#tbh i hardly remember what happens in it

[unforth]

.

[fideidefenswhore]

the tudors (2007-2010) / wolf hall (2009) / henry viii & the king's men (2020) / eustace chapuys to the emperor (june 1535) / the other boleyn girl (2008) / the downfall and execution of a tudor queen (2023) / eustace chapuys to the emperor (april 1536) / henry viii, stratford festival production (2019) / wolf hall (2009) / elizabeth i & her enemies (2017) / the mirror & the light (2020) / becoming elizabeth (2022) / the mirror & the light (2020) / the tudors (2007-2010) / the mirror & the light (2020) / the tudors (2007-2010)

[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[izzyspussy]

re: those fic ideas always going around about roy bidding on jamie at the next for the children gala

i like imagining sheryl is out for fucking blood this time. she lost jamie that year, then he wasn't there the next (two?) year(s), so now she's fucking determined. she's going to get him god damn it.

so sheryl bids like £6k or whatever, and then keeley as a sort of nostalgic thing bids £8k, and then sheryl bids £10k and there's no bex this year so it seems like maybe that's going to be that, but then roy bids. (he would have stayed out of it if keeley kept bidding, she is an acceptable winner.)

and roy. he's not lazy, obviously, but he hates tedium, he hates repeating himself, he hates attention except for what he wants attention for specifically lmao, and he's got plenty of money to burn. he has something to get done and he wants it done quickly and decisively. so instead of doing normal bids like a normal person, whatever sheryl bids he fucking doubles it.

so he bids £20k. she bids £25k. he bids £50k. she's getting frustrated, she's not into paying this much, but she's fucking determined!! she wants him!!! so she bids £51k. roy bids £102k. everyone's like.... bro omg.

jamie up on stage is like that's so much fucking money. hey, rebecca? hey? that's so much fucking money, actually. that's enough. call it. he gets it, he won. that's so much fucking money. (and like it's part genuine, that really is SO much fucking money, and jamie may be rich now but he grew up poor and that is a lot of fucking money!! but also it's a great excuse to wrap this up, to say okay roy won it's over! and get down.)

and rebecca - slightly shell shocked tbh, but also kind of reading how eager jamie is to get down - is like okay yeah he won that's it. a date with jamie tartt sold to roy kent for 102,000 fucking pounds. and she sends jamie on his way, and there's a lull between him and the next person because everyone is sort of stuck here.

because obviously, no one in this room knows why roy bid, nevermind why he would bid so fucking much. they don't know he didn't necessarily want to win so much as he wanted to make sure no one else did. they don't know he's been haunted by the joke he and keeley made back then ever since he figured out why it was so upsetting to jamie - even though, to be perfectly frank, jamie hasn't figured that out himself, and anyway it didn't make a lasting impression on him, like, it honestly was not that big of a deal in reality, but you know roy kent, any chance he gets to feel like a bad guy he's taking it. so to the outside point of view, roy wanted jamie so bad he was willing to spend £102k to get him. which is honestly a wild bid from anyone, nevermind a) a man and b) a man who could just ask jamie to hang out whenever he wants.

jamie goes right over to him as soon as he gets down from the stage, and he thanks him, and roy tells him he's just making up for last time, and jamie hardly even remembers what he's talking about but it's really fucking nice of him to even care, so he gives him a hug and he says thanks again, not just for this, and roy says he's been fucking honored, and jamie tears up and calls him a prick because they both know he knew that would happen if he said that, and roy does his sinister little laugh because he meant it but he did also do that on purpose, yeah.

and then jamie's like move i'm gay to whoever is sitting next to roy so he can take that seat, because roy just paid £102k (and made quite the grand gesture) so his date with jamie starts right now and goes for as long as roy fucking wants it to thank you very much.

[sid-sn]

My Darling Irene

my Irene headcanons below cuz someone asked <3

all interpretations of characters are my own and it’s not historical or canonical accurate, will change based on the future canon updates

contains certain explicit content so please see the tags, outlast itself is a warning tbh

According to the voicelines she’s drugged and hypnotized by her husband and most of the time is just a very obedient trad wife. But they also mentioned she would argue with Easterman and wants to leave him after discovering he’s been drugging her. So in my headcanon her mental state is very unstable, she’s drifting in and out of the drugs effects, she’s not entirely lost and is constantly fighting against the manipulation of her husband.

But as the time settings is in the 1960s so the general environment is pretty misogynistic. She’s confused about the social role of a woman that she often questions wether this abusive marriage is expected to be normal or she’s going insane. (That’s when Avellanos comes in and change her entire worldview with lesbians sex)

As for the self harm wounds that’s solely because Easterman loves to have power over ppl so he makes her harm herself under drugs or hypnosis. (according to his conversation with Wernicke I assume he’s repulsed at hetero sex, probably because of his own gender dysphoria. So yes that misogynistic freak gets off to her pain is hardly a surprise) Irene usually doesn’t remember the process, so she mistaken those are because of her own alcoholism and depression. She hates herself and those wounds, would use bandages to hide them.

I headcanon she comes from a decent wealthy family, provided her with enough sense of self and knowledge but not enough to let her see beyond the social gender discipline. She met Easterman and his brother Stanley in high school, their relationship is kind of like the langermanns and Jessica situation in O2. Stanley secretly had a crush on her but unfortunately Irene only views him as a friend back then, too blinded by the feigned maturity of Hendrick and her family probably favors Hendrick over Stanley’s soft and pessimistic personality anyway. Both of the brothers are not mentally stable as they both grow up in an abusive household, unlike Hendrick who is good at hiding his fucked up mentality Stanley is very aware of his inability to provide her with a healthy relationship, but still he cares for Irene deeply. She later developed some feelings for Stanley after she’s stuck in the terrible marriage.

But then again we know too little about the brothers, the whole Easterman family is a giant mess. To elaborate on my headcanons on Easterman’s family will take another wall of text so I will skip that here, but I’m also very interested in that topic.

Anyway we know what happened to Stanley next(actually we don’t) Irene is absolutely devastated, would often see him in her dreams and drugs induced hallucinations. Sometimes Stanley appears to her in an unspeakable way(my explanation for the uniform kink, that police line is irrelevant to me idc), she’s terrified of her own infidelity but it’s a comfort to her nonetheless. She’d see him appearing as a corpse sometimes but he’d never been scary to her. Everything about Stanley is a comfort compared to her reality.

Her feelings regarding her husband is mixed. Deep down she hates his guts but the environment around her is making it impossible for her to leave, so her mind would probably develop a self protect mechanism that’s build around the fond memories with him before marriage, which leads to her thinking she still loves her husband. Also the drugs and hypnosis aren’t helping.

In conclusion she’s not a blank trad wife character to me, and I don’t think that’s what red barrels wanted her to be either.

[poisonpercy]

Ok just finished the 3rd episode of the show. From a completely outside perspective without comparing it to the books, it’s a fine episode. The writing does fall flat imo, and it doesn’t keep my attention. It’s also still very hard to see what’s happening when it’s supposed to be dark. When will Hollywood let dark scenes be visible again?

Ok, now for more specific thoughts:

The scene with the Oracle sucked in my opinion. Idk it just seemed so much more grander in the book. The scene in the show lacked the mystic and off putting nature of the Oracle, so it kinda just didn’t work for me. I did like that they remembered that Gabe was the voice of the Oracle in tlt, so that was nice

How Percy chooses his quest mates in the show is different in the show than in the books. This isn’t a bad thing, but I do miss Annabeth volunteering herself to be Percy’s 3rd quest mate like she does in the books. Idk I just think it really showed her eagerness to prove herself and get a quest. The show scene doesn’t do that, but I’m not mad at the change

The interaction between Grover and Percy when Percy tells Grover he was chosen to go on the quest was so cute. I love those 2 boys. Besties for life

Percy telling Luke that he thinks the drachmas are from Chuck E. Cheese was hilarious

With Luke in mind, I love how manipulative he is. Like he is so nice, but it’s because he has ulterior motives. I do like that his manipulation is not overt, so you don’t know that he’s the one that ultimately betrays Percy

I personally didn’t find the “she met a pine cone’s fate” line that Percy said funny. It honestly came off kind of rude. It’s definitely something that Percy would say in ttc when Thalia and him are beefing, but not when he finds out about her death. Percy is supposed to be kind and empathetic, and he shows so much sympathy for Thalia and her fate when he hears her story in the book. Idk just felt like that line was ooc during this moment in time

Grover’s song was so cute and funny, it had me cracking up fr

Percy trying to get all of them to vote throughout the episode is hilarious. My boy just wants to have a say in things

Annabeth grabbing all that candy was perfect. It really shows she’s just a 12 year old girl that didn’t get to experience the joys of childhood (also, I feel like overall that the show is forgetting that Annabeth is not a stoic character. Like she very much acts her age. I hope the writers let Annabeth have more personality in later episodes)

I miss the book fight sequence with the furies on the bus. It was so chaotic and there was so much tension. Percy steering the bus and crashing it and the bus exploding was perfect, and I’m sad that they got rid of that in the show. The fight scene in the show was just so underwhelming. I feel like those should be the knock out moments of the episodes but they breeze past them so fast and give no tension. It just falls flat (curse you Mickey Mouse!! I know it’s your fault!)

I do appreciate that Grover keeps trying to diffuse the fights between Annabeth and Percy. They are both his friends, and he can see why they keep butting heads. If only the 2 would listen to him

I do miss how the trio finds Auntie Em’s in the book. Like Annabeth and Percy were dumbass 1 and 2 that followed their stomachs while Grover freaked the fuck out. That was so fun. The show had Grover find and follow the smell instead which is fine, but the og scene was better imo

That being said, they guessed that it was Medusa way too quickly in the show. I like the mystery of Auntie Em’s identity in the book better tbh

“I definitely trust my mom” <- Percy exceeds the momma’s boy standards

I don’t mind the change to Medusa’s character. I actually really enjoyed her (the actresses voice is so gorgeous and calming). I like how she’s like “we’re not our parents until we choose to be them.” It really sets up the ultimate direction of the series imo

Regarding the fight scene with Medusa, it sucked. To begin with, you can hardly see what’s happening bc it’s so dark. Also there was no tension or chaos. It kind of just happened? I also didn’t like that Medusa was killed when Annabeth’s cap was on her. I know it’s because Disney probably thought the death would have been too graphic or whatever, but I would have liked to see what happened

It was cool that Percy used Medusa’s head to kill Alecto

I felt so many emotions when Grover said “He’s not like the others. He doesn’t look afraid” about his Uncle Ferdinand

The beginnings of Percy’s and Annabeth’s friendship is so good. Annabeth not taking the deal with Alecto to give Percy over and killing her sister. Percy not taking Medusa’s offer to get rid of Annabeth and Grover so he can save his mother. It’s perfect. They’re going to become each other’s chosen person and they don’t even know it yet

LMM as Hermes jump scare. Still not a fan of the Hermes casting

Anyways, overall the show just isn’t working for me. I do appreciate Walker, Leah, and Aryan because they are perfect. They are honestly doing such a great job! The writers, however, are not. I’m trying so hard to think of this show as its own entity so I can enjoy it more, but I haven’t been able to so far. Despite that, I am excited to see where the show ends up going (even if I end up not liking it)

[adventuringblind]

heyyy i have a request but it’s kinda messy so make it in your way

charles and y/n having a fight during their vacation and both being too stubborn to apologize first so they spend an awkward couple of days and then both of them will apologize in the exact same moment cause they just miss each other so so much

idk if this makes sense but i trust u

Stubborn

Charles Leclerc x reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Request: Yes! I am now closing requests to work on some other projects and finish what y'all have sent me :)

Summary: I literally did exactly what the prompt said. I was feeling this the other day tbh.

Warnings: arguments

Notes: written in second person. Short fluffy blurb :)

Masterlist

You and Charles decided a vacation to London would be a fun way to spend your summer break.

The first few days had been filled with fun outings and basking in eachothers presence. It wasn't something you got to do very often. Another reason the situation was incredibly stupid.

Three days in, and you two had gotten into an argument. You can't remember what it was even about. Just that Charles started it, and you were too stubborn to back down.

Now, everything felt awkward. You were supposed to he enjoying your vacation. Not spending it in seperate room because neither of you will apologize.

It hurt like hell. You'd hardly seen Charles in two days. Just in passing where you exchange awkward glances and waves.

He'd left the hotel room a few times. Mostly to get essentials. It was how he processed his thoughts. Outin the open breeze

You, on the other hand, had hardly moved. The idea of fighting never made your body willing to cooperate. You spent your time in bed loathing in your self-pity.

You both knew you were being more stubborn than the Redbulls, and it was starting to get ridiculous.

Charles wanted to spend his vacation with you, and you wanted to be back in Charles arms. Both of you coming to the decision to apologize to the other. A neccecary thing that has to happen for you two to reconcile.

You drag your body out of bed. Wiling it to do as directed. Your eyes puffy from the crying. It's definitely a less then appealing look.

You didn't know Charles had come back yet. You figured you could get water and maybe clean yourself before he had to see you like this.

But when you swung open the door, you were met with a very broken looking Charles. His eyes had dark circles under them, and his eyes held the same look as when his team messed up his strategy.

You two didn't hesitate to fall into each other. Your apologies muffled by your face in his shirt and Charles by his mouth to your hair.

"I don't remember what I was upset about."

"I don't remember either." You meet his eyes now. "Agree to move on?"

"Agreed."

Charles wastes no more time wrapping himself in you. Finally able to move on with your vacation and spend much needed time together.

[rottenomelet]

warning(s): pet names (kitten), light bondage, creampie, riding, hints of kidnapping.

note: this ended up being wayyy softer than initially planned tbh. i wanted aizawa to do more whoring out but 💀 yuh anyways

-

pretty pink ribbon // yandere aizawa

…

“Come on.”

His voice, as gravelly as always, makes you flinch. You shake a little but try to steel yourself to do as told.

You’re on your knees, legs on either side of his body. Aizawa’s laying down with his head propped on some pillows, his long hair in a messy knot atop his head. You’re both naked - his tip just barely kissing your entrance.

You take one more deep breath before starting to sink down. His tip pops inside all too easily and it makes you near sick - it’s almost like it belonged/ inside of you.

Your wrists flex against your bindings behind your back as you take him inch by inch. Aizawa had your hands tied with a pretty pink ribbon, a mockingly perfect bow on top.

He looks all too happy to lay back and watch you, a lazy little smile on his face as you slowly take his cock inside.

The slide inside is easy, wet. As you take him, inch by tantalizing inch, your cunt feels full. It feels betrayingly good and you struggle to hold back a shiver once you’ve got him completely inside. You pause and try to catch your breath. You just need to calm down, get a grip on yourself.

‘Not turned on, not turned on. This doesn’t make me happy. I hate this man. Remember that he stole you away. God, please don’t cum. Not again.’

Aizawa tilts his hips up a bit, making you yelp. “Start riding, kitten. I don’t have all day.”

You may hate him but you know better than to defy him. Reluctantly, you start to bounce.

You can feel your resolve start to crack at just the first thrust. It feels so good/. Like all your best nerves are in your pussy, and his cock is brushing against every one of them. It doesn’t help that he’s been the only thing inside of you, touching you, for months. Your cunt has practically molded to fit his cock, and his alone.

Your breasts bounce along with you and embarrassingly, you feel his eyes watching them do so. Your fingers twitch but you do nothing to stop his heated gaze on your tits.

His hands go from behind his head to on you in an instant. One on your hip, squeezing, and the other to one of your jumping tits. His calloused fingers massage your boob for a moment before his thumb flicks your pebbled nipple. You moan at the feeling and he smiles.

You stop hopping in exchange for grinding - he can’t feel you up if you’re jumping like a bunny. The realization that you don’t want/ him to stop, that you like those rough hands on your soft tits, is horrifying. But you can hardly think when his tip is brushing that delicious/ spot inside of you.

“You’re so cute like this. All tied up with a bow, just for me.” The hand squeezing your hip travels south and makes it way to your hot mound. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

It’s sad how little coercion it takes for you to nod your head and moan - such a good little girl for him. “Yeah, yeah. Feels so, mmh, so good.”

His thumb reaches your clit now, pressing against it, as his other hand has taken to pinching your sweet nipple. “You like taking a ride on my cock?”

You can feel the pressure building. Oh gods, it’s gonna happen soon -

“I, I love it!” His thumb drives hard circles into your clit and it’s exactly what you needed to spill over. You throw your head back and your hips rock faster as your orgasm comes over you.

Your cunt pulsates and clenches and quivers. In the throes of your orgasm, you feel him thrust into you and cum. Ropes on white paint your walls and that only makes the orgasm sweeter.

You collapse onto his chest. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer.

You know you’ll come to regret it in the morning, that you’ll cry and claim that you won’t enjoy it next time. You know you’ll go back on those words tomorrow night, when his hands caress your skin and he whispers in your ear. But for now, you’ll rest and listen to the sound of his beating heart.

[angel-of-the-moons]

I think Khonshu would benefit a lot from being tied up and given an hours-long edging session tbh (the incredulous logistics of an ancient deity as demanding as him actually staying bound and rendered immobile aside, of course). See if he’s still crabby and snippy after he has to beg for mercy from his puny li’l human lover who hardly ever has the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine.🤭

A Promise Kept

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Teasing, Dom(?) Reader, Sub(?) Khonshu, Edging, Verbal Binding, Grinding, Handjob, Blowjob, Thigh-Fucking

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah, this is basically a part 2 to my other Moon Knight!Reader fic. The Dusty Bird Man gets his 👀 But the answer to that is also yes

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It had been almost two months since your confusing and arousing encounter with your god, Khonshu.

Two months since that night on the couch, and the bastard hasn't even so much as hinted that he cared--or even remembered--what happened that night. But you knew he felt it, you could tell he thought about it; in the subtle way his hand would press into the small of your back before battle. In the way you could feel his eyeless gaze linger on your body as you danced between your foes in a bloody concert and blur of white.

You could feel it on you even when it appeared you were alone in your camps, or hotel rooms in your travel; the way eyes unseen slowly raked your form, leaving cold prickling bumps in its wake.

Despite the fact you knew of his newfound attraction to you--or perhaps more accurately, your body--he had not voiced it. And most likely never would have, had you not.

He would have let his fascination and arousal fester within him, locked it away into his own imagination to entertain him on silent, windless nights.

But, that didn't need to happen. Not now.

You couldn't take the tension anymore, the ache between your legs that refused to be satiated by means of your own, none o f your vibrators or silicone toys enough to ease the burning need your depths craved to be filled. Nothing could compare or come close to how electrifying it felt to have his hands on you, leaving you wondering how it would feel if you took it just a bit further...

And thus was how your bargain with you benefactor started. You played him at his own game; talked in the same labyrinthine patterns of honor he reveled in. No mortal bindings could keep him restrained or bound.

Nothing but his words and promise to let you entertain yourself kept him in line. His pride would not allow him to break carnal oath. Like a demon at a crossroads, Khonshu struck a bargain with you. Your pleasure for his, yet he was not allowed to touch you. And if he did, you would stop entirely and never venture into this territory again. The premise of such a situation had his ancient blood singing at the prospect.

But he had no idea you could be this maddening.

The way you were on your knees before him, skin bare, save for the silvery-white cloak he'd granted you enshrouding you with his power; wearing him on your bare skin in such a way that he had never thought to see any of his chosen, let alone you. The holy article flowed and hung like silk over your bare shoulders, down your back, covering your head and much of your face, concealing the mischievous glint you help in your eyes as your tongue lazily running up and down his thick shaft, your diminutive fingers tracing every thumping vein beneath the searing, velvety skin.

It was a worship he would surely have enjoyed, had he not made a binding promise not to touch you, to push and press you into the position that he wanted; to take you in the way he knew without a doubt you wanted him to.

But your own pride and ego could sometimes match his own, and he knew you would not abandon this game just to know what it felt like to have his entirety deep within the hottest, wettest recesses of your body that his divine ichor may burn forever inside of you at the mere memory of it.

He growled, a deep, menacing tone that would terrify any other mortal away from the path of teasing and testing the patience of a god this way; to try and push him past his breaking point. And, infuriatingly--pleasurably--you did not relent in your pace, one of your hands pumping his shaft as he sat before you, perched on the ruins deep in the desert, the carnage of the battle you fought still littering one of his ancient, ruined temples while your other hand crept up his thigh so achingly slow until your fingers curled and cupped the large testes that hung beneath his cock, heavy with his godly seed.

You palmed them, your fingers teasing and pressing in such an erotic way it had every nerve in his body tingling while you sucked the tip of his cock past your swollen lips, your tongue tracing the slit and tasting the ambrosial fluid dripping from it, humming appreciatively at the taste of him; pumping the rest of his length lazily in your fist.

Khonshu growled again, his hips bucking slightly to try and force himself just a bit father past your soft lips, to feel more of your tongue trace the underside of his shaft.

He felt so enraged he nearly fisted your hair as you pulled back, a heavy trail of saliva connecting your tongue to his cock as you leaned away, finally looking up at him with sadistic mirth in your eyes.

"Giving in already?" You jabbed playfully, your tone almost innocent as your tongue ran along the shape and curve of your slick lips. "And here I thought the God of the Night Sky would be able to control himself better than some horny teenager."

His chest rattled with a dismissive huff as he felt his outrage simmer low in his belly, mixing with the strange pleasure that he felt at you denying him as he looked down at you. "A test," Khonshu sneered. "I will not give in like you think I will."

You slowly trailed a finger up from the underside of his cock all the way to his tip, swirling another bead of his precum around the crown almost lazily, smirking at how he twitched and the massive girth jerked in your palm, veins thumping beneath your soft skin. "Oh, c'mon... and you called me pathetic? It's only been an hour. You've been squirming this whole time, old man."

His fists clenched so hard he could feel his tendons strain with his effort to reign in his self control, to pull and stretch it to its absolute limit as your haughty voice teased and poked at him like a fool poking a tiger with a stick.

He dropped back against the crumbling stone, forcing his tense shoulders to drop as he looked at the night sky--his night sky. His moon shining down on the sands of Egypt while the two of you engaged in your little rendezvous.

"Guess you can teach old birds new tricks." You murmur with a giggle, sliding your tongue around his flushed head and pulling him into your mouth, soaking and coating his tip with your saliva before pulling back, reveling in how his ashen abs flexed taut at the loss of heat, at how his voice nearly trembled with frustration.

His cock ached and twitched, throbbing and swelling as you hang your tongue out of your mouth, dripping heavy globs of your spit onto his length, using your soft yet calloused fingers to spread it and pump him harshly, clenching your legs together at the heady groan that slithered out from within him.

His head was still turned to the sky, beak pointed at the stars like a bony compass as you knew he was still trying to ignore how you were teasing him. Your cunt throbbed painfully, drooling onto the sands below, coating your thighs in a hot sticky mess that you refused to tend to just yet in favor of aggravating the creature that was basically your boss.

You swore he almost snapped again, feeling his thighs flex beneath your palms as you released his cock, using his legs as support as you shuffled closer.

His head snapped down to look at you, holding back the urge to thrust towards your missing touch; until he felt the soft and heavy weight of your breasts pressed around his dick. Khonshu growled approvingly as you used your hands to press the mounds of flesh tighter around him, arching and pulling your body in a way that stroked him.

It was not the wet, tight heat that he wanted... but it was very, very close to it.

He hadn't anticipated you to do this, shuddering and feeling his heart sing in his chest at the assault of pleasure you were attacking him with; his hands gripping the edges of his crumbling, makeshift throne as you chuckled, grinning widely up at him as you dipped your head down, licking around the head of his cock each time you rolled downwards, swiping away each fresh bead of his precum that he dribbled out for you, letting some of it roll down his throbbing shaft to drip onto your breasts as you worked him over.

Khonshu's cock was so hard you could swear the damn thing could probably fuck a hole into a steel wall if he really wanted to. Your cunt pulsed and clenched around nothing at the thought of what it could do to you if he fucked you, instead.

But no, that would happen later. Maybe. If he obeyed the rules of your bargain, that is. You could do whatever you wanted to him, make him cum at your own leisure to get back at how he treated you before.

And oh, how you were enjoying this game. You almost couldn't believe it, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you sliced down the interlopers that were raiding his temple to sell the artifacts on the black market; the tension after that came to a head when he began to mock you in such a way, circling you in a predatory manner, jokingly talking about how you got distracted, slipping in the sand and almost toppling over as a shotgun round blasted you in the chest.

You would have yelled at him like you normally did had his hand not slowly crept up the curve of your spine, his fingers pressing in ever so slightly and leaving a blazing trail that burned through your linen trappings and armor like they weren't even there; cold sweat trailing down opposite, battling the warring hormones raging in your blood.

It was then that you couldn't take it anymore--the adrenaline colliding with your repressed arousal is what led to this boiling point.

Khonshu hissed from an unseen mouth, his fingers crumbling the stone beneath his unearthly grip like dry, stale bread as you continued to fuck him with your tits yourself.

You bite your lip as you felt him twitch in between your tits, the soft squealching of skin on skin only aided by his generous precum; softly glowing against your skin in a transparent sheen as the entire length of him ached for that blissful release.

You hum as you continued to work yourself up and down in an almost lazy rhythm; a wicked thought creeping up in your mind.

Your clit throbbed and your folds dripped with neglected need. Gods, you needed something to offset the ache or you might break the rules of your own game just to feel something...

Gleeful joy thrummed within you as Khonshu groaned loudly when you pulled away again, deep chunks falling away from his throne while you licked your lips.

"Why did you--"

"Ah-ah," You giggle, standing up, your breasts glistening with his divine fluid, nipples pebbled in the warm desert air. He looked down to see how slick your thighs were, and some part of him felt smug; knowing this was just as much torture for you as it was him. He was almost impressed with your restraint to avoid pleasuring yourself. He figured you would be so cocky as to make him watch you touch yourself while denying him his own coital release--

His thoughts came to a screening halt as he watched you move, picking up your cloak and turning around, draping it across one of his thighs as you inched backwards between his legs.

You grabbed his cock in your small and soft hand, lifting one of your legs briefly to slip him between your slick, hot thighs. For a scant moment, his heart hammered within his chest when he assumed you gave up, wanting to take him within you finally.

But that wasn't what you had planned. Khonshu tipped his head back with a low huff, shuddering when he felt your clit throb against his shaft, your sweet nectar dribbling around him lewdly as you squeezed your thighs together.

The hem of your hood concealed your eyes once again from his view as you looked over your shoulder at him, but he knew all too well what your wicked grin meant.

Khonshu once more resisted the urge to just thrust against you as you braced yourself with your hands on his thighs, your ass pressing flush against his groin before you rocked your hips forward, a relieved moan sighing out of your lungs at the blissful drag of his searing skin on your aching sex; his veins adding delicious friction to your swollen bundle of nerves.

"Fuuuuuuck, that's so much better..." You groan loudly, perhaps putting just a bit too much emphasis on your voice just to egg him on. You briefly look over yourself at him again as you grinded down with his cock between your legs; "What's the matter, old man? Nothing to say now?"

Khonshu grunted loudly as he flexed his hands to relieve the tension aching in his joints, feeling his cock slip between your legs, pleasuring you as you essentially used him to masturbate yourself.

Oh, how he wanted to scratch that itch, to relieve himself of that tight, boiling pleasure that rolled around in his belly that he hadn't indulged in... in millennia. A carnal dance he hadn't performed in recent memory, but still looked back on with recorded, expert skill.

Your moans only pushed him even further, the small huffs and puffs; the whimpers and murmurs that babbled from your lips as you continued to grind down on him.

Your body wept around him, the slick noises adding adequate lubrication to give the most pleasurable glide as his cock disappeared between your thighs only to stand out prominently from between them when your ass and back were pressed flush against him once again.

He knew that if he so much as leaned in to your space, he would have broken his word and lost. His pride stabbed him too greatly in his psyche to allow him to fail at this; regardless if he craved you to cant your hips at just the right angle to let him fill you to the brim, to let you ride him until you both crumble into sweet oblivion.

But of course, true to your own word and devious machinations... you didn't. You just continued to grind and slide yourself up and down the throbbing length of his shaft, his tip leaking viscously down your thighs.

He felt a wonderful stab, his sack drawing tight when you whimpered loudly, his name finally tumbling from your lips in a breathy whisper.

Draped in his cloak, his magic; his blessing like a veil had him growling. You looked perfect like this, naked, needy and draped in holy linen as though it were the finest gossamer veil, your body dripping from pleasure that you were using him to give yourself...

You were beautiful, he supposed, bathed in the light of his moon.

And he felt his climax finally beginning to crest, the soft fat that hugged around your concealed muscles squeezing his cock, the wet slide of your clit against the veins that thumped hard beneath his skin has his heart skipping a beat.

Khonshu hissed, not wishing to give you the satisfaction of hearing him announce his impending release; instead grunting, letting you set the pace (as frustrating as that was to him in the moment) and leaning back, and allowing him to enjoy the view of you that he had from behind as you bounced in his lap.

He reclined, his palms itching to grip your hips and slam himself upwards to meet your rolling hips as their tempo increased in rapidity. He wanted to press his thumbs into the dimples at the base of your spine, bend you forward and arch your spine...

The first second as he came almost blinded him, his head dropping back as he groaned deeply in relief; his hot seed spurting forth as you continued to grind and stroke him against yourself, moaning appreciatively as the divine sap coated your skin, the luminescent fluid glittering on your skin like liquid moonlight, illuminating you as he almost entirely painted your skin with ghostly, ethereal light.

"Oh, fuck, Khonshu--" You hiccuped, the sight of it as he just kept cumming on your thighs sending you careening over that edge; coming undone around his cock with a joyful sob as your orgasm tore through your body like ripples on the surface of a still pond after dropping a stone in it.

Your body slowed, panting as the haze lifted from your brain, the fog clearing as your mind cleared. You reach up and laugh, looking down at the glowing mess he'd made of your thighs (and impressively enough, part of your belly) as your hand stroked the smooth, bleached bone of his beak as you felt his heart beat agaisnt your back through his broad chest.

"Mmmm... that was... nice." You commented contentedly, letting yourself relax and grow limp in his lap, your eyes closing as you tip your head back against his chest.

His warm hands slipped around your body, trailing down your belly and to your thighs, his fingers dipping into his seed to spread it around his bare digits.

"Wait, what are you--"

You were interrupted when he lifted a hand and slipped his cum-coated fingers into your mouth, his flavor invading your senses in every way possible, almost making you instantly black out again as a violent aftershock ripped through you the moment his hot ambrosia trickled down your throat.

"You forget, little dove." Khonshu chuckled darkly. "That our bargain was for you to have your fun. And you already have."

Your eyes grow wide as his fingers continue to stroke your tongue, his free hand wrapping around your thigh to draped your leg over his, spreading you open for him as he lined his cock up against your fluttering entrance. You practically sobbed around his fingers as your body burned with renewed desire; stinging almost painfully with delicious overstimulation.

"Now..." He spreads more of his seed over your clit, tapping it softly, the sensation enough to cause your blood to boil and another orgasm to sweep through your very pores like a tsunami.

"Allow me to demonstrate why I am also a god of fertility."

[moni-logues]

Even Though

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: friends/FWB(?)-to-lovers, smut

Summary: Hoseok comes running every time you call, even though he knows you don't want the same things. Unless, of course... you do?

Word count: 7.4k

Content: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, oral sex (m. and f. receiving inc. deepthroat and face-sitting), unprotected sex

A/N: It's almost Hobi's birthday, so have a repost because I won't be writing a new fic for it lmaooooo! This one has had a bit of an edit and I think is much improved for it tbh; I was always quite fond of this one (esp for having written it in one sitting between midnight at 2:30am lmao) but I've added a few bits and changed the ending so it feels a little more ~realistic I guess. I've also (I hope) knocked out the bajillion typos that I had left in it before whoops! anyway, enjoy!

* * *

You turned, huddled into a corner of the club, carefully cradling your phone against your cheek as if that would, in any way, block out the noise. The voice at the other end was quiet, groggy.

“Hello?” 

“Hoseok?!” you shouted into your phone. “Hoseokieeee! Can you hear me?”

“y/n? Are you ok?”

“No! I miss you! I miss you so much! I wish you were here; no one else is any fun. Can you come out, please? Come out and playyyyy.” 

You swayed on your feet and had to brace yourself against the wall with one hand, staring pointedly at a chip in the paint, studiously focusing on it, trying to get it to stop swimming in front of you, doubling and twisting before your eyes. 

“y/n, I was sleeping-”

“No! No sleeping! Come and play with me, Hoseok; I want to play.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Hardly,” you said with a snort, almost tripping over your own feet. “I’m basically fine, actually. I don’t even really feel drunk anymore.”

“Are you with people? Who are you out with?”

“I’m at work!”

“No, who are you out with?”

“Work! I’m at work with club at the people.”

“You’re at a club with people from work.”

“That’s what I said. But I don’t care about them... I just want you. I miss you. I want you. Please come out. Please, pretty please a thousand times.”

“Is someone looking after you?”

“Noooo. No one looks after me like you do. You’re the only one. You’re my favourite. Of all everyone, you’re my best one.”

You didn’t hear him sigh, didn’t see him rub his face with his free hand, staring up at the ceiling, facing off with the inevitable. He would come and get you. Of course, he would. That’s what he did. He’d come and get you and take you home and tuck you up in bed and leave water and painkillers on your bedside table and you’d tell him how much you love him and how much you miss him and you’d list everything you like about him and then you’d pass out and wake up in the morning and say you couldn’t remember what you said the night before. The texts would be right there in your phone but no one would mention them. Hoseok didn’t know if your amnesia was real or feigned but it didn’t really matter either way. 

He knew this is what would happen, and he knew that it would slice through his heart like a knife, but he agreed to come and pick you up anyway. Like always.

* * *

“Hoseok-y! Ho-socky and mittens! My yang-mal and jang-gab-yyy. You came!” 

You stumbled over to his car and made grabby motions at him through the open window. He got out and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you in. You grabbed at his jumper and pulled his face close to yours. You sprinkled kisses all over his face as he tried to extricate himself from your clutches and return to the driver’s side. 

“-ease please please please please,” you were saying as he sat down, shut the door, and buckled his seatbelt.

“Hm? What do you want?”

“I want to kiss you, please!”

You took his hand in yours and kissed the back of it with a loud, noisy smack.

“Not while I’m driving.” 

“Plleeeeaaassse,” you insisted, leaning in as close to him as you can. “If I ask really, really nicely?”

“Not while I’m driving, ok? It’s dangerous.”

You groaned, frustrated, and threw your hands in the air. The world whipping by so quickly outside made you feel dizzy and then, suddenly, tired. The kind of drunken tiredness that was like an unexpectedly strong wave that knocks you into the sea, pulls you under. If you didn’t lie down now, immediately, you thought you would pass out. So you fumbled down the side of the seat for the lever to adjust the angle and flew back with an anguished wail when it tipped all the way backwards. 

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, eyes flicking briefly in your direction before returning to the road.

You were kicking your feet in the air, pressing your shoes against the roof of the car. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said softly, tapping your leg gently, encouraging them down.

Hoseok was just glad you weren’t trying to kiss him anymore. 

* * *

“Daisy, daisy, give me your answer, dooo,” you sang, with little consideration for your neighbours, as Hoseok half-carried you to your front door. “I’m half-crazy all for the love of you!” 

He carefully propped you up as he unlocked your door and helped you inside. As he shut the door, you took his face in your hands and continued.

“It won’t be a styyyyylish marriage! I can’t afford a carriage-”

A squeak interrupted your song as he lifted you, carrying you to your bed.

“But you’d look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle made for two! 

“Have we ever gone bicycling, Seoky? Can I ride a bike? I think so... I don’t own one, though, but we can rent them, right?”

You blathered on as he took off your socks and pulled the clips out of your hair and hung up your jacket.

“Come here, please!” you called for him as he brought you a stack of reusable cotton pads and your make-up remover. You took both from him and chucked them on the bed, then pulled him down next to you.

“I love you,” you cooed, rubbing your nose against his. “I love you I love you I love you.” 

You flopped back, head against the pillow, and dragged him with you. 

“I think you are the most best, probab- Stop it! Stop it!” You swatted at his hands as he tried to wipe your make-up off for you. “I don’t want you to do that. I want you to kiss me, please.” 

He turned his head as you reached for him and you kissed his cheek and his temple and his brow bone. 

“Hoseok-y, why don’t you want to kiss me?” You were whiny and pouting and your big, shining eyes were boring into him.

“You’re drunk, love.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“But I still want to kiss you!”

He gently, but firmly, took your hands from his face and held them by your side. 

“If you want to kiss me that badly, you can wait eight hours and kiss m-”

“Eight hours?! No, I can’t wait eight hours! I can’t wait even eight whole seconds!” 

He wished more than anything that you weren’t drunk. He wished that you would be sober, sober and still this keen, still this loving. He knew wishes didn’t come true. 

You sighed, growling at the end, frustrated and pouting and pretending to be angry. But you did, at least, stop trying to kiss him.

“I just love you, that’s all,” you said, as he lay down next to you.

You turned on your side and pressed your finger against his bottom lip, flipping it up and down. 

“My name’s Hoseok,” you said, as if he were your ventriloquist dummy. “And I’m so pretty and I’m so smart and I’m so kind and I’m the best person in the world but I won’t let my girlfriend kiss m-”

Girlfriend. There was that word again. You wouldn’t dare utter it sober, and nor would he. He distinctly remembered the time he tried to get you to agree to a ‘date’ and how badly that went, so he wouldn’t dream of even thinking that word in your presence. But this wasn’t the first time you’d drunkenly referred to yourself as his girlfriend. Which was what made this all the more difficult for him. Somewhere, in whatever walled-off section of your mind (and heart), you were his; you were his girlfriend and you loved him and you were willing to let him love you. And the key to this little cage was, apparently, copious amounts of alcohol. So, you went out and you drank too much and you called him up and he came running because he loved that you need him, loved that he was the one you called even in the middle of the night. And you called yourself his girlfriend and he pretended for five minutes that it might really happen. 

“Just go to sleep, ok?” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear, pulling the covers up over you. 

“Not if you’re going to leave me.”

“No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay here.”

“Good.” 

You waited for him to lie down and then flung your limbs over him, holding him close to you, fisting his T-shirt. He kissed the top of your head and waited for you to pass out. 

* * *

You woke, in the morning (later that same morning), thick-headed and dry-mouthed. You chugged the glass of water Hoseok left on your bedside table, finishing it before you could reach for the painkillers, which you opted to dry-swallow and then immediately regretted doing. You unlocked your phone and grimaced as you noticed the time: it was 7am, which meant you’d been asleep for all of three hours. You felt ghastly but, somehow, also wide awake. You scrolled through your phone, looking through your fingers at the messages you sent last night. There were so many. 

You: Hoseeereeokkkkjjyyyy.

You: are ayou sleep?

You: I msiss you so mchu. I wish you wer hreeeeee. 

You: if u coome, I wlll love youf roever. 

You felt movement from the other side of the bed and rolled over, away from the embarrassment of your phone, to see Hoseok standing up. You watched him as he put his phone in his pocket, ran a hand through his hair once, twice, then turned around.

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

“Catching you in the disappearing act this time.” 

You sounded annoyed, but you weren’t really sure why. Just hungover. Probably.

He smiled and you wondered why he looked so shy. He was usually gone before you woke up, at least these days. Maybe he actually was embarrassed to be caught running out on you. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged. 

“Like I drank an entire bar and then had three hours’ sleep.” 

“You should sleep it off; it’s still early.” 

You didn’t know what compelled you to ask, didn’t know why now was the time, but you didn’t have the capacity to filter your thoughts from your mouth.

“What’s the point of you staying if you always run off so early?” 

He blinked, taken aback. He replied slowly, hesitantly, almost reluctantly.

“You don’t like it when I overstay my welcome.” 

It was such a specific turn of phrase, you could hear a bell ringing distantly in your brain, as if you’d had this conversation before – though, if you had, you didn’t remember having it. 

“You don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, though, just to get away from me. You can sleep in; you were also up at 4am so I’m hardly going to kick you out at 7.”

You thought he looked as if he was biting something back; his face was heavy with all the things he wasn't saying and you felt frustration settling on you, slowly taking the reins. 

“I don’t know why you bother, to be honest,” you told him, your lack of sleep and excess of booze making you sound meaner than you really intended. “Why get up, pick me up, take care of me and then just disappear? What’s in it for you if you don’t even stay for breakfast?”

“Well, it’s the only time you’re ever really nice to me, so...”

It hit you like a slap in the face.

“What?”

“What?” he threw back. 

“What do you mean it’s the only time I’m ever nice to you?”

“You and I both know what I mean. Take a look at your phone if you’re confused.” 

He turned and, after a second’s pause, started to walk out of the room.

“Hey!” you called after him. “You can’t just say that and leave! Come back here!”

He looked at you from the door and you almost didn’t recognise him; you realised you’d never seen him angry.

“What do you want me to say? We both know what this is. This...”

He floundered, looking for a word, betraying the fact that, actually, neither of you knew what this was, what had become of you.

“I want more than you will ever want; that’s a fact. I want what you can’t or won’t give me. I made my peace with that. But then you call me in the middle of the night and you tell me that you want me and need me and that you miss me and you love me and I come running every time because I know you will never say that to me sober, will never look at me in the cold light of day in the same way you look at me in the small hours of the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t. In fact, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. That’s what I mean.”

Without another word – not that you could’ve managed one anyway – he turned on his heel and you heard the front door slam shut. 

He wasn’t wrong. You knew. You didn’t want to know but you knew. It had always been complicated between the two of you. 

* * *

A mutual friend introduced you because he thought you would like each other and he wasn’t wrong. But you hadn’t expected him to be so right; you were entirely unprepared for Hoseok. Entirely unprepared for the most perfect man to just waltz into your life and lay himself at your feet. You weren’t ready for that. You thought you would meet a guy who was basically fine (hopefully a little better than fine); a guy who would be fun for a few dates, good for a casual sort of arrangement, nothing serious. You thought you could see this guy and continue to sow your wild oats elsewhere. But Hoseok was different. 

You hit it off immediately. Yoongi introduced you at a party and you instantly connected, forgetting anyone else was there, talking all night. Drinking, too. When he offered to walk you home, you knew you would offer him a nightcap in your apartment. He knew he would accept if you did. Your memories of that night were slightly hazy but you knew the sex had been good because you had sent almost everyone you knew a message that was simply five mind-blown emojis. 

Hoseok had a party the following week and you were invited. He had been a perfect host and you had spent hours, desperately frustrated, trying to convince him to forget about all his guests and come rail you in his bedroom. By the time everyone else had left and he could finally give you his undivided attention, you had sobered up and your memories of that night are crystal clear. You had sent your best friend a text that read ‘I will never sleep with another man ever again’.

That was not a vow you kept. 

Hoseok was kind and caring and considerate in a way no one had ever really been with you before. It almost began to annoy you, the way he took care of you, looked out for you, thought of you when he passed something in a shop window. You had begun to feel claustrophobic in his affections; this wasn’t supposed to be a relationship. He wasn’t supposed to like you or, heaven forbid, fall in love with you. 

Your ‘dates’ had been casual up to that point because you had forced them to be. You would swing by his apartment after dinner with your friends or invite him over to yours when you had no plans for the weekend. When he had asked you, finally, to go on a real date with him, out to dinner somewhere, your response had been ‘why would we do that?’. That was when things had started crumbling. 

He had insisted you could keep it casual and still go out to eat together. He had insisted that it didn’t matter what it was called and, if you didn’t want to call it a date, he wouldn’t call it a date; he just wanted to spend more time with you. You had called your mutual friend and given him an earful for introducing you; you had got several earfuls back. Hoseok dropped the subject. 

Then he had started talking about a weekend away, going into the country, getting a cabin or something, going swimming in the lake and walking up the hills and stuff that all sounded far too romantic to you. You had asked him why the hell he kept insisting on treating you like you were his girlfriend. You had told him repeatedly and emphatically throughout that conversation that you were not his girlfriend. You kept telling him that you were friends and he kept telling you that he doesn’t fuck his friends like that. You told him maybe he should so he might lighten up a bit. 

You stopped sleeping together after that. Mostly. Kind of. You hung out more often and you thought that maybe you had been right, maybe you were just friends and you told yourself that this was probably the ideal outcome. But a few weeks later, at another party, you had both got drunk and immediately sought each other out across the crowded room and left without so much as saying goodbye. You tumbled into bed and you cursed yourself for ever giving this up, for ever thinking you could go without him. Until the morning came anyway. 

This happened a few more times and, each time, you grew colder and more distant in the morning. Hoseok wasn’t stupid and it wasn't as if he thought you would magically change your mind about dating him if only you had sex just one more time, one more time, but he wasn’t expecting you to behave the way you did. He had asked if you could at the very least not be rude to him, and you had shot back that overstaying one’s welcome was also considered rude and maybe he should think about that. He decided he wouldn’t sleep with you again.

It happened a few more times after that, too. Then he decided to give up drinking around you. It would’ve been easier to just cut you out, take you out of his life completely, but he was too far gone to do that. He would walk over hot coals for you; he knew it and so did you. 

* * *

You woke again much later that morning and thought about what Hoseok had said. You dialled Yoongi’s number.

“On a scale of 1-10,” you began as soon as he picked up the phone, not even bothering with a greeting, “how much of a dick am I to Hoseok?”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Please just answer the question.”

“Ok, well, what’s included on the scale? Does the worst include like, violence and murder?”

“No! Obviously not. Just like, for normal friends, scale of 1-10, how badly do I treat him?”

“Is 10 the worst?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then 10.”

“What?!” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Everyone knows. You know.”

“I’m not that bad, surely.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well then why haven’t you done anything? Why would you let your friend treat your other friend like that?”

“Well, firstly, because I don’t actually control you. Secondly, you may recall that we have spoken about this on a number of occasions and I have always made it very clear that you are being a dick and you are hurting his feelings and always told you that you need to stop dicking him about. But like I said, I don’t control you. And I don’t control him, either. I have also had numerous conversations with him about you and I have told him he deserves better-”

“Hey!”

“Are you seriously trying to argue with that?” 

“Well-”

“Exactly. I don’t know what answer you wanted from me but, of course, the answer is 10. On a scale of 1-10, you absolutely treat him the worst.”

“Surely he takes some responsibility for it at this point.”

Yoongi interrupted you before you could say more.

“Don’t you dare go there. You are my friend and I am saying this because I do actually value you as a person and, this aside, I do think you’re a decent person: you are treating him like a cunt and he deserves better and, if you were anyone else in the world, I would’ve cut him off from you months ago and literally kept him under lock and key to keep him away from you if that’s what it would’ve taken. 

“That said, I’m glad you’re asking the question. I hope this means you’re actually giving it some thought? You’re actually considering his feelings now? Considering your own, maybe?”

“What do you mean my own?”

“Your own feelings for him.”

“I don’t have feelings.” 

Yoongi hummed non-committally and you could almost hear his eyes rolling through the phone.

“Well, anyway, let me repeat one more time for the record that you are a total dick to Hoseok and you should treat him better.”

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome!” he rang off brightly, ignoring the sarcasm of your comment. 

* * *

You were grumpy and hungover and tired and feeling unsettled, disturbed. It had been some time since you and Hoseok had discussed anything to do with... whatever it was that you were or had been or wanted to be, and it always made you uncomfortable. You did know, really, deep down, somewhere you tried not to look, that you were treating him badly, and on days when the hangover anxiety was at its worst, you felt sick with guilt about it. But you also felt sick at the thought of more. He wanted so much of you. More than you felt you had to give. He saw things in you that you were sure just weren’t there. And you didn’t want him to see the things you kept hidden, the dark things, the bad things, the things that would make him turn and run for the hills if he knew. He was too good for you and it scared you and it hurt you and you chose, simply, not to address it. To run away from it as far as you possibly could, which, when you’d had a drink or six, was not very far at all.

You showered to try to wash the discomfort away; you stuffed yourself full to try to distract yourself from the anxiety in your guts; you, briefly, considered drinking again but the thought brought bile to your throat. You stared, unseeing, at the TV, ostensibly watching a drama, but really replaying your own, real-life drama over and over in your head.

You wanted to be reasonable about it but the guilt and embarrassment and anxiety curdling in your gut made you feel sick and you couldn’t face it, so you chose not to be reasonable. You kept butting your head up against the fact that, if he really hated it that much, he could just not answer your calls. Sure, you could stop calling him, but you only did it when you’re drunk and who had that level of self-control after that many drinks? He didn’t have to come and get you; he didn’t have to walk you into your apartment; he didn’t have to put you to bed. He did all of that on his own. And maybe if he actually slept with you, it might've made a difference...

You tossed that thought aside because you knew both that it wasn't true and that you would not want to be anywhere near someone who would soberly fuck anyone even close to as drunk as you usually got. Hoseok was not that guy. 

The more you thought about it, the more annoyed you got. You knew that you couldn’t really think straight; you were not at your best right now, but you were annoyed. You were annoyed that you had to be tired and hungover and thinking about this. Why couldn’t he just keep it simple for you both and leave you alone? Or, at least, ignore you when you didn’t leave him alone? You felt like he was making his feelings your problem. And you were done with it.

* * *

You stood outside his door, hesitating. The taxi ride over had taken just long enough that your immediate anger was subsiding and a tiny part of your rational brain was waking up again. Then you thought about the texts you sent him last night and were so embarrassed at yourself that you needed to feel something else: guilt, shame, anxiety, anything would do. You hammered at the door. 

Hoseok opened it and looked surprised to see you, but nevertheless stepped back to let you in. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“We’re finishing this,” you told him and he looked at you blankly. “We’re finishing this now.”

“What do you mean? Finishing what?”

“This!” 

You gestured frantically between the two of you.

“I’m fucking sick of this!” you cried. “You want me so fucking badly? Then why don’t you do something about it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying do something! I’m not drunk anymore! Why don’t you do something?” 

“Listen to what you’re suggesting. We’ve done that. And it’s ended up with us here. How do you think doing it again is going to lead somewhere different?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he wasn't finished.

“Besides which, I don’t want to just ‘do something’. That’s the whole problem. We’re in this because I want more than just something, I want more than just sex and you don’t. And when I made it clear to you that I wanted more, you ran for the fucking hills. Before you came running back, that is.”

You were surprised because he’d never argued with you like this before. You realised, with a lurch, that he’d never been angry with you before. You couldn’t put a name to what it made you feel; you were too busy swimming with frustration and anxiety and anger to be able to think clearly. You just knew that this was different so, maybe, this was good. 

“And why do you let me back, then? If I’m so awful and I treat you like such shit, why do you pick up?”

“I already told you. And you don’t need to tell me I’ve lost my fucking dignity and pride; you don’t need to tell me that I should be better than that, that I shouldn’t be begging at your table for scraps. I already know. Trust me, no one is as sickened by me as I am.”

“Sickened? Wanting me sickens you, does it? I sicken you, do I?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok.” 

You stalked closer to him, stuck a finger hard against his chest.

“Fuck you for putting that on me,” you spat. 

The world held its breath for one second and, the next, you were tangled up in each other, his mouth finally on yours again, his hands against your skin, yours in his hair. He lifted your T-shirt over your head and you sighed as his fingers grazed your nipple, quickly teasing it to a tight bud. You pushed down his trousers and he stepped out of them, pushing you backwards until your legs hit the sofa. He ripped off his own top before guiding you down until you were lying on the sofa with Hoseok at your feet, tugging on your jogging bottoms. You tilted your hips to allow him to pull them off and he brought his hands up to relieve you of your underwear. 

His eyes were black, darker than you’d ever seen them and he looked at you like you were in trouble, like he was imagining all the things he could do to you. You gulped and arousal pooled in your core; you were suddenly desperate for him, clawing at him until his mouth was on yours so you could taste him one more time. You palmed him through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth, swearing softly as he pulled away.

You were tingling all over with anticipation as he trailed kisses down your neck and onto your chest. He licked a broad strip across the mound of your breast and bit down hard on your soft flesh. You whimpered and arched your back into him, urging for more. He clamped his teeth around your nipple and sucked, rubbing his tongue over the stiff nub and you shivered.

“Oh god,” you whispered. You had forgotten it was this good. 

“Touch me, please,” you asked quietly. You didn’t want to break whatever spell was over you, but you were aching with a desire so strong, it almost hurt. And you knew how much he liked to hear you beg. “Please, Hoseok, please touch me.”

“Why should I give you what you want?” he asked, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes, his mouth slack, breathing heavy, voice rough. “When do I get what I want, huh?”

“Anything. I’ll do anything, please.”

If you had both been thinking with your brains, you would both have known this was not true. Your brains were, however, otherwise indisposed.

Hoseok sat back on his knees, looking at you, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. He stood, briefly, to discard his boxers and then he looked down at you, slowly pumping the thick length of his hot, stiff cock.

You were on your knees in an instant, replacing his hand with your own. You brought your open mouth to his tip, softly licking across his slit, keeping your eyes on his as you wrapped your lips around him and sank slowly, slowly down his shaft. He grunted when he hit the back of your throat and outright moaned when you kept going.

“God, I’ve missed this mouth,” he said, his voice tight and gruff. He gripped your hair with one hand and slowly pulled you back. Then he kept your head still as he thrust back in, still slowly at first, gentle almost, and then, when you moaned around him, faster, and then harder when your fingernails dug into his thighs. His eyes never left yours, even though yours were swimming with tears and he was no more than a blur above you. He was always looking at you. Until his eyes fluttered closed and you knew he was close to coming, could see it when his eyes opened again, piercing in their intensity; you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth and you tapped his leg, signalling him to stop. 

He fell from you in an instant and you pushed him onto the sofa.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who gets to have their fun,” you told him.

You pushed him back until he was lying and you pinned him down with your knees either side of his head. He was impatient, wrapping his arms around your legs and pulling you down to him, your core wet and dripping over his mouth. He looked at you, making sure your eyes met as licked through your folds.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “I forgot just how wet you get. I’m going to fucking drown in you." 

He licked into your centre, drinking you in, taking you for everything you’d got while you rolled your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his nose, desperate for contact, for friction. You heard him chuckle low in his throat and you whimpered.

He was impatient to get started but he liked to take his time with you. He wanted you to beg: beg him to start, beg him to keep going, beg him to finish you off. He licked languidly through your folds, he sucked, he nipped, he returned again to fuck you with his tongue, all while you shivered and whined above him, pleasure building in you, urgency mounting. You grabbed his hair with both hands and tried to hold him still so you could direct yourself above him, but he was stronger than you and his arms kept you in place. 

“Hoseok, please. Please, I need to come.”

He hummed against you and you tugged on his hair. 

“Please, please.”

You tried harder to grind against his face, your clit throbbing and burning under the absence of his touch. He held you still. His face was buried in your cunt and you could just see his eyes, glinting at you, watching you fall apart under your desperate need for him. 

“Hoseok,” you panted. “Hoseok, please.” Your voice broke as your desperation peaked, every part of you alert and armed, like tinder just millimetres from a flame. 

He finally sealed his lips around your clit and you went up like a bonfire, ecstasy roaring through you, consuming everything. You were hot and sweating and writhing on top of him as he licked and lapped and sucked at you, pulling sounds out of you that only he could: loud, desperate, animal cries and his name over and over and over again. 

It was only when you let loose his hair and your legs quivered either side of his head that he loosened his own grip on you and you flopped backwards, lying on top of him with your head on his hip. 

“See how good I am to you?” he asked, wiping his mouth, sliding out from underneath you, towering over you once more. 

“Yeah,” you whimpered. You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, so good.”

“But you don’t fucking want me.”

“Yeah, I do. I do, Hoseok, god, I do. Please.” 

He rested his hands against the arm of the sofa above your head and lowered his face to yours.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said low, menacing.

He kissed you lightly and you lifted your head to meet him again but he moved too far off. He knelt over you, his heavy cock resting on your mound, and considered you for a while. This wasn’t usually part of your game and you were impatient, still needy for him, remembering the way he split you open, the glorious stretch of him inside you, the fluidity and power with which he moved. 

“Fuck. What do you want from me?” you asked.

He tipped forward, back over you, hands either side of your head, his face so close, you could barely see him. He moved and kissed you lightly just below the ear.

“Everything.”

He stood and put on his boxers and you were overwhelmed with anger again. 

“For fuck’s sake, seriously?!” you shouted, hitting him with a scatter cushion. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He turned to you, pulling his trousers back up and shrugged.

“No, I’m not kidding. I told you. I want everything. I want you, all of you, even this shitty part of you that treats me like crap, even the part of you that tells me you love me and then pretends to forget all about it in the morning, even the part of you that pretends to be sickened by the very idea of being my girlfriend, despite the fact that you refer to yourself as mine in the dead of night. Even your excessive drinking, even your emotional constipation, even your big, fat heart that you try to hide from everyone, even your insistence that you don’t give a shit despite giving a hell of a lot of a shit all the damn time, even your stupid fucking determination to do everything by yourself even when you actually need help, even your terrible taste in films and those god-awful reality TV programs you like, even your snoring, even your back turned back against me. All of it. All of you. I fucking want all of you, all the fucking time.” 

You stared breathlessly at him as his chest heaved, his breathing ragged. Your heart was in your throat, blood roaring in your ears. He was waiting for you to say something but you’d lost the ability to speak. Words flew into and out of your head without your being able to catch any of them. You couldn’t think. Your mind was buzzing, static blaring, nothing but white noise. You could only stare at him, bewildered, overwhelmed, utterly naked. 

His breathing slowly settled and he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. 

He was walking away from you and you knew you had to stop him. Your brain had no capacity to filter anything on its way to your mouth and you said it before you even really knew you were feeling it.

“I love you. I fucking love you.” 

He turned quickly and watched you, wary, unsure. You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You staggered to your feet and took his hands and pulled him close to you. 

“I fucking love you,” you said again. “I love you, ok? And I'm not drunk this time and fucking fine, if I’m such a piece of shit but you still want me, then fine. Fine. Have me.” 

He was still looking at you, looking into your eyes like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“I’m not fucking with you. I’m not lying. I want you. I want you and have always wanted you and always wanted not to want you as much I do because you’re terrifying. Ever looked directly at the sun? Ever looked at the fucking face of god? ‘Cause I have and it’s you. Ok? It’s you. When I get drunk and I call you and I tell you that I love you, it’s true – that's true. It’s only you I call.” Your skin was hot, flushed, but from embarrassment now, from feeling skinned, raw, exposing yourself in a way that you never did, never wanted to. Your voice broke and you desperately didn’t want to cry, didn’t want this to be more embarrassing than it needed to be, didn’t want him to see how pathetic you really were even as you were telling him. “It’s only you I want. And it’s only when I’m not sober enough to fight myself that I can admit it. I’m a piece of shit and you’re a literal angel, a fucking god, but fine, if you really want to have me, have me. I’m yours.” 

He gently nudged your nose with his and whispered your name, his eyes carefully watching you. Then he kissed you, soft and slow, and wrapped his arms around you. His hands wandered, exploring your body, caressing any part of you he could reach, as his tongue rolled with yours, as you raked your fingers through his hair, as he moaned into your mouth, as he picked you up and took you into the bedroom. 

He lay you gently on the bed and slipped off his clothes once more. He covered your body with his and pressed kisses into your neck. Then he bit down and you keened, arching your back into him, suddenly violently, urgently aware of the slick between your legs, of your fluttering walls, desperate for him now. 

“Please, Hoseok,” you whispered. “Please fuck me, now.”

This was where you were comfortable. No more talking. Just Hoseok with his body over yours, his soft skin and softer lips, his nimble fingers and strong body, his eyes black as pitch as he looked at you like you were prey.

“Gladly,” he whispered back, his lips just grazing yours. 

He pressed himself against your entrance, eyes flicking between your face and your cunt as he watched himself disappear into you and watched your face, lest you betray any sign of pain or discomfort. But there was none. There was only the perfect, overwhelming fullness of him inside you and then the tight drag, feeling every contour of his cock, as he pulled back and thrust in again. 

“God, no one compares to you- fuck...”

He liked to watch your face as you whined and whimpered beneath him when he lifted your legs, pushing against the backs of your thighs, hitting you deeper, harder. You were hot and sticky everywhere; your skin was slick with sweat, your cunt slick with arousal. Every part of you was fit to bursting, coming apart at the seams. You felt like a dam about to break and then he took his hand down between your bodies and pressed hard, the motion of his thrusts knocking his hand until you were crying out for more, much more, crying out that you were close, crying out please, please let me come, let me come. And he did. The flood engulfed you; you were pulled through a riptide of pleasure, unable to scream, unable to breathe, suffocating in the swirling pool of your orgasm. Hoseok kept going, fucking you through your climax until he was coming, too, painting your walls white, falling under the surface of ecstasy with you. 

He fell down next to you and you lay, quiet save for your heavy breathing. When he took your hand in his, you let him, despite the thrum of anxiety in your heart.

“So,” he said, and he looked nervous when you turned towards him.

You were nervous but you’d said it now. And you’d missed him—you had. And Yoongi’s words were ringing in your ears, about your feelings, about how badly you treated Hoseok, and words from much, much longer ago, about how much you’d like him, what a great guy he was, how much Hoseok had liked meeting you, how much he liked you.

He was waiting for you to speak, not daring to go first. You looked down at your joined hands, looked up at the ceiling, looked at his face.

“I’m,” you began, your voice quiet and croaky. You cleared your throat but still didn’t know what words were going to come out. “I’m… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled onto his side, facing you, and you took your hand from his so you could use both to cover your face. You gave a frustrated sigh and slapped them onto the mattress on either side of you.

“I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. Not to you.”

“’Not to me’? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing! That’s my whole point!”

You squirmed, embarrassment heating your cheeks again, and ended up on your side, facing him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you and it’s… intimidating. I’m not like that. You said it yourself. There’s a lot wrong with me and-”

“That’s not what I said. I actually think you’re perfect.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“But you said all those things.”

“I still think you’re perfect. Even though I said all those things, even though you do snore and even though you have handled this situation in about the worst possible way and even though it’s hurt my feelings. Even though all of it. I still think you’re perfect and I still love you.”

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling, blinking away fresh tears.

“I think you’re crazy,” you told him.

“There you go; there is something wrong with me after all.”

He leant over you and cupped your cheek with his hand. When he kissed you, it was soft and sweet and it wasn’t going to go anywhere—nor did you need it to.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” you whispered to him, his face still close to yours, his breath fanning over your face.

He shrugged lightly.

“It’s ok if you do. We can’t be right all the time.”

“You’ll still love me?”

“Yes. After all this, I still love you. I’ve tried not to, I promise. So, yes, I will still love you if you get it wrong. As long as you love me.”

“I do.” You wanted to say it back, felt it stick in your throat. You swallowed hard, blinked slowly, took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, still soft, still gentle, and then settled back on his side.

“So…”

“So?”

“So can I actually call you my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t stop the little thrill in your heart or grin on your lips.

“I guess, if you must.”

He grinned back at you, wide, beaming.

“Yes, I fucking must!”

You thought that sounded just fine.

[ohbo-ohno]

Oh and another thought on Johnny training his puppy-

You know how dogs have that one person they latch onto and get protective over if something happens to them or someone threatens them?

Simon is obviously Johnny's person and while Johnny knows Simon can take care of himself, he still can't help that protectiveness in him.

So maybe one day their little puppy tries to snap at Simon. Or maybe she even manages to hit him during a punishment.

And Simon, in his daze at their little puppy's audacity to even do that, doesn't get a chance to react because good boy Johnny immediately reacts to snarl at her. He stands protectively in front of Simon, baring his teeth at her and growling that no one lays a finger on his person, not even his beloved puppy.

So with a quick glance back at Simon to see if he's okay (obviously he is) and asking him if he can punish the pup instead, Simon let's Johnny take care of their naughty little puppy, showing her that if she wants to act like a big bad dog, then she can play with one too.

By the end of the lesson, Johnny gets endless praises for being a good boy and the naughty puppy spends the night in the kennel, whimpering at how sore and achy she feels.

- 🥍

i don't even know what to DO with this one. it's like you've sent me solid gold and asked me for an opinion. bitch it's solid gold!!!!

imagining that simon is hauling you her off for a punishment and she gets a lucky hit on his nose, something that takes him completely by surprise and has him flinching back instinctively. it doesn't actually hurt that bad but a full-strength punch to the nose will have anyone at least a little disorientated

and johnny just loses his fucking mind. no one gets to hurt ghost. that's not how this works. ghost is strong and incredibly capable of taking care of himself but when he isn't, johnny protects him. he's not allowed to get hurt - do you have any idea how fucked johnny would be without ghost??? no, it's not an option to let ghost get hurt

so it's mostly an instinctual thing that has him pinning you to the floor by your throat. he's the only one who really knows what's going on, you haven't even really realized you managed to hit ghost, and ghost is blinking spots out of his vision

you've never seen johnny so animalistic, seen him so angry. he's probably past the point of words, you hardly even realize why he's angry when he's got you in a grip so tight you can hardly breathe

he'd hardly remember to ask for permission to punish you - doesn't even really ask tbh. he'd tear his eyes from yours to look up at ghost, and ghost would give him a nod and say smth like "go ahead, johnny. teach her her place again."

anyways he fucks you very rough with like no prep :/ horribly uncomfortable and painful for you, but your screams don't stop him. he'd bite nearly through your skin along your neck and back, leave you mottled with painful bruises. your knees and elbows would be bruised, a layer of skin scraped off from how much they rub against the floors when he thrusts.

he'd fuck your ass too. barely give you any stretch, just jacks himself to full hardness, slips you maybe two fingers?, and uses the lube from your cunt to fuck you. takes him longer to come the second time, and he doesn't get you off at all :/

makes you crawl to the bedroom & crate on your own. johnny is right there on all fours beside you, pushing and biting you whenever you stop crawling, keeps shoving you where you need to be. he's mean about it, snarling and growling right in your face, leaving bites down your arms and legs

simon locks you in your cage, doesn't even bother looking at you as he goes to give his puppy a reward. leaves you there all night, listening to how nice he is to johnny, how good johnny gets to feel after behaving so well

(they'll give her a nice warm bath in the morning to ease her muscles a bit)

[anystalker707]

Infatuation

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word count: ~ 5 100 Genre: Fluff / Comfort Summary: Mikey's quiet brother catches (y/n)'s attention, and they're up to doing anything to have him fall for them with the help of their friends, Mikey, Ray, and Frank. A/n: another venting fic, tbh, lmao. not proofread.

I was Mikey’s friend. Of course, I had gone to his place a few times, even spent the weekend, but even so, I hardly saw Gerard come out of his room in the basement. He would rarely make an appearance, only showing up when Donna or Elena asked him to do something for her, mainly to bring things from the store down the street.

I could remember clearly the first time I had seen him. After seeing Mikey through the window of the school's restaurant, my interest immediately sparkled at the sight of one of the other alt kids who roamed the school's campus, so I was quick to ask Pete who he was. Mikey happened to be walking by with his brother when Pete and I hung out by the parking lot.

"The Ways?" Pete raised an eyebrow, scratching the back of his head with his gaze on the two males in the distance, talking beside a gray car. "You wanna know who they are? Mikey and his brother?"

A brother. My eyes went past Mikey to observe the pale figure with dark hair. He looked at Mikey mostly expressionless while the younger one moved around frantically, sometimes motioning inside the car, past the open passenger door. He seemed as if he had come out of a romance by Lord Byron, Poe, Shelley, or Stoker, but bathed in the last century's pop culture. Untouchable, in a way because, after all, how was one supposed to approach him? His eyes judged his brother coldly, already, but something made me want to be close to him, someone who would walk into his room uninvited and have him over just because I don't want to be home alone.

"I mean..." I shrugged—what did he mean by that? "Are they nice people?"

Pete hummed. "Very nice! They are from New Jersey, actually. Gerard moved here so he could study in art school and decided to bring Mikey along with him so he can get used to it since Mikey is also looking for a college around the area."

With a quiet hum, I nodded. "I see."

Mikey seemed hard to be friends with, in the beginning, but things ran by quite smoothly. It started with a simple exchange of assignments that slowly turned into sending each other songs then daily talking before Mikey invited me over to his place because he was having a small Halloween gathering. That's when Ray and Frank came around.

That day, Gerard had only left his basement once. Still, even with small appearances like this, it was enough for the small infatuation in my chest to grow each time.

“What does your brother do, Mikey?” I furrowed my eyebrows. Gerard had walked into the house and shortly went to the kitchen, where Mikey and I did our homework, before going down the stairs to the basement with a seemingly heavy box in his hands. The silence had echoed in the room before I questioned him.

Mikey didn’t even look away from his notebook. “Art school.” And he didn’t say anything further.

Gerard had a quiet nature that was quite noticeable, but it also seemed hard to break. The most I had interacted with him was resumed down to asking him for Donna’s phone number so I could message her something regarding Mikey, as she had asked. It earned me a few murmured words before he held his phone out with the contact's profile.

Ray probably noticed my thoughtful form—things barely went unnoticed by him, after all; Ray had quite a talent for knowing everyone in the group to a base level, which had already shown just after a few weeks of friendship. “So, (n/n),” he said as he moved closer, arm wrapping around my shoulders, “what’s in that little mind of yours?”

My cheeks immediately heated up and my eyes averted away because, after all, thinking about this felt so wrong. It didn’t seem like Gerard wanted to be perceived. I gulped, staring at my shoes, my feet hanging from the short wall contouring the square’s flower bed that I sat on top of. Mikey and Frank preferred the bench beside it. It was a quiet afternoon we had decided to hang out, with the rare occurrence of Mikey and I having our afternoon schedules free after the teachers sent us dismissal emails, so Ray decided to take the afternoon off while Frank... just skipped classes.

“I... It’s nothing.” I shook my head, reaching for Frank’s can of Monster so I could take a sip of it, quickly giving it back to him. “I swear, there’s nothing.”

Ray raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the concrete, next to me. “Are you sure? Doesn’t it have anything to do with the sudden curiosity towards Gerard lately?”

Fuck. My face felt even hotter and I struggled to move away with the way he leaned in until he finally pulled away with a chuckle.

“If you’re afraid I’m going to find anything,” Mikey grumbles, “I’m, at minimum, gonna be happy because Gerard isn’t going to be such a sulking fuck all the time. Maybe he and his bedroom would smell less like mold. I mean, not to discourage you, but Gerard—”

“Mikey!” Ray clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Y’know, (y/n), it’s more about... knowing how to deal with someone who got depression and some traumas on his back. I’m not trying to discourage you, it’s just that you might feel intimidated at first, but Gerard is actually a lovely person. You gotta break that first barrier he puts between himself and everything new, but it might be easy since you’re always around and stuff.” He finished with a wide smile. “I believe in you.”

Ray’s words somehow made me feel more flustered but in a good sense. He had such a way to change perspectives of situations—he would often help us sort things out whenever we had any problem. He was sort of an ideal being; he didn’t seem to have any problems, despite the hard times he occasionally went through just like everyone else. There were uncountable times in which he had spontaneously introduced himself to our issues so he could solve them because, according to him, it was his obligation as a friend. Of course, it can be concerning sometimes since he will blame himself for things he has nothing to do with, so we also do our best to help Ray out, and at least try to return a little bit of what he does for us.

His words didn’t discourage me. They had some use when I first grew the courage to walk up to Gerard and talk with him.

“That shirt you have,” I mumbled to Gerard. We were in the kitchen late at night, with the (maybe) fortunate occurrence of having met each other when getting out of bed motivated by thirst. “Is it themed after a movie or a show? Y’know, the one with a helmet. Reminds me of Star Wars.”

I was almost certain Gerard wouldn’t answer, that he would just put his glass in the sink and leave, leaving me in the thick night silence because I was too pathetic.

“The Mandalorian,” Gerard’s soft voice echoed through the room. “It’s a Star Wars spin-off. Do you like Star Wars?”

Something in my chest immediately warmed up as I looked at him for a second, still wondering if I was imagining stuff. “Um, yeah! Mikey and I watch a lot of movies when I’m over... Never got to watch The Mandalorian, though, since we end up mostly rewatching stuff.”

Part of me hoped Gerard would invite me to watch it with him, but of course, it was a step that was too wide yet. Instead, his eyes just fell to the ground before he nodded shortly. “It’s worth it.” His lips pressed into a soft smile at the moment his gaze met mine and the bottom of his glass met the sink in a quiet clicking. “Well, good night.” He walked out of the kitchen in swift steps.

Not surprisingly, Ray was quick to catch onto what was going on.

“What was going on?” He had asked, approaching me after I went silent for a little too long while he and Frank chatted while we hung out at his place. Frank was sitting weirdly on the armchair of the small dorm room while Ray sat next to me on the couch, where I comfortably had my legs tucked close to support my phone. I didn’t hear the question at first, humming confused as my eyes averted to watch Ray leaning closer to glance at my phone’s screen. “Oh, The Mandalorian?” The corner of his lips tugged up, his gaze already making me want to shrink and disappear. “Well, do you know who really likes The Mandalorian? Gerard even has a Din Djarin shirt!”

“Oh, really?” I tried, even if I could already feel my face burning hot. I really didn’t have a single second of peace.

Frank giggled. “Imagine humiliating yourself for a submissive!”

“I’m not humiliating myself!” I paused the episode so I could put my phone down and glared at Frank. “I’m just—” My thoughts just didn’t come up with anything coherent. It must have been so much fun for them.

“You’re troubling yourself with watching that boring stuff just because the submissive you like is a fan! Dunno...” Frank shrugged. “Sounds a little like humiliation, to me. Do you need a dick that bad, (y/n)?” His question was met with silence, of course. Because, like, what was I supposed to say? What could I possibly use as an argument that wouldn’t have Frank dropping sarcastic remarks? He muffled his laughter with his hand, head falling back against the armchair’s cushion.

Hell. It made me feel breathless, in a sort of bad sense. I wanted to escape that, but at the same time, I felt just like a goddamn puddle, unable even to look at anything other than the weird stain at the corner of the screen of Ray’s TV. It had been a while since I had been with someone or at least genuinely attracted to someone, so Gerard was sort of a game-changer. Something important, in two senses. If I did something wrong, it could affect Ray, Mikey, and Frank. On the other hand, it would also break me a little. Liking him so much while knowing so little about him felt so wrong. I sought anything that would get me closer to him.

“Why don’t you text him?” Ray raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t have his phone number,” I mumbled. I wanted to hide, but also for it to go further, for any hint or help that would get me closer to Gerard. “Nor any reason to do so.”

Ray leaned back against the couch with a thoughtful hum, scratching the back of his head ever so carefully so he wouldn’t ruin his curls. “You do. I’ll send you his number and you’ll send him a text, you see. You could ask him to send you the college’s application rules and calendar, telling him I told you to ask him for them since I don’t have the files. Then,” Ray said as he moved closer, his arm over the couch’s backrest, “you can tell him how much you’ve been liking The Mandalorian. Maybe share theories and stuff. He likes that. Thing is, Gerard is really introverted. You gotta talk to him first and all if you want anything."

As much as Ray was a good problem solver and peacemaker, his advice tended to suck, so we would always think twice before doing anything. I couldn’t even think once at the moment; thankfully, Ray wasn’t wrong this time.

Dealing with Gerard was... difficult at first, though it didn’t take me long to catch on how he had the same texting habits as Mikey, extraordinarily. They didn’t answer all of the texts you’d send them nor did they have the read receipts turned on, so it was a little hard to determine whether they did or not read your messages, at first. It was just like talking to a wall, even if he tended to be more extroverted over texts. That's why I didn't know whether Gerard was okay with the idea of hanging out with me while Mikey was out for a couple of hours.

In the first place, Gerard knew Mikey would leave shortly for a job interview, and later got aware that I'd be at his place since the morning. Those couple of hours of Mikey’s absence wouldn't exactly be awkward—I'd been at his place enough times not to feel awkward in his absence, even more considering how Donna was so sweet—, but it would be nice to hang out with Gerard. Plus, away from Mikey. Not that Mikey would do anything inconvenient; it was more about my sanity.

"You look good," I reassured Mikey from my place on the couch as he stood in the middle of the living room, adjusting his button-up shirt. Donna seemed as if she would die of pride, with a wide smile behind her hands that rested intertwined under her nose. "You're gonna do well, also."

"Of course!" Donna nodded. "Just remember everything we told you, alright? Ask about the workplace and the relationship between the other employees, don't subject yourself to a job that isn’t worth it!"

Mikey hummed with a nod. "Of course."

"Good luck, honey!" She hugged him tightly for a moment. "Go! You can't be late!"

"Right, thank you." He kissed her cheek and proceeded to hug me as well.

"You'll do fine!" I smiled, compelling him to do the same.

Mikey patted his pockets until he recognized the shapes of his phone and keys through the fabric, then left with another quick exchange of words. Donna and I were left staring at the door for a second before she disappeared inside the kitchen again.

The silence was almost deafening while the anxiety threatened to consume me from the inside out. What face would I put on if Gerard came out of his room and saw me sitting there pathetically, with false hope because he didn't even bother to answer me? It was the first time in a while that I felt out of place in the Way household.

"What episode of The Mandalorian did you stop in, again?" The sudden voice almost had me jumping in my place, turning around to see Gerard standing there behind the couch before he made his way around it, taking a seat about a foot away from me. When did he get there, in the first place? It always amused me how quiet he can be, just appearing and disappearing randomly. Mikey can be just like that when he decided not to be chaotic.

A sigh escaped my lips before I nodded, clearing my throat. "Sixth, first season."

Gerard raised his eyebrows with a hum. "We can finish the season."

It's awkward at first. I sat there not knowing what to do, or where to put my hands at. I rolled my shoulders back, trying to let out the breath I had been holding as slowly as possible while resting against the couch before my back started hurting.

Gerard, on the other hand, didn't seem nervous at all, to the point it almost put me to shame. His eyes watched the TV from behind his messy dark bangs with the same amusement as if watching it for the first time. He was still in his Star Wars-themed pajamas, with a loose black shirt that rode up a little with how he had his legs up on the couch.

His index finger rested over his lips, elbow over one of his knees. Sometimes his eyebrows would furrow and his lips would purse according to what happened, and—

His eyes met mine. Fuck.

Thankfully, all he did was look back at the TV the moment I looked away. Maybe I was just overthinking.

"Damn, that’s when he—" Gerard paused, looking at me. "Fuck, sorry. Are you okay with spoilers?"

At first, I pondered saying no because I wanted to be surprised and intrigued as things happened, but was it worth not hearing his excited little comments about something he liked so much?

"No, not really," I chuckle softly, "you can comment all you want."

Gerard’s lips curl up into a cute smile. "Okay."

I don't know at what point it happened, exactly, but Gerard was sitting right next to me. It was nice how happy he looked, moving his hand around while explaining stuff, sometimes pointing at the screen or just moving around to follow what he said.

"And— Din, you know who portrays him, right?" He raised an eyebrow at me. He was so close. Cute, though.

"Impossible not to know, with all the current repercussions on The Last of Us, y'know."

"Right," Gerard hummed with a nod, and whatever he said sounded like gibberish because, as he shifted, I could feel his arm right behind my back. "What do you think?"

"Huh? Sorry, I—"

"Sorry, am I bothering you?" He twists his lips a little. "Do you want me to let you watch it in peace or..."

It almost hurt a little that I had made him think that. "No! I like your comments! They're nice, I like the way you see it all and stuff."

Gerard pressed his lips together in a shy smile as his gaze fell to the ground at the same moment a red tone tinted his cheeks. "Well, thank you," he mumbled, scratching the side of his face.

Soon, the episode finished and the preview of the show was displayed on the screen instead, but it wasn't like we would watch anything else.

"—the character designs, you know? I think that's what really gets me! They're well built not just regarding their story, but also their visual, y'know? It's something that inspires me a lot!"

"Oh, Mikey did tell me you go to art school!" I grinned, watching his eyes lighten up. "I guess I have seen one of your works. Was it you who drew Ray, Mikey, and yourself in a cartoon sort of style? With blood and all?"

"Yes!" He nodded frantically. "I decided to make a little something for us because it completed around 10 years that we've been friends! What did you think of it!"

"Loved it! It looked very nice! 'Would love to see more of your works, even." My cheeks heated up a little with how I was advancing, but I still had confidence in myself. After all, Ray said he would like me and Ray knew both of us well.

Gerard’s lips twisted into something between his shy smile and a proud grin as his eyes wandered around the room for a moment. "Well," he mumbled, pulling the strands of hair away from his face, "I can show them to you, anytime."

"That’d be lovely—"

I interrupted myself at the sound of the door being opened, and Gerard and I turned to see Mikey walking in with a sigh. He closes the door behind himself and stands there in silence for a moment as if grounding himself. Only when he opens his eyes again that I dare to speak.

"Hey, Mikes! How did it go?"

Mikey raised his eyebrows a little as he saw Gerard and me on the couch. "Um, went well, I believe! They said they're going to call me in one week in case I'm hired."

"Congrats!" Gerard extended a hand, which Mikey high-fived with a wide grin. "Barnes 'n Nobles?"

"Yeah!" Mikey nodded. "It seems nice, will give me some extra money and the shifts are flexible." He paused and leaned back, glancing past the kitchen's doorway. "Where's mom?"

"She— Isn't she in the kitchen?" Gerard furrowed his eyebrows. "We didn't see her leave. I mean, I didn't. Did you?" He asked me, but I shook my head.

Mikey raised his eyebrows a little and glanced back at the TV before slowly nodding. "Right. (Y/n), I—"

Gerard interrupted his brother by clearing his throat as he slowly put himself up to his feet. The cold air embraced me, making me already miss his closeness. "Well, I got some stuff to work on. See you guys later." He nodded at Mikey and me, his gaze lingering over mine before he disappeared once again.

It was like a trigger. Just the sound of the door to the basement closing already had my cheeks flaring up, which quickly attracted Mikey’s attention.

"Spill it up, you whore," he joked. "C'mon, I'm hungry. I'll grab something then we can go to my room." He remained silent while we got some snacks from the kitchen then rushed upstairs into his room, closing the door behind us. "Tell."

My cheeks start burning again, and I can't meet Mikey's gaze. "There's nothing to tell." I put what I had brought on the desk, and pulled the chair to take a seat.

"Suuure..." He rolled his eyes. "Gerard was looking at you as if you were a brand new Star Wars action figure."

"What kind of comparison is that?" I scoffed, trying to think what it would look like.

"Don't you dare say I didn't warn you when he starts spending more time taking care of his collections than with you." Mikey hummed with a glare while opening a can of Coke, and I can't help but chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah! But Mikey— He's so cute," I groan, burying my face into my hands. I would give anything to spend more time with him like that again.

It was a couple of days later that Ray decided to call for a group hang out again, this time breakfast at a neat café downtown. Mikey didn’t lose time before spilling everything on the gc, so he was curious, being nosy as he was.

The café he chose was something near the dorms, which Ray liked to visit once in a while between lectures because both the price and quality were good. Soft colors took the place while some nice pictures hung from the wall, all of them contributing to a nice atmosphere that was completed by the ambient song.

"Tell me," Ray whined with a pout. "What did you two talk about?"

"I told you!" I widened my eyes a little, playing with the paper around the coffee cup. "We, um, finished watching the first season of The Mandalorian while talking about it then started talking about character design, drawings, and stuff. He even said he could show me more of his drawings if I was interested."

Ray's pout turned into a grin as he clapped lightly. "Wow, that's some good advancement! I can't wait for you two to get together! We can go out Christa and me along with you two!"

"Yeah, right?" I couldn't help but grin as well. "That would be cool."

"Have you two talked ever since?" Frank asked before taking a sip from the straw.

"No, no." I shook my head and pulled my phone from my pocket, getting to Gerard's chat. The last message was me asking to hang out while Mikey was on his job interview. It wouldn't hurt to text him now. It was a wild idea, maybe, but I ended up just typing it. 'Good morning, beautiful,' the message displayed on the screen without being sent yet. "Frank, what if I..." I showed him the screen. "What if I, hm?"

Frank furrowed his eyebrows as he read the message before giggling. "Yeah, yeah, do it!"

"Careful," Mikey hummed. "You don’t wanna die and have Frank advice as the cause on your gravestone!" Words that went ignored by Frank, who just giggled more.

Ray was pouting yet again. "What? What is it?" I showed him the screen as well, watching his eyes widen a little. "Oh, bold!" He chuckled, but it stopped the moment I sent the message. "Wait— You sent it?"

"What?" I almost feel my heart drop inside my chest. Shit, am I rushing things? "C'mon, you all were so positive about it!"

"Ironically!"

"Not me!" Frank shook his head.

"Nooo..." I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

"Well, at least you can know it's 50/50," Ray tried, "either he replies in the same level or... maybe a block."

"Don't exaggerate!" Mikey clicked his tongue. "Not a block, but maybe ignore you, I don't know."

My heart seemed to beat faster at the same proportion it sunk deeper into my chest. "You're not helping—"

Ding. A notification. Everyone fell silent, eyes focused on the phone. A message from Gerard.

Gerard<3:

Good morniiing!!!☀️

"My God," I cried out softly with a hand over my mouth. "He's so cute!" I ended up just letting Ray take my phone from my hand as I continued to freak out both in relief and also at how cute he genuinely was.

"Genuinely pathetically humiliating yourself for a submissive," Frank said in a reprehensible tone, clicking his tongue. "You're freaking out over a good morning with three i's!"

"But Frank!" I groaned, taking my phone back. "I like him so much it hurts..."

Ray hummed, touching my shoulder. "Maybe you should let him know. Like, there's nothing to lose. He is a chill guy, wouldn't be awkward or anything if you like him and all. Unless it affects you a lot, of course."

These three have some sort of power, sometimes, but nothing good. The way they encouraged me always had me acting by fucking impulse. It had its advantages, of course, though sometimes I would be left wondering how easily I could let these three get into my brain.

"Okay." I hummed with a nod. "It's worth a shot, right? And—"

"Me!" Frank raised a hand. "Let me be the one to tell him, please! I'll be like, 'Gee, hear me out, (y/n) wants your ass!' What do you think?"

I stared at him for a moment. "And I really trust you, Ray! I'm counting on you!"

That night, I didn't rethink my choices when I went home. Maybe it was me trying to avoid problems—or what I considered to be problems—, but my mind was troubled with other things when it hit the pillow before sleep took over.

In the morning, Ray had only sent me one message. Done. And there was no coming back.

Gerard hadn't messaged me after the previous day's conversation, and part of me also hope he wouldn't, even if I kept checking my phone every two minutes during classes. Part of it was increased due to how Mikey didn’t go to class that day, just sending me a 'crash by after class' during the lunch break.

I stepped into the Way household like a scared cat, even if the chances of seeing Gerard were small. Donna welcomed me warmly as always, so I just went up to Mikey’s room after she told me where he was.

"Why didn't you go today?"

"Wasn't feeling like it." He twisted his mouth. Mikey was sprawled across the bed.

"Right." I sighed and pulled my notebook from my bag, leaving it over the desk. "In case you need it."

He nodded as a quiet thank you. "Wanna watch The Last Of Us?"

"Can't watch it alone?" I smirked, chuckling at his grimace.

"Fuck you!" Mikey clicked his tongue and reached under his bed to get his laptop. "Be useful and go get us something from the fridge, c'mon!"

I rolled my eyes, sighing as I left my bag hanging from the desk's chair. "I didn't even sit down yet and I'm already being treated as a slave! Fuck you," I said as I exited the room, leaving him snickering behind.

Donna had already disappeared again when I reached downstairs, so I just walked into the kitchen, looking for something Mikey wanted before I grabbed myself something to eat and to drink as well.

"Hey." The quiet voice almost gave me a heart attack. Gerard stood there in the middle of the kitchen, just like a goddamn ghost.

"Hiii..." I said a little breathless, letting the cans of soda and juice on the counter before I closed the fridge.

"So..." Gerard played with his hands a little, eyes wandering around the room. "I, um, I don't want to beat around the bush because it would be harder for me, but... Uh, Ray told me, um, something, and I was wondering if it was true. Maybe not just regarding him, but also regarding you, because..." He ran out of air and cleared his throat, wetting his lips. "I'm sorry for rambling, but..."

The silence felt so thick. As if I was underwater, given how difficult to breathe and to move it felt.

"I..." My mouth felt so dry. "It's true, Gerard. I already had my eye on you a while ago, and I sort of just..." I shrugged a little.

"For real?" He blinked, but his eyes never met mine. "Isn't it some sort of dare or something? I mean, you must be nice if Ray considers you to be one of his best friends, but I wouldn't be able to handle it if it were a dare. I'm so sorry."

"No, no! It not a dare!" I shook my head. I didn’t know what to to with my hands, so I held them together in front of my chest. "I genuinely think you're nice, and cute, and pretty! I wouldn’t lie! Mikey is like, my best friend, I wouldn't dare to hurt you! Well, not just because of him, but also because of you!"

Gerard’s cheeks quickly gained the red tone that adorned them so many times. His hands weren't fidgeting so much. "For real?"

"For real." I smiled softly, and extended my arms in an inviting manner. "Um, a hug?"

Gerard was hesitant at first. He took a small step towards me, though then soon throwing himself in my arms and hiding his face in my shoulder. "Sorry, it's just... no one ever had interest in me or anything, I am always much like a shadow, so..."

"Don't worry about it!" I patted his back softly. "I think you glow, actually. You're so pretty, I— Sorry, I don't want to scare you away."

"It's fine," he almost chuckled. A smile adorned his lips when he pulled away a little, remaining close. "I... Um, I'm wondering if I can..." His eyes drew to my lips a couple of times. Fuck. He's adorable.

"Yeah, go on!" I grinned for a second before I let my lips rest proper, soon meeting his in a sweet kiss that made something stir in my chest in the best way possible. "Was that good!"

"Can I do it again?"

__________________________________________

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[modtheartifex]

i wrote this into a youtube comment like moments ago, but i feel strongly enough that i will put it out here as well;

Lego Monkie Kid Season 5 does NOT have villains. it has characters that are antagonistic forces and layered with nuance on top of nuance.

not to say previous seasons didnt do this, but this season ABSOLUTELY is entirely filled with characters like this

lmk season 5 spoilers, as well as anything from previous seasons just in case cause idk. might get long too tbh oopsies JINNGFDOIJN

we have a few characters to consider for LMK s5's "villains".

we have Ne Zha's dad (i forget his name, ill probably call him pagoda man), nine headed dragon (consort, 10th king, xiangliu) and nuwa. we could theoretically consider thousand eyed demon, however hes only relevant in one episode so id hardly count that

pagoda man is the easiest to explain, he is an antagonistic force because hes trying to hold onto what little order there is left of the world, he is trying to be the duct tape keeping the sawed in half boat together, and hes trying to minimize risks. does that excuse how he treats ne zha? fuck no, but thats a whole different discussion and depending on your interpretation of how much of the chinese mythos you use for this work will vary. he is just like mk as mk himself points out, it doesnt have to be just pagoda man doing the work, theres people willing to help, and then he joins the heroes side for the end.

cool, great, now. what the fuck do i mean by nuwa?

this is where interpretation is strongest, where it is key. ill just be sharing my perspective. when i was first watching season 5 my partner pointed out to me that in chinese mythos chaos is a core element of the world, it is necessary. this, coupled with the fact that nuwa made mk to fix a cycle she created (which we also dont know how many cycles the world has gone through, it could be one, it could be two, it could be in the hundreds if not thousands, whos to say.) and to keep chaos out... she is keeping the world from being complete. her little cave without the outside world, without proper balance, her little people living blissfully apocalypse to apocalypse. "but theyll all die!" "theyll live again" nuwa says, smile on her face.

she is disconnected from her cave, her world her people, her creations, who knows how long shes been in the limbo, how well she can perceive time, how many times a sacrifice comes in, they get a few words exchanged before they just leave, her in the pillar, only getting glimpses when the cycle is ending of the world, only to be shut in again.

neat, ok, but xiangliu??? hes who was gestured at from the BEGINNING of season 4.

see. heres where we get into the GOOD shit.

this is why it is important to establish that we dont know how many cycles have happened. we do not know how long he has been stuck, how many times he has tried to fix the world over and over. he makes it clear in his ending dialogue, if only he knew how to fix it, that sharing the power of the stones was the key to his freedom. the fact that he goes from what most would consider the least important title to the most important one, his own name, the fact he states he was wukongs friend, his enemy, both, wukong just doesnt remember

that implies longentivity. that implies so many cycles and lifetimes lived inside this cycle, being aware of everything, being so damnably aware of what one considers true freedom, and having to sit at the precipice of that.

it is agony.

xiangliu for the majority of the season is the only one to call mk by his name. mk gets so often called child, kid, nicknames by the others, maybe mei refers to him as mk, but xiangliu has it be DELIBERATE. he altered the course of the cycle to give mk a life, to let him HAVE a life where nuwa didnt care for one, he WANTED mk to grow enough that he would be able to choose. because everything is about mks choice, his ability to choose it all matters on HIS. CHOICE.

the only time this falters is when xiangliu thinks he is trapped for good. he rushes at mk, one final chance at freedom seemingly taken from him. xiangliu never fights mk. he only fights the others when they start fighting him. when its just him and mk at the edge of the world, at the edge of chaos, he talks to mk. tells him what to expect, mentions a mysterious "he" now that mk has opened the cage. and he pushes mk back so he gets to go back to his life. so that mk can have choices still. xiangliu got what he wanted, so its only right mk gets what he wanted too. to live with his friends and let everyone live a life where they can figure something out.

that is why i do not think there are villains in lego monkie kid season 5. they are antagonists with layers of nuance, nuance we arent privy to for reason or another, be it episode count, length, screentime, or that were just not supposed to yet. season 5 does not have an obvious bad guy, a villain, because the nuance is right within our grasp.

thank you for reading this. fucking essay apparently oopsies JINNGFDIJN

[ilikekidsshows]

With Ladynoir July coming up, there is this thing that keeps on bothering me greatly in the show. In fanon Marinette is always depicted as observing and understanding of Cat Noir's quiet mannerisms and behavior and that she too desperately wishes to finally reveal to get to know him better

But tbh that isn't at all the case in Canon imo. I just can't see it tat way anymore because there is nothing. Marinette is rarely written to have any real understanding of Cat at all and she's seemingly blind to 90 percent of his emotions and reasonings and what makes him himself. Not to mention that she really isn't interested in getting to know him at all, it seems.

Looking at episodes like Glaciator 2, Elation, and Revelation, one even has to ask if Marinette still remembers that at one point they are gonna reveal themselves to each other, because she is pulling some very hurtful deceptions he's gonna notice once he knows Marinette is Ladybug. Either that or she's genuinely always running on the inherent assumption that Cat Noir wouldn't and SHOULDN'T ever be upset with her no matter what she does. She just uses her identities against him without a single care for how it'll look like for him later on.

I can't even read Ladynoir fanfictions anymore to make up for canon because anytime the author characterizes Marinette as "the one who knows Cat Noir better than anyone else" and "desperately hopeful that she'll soon really get to know him after this agonizing sacrifice of staying anonymous to each other to keep them safe is over" I just... can't help but think it's not Canon compliant anymore at this point.

Canon simply doesn't give us anything. Cat Noir is not an important person in Marinette’s life. Kwamis choice showed how small of a loss leaving Cat Noir was for her. Loosing him out of her life was hardly noticeable. With Adrien, you could feel that now he only has his civilian life left and that that's a bad thing, so it made sense when he immediately ran to Marinette to get himself a new anchor in life.

But Marinette didn't do the same. She had earlier rejected Adrien but after she renounces she just goes back to daydreaming about Adrien while hanging up the photos. Same as leaving Cat Noir, having rejected Adrien isn't really a meaningful event in her mind, it meant nothing really. She just goes back to normal as if nothing happened. It was Adrien who once again took initiative to make any changes in their dynamic. If it had gone according to Marinette, she would have just returned to school the next day and tried confessing her love again to an Adrien who was still heartbroken over her having rejected him.

So not only was she insanely tone-deaf with Cat Noir whne she just assumed he still interested in her after season 4, she would have also done the same with Adrien. I know Marinette is self-centered alot of times, but good GOSH.

Back on topic. Marinette's side of her dynamics with Cat Noir just feels so empty and superficial at this point. I know I'm not the only one thinking this, but I really wonder what exactly Marinette supposedly fell in love with about Cat at the end of season 4? It's not like she has any interest in him as a person and the superficial and self-beneficial way she describes her crush on him to Alya really ain't helping her case here.

She talks about how hot he is, what he does to make her job easier for her, and that he's an easy source for love, but that's kinda it. Marinette only tries finding out who he is because Alya put the purity of her crush into question, but Marinette herself shows no interest in getting to know him.

The show tells me, Marinette really either thinks that she already knows everything important that's to know about Cat Noir like her in Wishmaker just telling him that he surely dreamed of being a magician or a fire fighter as a child, while completely writing off all of his concerns he voices towards her wich then rightfully screwed them over when she left him behind with the akuma he was vulnerable towards because she can't be bothered to ever listen.

Or.. it's just not important to her. Which is what I think is unfortunately primarily the case. She's not sitting at home wondering what kind of life he leads, as the Fandom claims. She isn't curious what he truly looks like. She doesn't know or wonder what he knows or doesn't, what he likes or dislikes. What his ambitions, dreams, and fears are.

She knows basically nothing about him and doesn't seem to mind that much. Now with season 6 upcoming, Adrien asking Ladybug again about the reveal before Lila shows up as new Butterfly makes sense. But I don't think Marinette has been remembering that much at all in the meantime. She's just gonna brush him off with some excuse and smile again and continue waiting for the new villain.

I dint think Marinette considers it much of a sacrifice to not know who Cat Noir is. And I honestly don't think she would mind it much either if they were to never reveal. For her, Cat Noir is Cat Noir. He shows up to help her as hero and seemingly that's all she really wants out of his existence by her side.

If Cat Noir were to leave her life, nothing to meaningful would change. He has such a small and insignificant presence in he life, that it wouldn't cause alot of problems. Yeah, she'd remember him for much longer forwards, but would it actually qualify as a "huge loss" the way fanon makes it out to be?

I honestly don't think so. Give Marinette two weeks and she successfully moved on but keeps him in mind in a bittersweet way. She probably wouldn't even aks Plagg what happened. She'd be sad for a week, would eventually conclude "Well, he made his choice :(" and then probably after a month tops give out the ring again.

The most that would change is that the next Black Cat she would need to treat as if he actually exists as a person beyond what use and easing feeling she gets out of him and his mask. And that is so unbelievably depressing....

Sorry for being such a downer. I've almost gone through all stages of grief for Ladynoir in the past year of hiatus which is a harsh thing to realize when I can't even cheer myself up anymore through the Ladynoir July because of how out of character it now seems to me for Marinette. Fandom goggles really did most of the work here, huh?

---

It's okay, Ladynoir Anon. I call this blog a peer support blog for a reason. We all mope here sometimes.

You are right about the fandom doing the heavy lifting for Miraculous’ popularity. The thing about Miraculous is that the source material merely hints at things that could happen. The fandom then does the rest. Because, like, even if what the writers do with their setups ends up flopping every single time, the pacing in this show is so glacially slow that, by the time it flops, the fandom will have built a far more compelling scenario for them. The hope for getting that better story eventually keeps the disappointed fans coming back.

The fandom characterization is also better than canon. It's simultaneously more consistent while also allowing for more character development. In fanfics, characters don't suddenly forsake their moral codes, but actually grow into kinder, more understanding people due to the things they learn.

[channel-eclair]

i feel like in the modern day of video games, a lot of games hardly hold onto being talked about for longer than like. a month. which i always find quite sad tbh. like remember when mario wonder and tears of the kingdom happened cause the internet sure doesnt

so i think its so awesome that fire emblem: three houses has as much staying power as it does. people talk about this game like it came out yesterday literally five years after its release. its still played, adored, and sold such a beyond incredible amount of copies that surpasses the usual sales of series i never thought id see fire emblem go past

so i find it a real shame its become a trend lately for reddit dudes to decide suddenly three houses is terrible and actually get geniunely angry when its brought up anywhere (which has slowly but surely spread to other websites 😭)

its actually become rather difficult to talk about 3h in general fire emblem spaces cuz someones always gonna get really cranky about how they think its overrated and then throw a tantrum about how much time you spend in the monastery and blah blah blahhh

its actually identical to what happened to awakening- there was a time where elitists in the fanbase randomly decided "actually awakening is secretly BAD" and started a trend where they tried really awkwardly to turn "awakening saved the series" into a meme and acted really rude to fans of it. it was awful and messy 😵‍💫

so this just kinda seems to be the same exact thing on loop

things like this are always such. slop to me. its just some people trying to start petty arguments for fun and then it catches on and people gaslight themselves into agreeing and then they try to argue. but their arguments never actually have any weight behind them, they're just regurgitating some opinion somebody told them theyre supposed to have. as a pokemon fan i see this so often 😭 seeing people try to convince themselves legends arceus isnt amazing so they can have something to argue about is geniunely concerning and sad

idk they just seem so. zombie like. just lifeless and saying the same thing on loop. i wish theyd just let themselves live and have some fun rather than chase petty internet validation

but idk its a real shame! a game finally has actual staying power but now a buncha reddit dudes are like "NOOO STOP HAVING FUN!! THIS GAME IS BAD UR JUST LYING TO URSELFS! STOP HAVING FUN PLAY ENGAGE INSTEAD"

i gotta be honest i love engage but i was so bored trying to replay it i actually went back and played three houses twice and then went back to engage, but was still bored so i went back to start playing three houses a third time 😭 those engage character tags are so empty and hardly anyone talks about or has passion for this game anymore i just wanna stick with three houses and occasionally pick up engage. i feel like engage has just become an arguing tool for people to complain about three houses. im good but thank u!

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 5 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Five: Witness The Wreckage Of My Life

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: Hi there! Tbh I thought no one would read this fic lol that’s why it’s been in the backburner for monthssssss. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hurt by Sleeping At Last

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MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS 

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — EARLY MORNING

The faint chirping of birds drifted into your consciousness before you felt it—fingertips brushing gently along your arm, tracing the curve of your skin with a soft, languid motion. A slow inhale filled your lungs as your eyes fluttered open, the room around you coming into focus. The unfamiliar surroundings of Oberyn Martell’s chambers. 

Your breath hitched, and your body stiffened as realization dawned on you. Oberyn’s body was warm and close beside you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. Panic seized your chest, thoughts racing faster than you could process them. You quickly glanced down. Your nightgown was still on, but that didn’t stop the rush of anxiety building in your throat.

Did we…? Oh gods, what did I do?

Oberyn stirred beside you, his dark eyes opening lazily as a slow grin spread across his lips. He didn’t move away, though his hand continued its lazy tracing of your skin. “You treat it as if sleeping with me would be the worst thing in the world,” he chuckled, his voice deep and teasing. “Many people line up for the privilege of getting into bed with me.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart pounding still. “Oberyn—” you started, your voice strained with embarrassment, but then you paused, the tension rising again as you remembered who you were. A servant. And here you were, lying in the bed of a prince.

Your stomach twisted with guilt as you quickly tried to sit up, but Oberyn’s arm tightened around your waist, preventing your escape. “I… I shouldn’t be here,” you stammered, fumbling with the covers as you tried to get out of bed. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop,” Oberyn said, his voice gentle but firm, his hold on you unwavering. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Your heart raced faster, your mind protesting even as your body relaxed against his touch. “I shouldn’t be calling you by your name,” you said, the propriety drilled into you for years clawing its way to the surface.

Oberyn chuckled again, his grip remaining strong as he turned you slightly so you could meet his gaze. “We are far past proper,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You stared at him, your cheeks burning with the mix of emotions swirling inside you. The absurdity of the situation, the intimacy, the way he seemed so unbothered while you could hardly keep your composure.

And then it happened—a laugh bubbled up from your chest, unbidden and uncontrollable. The sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, surprising even yourself. It was a laugh that hadn’t surfaced in years, a genuine, melodic sound that filled the space between you and Oberyn like music.

He stilled, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you, captivated. There was something in his gaze you hadn’t seen before—something soft, something tender. He let out a low hum, as if savoring the moment. “You should laugh more often,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in years.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks again, this time not from embarrassment, but from the way his words lingered in the air. Oberyn’s smile softened, and his hand moved up to gently cup your cheek. “I’d kill armies of a thousand men to hear that laugh again.”

His words were spoken with such conviction that for a moment, you almost believed he would. The truth of his promise hung in the air, pulling at something deep inside you. But you quickly smothered that feeling, pushing it down before it could surface.

“I don’t think Ellaria would be so pleased to hear such a statement from you, your grace,” you said, forcing a teasing tone into your voice, hoping to deflect some of the tension. 

A smirk tugged at Oberyn’s lips as he pinched your side playfully, making you squirm under his touch. “You’re using titles again,” he said, his aquiline nose brushing against yours, a soft, teasing gesture that made your breath hitch. “We’ve already discussed this—no ‘grace,’ no ‘proper.’” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “And Ellaria? She knows. She’s out enjoying herself at the brothels right now, likely tangled with a lover of her own. We have an understanding.”

His words were casual, delivered with a smile, but they landed like a stone in your chest. Your heart sank, a dull ache forming where only moments before there had been warmth. Of course, Ellaria knew. Of course, they both had other lovers. That’s how it always was with people like him, free and untethered. You were just another fleeting moment.

You swallowed the sudden rush of feelings and buried them deep, plastering on a faint smile to hide the sting. “Of course,” you said, your voice steady despite the tightness in your throat. “You both live quite... freely.”

Oberyn’s eyes flickered, his smile softening as if he sensed the shift in you. His hand moved from your waist to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t misunderstand,” he said quietly. “I take many lovers, yes. But none like you.”

Oberyn’s words lingered in the air, pulling at you with a subtle, intoxicating pressure. The way he so effortlessly drew you into his orbit—without even a kiss exchanged between you—made it hard to remember where you stood. His lips grazed your forehead again, soft and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. For just a moment, you let yourself forget the distance between your lives, the dangers lurking in every corner of King’s Landing.

But you didn’t dwell on the meaning of his words, or the fact that he had practically claimed you as his without any physical bond. It felt dangerous, even foolish, to hold on to such fleeting warmth in a world that offered little safety.

Oberyn pulled away, giving you a long, lingering squeeze before he stood, his movements unhurried as he dressed in the dim morning light. His tunic draped over his broad shoulders, his belt fastened with the casual elegance only someone like him could manage. You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist as you watched him, torn between the urge to stay hidden in the folds of the night and the reality of the day ahead.

"I have a meeting with the Small Council," Oberyn said, fastening his leather bracers with nimble fingers. His tone was light, almost conversational, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel as though he was gauging your every response. "I suppose you'll be coming too, to be nearby? Or do you want me to tell you what I've learned later?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasingly. “And how will you find me later to tell me such important news?”

He paused in the middle of tying his belt, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I have my ways.” He rounded the bed, leaning down as his lips pressed against your forehead once more, this time with a lingering softness that made your heart stutter. "Remember the day of Joffrey’s wedding?" he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I found you setting up by the Sept, looking flustered as ever." 

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the memory, the sight of him approaching you on that fateful day etched in your mind. You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide, your face betraying you anyway.

Oberyn chuckled as he straightened, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "You were adorable then. You still are," he said, stepping back toward the door. "I’ve asked for breakfast to be left by the door. Help yourself to whatever you like. You must have been tired; you didn’t even notice when I brought it in while you were still sleeping."

Your heart gave a small flutter as he moved to the door, giving you one last look before pulling it open. “Be sure to eat,” he added, his voice softer now, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

And just like that, the room felt empty again, save for the fading scent of him and the quiet remnants of your own thoughts, still spinning from the morning's encounter. 

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The day had taken on a surreal quality since you’d left Oberyn’s chambers. The fact that nothing happened, and yet everything had changed, weighed on you. You had snuck out, slipping back into your long-sleeved servant gown as though it could shield you from the memory of the man whose side you now found yourself on. A part of you felt guilty, as though you’d crossed a line, even though no line had truly been crossed.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you busied yourself with the day’s tasks, the monotonous routine serving as a distraction. Cleaning, fetching, ensuring every corner of the Red Keep was prepared for the endless parade of courtiers and nobles. Your mind was on everything but the day’s duties. It was hard to ignore the shift within you—the knowledge that Oberyn was on your side. That he believed in your quest for justice, or perhaps vengeance. It was a dangerous alliance, but one that filled you with a strange sense of hope.

The sun had begun its slow descent when you found yourself alone in a secluded hallway, carrying a basket of linens. You were just about to return to your duties when you heard a soft clink, followed by another. Glancing toward the window, you spotted Oberyn, standing in the courtyard below, tossing pebbles at the window with a mischievous grin. His eyes sparkled with amusement when your gaze met his.

For a heartbeat, panic seized you—what if someone saw? But the corridor was deserted, and no guards or servants were in sight. Oberyn motioned for you to join him, his grin widening as you hesitated.

Setting down the basket, you quickly made your way outside to the gardens where he waited. His presence seemed to fill the space, larger than life as always. The scent of freshly bloomed flowers hung in the air, and the sound of the fountains provided a soothing backdrop to the moment.

“I didn’t expect you to be so bold,” you said, handing him a small loaf of bread and some fruit you’d tucked away earlier.

Oberyn accepted the food with a wink. “I promised I’d find you later, didn’t I?” He tore off a piece of bread and took a bite. “Besides, I’d rather be here with you than dealing with the Small Council any longer.”

Your curiosity piqued, you glanced at him as you both strolled through the gardens. “What happened in the meeting?”

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms before speaking. “A lot of posturing and little else. They discussed the trial, of course, but also news from the east. Daenerys Targaryen is in Meereen now, ruling as queen. Tywin thinks the dragons won’t be a problem, but he’s too proud to see the threat for what it is.”

“Dragons?” you asked, handing him a piece of fruit. “Do you really think they could pose a threat to the throne?”

Oberyn gave a half-shrug, though his eyes were serious. “Dragons haven’t won a war in centuries, but Daenerys has an army—Unsullied, sellswords, and advisors who are no fools. Tywin’s dismissing her, but the girl is no simpleton.”

His casual mention of dragons and armies made your heart race. The idea of such power was overwhelming, but Oberyn seemed unfazed by it. He continued recounting the meeting, filling in every detail as though it were simply gossip from a tavern, not the strategic planning of the most powerful people in Westeros.

"They even discussed the Hound," he added, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Apparently, he's out there somewhere, swearing at the crown and slaughtering men. Tywin's offering a hundred silver stags for his head now."

You couldn’t help but smile at Oberyn’s nonchalance. “And what about you? Did you offer your expert opinion?”

He grinned, recalling the way he had brought up the Unsullied with the council. “I told them how impressive the Unsullied are in battle. Less so in the bedroom, though.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, I did,” he replied, his smile growing wider. "Tywin wasn’t amused. But Varys—he found it interesting. We had a chat afterward. He’s a strange one, isn’t he?"

“Varys? I wouldn’t know,” you said with a shrug. “He doesn’t speak to people like me.”

Oberyn’s gaze softened. “You’d be surprised. He listens more than you think. Just like I do.”

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, you sat down on a stone bench, enjoying the quiet moment with him. Oberyn leaned against a tree, looking at you with that same intensity you had grown used to.

"Thank you for the food," he said, his voice lower now, almost intimate. "I thought about bringing something for you, but I didn’t know what you’d like."

You smiled, the tension of the day melting away in his presence. “I’m not picky.”

His expression turned playful again as he tossed the last piece of bread into his mouth. "Good. Because I intend to share more meals with you. That is, if you don’t mind.”

The warmth in his eyes was undeniable, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel—contentment. For just this moment, here with Oberyn, you felt at peace.

“You know those moments? Those moments when you’re allowed to like someone? If those moments mean that you’re alive, then how many days do you think I have really lived?” Your voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the rustling of leaves in the nearby garden. Yet, Oberyn heard every word, his gaze unwavering.

He didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting to something unreadable, a mix of intrigue and concern. His silence invited you to continue, and so you did, despite the heaviness settling in your chest.

You knew how this would end. It was already written in the stars, in the fates that controlled your path. Oberyn would return to Dorne, back to Ellaria, to his daughters, to his life—a life you could never be part of. And you would stay behind, here in King's Landing, with only the memory of this fleeting peace. 

It was bittersweet, knowing you could never truly have him. Yet, the happiness you felt now was real. So real, it almost hurt.

You glance down, watching as the breeze played with the fabric of your dress, the cool air brushing your skin. You’d known from the start that this was temporary. That whatever spark had ignited between you would burn out as quickly as it had begun. And when that time came, you would let it.

Because you would be happy. Finally. You wish to be happy enough that you could die. You want to be happy just by that much.

All of this wouldn’t last, just as this peace would slip through your fingers like sand. The realization settled within you, hollow and aching, but you knew it was the truth. 

Oberyn, unaware of your internal turmoil, reached out, his thumb grazing your jaw, bringing your attention back to him. His touch was warm, grounding you in the present. You looked up at him, the faintest smile playing on your lips, and for once, you let yourself exist in the moment—here, in his embrace, even though you knew it wouldn't last forever.

“You are living now,” he finally murmured, his voice a low, steady hum. “And sometimes, that is enough.”

KING'S LANDING, THE IRON THRONE ROOM – DAY

The trial felt like the closing of a noose, tightening with each step Tyrion Lannister took as he entered the room. For a moment, your breath caught. The Iron Throne room was oppressive today, the tension palpable, thick in the air like the pressure of a storm ready to break. You stood to the side, far enough from the public but close enough to feel the malice that filled the room. 

Tyrion’s face was a mask of calm, though you knew it was a facade. He had always been on trial—his whole life judged for what he couldn’t change. His height, his sharp tongue, his wit that often cut too deeply. The crowd barely concealed their disdain for him, whispers rippling through the chamber like the hiss of a snake.

A door creaked open, and Jaime Lannister entered with Tyrion, the Kingslayer leading his brother to what felt like his doom. Tyrion walked with slow, deliberate steps down the aisle, his chains clinking softly against the stone. 

“Kingslayer!” someone jeered from the crowd, and your heart clenched. How easy it was for them to shout from the shadows. Tyrion’s every move was watched, every breath a crime in their eyes. A part of you pitied him—not for the crimes they claimed he committed, but for the life he had been forced to endure. 

As Tyrion was led to the accused dais, his wrists freed, you cast a glance toward the Iron Throne. Tommen Baratheon sat there, looking far too small for the burden that had been thrust upon him. His grandfather, Tywin Lannister, loomed at his side, a figure of calculated power. To the right of the throne stood Oberyn Martell and Mace Tyrell, both set to judge this farce of a trial.

Tommen rose from his seat, signaling for all to stand. The room echoed with the shuffle of robes and armor as everyone complied, including Margaery, Loras, and Cersei, their faces masks of feigned grace.

"I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial." His voice wavered, though he tried to sound regal. "Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead. And with him Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. And if found guilty... may the gods punish the accused."

Tommen quickly descended from the dais, walking past both Tyrion and Jaime without a second glance. The crowd stirred, uneasy, as Oberyn and Mace Tyrell took their places beside Tywin. Your eyes lingered on Oberyn for a moment—his expression unreadable, though you knew him better. He would play the game today, but his thoughts, you suspected, were far from the politics at hand.

Tyrion stood alone, a figure dwarfed by the grandeur of the hall, but his defiance remained intact. You couldn’t help but admire it, though it would cost him dearly. He looked small, but he commanded the room with nothing more than his presence.

Tywin’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?”

Tyrion’s reply was immediate, almost bored. “No.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, but he remained calm. “Did your wife, the Lady Sansa?”

“Not that I know of,” Tyrion answered, his gaze unwavering.

“How would you say he died, then?” Tywin pressed, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Tyrion's lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Choked on his pigeon pie.”

A murmur of disbelief and irritation rippled through the room. Tyrion continued, unbothered by the multiple of the stares boring into him. "So you would blame the bakers?" Tywin's voice had a dangerous edge now, but Tyrion remained unfazed.

“Or the pigeons,” Tyrion added with a shrug. “Just leave me out of it.”

Tywin’s gaze turned to ice, his patience clearly wearing thin. “The crown may call its first witness.”

As the room shifted in anticipation, your gaze drifted to Oberyn once more. His expression remained unchanged, but you knew him well enough to sense the amusement lurking behind his eyes. This trial was nothing more than a performance, a game of thrones played on the backs of the innocent and guilty alike.

And you, standing in the shadows, couldn’t help but feel as though you too were being judged—not for crimes you committed, but for your mere existence in this cruel and twisted world.

The load of the accusations hung heavily in the air as Ser Meryn Trant took the stand, his voice dripping with self-righteousness as he recounted his version of events. You stood in the shadows, just beyond the throng of onlookers, your gaze flicking between Tyrion, ever defiant, and the cold, unyielding faces of the judges.

“Meryn Trant,” Oberyn had once called him, “a dog who serves cruelty.” Today was no different. His testimony was venomous, laden with exaggerations designed to paint Tyrion as a monster.

“Once we’d got King Joffrey safely away from the mob, the Imp rounded on him,” Trant declared, his voice rising for dramatic effect. “He slapped the king across the face and called him a vicious idiot and a fool. It wasn’t the first time the Imp threatened Joffrey. Right here in this throne room, he marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. Compared His Grace to the Mad King and suggested he’d meet the same fate. And when I spoke in the king’s defense, he threatened to have me killed.”

You watched Tyrion’s eyes narrow, the tension building in the lines of his face. His hands twitched slightly, barely restrained as the lies continued to spill from Trant’s mouth. Then, Tyrion spoke, his voice sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Oh, why don’t you tell them what Joffrey was doing?” Tyrion's voice echoed through the hall, daring anyone to challenge him.

Tywin’s voice, cold as ice, immediately followed. “Silence.”

But Tyrion would not be silenced. His voice rose again, and this time, it was filled with fury, with the truth that no one else dared to speak aloud. “Pointing a loaded crossbow at Sansa Stark while you tore at her clothes and beat her.”

The room gasped collectively, whispers rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You could see the faces of the nobles twisting with confusion, some in disbelief, others in silent acknowledgment. The truth was an ugly thing, one they preferred to ignore.

Tywin’s command rang out, harsher now. “Silence! You will not speak unless called upon. You’re dismissed, Ser Meryn.”

As Trant exited, he shot Tyrion a venomous look, but you knew his words had left an impression. The seeds of doubt were planted, even if only a few dared to show it. 

The oppressive atmosphere in the throne room had only thickened when Grand Maester Pycelle took the stand, his droning voice listing off a litany of poisons that seemed to stretch on endlessly. You could barely suppress your irritation, the corners of your lips twitching in response. Across the room, Oberyn shared your sentiment, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he interrupted the Grand Maester.

“I think you’ve made your point, Grand Maester,” Oberyn drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You have a lot of poison in your store.”

You couldn’t help but smirk too, admiring Oberyn's ability to undercut the tension with just a few words. His eyes flickered toward you, the smallest acknowledgment of your shared amusement.

“Had, Prince Oberyn,” Pycelle corrected, his tone defensive. “My stores were plundered.”

Tywin's attention sharpened, his eyes narrowing in on Pycelle like a predator locking onto its prey. “By whom?”

“By the accused, Tyrion Lannister, after he had me wrongfully imprisoned,” Pycelle declared, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.

The room stirred again, unease rippling through the masses. Tyrion stood there, as composed as he could be under the circumstances, but you could see the frustration seeping into the lines of his face.

“Grand Maester,” Tywin’s voice commanded silence once more, “you examined King Joffrey’s corpse. Was it without question poison that killed him?”

Pycelle gave a solemn nod, as if delivering a final verdict. “Without question.”

The crowd reacted, a low murmur spreading like wildfire. Pycelle reached into his robes and produced a necklace, holding it up for all to see. The glint of the delicate chain caught your eye, and your heart dropped. It was Sansa’s necklace—the one she had worn the day of the wedding.

“This was found on the body of Dontos Hollard, the king’s fool,” Pycelle continued, his voice slow and deliberate. “He was last seen spiriting Sansa Stark, the wife of the accused, away from the feast. She wore this necklace the day of the wedding. Residue of a most rare and terrible poison was found inside.”

Tywin’s eyes darkened. “Was this one of the poisons stolen from your store?”

“It was,” Pycelle confirmed with a nod. “The Strangler. A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms possess. And used to strike down the most noble child the gods ever put on this good earth.”

The murmurs intensified, a wave of collective horror and fascination washing over the crowd. You could feel the tide turning, the accusations tightening like a noose around Tyrion’s neck. And yet, in that moment, as Pycelle’s words rang through the hall, you couldn’t help but wonder who in that room truly believed the lies being spun—and who was merely playing their part.

You stood to the side, concealed in the shadows, watching the spectacle unfold as Cersei Lannister took the stand. Her voice was calm, laced with venom, as she recounted her brother’s supposed threats.

"I will hurt you for this," Cersei declared, her voice cutting through the hushed murmurs of the crowd. "A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth. And you will know the debt is paid."

Her words echoed in the vast hall, casting a chill over the proceedings. You couldn’t help but shudder at the coldness of her tone, the way she wielded those words like a weapon—sharpened and aimed directly at Tyrion.

Mace Tyrell, seated beside Tywin and Oberyn, leaned forward, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Your own brother said this to you?”

Cersei nodded, her face a mask of bitterness. “Shortly before the Battle of Blackwater Bay. I confronted him about his plans to put Joffrey on the front lines. As it turned out, when the attack came, Joff insisted on remaining at the battlements. He believed his presence would inspire the troops.”

Oberyn’s sharp gaze never left Cersei as he interjected, “Tyrion said, ‘And you will know the debt is paid.’ What debt?”

Cersei’s eyes flickered briefly, a flash of something darker beneath her calm demeanor. “I discovered he'd been keeping whores in the Tower of the Hand. I asked him to confine his salacious acts to the brothel, where such behavior belongs. He wasn’t pleased.”

From your vantage point, you saw Tyrion shake his head ever so slightly, a bitter smile curling his lips. It was a performance, all of it—a calculated attempt to paint him as the villain in her twisted tale. The truth, as always, was far more complicated.

Tywin Lannister, ever the stern patriarch, inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Grace, for the courage of your testimony.”

As Cersei stepped down from the stand, you could feel the tension ripple through the room. Her gaze lingered on Jaime for a fraction of a second, their unspoken connection palpable even amidst the disarray of the trial. You watched as their eyes locked, a silent exchange passing between them before she returned to her seat.

Varys, the ever-watchful spider, took the stand next. His presence always unnerved you—his calculating eyes saw too much, knew too much, and yet revealed nothing.

Mace Tyrell spoke first, leaning forward with an air of forced politeness. “Do you remember the precise nature of this threat?”

Varys’ expression remained neutral, his voice soft but clear. “I’m afraid I do, my lord. He said, ‘Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then. Monsters are dangerous, and just now, kings are dying like flies.’”

A faint murmur spread through the crowd, the tonnage of Tyrion’s words settling in. The tension was palpable. You felt it in your bones, in the way the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

“And he said this to you at a meeting of the small council?” Mace pressed, as if drawing out the damning words would somehow ease his conscience.

“Yes,” Varys confirmed with a nod. “After we received word of Robb Stark’s death. He didn’t seem gladdened by the news. Perhaps his marriage to Sansa Stark had made him more sympathetic to the northern cause.”

You stood still, listening as the crowd shifted, their whispers swirling around you. Every accusation, every witness testimony felt like another nail in Tyrion’s coffin. The trial was nothing more than a spectacle, a farce to mask the truth, and everyone in the room knew it. But no one would dare say it aloud.

Tywin’s voice rang out once more, commanding the attention of the hall. “You’re excused, Lord Varys.”

Varys, ever the obedient servant, bowed his head and exited the stand with practiced grace. Tyrion’s eyes followed him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

“Father,” Tyrion spoke suddenly, his voice laced with bitterness. “May I ask the witness one question?”

Tywin regarded him coldly. “One.”

Tyrion turned to face Varys, his voice steady but full of accusation. “You once said that without me, this city would have faced certain defeat. You said the histories would never mention me, but you would not forget. Have you forgotten, Lord Varys?”

Varys paused, his gaze unwavering as he responded. “Sadly, my lord, I never forget a thing.”

Tyrion’s face fell, and you could see the force of those words settle on his shoulders. Varys bowed once more and exited the room, his footsteps soft but echoing in the heavy silence that followed.

Tywin, Oberyn, and Mace Tyrell stood, their judgment hanging in the air like a guillotine about to fall. Tywin's voice was cold and final. “We will adjourn for now. Toll the bells in an hour’s time.”

“Clear the court!” the guard called, and the crowd began to disperse, a mass of nobility and onlookers eager to gossip about the day’s events.

You remained where you stood, off to the side, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the scene unfold. The tension in the room had affected you more than you realized. Unconsciously, your fingers had drifted to your arms, scratching at the scars you had long tried to forget. Only when you felt the dampness of blood seeping through the sleeve of your gown did you stop, the pain a reminder of just how fragile control could be.

Across the room, Jaime and Cersei exchanged another glance, their eyes filled with the weight of a thousand unspoken words. The Lannisters had built their empire on secrets and lies, and it seemed their legacy was unraveling before your eyes.

As the last of the crowd filed out, you looked toward Tyrion. He sat there, dejected and weary, his once sharp gaze dull with the knowledge of how this trial would end. For all his wit and cunning, he was still a pawn in his father’s scheme—a scheme that only seemed to grow bloodier with each passing day.

And you, too, were trapped in this  labyrinth of power and betrayal. The scars on your arms ached, a constant reminder of the past, but also of the future that awaited you in this city of ashes.

Suddenly, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you out of your daze and through a concealed passage near the edge of the hall. You barely registered the movement until you found yourself in a dim, hidden alcove, the noise of the trial muffled behind the thick stone walls.

Oberyn.

His presence alone was enough to make your heart race, but now, standing this close, away from prying eyes, his gaze burned with intensity. He looked down at you, his lips curving into that familiar smirk, though there was a seriousness in his eyes.

“Spend the afternoon with me,” he murmured, his voice deep, pulling at the knot of tension in your chest. You shook your head, flustered.

“Oberyn, people will see… they’ll talk.”

“Let them,” he said, his tone unconcerned as if the entire court could collapse and he would stand unbothered. “What do I care for their whispers? I care only for you, here and now.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, his words unsettling something within you. “If this is all really that important to you, then…” Your breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes, the boldness of your next words surprising even you. “Then let’s try being romantic.”

His expression shifted, softening as a genuine smile spread across his face. He tugged you deeper into the room, where a small table had been set, food and wine waiting as if he had planned it all along. You sat down, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for a cup of water, needing something to calm the storm of emotions that had begun to churn inside you.

Oberyn, ever perceptive, reached across the table, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your sleeve. You hadn’t even noticed, but his sharp eyes caught the faint stain of blood. His brow furrowed in concern.

“What is this?” he asked softly, lifting your arm gently.

“It’s nothing,” you replied quickly, trying to pull away, but his grip remained firm, his thumb stroking the fabric as if he could soothe away the pain beneath it. “I didn’t even notice—just an old wound.”

His gaze darkened, a rare flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. “Old or new, it matters. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

You laughed nervously, trying to shake off his concern. “I’ve had worse, trust me.”

But Oberyn wasn’t convinced. He leaned closer, his voice low and filled with something deeper than just care. “You’ve bled for this city, for people who don’t deserve you. I won’t let it happen again.”

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his words lingering in the air between you. This was more than just a fleeting moment of tenderness; it was a promise. But promises in King’s Landing were as fragile as the alliances that held the court together. And yet, here, in this quiet room, with Oberyn’s eyes locked on yours, you dared to believe in it—just for a moment.

The silence between you and Oberyn stretched, heavy and thick, as you paced the narrow room. You couldn’t look at him, not when the consequence of your question pressed so deeply into your chest. The words tumbled out, quiet at first but gaining strength with each step you took.

“When you first saw me—before you ever noticed my scars—you didn’t even flinch. You didn’t question what I’ve done, what I’ve had to endure.” You paused, your back to him, fingers tracing the rough stone of the wall. “Why? Why do you trust me so blindly? Why would you do anything for me? What makes you so sure?”

The air felt charged, thick with unspoken truths. You waited, breath caught in your throat, as Oberyn’s gaze bore into you from across the room.

“I’ve told you before,” he began, his voice deep and smooth, like the rich wine of Dorne. “What I feel for you is far more than blind trust. I lived through a season of darkness, of violence. And then I saw you.” His words were measured, each syllable drawn out as if he wanted you to feel them in your bones. “I realized—this woman, you—you are my salvation.”

The words struck you harder than you anticipated, sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to face him, meeting his eyes, searching for the flicker of madness or arrogance you had grown used to in the courts of King’s Landing. But instead, you saw only the stark truth.

“At some point,” he continued, rising to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, “one must choose the kind of person they wish to become. I’ve chosen to be your partner in crime. To stand at your side, no matter what may come. It suits me well.”

You took a step toward him, disbelief twisting in your chest. “And what of the others? The whispers… people say you’re mad.”

A smirk danced across his lips as he moved closer, the firelight casting shadows across his sharp features. “Let them say what they will,” he said, his voice rich with the confidence that had always surrounded him like armor. “I plan to live as I choose—even if that means living like a madman.”

He stopped just before you, his hand reaching for yours, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Let me be mad, so long as it is with you.”

Your breath faltered, caught in the pull of Oberyn’s unwavering gaze. His eyes, dark as the shadows that danced around you, held a promise—one made without words, sealed in the silence between you. Here, in this hidden alcove of King’s Landing, where secrets whispered through every crack in the stone, Oberyn’s reckless devotion felt like the only anchor in a world built on lies and betrayal. The madness that clung to him, the very thing whispered about in the halls of the Red Keep, was the only thing that felt real.

Then, the bell tolled.

The low, resounding chime cut through the stillness, a reminder of the trial that awaited, of the deadly games unfolding beyond this hidden moment. The Iron Throne beckoned. 

“We should go,” you whispered, the significance of duty settling back onto your shoulders like a familiar cloak. Yet even as the words left your lips, part of you wanted to remain in this stolen fragment of time, where nothing but the two of you existed.

Oberyn’s hand lingered at your wrist a moment longer, his thumb brushing against your skin, as if reluctant to let you slip away. “Then let us go,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, “but remember, this madness is ours.”

You nodded, heart heavy with the knowledge of what awaited you both beyond the walls of this room. Together, you stepped out of the shadows and into the labyrinth of power, where every step felt like a descent into the unknown. As you made your way back to the Iron Throne room, the cold walls of the Red Keep felt more oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and unseen eyes.

The crowd had already begun to file back in, and you could feel the tension rise with every step closer to the throne. Oberyn’s presence beside you was like a shield, his gaze steady, even as the treacherous court awaited the next act in this cruel play.

With a deep breath, you entered the chamber, the Iron Throne looming ahead, cold and sharp like the future that awaited. You could still feel the heaviness of Oberyn's promise, unspoken yet burning in your chest, as you took your place beside him once more.

The Iron Throne room was heavy with the scent of judgment, the air thick with the oppressive weight of expectation as you stood off to the side, watching the proceedings with a mix of dread and fascination. The crowd stirred as Tywin, Oberyn, and Mace Tyrell entered, their mere presence enough to command the attention of all in attendance. You, too, were drawn into their orbit, though your vantage point remained deliberately shadowed, a place where you could observe without being seen.

Your eyes flickered toward Jaime and Tyrion as they shared a brief, wordless exchange before Tyrion nodded. The crowd, tense and whispering, settled as Jaime took his position to the side, ever the loyal guard even now. Tywin’s voice cut through the stillness.

“The crown may call its next witness.”

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, and the moment Tyrion turned, his face drained of all composure. Shae. She stepped into view, her posture small, head bowed as if already defeated, but her presence sent a ripple of shock through the room.

Tywin’s voice rang out again, cold and unyielding. “State your name.”

“Shae,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tywin’s question came sharp and unforgiving, “Do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?”

“I swear it.”

You stood still, feeling the tension rise within you as much as it did in Tyrion. Shae, once his secret, now stood against him. What did Tywin have over her? Why betray him now, in front of so many?

“Do you know this man?” Tywin asked, motioning toward Tyrion.

Shae’s eyes flicked to Tyrion, but they were empty, drained of any warmth you might’ve once seen. “Yes. Tyrion Lannister.”

“And how do you know him?”

“I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa,” she replied. The formality of her words felt rehearsed, distant.

The next question felt like a blade being sharpened, preparing for the killing blow. “This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey. What do you know of this?”

“I know that he's guilty,” Shae said, her voice louder now, cutting through the hall. The crowd gasped, and you felt your heart lurch.

“They planned it together—he and Sansa,” she continued, and the room erupted with murmurs of disbelief.

Tywin’s booming command of “Silence!” quelled the noise, but inside, you felt the storm brewing. Tyrion’s face was a mask of disbelief, shock twisting his features. You could barely hold your breath, the lies Shae spun as deadly as poison.

“She wanted revenge for her family, and Tyrion was happy to help. He hated Joffrey, the Queen, and even you, my lord.” Her voice dripped with venom, each word a calculated dagger.

You clenched your fists, anger rising within you. You knew these words were false, spun from fear or manipulation. Shae’s lies poisoned the truth, but they were crafted to strike where it would hurt Tyrion the most.

Oberyn, standing near Tywin, raised a brow and asked, his voice cutting through the tension, “How could you possibly know all of this? Why would he reveal such plans to his wife's maid?”

Shae’s voice hardened as she responded, “I wasn't just her maid. I was his whore.”

The murmurs rose again. You could hear the gasps from those seated nearby. The shame, the betrayal, it was all laid bare. Your heart sank with the weight of it, feeling as though the very air around you thickened with judgment. Oberyn, never one to let a moment of discomfort pass without seizing it, looked at Shae but then glanced subtly toward you, a glimmer of mischief in his eye. His lips curled into a small smirk as he asked, “And did you?” His voice was laced with innuendo. “Did you fuck him like it was his last night in this world?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the brazenness of his words. Even now, in the midst of this trial, Oberyn’s audacity remained unshaken. He winked at you, and you felt a flicker of surprise, but also something else—a recognition that even in confusion, Oberyn’s attention was always sharp, always focused. You shook your head slightly, hiding the faintest hint of amusement at his lack of propriety.

Shae’s reply came in a voice void of emotion, “I did everything he wanted.”

The crowd erupted once more, laughing at the salacious details. You, however, felt no humor. This wasn’t the truth; it was a distortion meant to strip Tyrion of his dignity, to paint him as something monstrous when you knew better. As Shae’s words continued, painting Tyrion as possessive and cruel, you couldn’t help but feel disgust twist within you. This city, this court—it thrived on the downfall of others.

When Tyrion finally spoke, his voice was filled with a raw, desperate kind of fury. “Shae, please don’t.”

But she continued, relentless, her words carving into him, stripping him of what little humanity he had left to claim in the eyes of those around him. Every word she uttered was another stone thrown, and Tyrion, for all his wit, could do nothing but watch.

As the crowd clamored, you stood, feeling your own heart beating in time with the tension in the room. Tyrion’s next words came like a battle cry, an admission of truth wrapped in bitterness.

“Father, I wish to confess. I wish... to confess.”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation. The entire room held its breath as Tywin’s voice echoed in response, “You wish to confess?”

Tyrion, no longer defeated but filled with a fire you hadn’t seen in him before, turned toward the crowd, his voice rising. “I saved you. I saved this city and all your worthless lives. I should have let Stannis kill you all!”

The shock rippled through the room, but you could see the righteousness in his anger. His truth, raw and ugly, spilled out for all to hear, and you felt every word cut through the falsity of the trial.

When Tywin asked if he had anything to say in his defense, Tyrion’s response sent a chill through you. “I did not do it. I did not kill Joffrey, but I wish that I had.”

You smirked at the irony of it all, your eyes flicking to Tywin. The calm, calculated facade he wore was slipping, even if only slightly. The cracks in his control were beginning to show. Tyrion’s words, his defiance, had shifted the balance, if only for a moment. You looked at the man who had ordered the death of Princess Elia Martell and thought, You stand on ruins now, Tywin. The walls you’ve built will crumble, and when they do, you will stand alone in the dark.

As Tyrion demanded, “ I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder. And I know I'll get no justice here. So I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand a trial by combat!” The room exploded in chaos, but you stood there, breathless, knowing that this was only the beginning. Tywin’s grip on power was faltering, and you couldn’t help but wonder which one of you would ignite the final spark that brought his empire crashing down.

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