

The words cut through the air between you, heavy and full of something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to need you,” you whisper.

Soobin’s expression shifts. He steps closer. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Your voice shakes. “Because I’ve spent years trying to forget what it felt like to love you, and every time you’re near, I realize I never really stopped.”

Silence.

Then, Soobin exhales sharply. “You think you were the only one?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried,” he admits. “I tried moving on. I tried pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me. But it never worked.” His voice drops lower, more vulnerable. “You never left me, _____. Not really.”

You feel yourself crumbling, breaking open under his words.

“So tell me,” he continues, stepping even closer. “Do you really want me to leave?”

You open your mouth—

But the answer is already written all over your face.

And Soobin sees it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his fingertips ghosting over yours on the table. “If you tell me to go,” he says softly, “I will.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

Then—

You flip your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“You should stay.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

And this time—

He does.

Soobin stays.

Neither of you says much after that. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, delicate and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second. But neither of you runs.

Instead, you sit there, sharing ramen in comfortable silence, the steam curling between you like something unspoken. His fingers, warm and steady, never fully leave yours—not gripping, not demanding, just there. A quiet promise.

You don’t sleep much.

Even after the bowls are empty, after he insists on washing the dishes, after you both linger in the doorway of your bedroom—uncertain but unwilling to let go—you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

Somewhere in the other room, Soobin is asleep on your couch.

Or at least, you think he is.

You don’t have the courage to check.

By the time morning comes, you’re still lying in the same position, arms curled under your pillow, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest.

You should get up.

But then—

A soft knock at your door.

You inhale sharply, heart stuttering.

Then, his voice, groggy, uncertain. “Are you awake?”

You swallow. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You shouldn’t answer. You should pretend you’re asleep, give yourself time to think. But your voice betrays you before your brain catches up.

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then—

The door creaks open.

Soobin stands there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly attractive in the dim morning light. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, his blonde hair a tousled mess. He looks softer like this—less like the untouchable actor everyone knows, and more like the boy you once loved.

Still love.

He hesitates, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Can I…?”

You nod before he can finish the question.

And just like that, he steps inside, quiet, careful.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge, close but not too close. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, voice low.

You exhale, shifting onto your side to face him. “Me neither.”

A small, tired smile flickers across his lips. “Figures.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Something old and familiar. Something neither of you knows what to do with.

Then, softly—

“Did you mean it?”

You freeze.

His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You know what he’s asking.

You could lie. You could say it was the alcohol, or the moment, or the past clouding your judgment.

But you don’t.

“Yeah.”

Soobin exhales, shoulders sinking like he’s been carrying the weight of that answer for years.

Then—hesitantly, slowly—he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against yours on the sheets.

And this time, you don’t pull away.

Not when his fingers trace over your palm. Not when his touch lingers, warm and sure.

Not when he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Then don’t make me leave.”

The air between you is thick, suffocating. The moment you told him to stay, the balance shifted. The door remains closed, the walls pressing in, the weight of years apart and the lies you’ve told yourselves coiling tighter and tighter.

Soobin doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He’s waiting. For what? For you to give in? For you to push him away again?

You don’t know. But you know this: you can’t breathe.

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Do what?” Your voice barely makes it past your lips. Your fingers twitch in his grip, and that alone has his jaw tightening.

“Pretend,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an undercurrent of something dangerous. “Pretend that I’m okay. That seeing you doesn’t do something to me. That I haven’t spent the past five years wondering if you ever thought about me, too.”

Your breath stutters, but you force yourself to keep looking at him. “Soobin—”

“I should hate you.” His voice is steadier now, but his grip on your hand betrays him. Tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. “Do you know that?”

You swallow. “I know.”

“I tried.” He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and tired. “God, I fucking tried.”

“So did I,” you whisper. “I tried forgetting you, too.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Did it work?”

“No.”

The word sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you move. The ramen has gone cold. The room feels smaller. Your heart is a hammer against your ribs, and still, he doesn’t let go.

Then, his eyes flicker downward—just for a second. To your lips.

And that’s when you do it.

You rip your hand from his and step back, breathing uneven. “This isn’t fair.”

Soobin looks at you like you’ve just torn something out of him. “No. It’s not.”

You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the counter. “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t just—just fall back into whatever this is.”

“What is this, then?” His voice is lower now, rough, frayed at the edges. “Tell me. Because I think about you, and it makes me fucking sick how much I still—”

He stops himself. He presses his lips together so tightly it looks painful. He takes a deep breath, then another. But it doesn’t help. You can see it. The storm in his eyes. The anger. The longing.

You shake your head, pushing down everything clawing its way up your throat. “You should go.”

“No.”

You whip around. “Soobin—”

“No.” He steps forward, and this time, you’re the one who freezes. He towers over you, his presence burning into your skin. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me back in just to push me away again.”

His voice drops lower, dangerously soft. “I stayed away for five years. I did what you wanted. I let you go. And now you tell me to stay, and then you tell me to leave?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He exhales sharply. Then, after a long pause, he whispers, “Neither do I.”

Another silence. But this one is different.

You open your eyes, and he’s right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes tremble, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

And you can feel it—

The breaking point.

It’s coming.

His breath catches. His fingers flex against the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles whitening like he’s barely holding himself back.

His silence is unbearable, but you don’t know how to fix it.

So you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand, mirroring the way he was holding you. Just a brush of your fingertips at first, testing, waiting—until he lets out a shaky exhale and turns his palm over to catch you.

Your fingers intertwine again, the simplest thing in the world.

Soobin's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Tell me what you want."

"I don’t know," you admit. "I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can survive losing you twice."

Something flickers in his expression—something raw, breaking.

"I never wanted you to lose me."

"Then why did it feel like I had to?"

Soobin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your knuckles. His voice is unsteady when he says, "Because I was scared. Of ruining things. Of choosing wrong."

"And now?"

Now.

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifts your joined hands, pressing his forehead to the back of yours like he’s trying to ground himself. You can feel the unspoken words vibrating against your skin, seeping through his touch.

Now, he's still scared. But more than that—he doesn’t want to lose you again.

His lips part, breath warm against your skin. "I think I've been in love with you this whole time."

Your heart stops.

Then—before you can overthink it, before logic creeps in and tears this moment apart—you let go of his hand.

Only to reach for his face.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him in, and before you can fully process what you're doing, your lips brush against his.

Soft. Tentative.

The moment you start to pull away, Soobin makes a sound—low and desperate in the back of his throat—and suddenly, he's kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

His hands are warm when they cup your face, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, so he can drink you in like he’s been starving for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you have, too.

The past and the present blur together, all the years apart collapsing into this one unbearable, impossible moment.

And when you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in the quiet night, you realize something terrifying.

Loving him was never the problem.

It was surviving it that scared you.

And now?

Now, you're not sure you care about surviving at all.

Soobin can’t stop kissing you.

It’s reckless. Messy. A raw, consuming need that shakes through him, leaves him breathless, leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your waist like he needs something to hold onto, something to tether himself to reality, because this—this doesn’t feel real. It feels like something forbidden, like something he shouldn’t have, but is taking anyway.

It’s crazy. It’s physically impossible for him to stop.

And you don’t want him to.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. His lips press harder, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs, but you don’t care. You’d let him. You’d give it to him.

Then you whimper. Just the softest, neediest sound—one you didn’t mean to make, one you probably don’t even realize you made.

How dare you.

Soobin groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pressing you closer, closer, like there will never be enough space between you to satisfy him.

"Please," you breathe, and it’s wrecked.

His lips hover just above yours, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales sharply. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but there’s something else, something deeper—like he’s drowning in you and has no desire to come up for air.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, strained. Your name follows, dripping from his lips like a prayer. "You need to stop making those sounds." He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. "Unless you want another thing."

Another thing.

You shiver, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, barely keeping yourself grounded.

But Soobin doesn’t stop. His lips keep finding yours between words, between breaths, and god—he kisses like he’s never going to get the chance again. Soft, then rough, then soft again. Like he’s caught in between worshipping you and ruining you.

And then you moan.

A real moan. Not soft. Not restrained. A full, broken, breathless moan.

And that’s it. That’s the end of his control.

Soobin curses under his breath, something low, something desperate. Then suddenly, he shifts—presses you down, his body covering yours completely. His hands, once hesitant, now move like they have a purpose, sliding up, gripping, mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

His lips are everywhere now—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—hot and lingering, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God," he breathes against your skin. "You don’t—" He presses another kiss just beneath your ear, his voice unraveling. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You can barely think, barely form words. "Get what?"

"How long—" He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your skin. "How long I’ve wanted this."

Your chest tightens. "Then why—"

"Because I was a fucking coward," he admits, voice thick, raw. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable—too many things crashing together at once. Lust. Longing. Something deeper. Something dangerous. "But I can’t be, not right now. Not when you’re—"

You kiss him before he can finish.

Because you don’t want to hear whatever doubt lingers in his words. Not now. Not when his body is so warm, not when his lips taste like regret and longing and every single thing you’ve ever tried to suppress.

Soobin groans into your mouth, deep and ruined, and it sets you on fire.

And the worst part?

You know this won’t be enough.

It never will be.

"Stop moving," Soobin growls against your neck. His voice is low, strained, barely holding together. His lips are hot where they press into your skin, and his hands—god, his hands—grip your waist like you’re something fragile, something he’s trying so hard not to break.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

You shift again, just the slightest movement, but it’s enough. Enough for him to tighten his grip, enough for him to press his hips just a little closer, enough for his breath to come out sharp, ragged.

"Or what?" you ask, breathless, teasing, your voice tinged with something dangerous.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark, heavy, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. And it’s only then that you realize just how close his face is to yours—how you can feel every unsteady breath he takes, how the heat between you feels unbearable, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and when his gaze drops to them, his jaw clenches.

"Or you’re going to regret it," he murmurs, voice rough, thick with a warning you know he fully intends to follow through on.

But you don’t stop.

Maybe you want to push him. Maybe you want to see what happens when he snaps.

So you shift again, just the tiniest bit, your knee brushing against his thigh, your fingers ghosting over the fabric of his hoodie. Innocent movements, but not really. Not when his breath stutters, not when his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"Soobin," you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you can feel the shift in the air between you. Heavy. Charged. Unforgiving.

His hand moves suddenly, gripping your chin, tilting your face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him. His thumb brushes the edge of your bottom lip, and his breath is uneven, his restraint hanging by a thread.

"Do you even know what you’re doing to me?" he asks, his voice low, almost desperate.

And before you can answer, before you can even think, his lips are back on yours.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s not just desperate—it’s deliberate. It’s slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it, every inch of the way he kisses you, the way he presses against you.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you push him too far.

You moan again.

It’s soft, wrecked, the kind of sound that makes his restraint snap like a thread pulled too tight.

The heat between you is suffocating. You’re burning, aching, every nerve in your body hypersensitive to the way Soobin touches you—like he needs to, like he has no choice.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, his grip on you tightening as if you might slip away.

"Fucking hell, ___," he rasps, voice dark, rough, filled with something dangerous. "Be clear. What do you want now? What do you fucking want?"

His forehead presses to yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth but never quite kissing you, torturing you with the distance. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"You," you whisper, the word breaking apart in your throat. It’s desperate, needy. You don’t care.

Something shifts.

Soobin exhales sharply, a curse slipping past his lips before he finally—finally—loses the control he was clinging to.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, insatiable, as if he’s been starving for you and is only now letting himself feast. His hands roam your body, urgent but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you, trying to commit this moment to memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to drink you in. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and glistening.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I do," he murmurs, his voice almost unsteady. "You make me so fucking crazy."

His lips trail down your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your skin, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath catches.

"That red dress you wore yesterday—fuck." His voice is barely controlled, like the thought alone is unraveling him. "At your brother’s wedding… you have no idea what you did to me."

His hands slide lower, skimming the curve of your waist, gripping you like you belong to him. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

"You were always beautiful," he breathes against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust. "You always were. But yesterday... yesterday, you were fucking stunning."

He pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your chest. His hands settle over your ribs, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, just barely there, just enough to drive you insane.

And then he stills. Waiting.

"Can I touch you here?" he asks, his voice lower now, raspier, the last shreds of his restraint hanging by a thread.

You shudder. There’s no hesitation.

"Yes."

It comes out breathless, desperate.

The second the word leaves your lips, his hands move—slow, deliberate, fingertips dragging over your skin like he wants to savor every reaction, every tremor that runs through you.

Like he wants you to feel every single second of it.

Soobin takes his time.

He isn’t just exploring you—he’s worshiping. Every inch of your skin is sacred under his touch, and he treats it like something to be memorized. His fingers drag over your ribs, featherlight, teasing. His lips trace slow, reverent paths down your collarbone, pressing kisses that feel more like devotions.

"I'm gonna take these off, okay?" he murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the straps of your bra.

You can only nod, breathless, as he peels the fabric away, eyes darkening at the sight of you. He exhales sharply, almost in disbelief, his hands hesitating like he needs a second to take it all in.

"These are so pretty," he whispers, voice rough. His fingers graze over you, barely there. Then firmer. His thumb flicks over one peak, and you shudder. "Fucking missed them. So much."

His lips replace his fingers, hot and wet and needy. He sucks, licks, nips—his mouth working you over like he's making up for lost time.

"God," he groans against your skin, his voice half-wrecked. "They didn’t look this full before."

The moan that leaves your lips is absolutely shameful—high-pitched, desperate, almost embarrassing. But you don’t care.

Soobin definitely doesn’t care.

He groans at the sound, his grip tightening as if he's trying to steady himself. But then he does it again—scraping his teeth lightly against you, his tongue soothing over the sting, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," he breathes, voice shaking. "You're too good. Too fucking good."

He looks up at you, eyes burning. And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you're nothing but gasps and shivers and pure, unbearable need.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Soobin’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give in. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you still, keeping you desperate.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing, thick with something dark and knowing.

"You."

His lips quirk up slightly. "But you have me right now, hm?" His tone is deceptively soft, but there’s something else underneath—something dangerous.

"You know what I mean," you say, almost frustrated.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. "No, I don’t," he murmurs. "Tell me."

Your cheeks burn. Your entire body burns. But you say it anyway, voice shaking with need.

"Please, I want you inside."

Something in him snaps.

"Oh? Me?" He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze dark, unreadable. "The man you wanted so bad to leave?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck you, Soobin."

He laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your skin. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Ah, yes, babe, I’m fucking you," he whispers, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. His hands tighten their hold on you. "And you’re gonna take it—every inch—because you know damn well that you’ve been mine just as much as I’ve been yours."

His words send a shudder down your spine, a delicious ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm," Soobin hums, dragging his hands down your sides, his touch maddeningly slow. "Should I take my time with you... or not?"

Your body is burning, aching. You can’t take it anymore.

"Just do it," you snap, your voice needy, desperate.

He chuckles, tilting his head, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "That eager, huh? Then help me out, baby." His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "Take these off. Let me see that beautiful body of yours—fully naked."

Your fingers shake as you push them down, the cool air against your exposed skin doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

"This is unfair," you mumble, looking up at him. "You’re still dressed."

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, Soobin pulls off his shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t tease. He just stands before you—bare, unashamed, strong.

And big.

Your breath catches in your throat. God. It’s been a while since you last saw him like this, but—oh, wow. Yeah. Big. He was always like that.

Your mouth parts slightly, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

He catches it. Of course, he catches it.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing his mouth to your ear. "Speechless?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Missed me that much, baby?"

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you flush against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

"You have no idea," you whisper.

You moan when he dares to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your aching heat, his breath hot against your skin. It’s unbearable.

Your patience snaps.

"Fuck you, Soobin," you nearly growl, frustration dripping from your voice. "Why the fuck—just please."

He looks at you, amused, entirely too in control. He loves this. Loves watching you unravel.

"Poor, desperate thing," he muses, tilting his head like he’s savoring every second of your frustration. "So fucking needy. Do you want me that bad?"

Your face burns. Humiliation and desire mix in a dizzying cocktail, but you can’t lie.

"Yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper.

Soobin hums in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, thumbs smoothing circles against your heated skin. "Mmm, I think I should have my fun first," he murmurs. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees before you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.

His breath hits you first, warm and teasing, and then his voice—low and devastating.

"Has this sweet little hole missed me?"

Before you can even react, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, sending a violent shudder through your body.

You cry out, hands flying to his hair. Oh, god. No, no, please—oh, don’t stop.

And then you lose it.

Soobin devours you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. The wet sounds, the low, satisfied groans he lets out against you—it’s filthy, overwhelming. His grip tightens, pressing you further into his mouth, making sure you feel every movement, every flick of his tongue.

"Let me worship this pussy," he groans against you, his voice muffled and rough. "It’s been too fucking long."

Your back arches.

"Fuck, you taste even better than I remember." His lips press against your thigh, only to return to where you need him most. "Mmm, let’s take our time with this, babe. Some good, long foreplay, yeah?"

You can’t help it—you start moving, rocking your hips against his face, desperate for more friction, more of him. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you barely register the strangled sound Soobin makes as you grind down against his tongue.

"God," you whimper, your breath hitching. "I’m—"

His fingers tease at your entrance, slow, lazy, completely unbothered by your urgency. "What? Gonna cum already, babe?" His voice is muffled, drenched in amusement, lips slick and glistening from you. "Mmm, you really are needy, huh?"

He presses a teasing kiss against your thigh before slipping a finger inside, just barely, making you jerk.

"Bet that boyfriend of yours doesn’t give you shit," he murmurs, voice laced with something sharp, something possessive.

"I don’t—" You gasp as he pushes in deeper, a single finger stretching you open just enough to make you shudder. "Fuck, fuck," your head tilts back, eyes rolling as he adds another. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

That makes him pause. You feel his smirk against your skin before he speaks.

"You don’t?" He croons, curling his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt. "No wonder you’re this fucking desperate. God, you needed this, didn’t you?"

"Soobin—"

"Wanna cum, babe?" His breath is hot against your core, his fingers still working you open. "Say it."

"Yeah," you pant, gripping at his hair, hips still rolling instinctively against his hand.

"Mmm," he hums, withdrawing his fingers just enough to make you whine, just enough to leave you aching. "Let’s edge you a little first."

"No—fuck you," you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You get so fucking mean when you’re horny," he muses, pumping his fingers in again, slower, teasing. "I like this coming from you."

And then he presses his tongue against your clit again, and all coherent thoughts disappear.

The coil in your belly winds so tight, so unbearable, that when it finally snaps, it sends you spiraling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your voice breaks, and your entire body trembles as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your thighs clamp around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you convulse, lost in the euphoria of it.

Soobin groans against you, feeling everything—the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way your body shudders under his grip, the way you completely come undone for him. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare stop.

He laps at you, drinking in every drop, his tongue relentless as he works you through the high, dragging it out, making your legs shake. His hands tighten around your hips, keeping you still, keeping you his.

"Soobin—oh, god—" Your voice is hoarse, wrecked, but he doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit again and you jerk, body twisting, overstimulated and desperate.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans against you, voice thick with hunger. "Missed this. Missed you."

You whimper, pushing at his head, your body twitching, too much, too much—

But Soobin just smirks against your trembling thighs, eyes dark, voice husky.

"One more," he murmurs. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

When you come again, it blindsides you. You weren’t lying—it was too much, your body was too sensitive, but somehow, it still betrays you, still obeys the relentless pleasure he’s forcing on you.

The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your thighs quake, your back arches, and your hands claw helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything to ground yourself.

And then—fuck.

A rush of wetness spills from you in pulsing waves, leaving you breathless, wrecked.

Soobin stills for half a second, then groans, long and deep, as if you just gave him the most precious gift. His hands tighten on your thighs as he watches, completely mesmerized, watching how your body gushes for him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is thick, raspy, wrecked. "Look at you, baby." He doesn’t miss a single drop, drinking you in like he’s been starving for you, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered lust.

You whimper, trembling, overstimulated beyond belief. “Soobin—fuck, I can’t, I—”

He shushes you, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your inner thighs, letting you feel the way his lips linger. His hands caress your shaking legs, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “And you did.” His voice drips with pride, with something dangerously close to reverence. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then, with a wicked smirk, he licks his lips, tasting you all over again.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

“No”

Soobin chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the air between you. His hands trail lazily over your trembling thighs, teasing, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy.

"No?" He mimics your weak protest, tilting his head as if he’s actually considering giving you a break. But the smirk playing on his lips says otherwise.

Then he sees it—sees the way your eyes keep flickering downward, dark and hazy, locked onto him. The way your breath hitches just slightly at the sight of his cock, thick and hard, standing between you.

“Mmm, we should let this body rest, shouldn’t we?” His tone is soft, almost pitying, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You’re so sensitive, all worn out, we should stop—”

He pauses, trailing a teasing finger up your inner thigh.

“But,” he drawls, watching the way you squirm, “the way you’re looking at me right now? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re practically salivating.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters, but you shake your head weakly. “Mmm… no.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Liar.”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Want you.”

His grip on your thighs tightens.

You’re relentless now, pleading, your voice thick with need. “I really want you.”

Soobin hums, his fingers skating dangerously close to where you need him most, barely there, teasing. “Didn’t you just say you needed a rest?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah…”

He raises a brow. “So what happened?”

You whimper, arching into his touch, impatient. “I—fuck—I want you,” you admit, your voice trembling with desperation. “It’s been too long. Please.”

Something in him snaps.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“You want me that bad?” His voice is dark, full of something you can’t quite name.

You nod rapidly, your whole body begging for him.

He chuckles again, low and satisfied, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your jaw.

“Then, baby,” he murmurs, “you better take what you asked for.”

And just like that—despite the way your body trembles, despite the way you're still reeling from the last two orgasms that left you oversensitive and dazed—he enters you.

It’s slow at first, agonizingly slow, as if he’s savoring the feeling of stretching you open, of feeling you take him inch by inch. Your breath hitches, a gasp spilling from your lips at the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

But then he snaps.

A sharp inhale, a guttural curse under his breath, and all that patience vanishes. His grip on your hips tightens—no hesitation, no holding back.

"Gotta fuck this pussy like she deserves to be fucked." His voice is rough, wrecked, tinged with something possessive.

He drives into you, deep and unrelenting, his hips slamming against yours with a force that makes your head spin. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin against skin, the wet, messy proof of just how much you need this, how much you need him.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you, dragging you closer, forcing you to take every inch. Every thrust sends a new wave of pleasure tearing through you, unbearable and yet not enough.

"So fucking tight," he growls, watching the way your body swallows him whole, clenching around him, greedy. "Like you were made for me."

You can't even respond—your words lost to the moans and cries spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

His hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Look at me," he commands, voice dark, dangerous. "You feel that? Hm? You feel how deep I am?"

You nod weakly, barely able to think.

"Good," he grits out, snapping his hips even harder. "Because I'm not stopping until I ruin you."

He does ruin you. Completely.

The sound of it—wet, obscene, filthy—fills the space, each thrust echoing between the walls like a symphony of pure sin. Your body is a mess beneath him, pliant and wrecked, reduced to nothing but sensation, but pleasure.

And Soobin devours you.

His lips find every inch of your skin—your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat—leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking bruises that will linger long after this moment. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, worshiping. Every touch is possessive, claiming.

Your only response is to take it. To surrender to the way he stretches you, fills you so perfectly. It’s been too long since you’ve felt like this, since you’ve felt this full, this good.

"You feel that, baby?" he mutters against your jaw, his voice thick with lust, his thrusts sharp and punishing. "This is what you’ve been missing. What no one else can fucking give you."

You moan—a broken, desperate sound.

"Say it," he demands, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down hard.

You jolt, eyes rolling back. "You," you gasp. "Only you—fuck—no one else."

He groans, burying his face against your neck as if the admission undoes him. And then he snaps, fucking into you like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget this, never forget him.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," you practically scream, your voice breaking, body trembling.

Soobin chuckles, low and taunting, never slowing his ruthless pace. "Oh, poor baby," he coos mockingly, his fingers slipping down between your bodies, finding your clit with wicked precision. He presses down, rubs slow, lazy circles—just to watch you squirm.

"You wanna cum that bad?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, eyes dark with something feral. "So fucking desperate. Look at you—shaking. You can’t even take it, can you?"

You whimper, your fingers clawing at his back, his arms, anything you can reach. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. Your body is fire, every nerve on the edge of combustion.

"So needy for me," Soobin groans, leaning down, his lips brushing over yours. "But you know I love it when you beg, sweetheart. So why don’t you be a good girl and ask me for it?"

Your pride and sanity shatter.

"Please," you gasp, wrecked and mindless. "Please, Soobin, let me cum. Please—"

"That’s my girl," he growls, and then he rubs harder, fucks you deeper, until you break—until you fall apart around him with a sobbing cry, your body seizing, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

And Soobin watches it all, drinking in every second, every sound, every tremor of your body as you unravel beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds—just long enough to watch you come undone beneath him, to feel your walls flutter and clench so tightly around him that his restraint snaps like a frayed wire.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. His fingers dig into your waist, hard, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt.

"Fuck—" he rasps, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, the heat of it making you shudder. He pulses, each wave of his release drawn out by the way your body still clenches greedily around him.

He pants against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. "Shit," he mutters, pressing absentminded kisses against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hand slides up your side, lazy, possessive. "You feel so fucking good—"

You're still trembling, body sensitive, spent, but you turn your head, catching his lips in a slow, messy kiss. He groans into it, hips rolling shallowly, like he can't stop, like he’s still savoring every aftershock.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your mingled breathing, his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his release still deep inside you.

Then, finally, Soobin exhales a small, breathless laugh against your skin.

"Yeah." He nuzzles into your neck, voice lower, softer now. "You're mine."

You smile, breath still uneven, body still trembling. "I always was."

Soobin exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep. His arms tighten around you, pressing your body closer, unwilling to let go just yet. He kisses you—slow, lingering, almost tender now. Like he’s sealing something between you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers lazily traced circles into your hip until everything faded into darkness.

You wake up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, golden and soft, warming your skin. The bed smells like him—clean and musky, something uniquely Soobin. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and possessive, fingers curled slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You shift slightly, your body sore in ways that make heat curl in your stomach. That definitely happened.

A low, sleepy hum comes from behind you. "Mmm, morning." Soobin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep. He tightens his hold, nuzzling into your neck. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Nowhere."

"Good." He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "Stay right here."

You roll over to face him, and god—he looks unfairly good in the morning. Tousled hair, drowsy eyes, lips still slightly swollen from last night. He blinks down at you, then smirks. "You look wrecked."

"Whose fault is that?" you mumble, stretching.

"Mine." He grins, completely unapologetic. "And I’d do it again."

Your cheeks heat, but before you can reply, Soobin rolls on top of you, caging you in effortlessly. His weight is comforting, his bare skin warm against yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask, even though you already know.

"Making sure you don’t regret it." He brushes his nose against yours, voice still thick with sleep, but his hands are already moving, slow and teasing. "And if you don’t, then I think I have some unfinished business with you, sweetheart."

It’s practically lunchtime when you and Soobin finally decide to leave the bed. Your body aches in the best way possible, but more importantly—your stomach aches for actual food.

You call for delivery, and right in front of you, like fate, they drop off food from your favorite restaurant just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Soobin busies himself preparing the table, setting out plates, pouring water into glasses, smoothing out the tablecloth like this is something the two of you do all the time. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t completely new and terrifying.

Everything is so domestic, so effortless—it almost scares you.

You watch him for a moment before blurting out, "Soob, you’re truly an idiot."

He freezes mid-reach for the utensils, turning to look at you, confused. "Huh?"

You inhale sharply, then murmur, "We didn’t use protection last night… or today."

Soobin’s eyes widen. "Fuck." He looks absolutely stricken, like the realization just knocked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my god, I was too focused on— I mean, I was so into you that I just—fuck."

You cross your arms, watching him spiral.

"Babe, I swear, I’m clean." His voice is urgent now, panicked. "I got tested two weeks ago—I think I still have the document on my phone. You can check—"

You can’t help it—you laugh. "Lucky for you, I’m on birth control."

Soobin sags in relief, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Jesus." Then, his expression shifts to something more serious, his brows knitting together. "This is a thing for two—I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry."

You step closer, poking his chest. "Damn right you should have been."

His lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raise an eyebrow. "How?"

Soobin leans down, voice dropping, teasing, "Well… I could start by feeding you before you get grumpy."

You roll your eyes but let him press a kiss to your forehead anyway. The moment should feel awkward, heavy even, but instead, it feels warm. Familiar.

You don’t even think before you say it. The words just spill out as you sit across from him at the table, food untouched between you.

"We need to talk."

Soobin looks up immediately, jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the worst. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Before you say anything, I know." His voice is quieter now, a little rough. "I know how hard it was for you back then."

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

"Babe, I didn’t pay attention to you."* His eyes flicker with regret, dark and heavy with memories that still linger between you. "And I am so sorry. But I didn’t have the time back then—I had just made it into university, and I was juggling a full-on trainee schedule. I barely had a second to breathe."*

He looks down at his hands like he can barely stand to face you.

"At the time, I didn’t understand why you made such a fuss. I thought you were overreacting. But looking back… fuck, I was selfish. I was spending fourteen hours a day training, barely sleeping, and the little time I had left, I should have given to you."

His voice cracks, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with something raw. "You were at university too, just as busy, and still… you made time for me. You always made time for me. You’d cook my meals, check up on me, make sure I ate something even when I got home at 2 AM—and I took you for granted."

Your heart clenches painfully.

"I will always be deeply sorry for that," Soobin continues, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there for you like you were for me."

His hand reaches out across the table, tentative, fingers brushing against yours.

"But I never stopped loving you. Not even once."

Silence stretches between you. The weight of his words sinks into your skin, deep and unshakable.

It would be so easy to let that be enough—to fall back into him completely, to pretend the past doesn’t matter.

But it does.

So you take a breath, steadying yourself, and finally, finally, you start to say everything you’ve been holding in for years.

"You really hurt me, Soobin." Your voice is quiet, but steady. "I don’t think you ever realized how lonely I felt back then. It wasn’t just that you were busy—it was that I felt like I didn’t exist to you anymore."

He flinches, like the words hit him straight in the chest.

"I’d wait for you. Every night, I’d wait. I’d cook you something, even if I knew you’d barely touch it. I’d leave you messages, even if I knew you wouldn’t answer until hours later. And I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I was just being selfish for wanting more of you."

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "But it wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t selfish. I just wanted to be with you."

Soobin grips your hand tighter. "I know. I know, and I was a fucking idiot. I don’t think I really let myself see how much it was affecting you. I was so focused on surviving every day that I just… I don’t know. I thought you’d always be there. And that was unfair of me."

He swipes a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "I can’t change what I did back then. I can’t undo the times I hurt you. But if you’ll let me—if you still want this—I swear I’ll spend every day making up for it."

Your chest tightens.

The truth is, you never stopped wanting him.

And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all.

You squeeze his hand. "I’m still scared, Soobin. I don’t know if things will be different this time."

"They will be." His voice is firm, certain. "Because I’m different. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the way his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through them again. You watch the way he looks at you—like you’re something he refuses to take for granted ever again.

"For the record," Soobin starts, voice quieter now, steadier, "my career will not be a problem anymore."

Your breath catches, but you let him speak.

"I don’t want to hide you. I never did, and I won’t—not unless you’re uncomfortable with how public it’s going to get. If you are, then I swear I’ll respect that. But me? I will always stand for you."

His fingers tighten around yours, warm and firm, like an unspoken promise.

"I will always be there from now on." His voice wavers just slightly. "I should’ve been there before, but I wasn’t. I don’t deserve you after all the ways I hurt you… but I love you, and I want to make you so fucking happy, babe."

A lump rises in your throat.

"You’re the only reason I keep working so hard," he continues. "Every day, I push myself so I can prove that it was all worth it. But the thing is… none of it means anything without you."

Your heart stutters.

"I have everything I ever dreamed of, but I don’t have the one thing I want most." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "You."

The word sinks deep, heavy with meaning.

You exhale shakily, watching him. Soobin—your Soobin—who once felt like a memory you had to let go of, is here, right in front of you, holding on like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

"Do you mean it?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His brows furrow like the question physically pains him. "Of course I do. I’d never say it if I didn’t."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering determination, just love—raw and unshaken.

Soobin lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "Give me the chance to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

You don’t realize you’re leaning into his touch until your eyes flutter shut.

And then, all of a sudden, Soobin is kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just sweet, meaningful. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His lips press against yours with a quiet reverence, like he’s savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you. Like he’s afraid of letting go.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Could you be my girlfriend?" His voice is barely above a whisper, hesitant, hopeful.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—soft yet so intense, like he’s holding onto every second.

"I can make my company release a statement," he murmurs, pressing a lingering peck on the tip of your nose. "They can say that I’m very much taken. That I belong to you."

Your breath catches, but Soobin isn’t finished.

"I have an event coming up—a fancy, over-the-top party, filled with industry elites, idols, actors, CEOs. Everyone who’s someone will be there." He swallows, brushing his fingers down your arm. "I can introduce you to the world."

Your heart pounds.

"You don’t have to," he adds quickly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want that kind of attention, I’ll keep us private. But I don’t want to hide you. Not anymore. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and that I—" He exhales shakily, eyes glistening with something raw. "That I’m yours."

Your lips part, but words don’t come.

Soobin doesn’t rush you. He just waits, watching you like your answer is the most important thing in the world. And to him, it probably is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as Soobin watches you with hopeful, expectant eyes. The weight of his words lingers between you, thick with meaning, with promise.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice soft but sure. "I want to be your girlfriend."

Soobin's entire face lights up, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he's grounding himself in the moment—like he can’t believe this is real.

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t love the attention, and I know the media follows you everywhere... but if you want to release the statement, you can. I just—" You hesitate, chewing on your lip. "I don’t know about the party though."

His eyes search yours, carefully gauging your comfort. "We don’t have to go," he assures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your palm. "I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. If you’re not ready, we’ll do things your way. The world can wait."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’d really be okay with that?"

Soobin chuckles, tilting his head. "I waited this long to have you again. What’s a little more waiting?"

His words make your heart clench, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, full of quiet gratitude.

Soobin sighs into it, his hands finding your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "God, I love you," he breathes against your lips. "I’ll do this right this time."

And you believe him.

When Yeonjun finds out, it’s messy.

There’s yelling. A lot of it.

"How the hell did this happen, and I didn’t notice?!" Yeonjun practically explodes, his voice bouncing off the walls. His expression is a mix of pure disbelief and mild betrayal, his hands flying through his hair like he’s on the verge of losing his mind.

Then, in the middle of his outburst, realization hits. His mouth clamps shut, and his face shifts from outrage to something quieter—understanding.

Of course, he didn’t notice.

He wasn’t here.

He was studying in the U.S. when everything went down. He missed it. All of it.

His gaze flickers between you and Soobin, and for a long, drawn-out moment, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Then, without warning, his eyes lock onto Soobin’s with a silent threat—If she ends up hurt, I’ll make sure you regret it.

Soobin swallows thickly.

But then—almost unexpectedly—Yeonjun smiles.

It’s not exactly a warm, welcoming grin, but it’s something. A reluctant acceptance, maybe. A begrudging fine, but if you screw this up, I will personally end your life.

Soobin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders.

And then it clicks.

A memory. A conversation. Something that doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, completely thrown. "Babe... that day at the wedding… did you say something to Yeonjun about us earlier?"

You blink at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Taehyun told me he overheard you talking to Yeonjun about us.*"

Your face scrunches in confusion. "That never happened."

Soobin freezes. "What?"

"I never talked to Yeonjun about us before everything happened. Not at the wedding. Not before it. Never."

The realization crashes down like a ton of bricks.

"He probably lied to you," you murmur.

Soobin’s eye twitches.

Oh.

Oh, he’s gonna kill Taehyun.

And then, after that, he’s going to buy him one of those weird torture-looking gym machines he’s always obsessing over. That’ll shut him up.

Thank fucking god for Taehyun.

Let me know what you think about this hehe :D

[thatoneautisticshark]

Okays for one I'm just now following and discovering your stuff and I am eating it UPPP I'm vibing with it yes!

Secondly! I loved this blurb of yours in particular! Obv feel free to ignore if you aren't up for requests or anything but I'm so down for this?? Idk how you feel about poly!141 though I think I've seen it mentioned a bit so far, but I would honestly just love to hear more of your ideas regarding that with poly 141.

Maybe Simon amd Price are the beginning of it, Price taking care of Simon and things going from there, then eventually Soap and Gaz get involved because of course they do! Maybe they fond out about Price and Simon's after mission care, maybe Ghost sees that Gaz is beyond stressed and tells him he should go to Price for 'help'! Maybe there could be a litttttle hint of angst and Soap having self esteem issues and he gets a little withdrawn because he can tell something is going on with the others that he isn't a part of, but he doesn't know what, Price would fix that real quick and make sure Soap feels loved and included. They all end up taking care of and looking after eachother, they're used to looking after one another but now there's more to it! They all end up involved with eachother and they get a happy ending because I (and the entire community) say so.

Also random bit of talk, but I just love the idea of 141 retiring together from the military, living together, even working together still! Coffee/tea shop for shits and giggles of course, but I think maybe something like a mechanics shop or even some construction or renovation stuff would suit them more! They're used to keeping busy and using their hands, fixing problems, they do well with the labor involved it's what they're used to.

Anyways!!!! Just thought I'd word vomit all of this out there lmfao, sorry for the novel written 🤣😭 I haven't touched Tumblr in a while which is crazy bc the cod men have not left my brain since I was last here. Anyways!!!! I hope you have a wonderful day thank you for reading this far!!!

hehehe! Thank you so much! I'm glad people are enjoying. None of my baby soap yet, but I wanted to post this before I go to

bed :3

Gaz was the first to know what was happening between his lieutenant and captain, having had the … misfortune, although he wouldn't really call it that, of walking in on Ghost with price's dick in his mouth.

He hadn't even realised it was Ghost at first, with no mask on, and Jesus he was pretty.

And Price all flushed, and god the size of his dick. Gaz was happy for them obviously. But he couldn't say he wasn't a bit jealous.

Not of one or the other in particular, he'd love to be in either of their positions. But it wasn't a clawing nasty jealousy.He didn't get sour seeing them together.

It was just more of a, ‘Well buggar’ I can't get with either now. But all in all, Gaz didn't give a shit, he was happy they were happy.

But right now, he didn't want to think about it, his brain would twist it. He was sitting out by one of the fields in the rain. Just needing the fresh air, the getaway, something.

All the back to back missions, and then family drama did not have him in the best headspace, he was tired and exhausted and just wanted to shut his fucking brain down.

He was so in his head, he didn't even notice Ghost coming up beside him, until a large warm hand was on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Alright Kyle?”the voice came soft.

Gaz froze, unsure how to answer, he couldn't exactly be honest, but he didn't want to lie.

He hated lying to those he cared about.“Uhm…. Debatable?”

The hand in his shoulder moved to his hair. “Hm, how about we don't debate your mental state, and instead get you inside and dry.” It was phrased as a suggestion, but Gaz knew it was an order.

He nodded mutely, allowing Ghost to pull him up to his feet. A hand on the small of his back, leading him. Well that was certainly the intention. For Gaz currently it was much more of a grounding force. Had that touch not been there, he genuinely thought he might have burst into tears.

He barely realised where they were going until they were within the Superior officers building, but… they weren't going to Ghosts room?Gaz frankly didn't have the energy to question it. He trusted Ghost, whatever he was doing, Gaz would follow.

He blinked as Ghost led him into Price's room. He hadn't been in here much.but it was cosy, warm toned, many pillows around, blackout curtains, a few candles. All together something that already made Gaz want to relax.

Even as he shivered from the chill settling in. He had no clue why he was being brought here, but didn't argue. Price looked up from his bed, his eyes narrowing, at the state of Gaz.

He was pretty sure he looked shit. Eyes were probably red from crying, whole body drenched and shivering, being led by Ghost.He probably looked pathetic as fuck.

And now his captain was seeing this.

Before his thoughts could spiral more, Price stood up, walking over.Gaz wasn't quite sure what he expected, but it wasn't Price's warm hands gently cupping his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks.

And it especially wasn't the soft coo “Aw… sweet boy, your soaking. Come on, what's happening?” As the rough hands tugged him gently towards the couch. He vaguely registered that Ghost followed, the hand on his back not moving even as he was sat on the couch. It still being a warm, grounding weight.

Price knelt In Front of him, a hand on his thigh “How long were you in the rain love? You’re freezing cold.” Gaz couldn't even put together enough words to explain, he honestly wasn't sure.

Luckily Ghost spoke. “I know he was out there for at least an hour. The idiot” The last sentence was said fondly.

Price winced. “No wonder you are fully drenched, love. Come on” Price's calloused hands slide under the sergeants shirt. “You'll catch a cold” he murmured before directing his attention to Ghost “Si, you know where my spares are”

Gaz was so out of it, he barely registered he whined slightly when Ghost stood, stopping rubbing his back. Price immediately shushed him, in that same gentle quiet tone. “Shh relax darling, he is just grabbing something for me yeah?”

His tone was soft as he pulled Gaz's shirt off, chucking it aside. His hands trailing the skin warming it up, and gently soothing the younger man.

Soon Ghost returned, slipping one of Price's larger shirts over Gaz's head, and then slipping a larger soft pair of track pants onto him as well.

Gaz simply moved where they prompted, trusting them, as they dressed him in warm, dry clothes.He still wasn't sure what he expected but it wasn't both men then standing and sitting on either side, but he was too tired to question it and just melted against them.

Price voice was sweet like honey in his ear. “That's it Lovie. Settle down, it's okay”Gaz's eyes absently tracked over to Ghost, trying to get a glimpse of his expression.

His… boyfriend? Sex partner? Whatever was calling Gaz love. Was he not bothered?Ghost seemed to immediately understand the look, one of his unique skills. “We aren't monogamous, you know? I mean we don't even technically have a label on it, but price makes really good stress relief, if you like subbing.”

Gaz blinked, finally speaking for the first time since entering the room “I.. are you.. encouraging me to fuck him??”

His lieutenant shrugged “Not necessarily fuck, but he is good. Even if you keep all your clothes on, he can get you relaxed and in a sweet headspace, and you clearly need something Kyle”

They weren't monogamous? Not only that, Ghost was encouraging it, and price wasn't arguing? Gaz felt like his head might explode, he couldn't believe it.

He definitely wanted to.. but.. he didn't want to leave Ghost's side. And then that fucking power of Ghosts kicked in again.

“I can stay, Kyle. I don't have to go anywhere” At the nod he received he continued “just relax and be a good boy yeah? We'll take care of you”

Gaz had never considered himself a bottom, or submissive in any amount, he always topped. Even with soap, when they fooled round, there usually was no one in control, but if anyone was, it was Gaz.

But at those sweet, sweet words of praise, and Ghost gently tugging him onto the thick soft thighs, he melted. Fuck he would do anything they asked.

Price huffed a laugh. “Oh the sweet boy, yeah? You're gonna be so good for us” He murmured, stroking Gaz's hair.

Slowly, gaz's head started to drift off into a much nicer place. It was softer, gentler. Mission reports and recruit files fell to the wayside, briefings and emails were long forgotten.

Family drama, and exhausting missions were not even a thought as he leaned against Ghost's chest as Price's hands trailed across him, gentle.

Treating him as if he was important.A hand made it's way to his hair, he wasn't even sure whose it was, but it scratched the crown of his scalp just right.

The weight a comfort, in his damp hair. He, much to his mild dismay, began to drift off, sandwiched between the two men. He tried to fight it at first, but when Price gently rumbled at him to rest, they could continue another day, his eyes flickered shut.

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Cramps and Communication

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Summary: After a painful IUD, you discover it wasn't necessary. But it sure does bring you and Jensen closer.

Check out my Masterlist here!

Was this really worth it?

I mean, yeah, Jensen Ackles is gorgeous, charming, and basically the human embodiment of a Pinterest dream boyfriend-but was the agony worth it?

If you'd known that dating him would lead to this, with searing pain, blood, and a sincere belief that your uterus was actively trying to evict itself from your body, would you have gone through with it?

Honestly? Probably. Jensen was the best thing that ever happened to you. But that was beside the point.

Why do women always get the short end of the reproductive stick? Why did you have to endure this pain just to avoid having a baby?

That's exactly what you'd done: compromised your body. For love. Or at least for really good sex.

Sure, it had only been two weeks of dating, but you'd known from day one that while you adored Jensen, you weren't ready for kids. Especially when he already had two of his own.

His kids were amazing, and you'd already fallen for their cute faces and relentless energy, but parenting was not on your bingo card right now.

So, you'd taken action. Made a responsible, adult decision. You got an IUD.

Holy hell, why had no one warned you how much it would hurt? The cramping, the stabbing, the horror. It felt like a vengeful demon was using your ovaries as stress balls. The doctor said the pain and bleeding were "normal." Normal for what? Torture victims?

Now, you were curled up on your couch, heating pad blazing, hoping you might survive the night.

Your phone buzzed. Through bleary eyes and shaky hands, you answered. "Hey, you," you answered, biting your cheek to mask the pain.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jensen's warm voice rumbled through the speaker. "Haven't heard much from you today. Everything okay?"

God, he was perfect. "Hey, yeah, I'm good. Just...kinda rough day." You bit your lip as another cramp hit.

"Rough day? What happened?" His tone shifted from casual to concerned.

"Doctor's appointment," you said vaguely. "Nothing big."

"Aw, babe. Want me to come over? Or you come here? I can make soup, or we can cuddle. Or both." You could hear his smile.

"Jensen, I'm like...disgusting right now."

"You're cute even when you're disgusting." He paused. "Was that romantic or creepy? I can't tell."

You chuckled despite yourself. "A weirdly sweet mix of both."

"Perfect. Come over. Please?" He sounded like a little kid begging for a puppy.

"Fine," you groaned, pushing yourself up. "But if I die on the way, it's on you."

"Deal. See you soon, babe."

Twenty minutes later, you pulled into his driveway. The cramps were still there, but more manageable. Jensen was already outside, smiling brightly as you stepped from the car. "Hey! I'm so happy to see you. Feeling any better?"

You mustered a smile and hugged him. "A little bit. Thanks for convincing me to come over."

"Always," he said, leading you inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, a sharp cramp hit. You doubled over, hand bracing against the wall as a pained groan escaped your lips.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Babe? What's wrong? Where does it hurt?" His voice climbed with each word, eyes wide as he hovered helplessly.

"I'm fine," you ground out through clenched teeth. "Just... woman stuff."

"Okay," he said, nodding rapidly. "Right. Okay. I can handle woman stuff. I have daughters. I know things." He guided you inside, mumbling to himself: "I mean, I don't really know things, but I'm learning."

He guided you to the couch, concern etched on his face. "Talk to me, sweetheart. This doesn't seem like just cramps, what's going on?"

You rubbed your hands over your face. There was no getting out of it now.

"I got an IUD today," you confessed quietly. "I didn't want to make it weird by talking about the future or anything, so I just went and did it. I knew I didn't want kids right now, and... yeah."

Silence.

You peeked at Jensen. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes wide. "A...What?"

"It's a...thing they put in my uterus to prevent babies. It's small. T-shaped. Very stabby."

"They stabbed you?" His jaw dropped. "In your uterus?!"

"Basically."

He looked shocked, horrified.

Yup. Grossed out. Typical guy.

You stood abruptly. "I should go."

"What?" He jumped up after you. "Why?"

"Because you're clearly grossed out, and I shouldn't have come."

He chuckled—not cruelly, but softly. "I'm not grossed out. I'm surprised, yeah. But mostly, I'm laughing because this whole thing could've been avoided if we'd just talked."

You tilted your head up. "What?"

Jensen bit his lip, suddenly sheepish. "I, uh...had a vasectomy last year."

Your brain short-circuited. "I'm sorry. You...what?"

"Yeah. Snip, snip. No swimmers."

Your jaw dropped. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Nope," he said with a sheepish grin. "I thought it was too soon to bring it up. I mean, we were only two weeks in."

You groaned, the weight of the situation crashing down as laughter bubbled in your chest. "Jesus, we really need to work on our communication."

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing along. "But hey, you took one for the team, so props to you."

You grabbed a throw pillow with a laugh and smacked him.

"Ow! Hey! I'm sorry!" he laughed, shielding himself.

You kept swinging the pillow. "I went through uterus warfare for nothing!"

"I'll buy you ice cream!"

"Not good enough!"

"Ice cream and wine?"

You paused mid-swing. "...Red?"

"Of course."

You flopped back into his arms with an exaggerated sigh. "You're lucky you're cute, Ackles."

He kissed the top of your head, grinning. "I'm lucky for a lot of reasons. Mostly you."

And when he made good on his promise of wine, ice cream, and Netflix, you figured the IUD debacle was almost worth it.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[heartofbusan]

Your post is thought provoking. Seems everyone is thinking about the after MS right now.

I want them to be happy first and foremost, and for them to do what they feel is best, only they can decide that.

I think if anyone is going to pave the way as far as idol life and dating goes, it’s BTS, though Blackpink have been fairly open of sorts so far. Someone’s got to change the playing field, BTS are in a strong position to do so, with such a huge international fan base especially. Honestly their home land be damned, the ridiculous double standards, homophobia and idol expectancy needs to change, something has to give. They are living in the dark ages in regards to that, so advanced in many other ways. Out with the old and in with the new. What’s that age old saying? Be the change you want to see in the world! It’s never going to change if people don’t stand up and try to make that happen, history has shown that time over. Movements and individuals alike.

I’m not just talking about Jikook here, but in general with all members.

They kept saying prior to enlistment there were things they couldn’t tell us before, that they will, that Jimin said he wants to do what he wants with no restriction, in his last live to Army. Who knows what any of it means, or if they will let us know.

The Yoongi thing is another example of how ridiculous their culture is (sorry not sorry, bc it is), and I hope that he comes back with his held high and finger raised!

For Jikook, all I would want for them is to have them be free to show how close they are. The horse has bolted in many ways since the enlistment and show on top, the show being a choice they made, and aired. They shouldn’t go back to ‘hiding’ so to speak in terms of their closeness, they should honest to god flaunt it.

time will tell I guess

I honestly think the international fanbase is a huge hurdle. Cultural differences mean that not only do they need to think about conforming to their own culture but others as well. I'm not naming names, but there are a couple of extremely active fans out there who belong to cultures that tend to dismiss LGBTQI issues outright and they are also the biggest y/n types you could ever find. These types of fans can also be found in SK, but the fact that BTS for being so widely known would have to juggle multiple cultures is another reason to NEVER make any public announcements. Once you enter 'dating' into the lexicon, it can never be unsaid.

I think what BTS want in regards to their careers just doesn't align with their private lives. And merging the two is best done in private, where the one doesn't become a topic of conversation inside the other. That's just my opinion, and I'll wait and see how far BTS themselves decide to take it.

I love a good metaphor, and 'the horse has bolted' is wonderful. Is it Scandinavian? Am I mistaken? Just sounds like something rugged and wild..a wild horse that became antsy and needed to run.. just like Jikook. Mane fluttering in the wind, never back to being restrained.

Oh, Anon, you reminded me that I STILL haven't dared to watch Jimin’s last live 😭😭😭 his palpable and conflicted emotions like fear, nerves, uncertainty, and vanity all came to the fore, and I absolutely commend him for owning it all. What a brave boy, I needed the 18 months to be so brave, too.. I might soon because, yes, a lot of us are counting down the days.

Thank you 💜💛

[lesbiansforboromir]

Know that we know trop season 3 is on the way ,what would you like to see this season ?

Okay I'm going to divide this list up into things I think WILL happen and things I think won't happen but I still want to happen.

Things that I think'll probably happen;

Anarion and Elendil's relationship rotting under the weight of years of estrangement coupled with the fact that Isildur 'died' under Elendil's watch and Earien turned from God. Anarion as the original non-lapsed faithful of the family blaming his father for his negligence in regards to his siblings.

Imladris being built! I hope some dwarves are involved but I also hope that Elrond and Durin's relationship also suffers from estrangement and a repetition of Elrond just not putting in the effort to come and see his friend who just lost his father. Of course they are also at war but I want it to hurt >:)

An introduction of Durin's mysterious brother and a fallout from their father's death, I hope this brother isn't just power grabbing, I hope he has good reason to want the throne over his elder brother.

Disa navigating and leveraging her political AND spiritual positions, trying to reclaim the relationship with the mountain she used to have, perhaps through the medium of teaching it to her children whom HAVE ACTORS for this season.

MORE RELIGIOUS MARTYR BEHAVIOUR OUT OF MIRIEL!

Isildur arrives back to Numenor but only Earien finds out he's alive and we get a little bit where she tries to persuade him to join the kingsmen. Pharazon claims Elendil killed Valandil or something to that effect and Isildur is distraught and heartbroken but he also can't quite believe it and EITHER Isildur persuades Earien to flee with him OR he doesn't and joins some kind of rebellion in Romenna that eventually leads to him reuniting with his brother and father again later into the season.

Galadriel and Gil-Galad begrudgingly having to work together, sniping at each other way more, just generally Gil-Galad and Galadriel being a more prominent relationship this season.

Gil-Galad becoming a main character! Give him his own moments of vulnerability, show a little more of his inner world and his opinions on the past and show us more of what he loves, what he's fighting for etc.

Arondir and Galadriel becoming closer also! A development of Arondir's position in elvendom, explore how he feels about being a silvan elf within a noldor ruled kingdom! ELF RACIAL POLITICS!!

PELARGIR BIG AND BEAUTIFUL AND REBUILT AND WITH GIANT GREATSHIPS IN HER HARBOUR.... BLEASE..

An elevation and closer examination of Numenorean racism towards middle men, though this'll probably be in the lense of 'nyeh but they worshiped morgoth nyeh' >:|

I REEEALLY hope the end of the season has Pharazon arrive, save the elves, and take Sauron back as his prisoner to numenor, I also can't wait to see Pharazon coated in gold >:)

Things I don't think will happen but I wish they would 🥺;

Amandil exists and his introduction into the tale fully explains Elendil's original aversion to faithfulness, some flashbacks of Amandil trying to comfort Elendil after the death of his wife but doing it in a faithful way 'all things happen for a reason my son, she is at peace, do not mourn for her' etc etc

Honestly? Amandil being a bad father whom Elendil wanted to protect his children from unconsciously but ends up somewhat emulating to his later horror.

Amandil and Anarion having a very close relationship that Elendil both worries for and resents, but through watching yet another of his children be swayed by someone who wants to use them he realises that it is his behaviour and inability to be close to them that drove them to seek a father figure elsewhere. He regrets the way he treated Earien and has a touching scene with Anarion where he opens his heart about it and Anarion is touched.

A deeper and more nuanced representation of the Kings men position, Earien getting moments to actually explain their philosophy and even whilst the narrative rejects it, still make it FEEL like an understandable position, have people rail against the valar for their preferential treatment of elves over humans, have people asking why they must see death as a gift!!

Theo and the Pelargirians eventually joining forces with the Ents properly and waging guerilla warfare against Numenor's ship building drives.

Sauron and Shelob get to chat and he calls her his cat.

Gandalf and Hobbit plotline just vanishes, poof, no explanation it's just gone and we dont have to hear from any of them ever again.

The big sea serpent randomly coughs Celeborn out onto a beach at Galadriel's feet in the middle of the season. He is covered in fish.

PHARAZON CAN STILL KILL AND EAT A DIVINE EAGLE RAW OKAY LISTEN LISTEN HEAR ME O-

[chipthekeeper]

There has never, in the history of characters, been a character that means more to me than Vel Sartha. I’ve been finding it difficult to express that feeling. That feeling of being so thankful and so appreciative that this fictional person has somehow made their way into your life and your heart. How is it even possible (much less healthy) to love someone that doesn’t exist so much? I still don’t know. I may never know. And I may go on a mile long rant now that doesn’t even begin to help you understand what she means to me. But all I can do is try.

If you follow me, you probably already know some of what I love to yell about Vel regularly:

She’s a world class yearner, she’s a sad little puppy, she’s a born rebel, she’s a spoiled rich girl. She’s a trusted leader, she’s a bitchy ex girlfriend, she’s a doting “aunt.” She’s pretty, pathetic, puppydog eyes (and oh my GOD her eyes!!). She cares. She loves. She fights. She makes mistakes and doesn’t trust herself as much as she should, but she trusts others and knows when to use their gifts over hers. She’s insecure but she’s commanding, she’s tough but understanding.

I hope you’ll forgive the weird venture into lyricism but it just came out that way. The point is, Vel is so interesting because she’s so contradictory, because she changes, because she puts on a different mask and becomes a different person but she's always the same at her core. She shapeshifts but she is also just fundamentally changed by what happens to her and her team. And that’s merely a piece of what I love about her.

Because it’s one thing just to get a Star Wars character who’s a woman who has so many sides and layers, but it’s an entirely other, more life-altering thing that that character is like me. That her first rebellion was against her own society, her own family, just because of who she is. I’m actually sobbing writing this because never in my life did I think I’d get to see something like this on screen in my favorite media. A real, canonical, undeniably, unapologetically queer woman with a whole personality AND a girlfriend. A character whose sexuality can’t be brushed away no matter how hard “they” might try to do so because IT IS ESSENTIAL TO WHO SHE IS. It is essential to her arc, her story, her motivations, to her interactions with other characters. And it’s not cheesy or preachy or boring or “toxic.” It’s real. It’s just real. It’s relatable. And it means the fucking world to me.

But even if you're not like me and that representation is cool to see but doesn't have the same effect on you, there is still plenty to appreciate about Vel Sartha. And actually, I really need to you appreciate her because -- and I know I'm biased but the numbers don't lie -- she is literally one of the most underrated characters on the show. With the third-highest amount of screen time behind only Cassian and Luthen, she should be up there among the most loved people in the series. And yet she's constantly overlooked and misunderstood. She never made a big speech and she didn't die interestingly or heroically. She didn't get to stab anyone or hit anyone with a brick. She just goes through some very real trauma and has a very real response to it, and people like to think that makes her weak and therefore not interesting as a rebel. Fortunately, though, it has become my life's duty to make everyone see the error in that logic.

When we first meet Vel, she is already so interesting as the leader of this little rebel band. She's the smallest one there but she has such a big presence. We find out right away that she wanted to lead, she wanted to be doing more and putting herself on the line. And she is good at it!! The men are resistant to the change she brings them but not because they don't respect her. She can command them with just a look, and she makes it known that even the big bad Imperial officer is not the boss, she is. Plus she's competent at the skills she needs -- she's a good shot and she looks right with the gun in her hands. You'd never know from watching that first arc that she started out as a spoiled rich girl.

Even when we see her weakness, though, it makes her more interesting. I love her insecurity as she watches Clem flirt with Cinta, I love the small looks of apprehension the day before the heist. I love how torn she is over how much to tell the team. And I especially love when the entire five-month-long operation nearly comes to a grinding halt as she looks down in fear from the top of the dam. But, to paraphrase my own fanfic, I don't think it's the height that causes Vel to hesitate, it's the weight. The weight of the biggest operation the rebellion has ever pulled, all on her shoulders. The weight of having to actually, finally make this decision to go or not, to send her team, her friends, into the unknown, to set off a chain of events that could turn the whole galaxy on its head. That’s SO much weight for such a small moment, and she almost crumbles under it. And even though she ultimately doesn't, I know it continues to weigh on her after the job because if she hadn't wasted all that time up there, maybe they'd have all made it out alive.

And this is where the switch happens for Vel. After all her men are dead and she's only barely made it out to see another day with Cinta, she's completely different. She's small again, scared and unsure. The confident, gritty leader she became on Aldhani died with the rest of them. She still puts on the masks when she has to and she's still a rebel, still dedicated to the cause, but she needs a break and some time to process her guilt. That's something I think people don't take into account enough with Vel. It was never that she was "cosplaying a rebel" or whatever people started to think once they learned who she is, it's that she feels responsible for losing almost her entire team.

But she has Cinta to remind her that there's not really time to take a break, and, because they are complementary halves of each other, she also reminds Cinta later that it is important to rest. I don't need to get into another ridiculously long rant about them as a couple (you can see my presentation for more if you need it), but suffice to say....this is a huge part of her character. Her love and devotion to Cinta might appear as a weakness to some, but to me it's an absolutely essential element of Star Wars: saving what you love, not fighting what you hate. Vel goes through most of the second half of the season timid and anxious, but when she thinks Cinta's life could be in danger, she literally sprints into the fire to try to find her, to save her. What could be braver than that?

I truly could go on and on for days about her, as I have for the past 800-plus days already (I took fully 10 pages of notes to prepare for this and we have BARELY scratched the surface here), but I'm sure I've lost most people already. The last thing I need to talk about though is that I owe Faye Marsay my life. She did such an amazing job with Vel, playing all the different sides of her so perfectly and conveying so many emotions and thoughts with just her face or her eyes. And beyond that, it's incredibly moving to see an actually queer actor playing a queer character in a franchise this big, and to see her be so proud of that work of "normalizing the normal" is equally thrilling. I would kill to have her play Vel for decades, selfishly, but I'll continue to be so ridiculously happy with every single moment of them both that I do get.

In conclusion (for now), please please please appreciate this tiny but monumental character, because my mental health depends on it but also because she absolutely deserves it.

"Everyone has their own rebellion," Vel tells us, and mine is destined to be against everyone who dares to underrate her.

Character Appreciation Friday - Vel Sartha

Name: Vel Sartha Played by: Faye Marsay Appearances: Aldhani, The Axe Forgets, The Eye, Announcement, Narkina 5, Nobody's Listening!, Daughter of Ferrix, Rix Road

Happy Friday and happy VELENTINE'S DAY, gang!!! Look I'm not gonna act like this is a normal one because that would be very dishonest of me. This is the most important day of the year for me, and I'd really really really love if everyone would help out with spreading appreciation and love for my number one sad girl rebel.

Please let me know what you appreciate about dear Vel in a reblog, comment, or ask!

Next week: Brasso

[thisismycorneroftheinternet]

Boy do I hope Trump's failed assassination attempt doesn't boost his popularity on the polls and leads him to the office like a certain Bozo of Latin America.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also "textless" versions of these, wahooo

[rainbow-arrow]

talked to a vendor at the con today and when i mentioned miraculous, they said 'i just finished season five last month' to which i said, 'oh i'm sorry.'

first time ever someone was confused by that reaction

[jupitermelichios]

so this is, as far as anyone can tell, not a joke. this is an actual list an alt right dipshit gamerTM made of 'conservative core' games and posted on a 4chan clone, and it's the greatest self own I've seen online in a while. guy is just out here boasting about his own lack of media literacy

I'll put the full list below a cut for anyone who wants it, but i just want to highlight a extra few special entries here first (minor content warning for mention of forced pregnancy, nothing explicit):

Toho Project: it's almost certainly on here because it contains anime waifus, but I've literally never met a toho fan who wasn't trans. technically i guess cis toho fans exist, but they're definitely not the ones keeping the franchise afloat

The 3 different Warhammer 40k games: 40k was created as a critique of reactionary conservatism generally, and margaret thatcher specifically.

Doom: just gonna quote the creator of doom here. "Trans rights are human rights, important rights, critical rights and society needs to do more to make this the case for everyone."

Sniper Elite: this is a game about shooting nazis in the balls. literally, that is the game. there are nazis, you shoot them. usually in the balls. that feels like a pretty firmly anti-nazi stance to me, idk

Persona 4: this game is about how conservative japanese society mistreats teenagers and denies them physical and emotional agency. gonna go out on a limb and guess it's on here because dipshit fancies one of the female characters

Silent Hill 3: silent hill three is about a teenage girl who is impregnated against her will and desperately wants to not be pregnant but a powerful religious organisation tries to force her to carry the baby to term and as a direct result the world nearly ends. in one of the endings, it does end. because of the lack of an abortion. i cannot believe the game about the importance of reproductive rights isn't even the stupidest entry on this list

Fallout 3: it is, granted,one of the less political fallouts. it's still a game about how the U.S. gonvernment destroyed the entire world by declaring war on china and then nuking the planet, and also about how unchecked capitalism and the replacing the social safety net with corporations will inevitably lead to those corporations abusing people, and how that is very bad actually.

Bioshock: literally the first thing that happens in this game is you are told libertarianism is a stupid ideology that will always fail and ayn rand was a moron. and then the game goes on telling you that. at length. in a variety of creative ways. for the next 15 hours.

Metro Last Light: see fallout, this is a game about war-hungry governments who don't give a shit about their people end up nuking the planet and nearly wiping out all life.

and finally, to end on the highest possible note:

Metal Gear Rising Revengence: not only is this an entry in a franchise which is entirely and exclusively about how awful the military industrial complex is, this game specifically is about a soldier who was abused by the military killing the president of the united states because his use of private military corporations to fight wars is morally indefensible. literally. that's the plot. it's entirely possible raiden just says those words in that order out loud in the game because hideo kojima knows writers who use subtext and they're all cowards.

anyway, the alt right are fucking morons and media studies needs to be a compulsory subject in every school on the planet.

full list below the cut:

Toho Project

Warhammer 40k: Darktide

Doom

Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Sniper Elite

Mortal Kombat

Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Persona 4

Rimworld

Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind

Quake

Silent Hill 3

Resident Evil: Parasite Eve

007: Goldeneye

Perfect Dark

Battlefield 4

Dino Crisis

Fallout 3

Counter Strike: Global Offensive

Arma III

Squad (no, I don't know what this one is either, it appears to just be called squad? it looks like a rainbox six knock off)

Ready or Not (disappointingly, this looks like a Call of Duty knockoff and not a game based on the film ready or not, which is about killing the 1% with a machete)

Company of Heroes

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

Devil May Cry 2

Fire Emblem: the Three Houses

Megaman Zero

STALKER: Shadow of Chernobyl

Bioshock

Halo 2

Battlefield 3

Call of Duty: Black Ops

Warhammer 40k: Dawn of War

Ninja Gaiden II

Metro: Last Light

Warhammer 40k: Space Marine (fun fact, at the end of this game your character gets executed for heresy because they saved lives, but i'm sure that's not commentary on anything at all)

Killzone 2

Dead or Alive: X-Treme Beach Volleyball 2

God of War (the original, not the Dad of Boy reboot)

Metal Gear Rising Revengence

[sunsetovertheocean]

Ok, the ending of Lia's section in Twelve? I have actually never recovered from that.

[girlivealwaysbean]

wow when i think about it maybe this year wasn't that bad

[moongirl0305]

Don't hide this in the tags, omg!!