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withlovemark · 3 days ago

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"the baby project"

warning(s): suggestive! angst! mentions of cheating, drinking, lots of cussing, minho can't communicate to save his relationship

pairing: exes to lovers minho x reader [requested]

words: 4.8k+

summary: he's a cheater. he broke up with you. and now he has the nerve to be the one mad at you? it's all bad! and the cherry on top is you're forced to be paired up with your cheating ex for a project worth 50% of your grade. what could possibly go wrong?...or...right???

au: for the sake of the story, everyone has been aged up to the legal drinking age in s.korea (19). no underaged drinking here! (if you do, pls be safe)

professor alex stumbles into the classroom clumsily, box in hand filled with life-like baby dolls, capturing everyone’s attention.

“ok class, today is the start of the baby project!,” he says excitedly, “you’ll be paired up in 2 of course, acting as the parents, please make sure to take care of your temporary child as this will account for 50% of your final grade,” he explains as the whole classroom groans in annoyance, this was either a pass or fail.

“professor-,” madison raises her hand, “can we pick our partners?,”

“of course,” he nods, everyone immediately scrambling to their usual partner, leaving you - partnerless.

you sigh, looking around the room for anyone who wasn’t paired up only to lock eyes with your ex, minho!, standing across the room. it made sense, you guys were usually the ones partnered up but right now you wanted nothing to do with him.

‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’

“ok,” professor alex claps his hands, “everyone seems to have their partners, minho and y/n please stand next to each other,”

“no way i'm partnering with her!,” minho complains, his accent ringing in your ears making you want to vomit.

“well, i don't want you as my partner either!,” you roll your eyes, arms crossed.

“uhm, okay, well is anyone willing to switch?,” professor alex looks around the room as you and minho have a stare down, “no?,” the class is absolutely still. dae almost volunteers but before he could do so, yuri slaps his hand down, shaking her head no.

“ok well i'm afraid you two either do this together or fail this class, the choice is yours.”

“now, each pair will get a stroller, a cradle, a baby bottle and a week's worth of diapers, please make sure all of this remains in pristine condition. for every cry that the baby makes, a point will be deducted to your grade…a voice recorder is installed in each baby to make sure you are following the rules of gentle parenting, so please everyone, take this very seriously, ” he advised.

—

“this is so fucking stupid,” minho groans in annoyance as the two of you sat on the grass, having a picnic, fulfilling one of the baby’s needs – quality time.

“language,” you warn him.

“it’s a fucking doll, y/n,”

you scoff, you hate this as much as he does, “yeah a doll that has a voice recorder,” you remind him.

“you really think they’re going to listen to a week’s footage of this shit,”

“can you just stop cursing?!,” he was getting on your last nerves, “you think you can do whatever you want with no consequences,” you mutter under your breath.

”what did you say?,”

”nothing,” you brush him off.

”no, say it…since you have so much to say anyways,” he grunts, waiting.

“huh…can’t say it to my face? you know this is exactly why i broke up with you, you just always have some bullshit to say,” he taunts, catching your attention, eyebrows furrowing.

he has pushed your last buttons, if he wanted to hear what you had to say, then he’s going to hear it.

"you never were good at this," you said quietly, voice biting. “you always wanted the easy way out, minho, that’s why you cheated right!…is that what you wanted to hear?,” you say angrily, tears threatening to spill.

minho’s eyes darken at your words but before he could get a chance to reply the baby’s cries broke off the tension.

"great," you scoff, gently grabbing the baby and rocking it back and forth.

“i’ll go change her diaper,” you announce, quickly making your way back to your dorm room. you needed to get out of there fast, your own tears threatening to spill.

minho watches your figure leave until you are completely gone. your words hit him harder than they should have.

its true, he did pull away first.

—

it's been two days since the park incident. you have been taking care of the baby all by yourself, getting more pissed off at minho with every second that passes. there were still four days left of this project but you were already at your wit’s end.

it was so like him — to leave once it was getting hard. although, this might be a bit of projection on your end.

a knock makes it’s way to your door, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“what are you doing here?,” you ask, coming face to face with the devil himself.

“give me the baby,” minho commands.

“what? no!”

“look y/n, this is my grade too ok and my voice hasn't been around her for a while,”

”weren't you the one who said they won't listen to it anyway”

”just give me the damn baby, i'll return her tomorrow”

“no”

”why not”

”i don't trust you!,” you admit, making him falter for a brief moment before the sound of the baby’s cries snaps him out of his haze.

“fine,” he gives in, pushing his way into your dorm.

”what are you doing?”

”i'm staying here, you can watch us all you want,” he says, walking over to the baby’s cradle, picking her up and rocking her back and forth, baby bottle in hand.

“whatever,” you scoff, walking past him and into your room, slamming your door shut.

truth is, you needed his help. you swore that the baby was defected, crying over the littlest of noises. you took this opportunity to catch up on all your assignments, trying to ignore the boy that was currently in your living room.

minho inspects your place, finding everything exactly as it was before. it’s as if no time has passed and he’s suddenly back to those moments – sitting on the same tiny couch, ramen noodles in hand, binging your favorite tv shows, or when you would experiment with skin care together, laughter filling the space as you discovered some face masks were gentler than others. then there were those times when you would just lay together, head on his chest, talking about the future or other times when the tv’s sounds were drowned out by the sinful noises that escaped your lips.

he can’t help but feel a pang of regret, realizing that the two of you had it all and somehow let it slip away.

he makes his way to your bedroom, gently knocking at your door. no response. he tries again. nothing. his annoyance beginning to creep through.

slowly, he turns your doorknob, only to find you slumped at your desk, hair disheveled, breathing steady and slow – completely worn out and fallen asleep from exhaustion.

he releases a sigh, making his way over to you and gently tapping on your shoulder, “y/n-,” he quietly calls out to you, afraid to startle you.

putting a stop to the light taps, you softly take his hand, murmuring, “-just five more minutes,” your mind clouded in a daze. the warmth of your touch stirs a wave of remorse in him, and for the first time since the break up, he realizes how much he has missed you.

“this is really bad for your back, you know?,” he softly chides, carefully picking you up from your chair. you snuggle into his chest like it was second nature, sleep overtaking you. minho silently thanks the universe that you couldn't hear the rapid thumping of his heart.

gently laying you down on your bed, he tucks you in carefully so as to not disturb your sleep. before he could go, your hands find his again, “don’t leave me,” you mumble in your sleep and it takes every ounce of his will to pull away.

“i'll be back tomorrow,” he promises softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before quietly slipping out of the room.

it wasn’t until he was in the comfort of his own bed that he realized what he had done. slapping his forehead in frustration, he forced himself to sleep and just deal with it tomorrow.

–

“what happened to you?,” you spat, seeing the dark circles that had formed under his eyes and the pimple that he was currently sporting.

“what?!”

you harshly poke his reddening pimple as he slapped your hand away, walking away and finding his spot at the couch next to your baby.

he realizes you don’t remember anything about last night and the fact that he had already thought of a million excuses for his behavior to something you don’t even remember makes his blood boil, but this was for the better.

“how is she?,” he asks, leaving you confused by his sudden concern for your fake baby.

you eye him suspiciously, “she’s fine, she didn’t cry at all last night,” you gasp in realization, rushing over to check if her battery was still in.

“what? what happened?,” he panicked at your sudden movement.

you carefully inspect the baby, everything was still where it should be. minho scoffs, your actions dawning on him, “you really don’t trust me do you?”

“can you blame me?,” you shot back, “you’re not exactly the most trustworthy person in the room,” you jab at his character once more, causing his eyebrows to furrow in frustration.

“she’s been crying nonstop for the past two days and suddenly you show up and not a single peep,” you continue explaining.

“well, maybe she just missed her dad, why would i kill our child like that?,” he mocks angrily, rolling his eyes.

the baby starts crying again, snapping both of you out of the argument. each cry is a point deducted and you’re pretty sure you’ve been down 10 points now.

you rushed over to tend to her, hands brushing against minho’s in the process as you reached for her at the same moment.

quickly, you pull away, letting minho hold her as the two of you coo the fake baby, trying to get it to stop, “shhh its okay, mommy and daddy aren’t fighting, were just having a loud conversation,” minho talks to the doll like it truly had feelings and you can’t help but giggle at the sight.

“what?,”

“this is absolutely ridiculous,” you laugh, the baby’s cries immediately stopping, “hey, it worked,” he says, sharing your smile.

you cough, breaking eye contact as you sat down at the other end of your couch, “a-are you staying here for dinner?,”

“uhm,” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, putting the baby down, “should i?,”

“i think she likes it better when we’re together,” you point to the baby. he nods, agreeing, “okay”

“okay,” you say, reaching out for your tv remote and switching it on.

“just three more days,” you mutter under your breath.

–

minho has fallen asleep on your couch, the show you were currently watching long forgotten as sleep took him away.

after he had made the two of you dinner it felt wrong to just kick him out.

instead, you watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he occupies the same space he did before, almost like it was always meant to be reserved for him. you want so badly to just lay your head in the comfort of his chest and wrap your arms around him as you somehow fit together on this couch with absolutely no distance between you…just like before. but so much has happened since the last time you’ve felt that closeness.

as much as you miss having him around you can't shake the words he said to kitty out of your mind.

you had gone there to surprise him, with the dish he’d been craving when you stumbled upon them in an empty classroom. the hushed conversation hung in the air, and the words - “i think i’ve fallen in love with you, a little bit...or a lot,” slipped from his lips, leaving you frozen in shock as you turned away, heartbroken.

you can’t for the life of you figure out when he had developed those feelings for her, how he could so easily throw your relationship away or why he couldn’t just be honest with you. if he had then maybe you would have remained friends instead of whatever rivalry you've got going on right now. you shake the thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on it any longer.

what’s done is done.

instead, you grabbed a blanket and your star-shaped acne patches from your room. gently draping the blanket over him, you carefully apply the yellow patch to his cheek before turning the tv off. with a soft glance at him resting peacefully, you quietly slipped away.

–

the sun greets through your window, waking minho up in the process. it takes him a while to realize he was still on your couch, taking notice of the blanket around his body and the star patch, his favorite, sitting prettily on his cheek.

his heart flutters at the thought of your care, excitement bubbling through him at the hope of becoming friends.

you exit your room, already dressed for the day, “morning,” you greet him, heading over to your kitchen to drink a glass of water. he clears his throat, “good morning,” he smiles.

“i’m going out with yuri and juliana, you can stay here and watch the baby,” you say coldly before leaving your dorm room, leaving minho sitting there dumbfoundedly.

–

you needed a girl’s day. something to get your mind out of the gutter. so you spent the whole day shopping your heart away, until the three of you found yourself in the middle of the new club.

this is actually what you needed – a drink, maybe two, maybe three.

being paired up with your ex when there were still clearly a lot of unresolved feelings was the worst thing to happen to you. you are so going to leave a bad review for professor alex at the end of this term.

“y/n, slow down,” yuri says, grabbing the shot glass away from you.

“i just need to forget,” you whine, reaching out for the shot glass.

“do you really think drinking will help you?,” yuri reprimands, “it’ll only make you forget tonight but then you’ll be back to square one tomorrow.”

she was correct, of course she was, but you honestly don’t care.

you brush her off, wandering off on your own, in search of another drink. you just need enough to make the pain go away, just enough to let loose and have fun for a bit and then you’ll go home.

your phone rings in your pocket – minho. his contact picture that you have yet to change blurs your vision, it was a picture of you kissing his cheek, his smile grinning from ear to ear, eyes happily closed. you ignore it, shutting your phone off. you don’t want to think about his stupid face.

–

it’s 1:00 AM and minho has been worried sick. it was so unlike you to be out this late. he has been trying to call you only to be left with your dial tone. kitty has come over to calm him down, helping him figure out where you could be.

“ok so, yuri said they went out to a club but she lost her,” kitty tells minho after getting off the call with yuri.

“lost her!?,”

“yeah, apparently y/n ran away from her after she stopped her from drinking, they’re not entirely sure where she is right now…she sent the address of the bar though,” kitty says, handing her phone to minho.

he immediately jumps up, rushing to your door when it suddenly swings opens.

you stumble in, the smell of alcohol clinging to your clothes as your gaze sweeps across the dorm, landing on kitty who is standing right in the middle of the room, a dark laugh escapes you.

life really had a twisted way of playing trick on you.

“where have you been?,” minho’s voice cuts through, drawing your attention. your laughter fades, leaving you caught in a mix of emotions, unsure whether to laugh or cry as the alcohol swirls in your system.

who was he to ask in the first place? looking at you with concerned eyes like he actually fucking cared.

“that’s just fucking great isn’t?,” you spat, eyes brimming with tears, “just bring the girl you cheated with to your ex’s place,” you laugh bitterly, trying desperately to wipe away the tears that have spilled.

“cheated?,” you hear kitty chime in, confusion etched on her face.

“what’d you guys do? fuck on my couch?,” you accusingly say, voice breaking as the tears continued to fall.

"enough."

minho’s voice is firm as he steps toward kitty, gently taking her hand and leading her out of your dorm. "sorry about this , i’ll see you tomorrow," he tells her as they bid each other a goodbye, leaving the two of you standing there.

“what the fuck is your problem?,” he turns to you, fed up with your behavior.

“you’re my problem!,” you shout, frustration and pain finally spilling over “you tell another girl you’re in love with her while being with me and you can’t even be fucking honest with me about it!,” you shout, breaking down completely. all the emotional turmoil of weeks of holding it in crashes over you.

“do you even know how much it hurt to hear you say you were in love with her?,” you confess, hiding your face in your hands, tears pouring uncontrollably.

the baby cries for the umpteenth time and you can’t help but cry harder. you run to the safety of your room, slamming the door shut behind you. the sharp click of the lock resonates throughout the room, amplifying the weight of the moment.

minho finally put two and two together, the accusations of cheating making sense in a way that shatters him. his heart breaks at the realization that you have heard them that day in the classroom.

with a heavy sigh, he walks over to the fake baby, gently trying to soothe her as he gathers his thoughts, heart heavy with regret as he hears your cries in the next room.

–

you push yourself off your bed, your head pounding, the memories from last night hitting you like a ton of bricks.

how could you have been so careless?

slowly, you get to your feet, grabbing clean clothes and making your way out of your room, determined to shower the remnants of the night away and clear your head.

but a figure in the kitchen stops you in your tracks.

“morning,” minho says, placing a glass of water and a pain reliever on the counter, pushing them in your direction. you nod in acknowledgment, walking over and accepting his offer, desperate to ease the throbbing in your head.

“we need to talk about last night,” he says, breaking the silence.

“after i shower,” you agreed, scurrying off and making your way towards your bathroom. your mind racing with the thought of what he had to say. perhaps, you took longer than usual, not at all ready for this conversation.

–

you finally make your way back into your living room, freshly dressed, towel in hand and spot minho sitting on your couch, a plate of breakfast placed on your coffee table. he looks back at you, patting the space next to him, “you should eat first,” he says.

you eye him suspiciously, slowly making your way over to your side of the couch as he grabbed the towel out of your hand, using it to dry your wet hair.

you quickly pull away, in shock, “what are you doing?”

“uhh, drying your hair, obviously” he replies, tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

“why?,” you question. he was being unexpectedly sweet and now you’re racking your brain for a memory that may have gotten lost on you last night.

“why not?,” he teases and you’re too tired to argue any further. you sigh in defeat, letting him do what he wants, focusing instead on the breakfast in front of you, stomach grumbling at the realization of how hungry you actually were.

minho continues to gently dry your hair as you sit with your back to him, hurriedly eating the food he made.

for a moment it felt like how it did before, a pang of sadness washing over you.

“i’ll say sorry to kitty,” you break the comfortable silence, pausing his movement.

“for?,” he asks.

“what i said last night, i was drunk and it wasn’t nice of me,” you admit.

“okay,” he says.

“and sorry to you too,” you apologize, “it’s just…not easy for me y’know?,”

“i don’t know, actually, what’s not easy?,”

you sigh in frustration. he sure wasn’t making this whole apology thing any easier.

“it’s not easy for me to see you two together,” you admit, “i’m gonna need some time to move on from this, it’s not like what we shared was nothing,” you pause, finishing your food.

“-and, plus you haven’t even apologized to me for cheating on me by the way,” you exhale, frustration slowly building at the reminder, as your thoughts continued to flow.

“-then what? you break up with me for calling you out on your bullshit like really? you couldn’t just be a little more honest?,” you turn to face him, a mix of disbelief and annoyance in your eyes, trying to keep your emotions under control.

“-and now were here taking care of this fake baby,” you point at the baby sitting in her cradle sporting her evil smile, “who cries at everything, like god!, im so tired and so ready to give her back."

you sigh, slumping back onto the couch, “she’s made this whole thing a lot more difficult than it should be, it was supposed to be out of sight, out of mind,” you emphasized, “that was the plan...but now you’re here” you ramble. all the things you had planned to say in the shower spill out.

you were supposed to sound way more collected than this.

minho listens intently to every word you say, a warm grin slowly spreading across his face, “are you done?” he asks, his tone light.

“yeah,” you say, feeling a little deflated.

“ok, my turn,” he says cheekily.

“first, thank you for saying sorry for last night,” he begins, “but i won’t apologize for cheating on you,” he continues, and before you could curse him out, he adds, “because i did not cheat on you.”

“oh c’mon, i heard you tell-,”

“-kitty i was in love with her a little bit?,” he interrupts you, finishing your sentence.

“or a lot?” you added. how could you forget the sentence that haunted you every night.

“or a lot,” he nods, a knowing look in his eyes, “i was practicing and she was helping me” he admits.

“practicing for what?,” you ask, confusion creeping in.

“for how i was going to tell you i was in love with you,” he admits, gaze locking with yours. your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in.

“what?,” you whisper, voice faltering at his confession.

“i’m not done,” he says and you nod, encouraging him to keep going.

“i am sorry for walking out, at the time i was too scared of my own feelings, i’ve never told anyone i was in love with them…,” he admits, “-so when you accused me of cheating, i got angry, i couldn’t believe you could think so little of me when i was thinking the world of you,” he says with a sad chuckle, finally clearing things up.

“why didn’t you just tell me?,” you ask, your voice quiet.

“because i thought this was too good to be true, every couple was destined to end why not just end it now?,” he shrugs, “i saw it with my parents, the way they switch partners like clothes, it was all i knew,” he adds shakily, “so when we started to fall apart, i just…let it happen, i thought well, that’s how relationships go, they crumble, and you move on to the next one,” his truths spill out of his lips.

“-but then, this baby comes along and suddenly you were forced back into my life and i realized that i couldn’t—didn’t want to run anymore,” he continues, walls crumbling down.

“…i’m still in love with you and not even a little bit,” he confesses, eyes locked on yours.

“y/n, i love you… a lot,” he declares, his voice full of conviction, “to the point where i want to run with you and if ever you decide you want to stop or run ahead of me, i’ll be okay with knowing that i still was able to be a part of your journey,” he finishes.

go big or go home right?

you can’t help but regret how much miscommunication had taken away from you, tearing up from his confessions, he gently wipes away your tears before they had the chance to fall.

“you’re so stupid,” you say before connecting your lips on his in a soft kiss.

“i love you too,” you whisper and in that moment, all his worries melt away. his overthinking mind quiets as it focuses solely on those three simple words.

he pulls you back in, lips entangling once again. you feel him smile as he deepened the kiss, hand making its way to your waist, as your’s found its way to his long hair.

“god, i’ve missed you so much,” he grunts, moving down to kiss your neck. you moan as he finds your sensitive spot, making sure to leave a mark.

you pull him closer towards you, needing more of him, when you see it — your baby looking straight at you.

“minho-,” you call out to him.

“yes, love,” he asks, still littering kisses on you.

in any other moment, the use of the pet name would’ve sent butterflies all over your stomach but right now all you could focus on was the doll's lifeless eyes.

“-she’s staring at us,” you whisper.

he pauses his actions and you quickly dart your eyes to your baby, minho following your line of vision.

“woah...we’re her eyes always that big?” he asks quietly, head tilting in observation.

“maybe we should take this somewhere else?,” you mumble, remembering the recorder that was strapped onto the doll.

minho playfully smirks at you before grabbing your hand and leading you to your bedroom, “wait-,” you stop him.

carefully, you lift your baby from her cradle, quietly making your way to the bathroom and gently placing her in the bathtub, far away from the bedroom, wary that the voice recorder could pick up the sounds you knew you and minho were about to make.

“add this too,” minho whispers, handing you a blanket, making sure the baby didn’t fuss, before quietly sneaking into your room.

—

you wake up to the pretty boy next to you, fingers lightly tracing the contours of his sharp features, down to his soft pink lips, "good morning," he murmurs, causing you to quickly pull your hand back.

he smiles, “it’s okay, i know i’m too good looking to only be stared at,” he teases, earning a playful slap on the chest from you, your sweet giggles ringing in his ear, this was the best way to wake up.

“i love you,” he says sweetly and your heart stops, you’re not really sure you could get over the effect those words had on you.

“i love you too,” you reply, causing a grin to automatically break out on your boyfriend’s face.

he leans in towards you, ready to kiss you when a startled cry interrupts the moment.

“ughhhh,” your boyfriend groans, “i’ll get her,” he says, grumpily stomping off into the bathroom to soothe your baby.

—

“well, your baby cried a total of 19 times, that leaves you with 81%,” professor alex discloses, handing you your grade.

“a B-!?,” you shriek in disappointment. the baby cried a lot, sure, but she didn’t cry that much. though you weren’t too sure about the time you left her in the bathtub

“hey, i thought we were gonna fail so this is pretty damn good,” minho chimes in positively.

“this is the lowest grade i’ve ever gotten,” you cry out, banging your head down your desk, minho quick to place his hand where your forehead is about to fall, ensuring a soft and gentle landing.

you turn your head towards him, lips pouting and he can’t help but chuckle at your actions.

professor alex made his rounds, telling everyone their grades, “okay class, please say goodbye to your baby, then gently place them back in the box,” he instructed.

minho takes the baby out of your stroller as you bid your goodbyes, “we never gave her a name,” you point out.

“pleasee,” he responds with a grin, “all my baby names are reserved for when we actually have kids.”

“you have baby names for our future kids?,” you say in shock.

“you don’t?,” he says, almost disgusted.

“well…i do,” you smile teasingly as he mirrors your expression.

“ok goodbye baby, thanks for getting mommy and i back together,” minho says, dripping with enthusiasm.

“bye baby, i will not miss you but thank you!,” you say before you placed her back in the box.

walking out of the classroom, hand in hand.

an: they do not care about that baby lmaooo, had so much fun with this request! thank you for reading <3, pls tell me what you think!

#not edited #xo kitty #minho moon #xo kitty minho #xo kitty minho x reader #minho x reader #minho xo kitty #love.c.

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celestialgallaghers · 2 days ago

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Double Dare Ya [18+]

I realize this follows a similar pattern to my last post, but I love the enemies to lovers trope what can I say. The truth or dare trope is also overdone but this is MY fictional story and I make the rules.

Also the title is from the Bikini Kill song, which really has no relevance to the plot but popped into my head when I was trying to think of a name for this.

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Summary: Your friend introduces you to Noel at a club, and you clash with him almost immediately. You want nothing to do with him, but something about your refusal to fall for his charms piques his interest.

Word count: 7.1k

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You were never sure what to expect when Jo invited you out. She was always more outgoing than you, more embedded in the scene, so you’d at least figured it would be a typical night. Loud, chaotic, and full of people who thought themselves far more interesting than they actually were.

What you didn’t expect was Noel Gallagher.

You knew who he was, obviously. Oasis was everywhere. You liked their music well enough, but you never thought you’d come face to face with any of them. Apparently, that was changing tonight.

The club was dimly lit and buzzing with noise when you arrived. Jo spotted some of her friends and immediately dragged you over, squealing as she hugged them. You offered a small wave, recognizing a few faces from previous outings. They weren’t really your crowd. Often fake, too caught up in their own self-importance, and quick to look down their noses at anyone not dressed head to toe in designer.

Jo, at least, was genuine. You’d known her forever, watching as she clawed her way up from nothing to a high class career as an event planner. These people had connections, the kind that could make or break her career. So, as much as you disliked them, you kept your mouth shut.

Sliding into the booth beside her, you already felt out of place. You indulged her with these nights out every so often, but they always ended the same. You’d drink more than intended just to tolerate the company.

“Noel!” Jo cried suddenly. “This is my best friend.”

You turned just in time to see none other than Noel Gallagher approaching, a leggy blonde in tight clothing clinging to his arm. You weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Instinctively, you were wary of fame. It could go either way. Some celebrities turned out to be just regular people, while others were so self-important they refused to come down from their high horse. Right now, you were inclined to believe Noel fell into the latter category.

He barely glanced at you, offering a quick nod of acknowledgment before sliding into the seat across from you. “Alright?”

You nodded back, polite but unenthusiastic. You had no real interest in getting to know him. There was an air of arrogant indifference about him that immediately put you off.

Drinks appeared suddenly, and you gladly grabbed one, taking a long sip. This was going to be a long night.

As the evening dragged on, you found yourself saying less and less. Not because you were shy, but because you couldn’t relate to the conversation. Industry gossip, name-dropping, pointless chatter about who had fallen out with who. It was monotonous.

The blonde Noel was toting around was now perched in his lap, lavishing him with attention. You tried to ignore them, but her incessant (and no doubt fake) giggling cut through any and all conversation, making it impossible.

Jo and her friends had gone off to dance, and no matter how many times she pouted, you kept turning her down. This left you alone at the booth, spare a few of Noel’s friends at the opposite end and, of course, Noel himself.

You slid down the booth, making an effort to talk to his friends, but they didn’t really seem interested. Resigning yourself, you leaned back, sipping your drink, half-listening to the conversations around you.

At one point, your gaze flickered toward Noel and the blonde, now fiercely locked in a kiss, if you could even call it that. Her hands roamed over him, and she giggled whenever he squeezed her ass. You knew you shouldn’t be watching really, it felt borderline voyeuristic, but there was something fascinating about the sheer display of hedonism that surrounded the ��rock star” ethos. Like he was playing a role simply because he could. Because it was easy.

Suddenly, as if he was sensing your gaze, his eyes opened and locked onto yours.

Instinct told you to look away, but you refused to let him intimidate you. Unfortunately, your defiance only seemed to amuse him. His kisses slowed as he lazily caressed the blonde’s breast, clearly testing your reaction.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you drained your drink, rising to get another. When you returned, the blonde was gone.

“Care to take her place?” The words stopped you in your tracks. You spun to find Noel smirking up at you. He leaned back, spreading his legs expectantly.

You paused, staring at him in disbelief.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” you said dryly, moving to leave. But before you could, he reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

Your gaze dropped to where his hand gripped your arm. His thumb was idly brushing against your skin, as if that alone would entice you. A short, bemused laugh escaped you as you yanked your arm free.

“You really think you can get any woman to fall at your feet on command?”

“Oh I know I can, love,” he said, tilting his head, regarding you with amusement. “Saw you watching us. I know you're interested.”

His all-knowing tone and self-satisfied smirk made your blood boil. Despite yourself, warmth crept into your face, but thankfully it was dark enough that he wouldn’t notice. You were starting to wish you hadn’t done that. It had gotten his attention, and now he was running with it.

You scoffed. “I was only staring because I’ve never seen someone so desperate to prove he’s the archetypical rock star. Do you even know that girl's name?”

He thought for a moment before grinning. “Not the foggiest.”

“My point exactly.” You narrowed your eyes. “You just use women and toss them aside the minute they stop serving a purpose.”

“What can I say?” he said with a shrug, eyes flickering down your body before meeting your gaze again. “Comes with the job title. Sex, drugs, and rock n roll. That’s the package.”

“Yeah, well, you're not as charming as you think, believe it or not,” you shot back, before turning on your heel to find Jo. Dancing was seeming far more appealing than wasting another minute on his arrogance.

Noel watched you go, but you’d made your mark. And he was never one to back down from a challenge.

Another drink deep, and the atmosphere was starting to suffocate you. You needed fresh air. And a cigarette.

Outside, the night air was sharp against your skin, a welcome contrast to the thick heat of the club. You leaned against the wall, fishing a cigarette from your pack and placing it between your lips.

You’d just flicked your lighter open when the door swung wide, noise spilling out before it slammed shut again.

“Got one for me?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. Noel.

Had he followed you out here? Christ, all you’d wanted was a quiet moment alone.

Glancing at him, you sighed. He stood there, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, as if he already knew you’d say yes.

“All that money, and you don’t have your own?”

He just shrugged, a smirk ghosting over his lips.

You wanted to lie, to tell him it was your last one so he’d leave you alone, but for some reason, you didn’t. With another sigh, you extended your pack.

“Got a light?” His smirk deepened.

“Jesus, want me to smoke it for you too?” you muttered.

You flicked the lighter open and held the flame out for him. He leaned in, taking his time, inhaling slowly as his gaze flicked up to yours. The brief glow of the flame caught in his eyes, making them seem even brighter, more piercing.

He took another drag, eyes closing as he relished the rush of nicotine. For a fleeting second, he wasn’t Noel Gallagher, just a man taking a quiet drag of a cigarette. Just existing.

Then he opened his mouth again.

“I meant what I said earlier, y'know. ‘Bout replacing her. Think you’d look good in my lap.”

Irritation flared in your chest. “Have I not made it abundantly clear that I’m not interested?”

He didn’t even blink. “Nah. You’re just stubborn.”

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You really do think you’re irresistible, don’t you?”

Noel leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to something low and smooth. “I don’t think, love. I know.”

Then, his gaze dipped lower, a slow, deliberate sweep before flicking back up. It was then you realized your nipples had peaked against your top thanks to the chill in the air.

His smirk turned downright wicked.

“Cold?”

You folded your arms across your chest and shot him a glare. “Oh, piss off.”

He laughed, exhaling smoke, eyes glinting with mischief. “I would, but I’m having too much fun.”

“This is fun to you?”

He took another drag from his cigarette, savoring it before slowly releasing the smoke. “Oh yeah,” he murmured, voice low. “Watching you try to pretend you don’t want me? It’s riveting.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You're deluded if you think this”—you gestured between the two of you—“is me pretending. I’m not interested. You're only here because I’m not giving you what you want.”

He leaned in slightly, voice smooth, teasing. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I think you're a lot more fun than you let on. Bit of fire under that cool exterior, yeah?”

You met his gaze, a mocking smile tugging at your lips. “Could be. But you’ll never find out.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’ve got a way of getting to know people, love. You wouldn’t believe the things I can figure out.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed, tension thick in the space between you. “Is that so? What, you think you’ve cracked the code already?”

He shrugged, taking another drag, eyes never leaving yours. “I think I’m just getting started.”

He was staring at you in a way that was making your skin prickle and you’d just about had enough. You flicked your cigarette away, crushing under your heel aggressively.

“Yeah, well, don’t waste your time,” you spat vehemently. “I wouldn’t touch you in a million years.”

❦ ❦ ❦

A few months later, you got a call from Jo, her voice practically buzzing through the receiver.

“Hey! So, listen I have a plus one for this festival, and you’re coming with me.”

You raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “What festival?”

“The one Oasis is playing at,” she said brightly.

Your stomach turned. You hadn’t seen Noel since that disastrous night out. The one that had confirmed, without a doubt, that he was exactly the pompous asshole the media made him out to be.

“C’mon, it’ll be amazing! Noel invited us.”

You scoffed. “He invited you. If I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

Jo groaned. “Why don’t you like him?”

You blinked. Was she serious?

“For starters, he’s an arrogant prick,” you said flatly.

“Oh, come on! If you actually got to know him, you’d see he’s not really like that.”

You let out a short laugh. “And why the hell would I want to do that?”

“Because,” she said, dragging the word out, “I think he likes you.”

You nearly choked. “Likes me? What gave you that idea?”

“He was flirting with you at that club.”

You scoffed again. “Please, that was all an act. He was just lookin’ for a shag.”

“I dunno,” she sing-songed. “He was asking about you after you left.”

You froze for half a second before shaking your head. “You’re delusional. There’s absolutely no way he was being genuine.”

Jo just hummed, like she wasn’t convinced but also wasn’t going to argue. “Okay, whatever you say.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Something told you she wasn’t going to drop this.

“So, are you coming or what?”

You hesitated. You did like Oasis—as a band. It was just one particular member you had an issue with. Or, well, maybe two. You hadn’t met Liam yet, and god knows he’d probably be even worse than Noel.

“Fine,” you sighed.

Jo whooped so loudly you had to hold the phone away from your ear.

“This is going to be amazing!”

You exhaled, telling yourself it would be fine. Fun, even. But as you hung up, a weird feeling settled in your stomach.

❦ ❦ ❦

The festival arrived sooner than you’d expected. You planned to avoid Noel as much as feasibly possible. With thousands of people and dozens of bands, it shouldn’t be difficult. Jo had scored passes, and she practically dragged you through the festival grounds, buzzing with excitement as she led the way to the Oasis tent. They weren’t playing until later, and there were plenty of other artists you actually wanted to see in the meantime.

When you arrived, Noel was already there, leaning against a table, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he spoke to a reporter with an air of bored ease. You lingered at a distance, watching the way he gestured with his hands, flicking his cigarette as he spoke. There was something almost effortless about the way he carried himself. Like he knew the world revolved around him.

The interview wrapped up, and before you could make yourself scarce, his eyes landed on you. Jo had gone to grab drinks, and you cursed the timing. You considered walking away, but that felt too much like surrender.

Noel sauntered over, smirk already in place. “Fancy seeing you here, love.”

“I’m just here with Jo to enjoy the festival,” you said dryly, waving your hand in dismissal.

His smirk deepened. “Just here to enjoy the festival, eh? You don’t exactly look thrilled to see me.”

You scoffed. “And why would I be?”

Noel chuckled, feigning mock hurt. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe it’s because you’re in my band’s tent. You're welcome, by the way,” he teased. “I knew you'd be back for more.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. It was time to shut this down. “Y’know this is why I can’t stand you, Noel. You're so full of yourself that it’s nauseating. You walk around like you expect everyone to kiss your ass just ‘cause of who you are,” you snapped. “Get over yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your outburst, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “you could hardly keep your eyes off me the last time we were in the same room and you know it.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Really? That’s not what I’ve heard. In fact, I think you might be a little obsessed with me.”

Something flickered in his expression, just for a second. “Obsessed with you, huh?” he mused. “I was just tryin’ to show you a good time.”

“I can manage that on my own, thanks,” you shot back, finally turning on your heel. You weren’t sure why you’d even humored him that long. You should’ve walked away ages ago.

The day blurred into music, laughter, and the occasional warm buzz of beer. You and Jo wandered the festival grounds, catching different acts and soaking in the atmosphere. As the sun dipped lower and Oasis’s set time approached, Jo insisted on getting as close as possible—to Noel’s side of the stage, of course.

“I don’t get it,” you mused, genuinely perplexed as you stood beside her. “What do people even see in him?”

Jo laughed, taking a sip of her beer. “You mean aside from the fact that he’s insanely talented, handsome, and successful?”

As if on cue, the crowd erupted as Noel took his place on stage, fingers finding the strings of his guitar with practiced ease.

Jo nudged you. “And he’s got that whole swagger, don’t you think?”

You flicked your eyes toward him. “You call it swagger, I call it annoyingly self-absorbed,” you huffed.

Jo chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “You know, it’s okay to admit you find him attractive,” she teased, giving you a knowing glance. “I see through your little act of indifference.”

You let out a shocked laugh. “All I see when I look at him is a self-assured prick.”

“Well, he is a self-assured prick, I’ll give you that. But you can at least admit he’s an attractive self-assured prick,” she challenged, waggling her brows at you.

You shook your head in disbelief and fixed your gaze elsewhere. The only thing you’d admit about Noel was that he was talented. That was all.

And yet, somehow, your gaze kept drifting back to him.

There was something different about the way he played. He looked completely lost in it, mind, body, and soul poured into his guitar. Sweat dripped down his face as he screwed it up in concentration. It seemed to be the only thing he was truly sincere about.

The way his mouth hung open as he played, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, eyes slightly lidded—you supposed you could see why people found him attractive.

Not you, though. Obviously.

At some point, you’d wandered off through the festival grounds alone, the distant thump of music vibrating through the soles of your boots. The warm night air carried the scent of damp grass and spilled beer. Several hours had passed, and you figured it was time to head back before Jo started thinking you’d been kidnapped.

When you finally spotted her, she was already grinning. “We were just about to find a quiet spot for a joint. You’re coming,” she declared, grabbing your wrist before you could protest. And, well, you’d never been one to turn down free weed.

Jo dragged you across the field toward Noel and his usual entourage.

“Oi! Found our little lost lamb, did ya?” Noel called out as you approached.

Jo chuckled, plopping down on the grass beside him, where he was leaning back against a log. “Yeah, had to pry her away from some poor crew member she was boring to death,” she teased, nudging you.

Noel smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, she’s a master at boring people, is she?”

You shot him a glare before settling down on the opposite side of Jo.

As the joint made its way around, you felt yourself begin to relax. The music from nearby stages blurred into a distant hum, while the festival lights cast soft glows over your surroundings. You were properly stoned. A lazy smile stayed fixed on your lips as you laughed at whatever ridiculous story was being told. The fact that it was Noel telling it didn’t even bother you. You were too blissed out to care.

Noel, on the other hand, found himself sneaking glances at you. You almost seemed like a different person like this, not as uptight or dismissive. You even met his eyes a few times with a hazy smile instead of a scowl. It was... interesting to say the least.

As the night wore on, the group gradually dwindled until it was just you, Jo, and Noel left. Surprisingly, the Noel sitting here now was different from the one who had tried to lure you in at the club. He wasn’t putting on an act or trying to wind you up, he was just... normal. Cracking jokes, actually making you laugh. You much preferred this version of him, though you weren’t about to let your guard down completely.

Suddenly Jo rose from between you and Noel, dusting off her jeans before moving to sit across from you. There was a mischievous glint in her eye

Noel’s gaze flicked toward her, immediately suspicious. “What’s that look for, eh?” he questioned.

“Oh, nothing,” Jo said innocently, stretching out her legs. “I just figured now was a good time for the two of you to get to know each other. Y’know, so you don’t loathe each other anymore.”

It took a moment for her words to register, the remnants of your high still lingering. You lolled your head toward Noel, trying to gauge his reaction.

Noel raised an eyebrow, amused. “Loathe each other, do we?” His smirk deepened as he held your gaze. “Dunno if I’d go that far.”

Something about his tone made you laugh. You wanted to argue, to tell him just how wrong he was, but the whole situation was too ridiculous.

Your laughter must have been contagious because Noel chuckled too. It was the first time the two of you had laughed together instead of at each other. He leaned back against the log, eyeing you with curiosity. “What’s so funny?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached over and shoved him. Just because.

Noel toppled over with an exaggerated grunt, landing on his side in the grass. He stared up at you, mock outrage on his face. “Oi! Watch it, you little brute,” he said, a laugh escaping him as he pushed himself upright.

You dissolved into another fit of giggles. At that moment, he was actually entertaining to you.

As Noel brushed stray bits of grass from his clothes, he studied you. There was something about your laugh—genuine, unguarded. It wasn’t something that he heard often and he liked it more than he cared to admit.

“Now, now,” Jo piped up, shaking her head. “Violence isn’t the answer.”

You turned back to her, nearly forgetting she was there. What you didn’t notice was Noel still watching you, his expression unreadable.

“So,” you said, “how exactly do you propose we get to know each other?”

Jo grinned. “How about a game?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Hmm… how about truth or dare,” Jo suggested, her smile all too pleased with itself.

You chuckled dryly before noticing her face. “Oh you’re actually serious.”

“Dead serious.”

You sighed. “Fine. Whatever.” She would badger you until you gave in if you refused.

Noel smirked at your reluctant agreement. “You sure you’re up for this?” he teased.

As you leaned back against the log, you noticed that he’d shifted slightly closer. Not that you were paying attention.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “Bring it on, dickhead.”

Noel let out a low chuckle. “Alright. But remember you asked for it.”

Jo clapped her hands together. “Okay, I’ll go first,” she said eagerly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Truth or dare?” she asked, looking directly at you.

You exhaled, already regretting this. “Truth.”

Jo tapped her chin, pretending to be deep in thought before smirking. “Alright, truth… how do you really feel about Noel?”

You stared at her for a moment, immediately seeing what she was trying to do. Force some kind of truce between you two. Well, you wouldn’t buy into it.

“You already know how I feel,” you said flatly.

“Yes, but do you find him attractive?” Jo pressed.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “That’s another question and I do believe that it’s my turn now.”

Jo pouted dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

Noel, who had been watching the exchange intently, let out a quiet chuckle.

You sighed, turning to face him. “Alright, Noel. Truth or dare?”

Noel met your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge your intentions.

“Dare” he finally said, tone challenging.

Jo whooped in approval but quickly stifled it with a hand over her mouth.

You tilted your head, considering. Then an idea struck. “I dare you to let Jo punch you in the arm as hard as she can.”

Jo tsked, clearly displeased.

Noel, however, barely reacted, save for a scoff. “Is that all?” he said lazily, shifting closer to where Jo sat. “Go on, love. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jo hesitated before throwing a half-hearted punch at his arm.

Noel barely flinched. He turned to you with a smug smirk.

“Oh come on you can do better than that,” you scoffed. “Hit him!”

Jo narrowed her eyes at you, then swung again, this time harder. Noel winced slightly, rubbing his arm.

“Happy now?” he asked, moving back against the log.

“Very,” you said with a satisfied smirk.

“Brat,” he muttered under his breath, still rubbing his arm. “My turn now innit?”

Noel leaned back, glancing at Jo. “Alright, truth or dare?”

Jo grinned. “Dare.”

A slow smirk spread across Noel’s face. “I dare you to leave us alone for ten minutes.”

Your head snapped toward him. Sure, you were slightly more at ease around him now, but that was with the buffer of drugs and Jo. You weren’t sure you wanted to be alone with him again.

“And how is that a good dare?!” you sputtered.

Noel chuckled. “It’s a perfectly good dare. Right, Jo?”

Jo nodded and stood up. Traitor.

“Mhm, but let me get one last turn first,” she said, looking at you. “Truth or dare?”

You were over this. It felt like you were being toyed with. You ran your fingers through your hair and huffed. “Fine Jo. Dare.”

“I dare you to… kiss Noel. With tongue.” she said before darting away, leaving you stunned.

Surely she wasn’t serious.

Kiss him. With tongue. Her words weren’t binding. This was a children's game for christ sake. But something about the thought stirred an unidentifiable feeling in you.

“I’m sorry but there’s no way I’m doing that” you said, huffing a laugh.

Absolutely not.

Right?

Noel smirked, but there was something else behind it. Something unreadable. “What, afraid you’ll like it too much?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Afraid I’ll throw up, more like.”

He chuckled, amused at your outrage. “Or maybe,” he mused, tilting his head, “you’re a terrible kisser and you’re trying to get out of it.”

You sat up, suddenly offended. “I’ll have you know that I’m a great kisser,” you shot back, voice full of indignation. “I’ve had plenty of positive feedback.”

Noel let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying how worked up you were. “Is that right?” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Got any proof of that?”

You faltered for a moment before realizing what he was doing. And worse, you had walked straight into it.

The gears in your brain turned. The thing was, some distant part of you was curious. The tiny, treacherous part that found him alluring.

He did have nice lips. The thought surfaced unbidden, and once it took root, it wouldn’t leave. You tried to shove it away, but curiosity had already won.

You thought for a moment. If you played this right, you could act like it was all just to prove a point. Nothing more.

“I’ll show you proof,” you said, voice steady, as you slid closer to him.

“Go on then,” he taunted.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. A flicker of something crossed his face. Anticipation maybe? You could hardly believe what you were about to do, but inched closer despite yourself.

He was too close now. Or maybe you were. Either way, the air had shifted, something unsaid crackling between you.

Noel’s breath shallowed. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you caught yourself tracking the movement before you could stop. You’d never been so close to him before. Now you could see the details. The long lashes, the sharpness of his features, the maddening blue of his eyes.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to taunt you for taking so long. But before he could get the words out, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his.

A sharp inhale left his throat, almost a gasp. The sound sent a strange bolt of… something through you.

His lips were warm, softer than you would’ve expected. Your heart rate kicked up, but you reasoned it was just a pavlovian response. You pressed against him, letting the kiss linger a second longer than necessary, just enough to prove your point.

Then your lips grazed a particularly sensitive spot on his mouth and another soft sound, half-surprised, half-wanting, escaped his throat.

You had to stop this. Now.

You pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his breath warm against your lips. The world had shrunk to just the two of you.

Noel was leaning in, just slightly, like he was chasing the contact.

For the first time since you’d met him, his expression was completely unguarded. He looked vulnerable. Uncertain. Like he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

It caught you off guard.

You swallowed, forcing composure. “You call that good kissing?” you said, voice steadier than you felt. It was meant to be a taunt, but the usual malice wasn’t there.

Noel let out a bark of laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

A flicker of annoyance, mixed with something else, something darker and more dangerous, ran through you.

“Are you calling me a bad kisser?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His smirk was back now, arrogant and lazy, like he hadn’t just been thrown by a simple kiss.

You smiled sweetly. “Fine.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you slid your hand over the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you yanked him toward you.

He barely had time to react before your lips crashed onto his again, this time with intent.

You pressed in close, your body crowding against his. Your lips slotted together again, starting slow, teasing, but quickly deepening. You weren’t holding back, pouring everything into this kiss, testing him, challenging him as your mouths moved together in a heated fury. You weren’t sure if it was about proving a point or something else entirely now.

Then your tongue slipped into his mouth.

The second they touched, electricity sizzled down your spine, hot and consuming.

He reciprocated with a sigh, and damn it, he was good. Really good. It was maddening.

He tasted like smoke and something sharp and earthy. Pine, maybe, from the trees surrounding you. Either way, you liked it. Couldn’t get enough of it in fact.

Your teeth found his bottom lip, biting down just enough to make him gasp before letting go, watching the way it recoiled, swollen and slick.

The low, ragged sound that tore from his throat sent a shockwave through you.

The way he was reacting was shocking to say the very least. He seemed so… needy. Desperate. A strange tug pulled at something deep inside you. This was a side of him you would’ve never guessed existed. And for some reason, it was coming out here, now, with you. You wanted to see just how far you could push him.

Then, hands were on your waist.

You nearly jolted, unused to his touch. But instead of pulling away, you leaned in further, tongues colliding again.

Something was happening between you, something messy and volatile, where your hatred was starting to blur into something far more perverse. You wondered, distantly, how often he found himself in this position. Your guess was not often. Why he was allowing it, you weren’t sure, but you’d take as much as he’d give.

You pulled back slightly, dragging his tongue with you before sucking on it, gentle but firm. His fingers dug into your waist in response, his breath stuttering as a quiet, barely restrained curse slipped past his lips.

That sound. That voice. It sent a rush straight to your head.

Noel Gallagher, reduced to this. Because of you.

The realization sent a thrill through you, equal parts amazement and ego. You wanted, no, needed to see him break.

You leaned back slightly, letting your gaze rake over him. His lips were red and bruised, his face flushed, chest rising and falling too fast. His mouth hung open slightly, like he was still chasing the taste of you.

A sight for sore eyes.

You smirked, reaching up to tilt his head slightly, baring his neck to you.

“So you admit it,” you murmured, your voice lower now. “That I’m the better kisser.”

His breath hitched, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Not a chance,” he shot back, though his words lacked their usual bite, undercut by his uneven breathing.

“Wrong answer,” you whispered deviously, lips barely grazing his skin before you slowly slid a knee against his crotch, smirking when you felt the strain there.

A sharp gasp tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward instinctively. He tried to recover, to take control, pushing his tongue into your mouth again, but he was slipping. You could feel it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his grip tightening on your hips.

You placed a slow, deliberate trail of kisses from the corner of his lips, down the sharp edge of his jaw. When you reached the spot just below his ear, you lingered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there before adding just a little more pressure with your knee.

“How about now?” you whispered against his skin.

His breathing was ragged, coming in short, desperate bursts. He was barely holding it together, his control hanging by a thread.

“Still not… convinced…” he managed, voice hoarse, roughened by something between desire and frustration.

Then you dragged your teeth over the shell of his ear, biting down just enough to make him shudder.

That did it.

A low, guttural moan escaped from deep in his chest, raw and unfiltered. His hands spasmed on your waist. His resistance was crumbling fast, and you knew there was no coming back from this.

“God… damn it,” he gasped.

Your resolve solidified. He was losing this battle, and you both knew it. And victory tasted so sweet.

You moved lower, lips ghosting over his neck before latching onto his pulse point, sucking just enough to make him curse under his breath.

He was unraveling, coming apart at the seams. His body was reacting vehemently to your touch. Every touch, every shift of your knee, every brush of your lips made him react like a man starved of touch.

He was losing himself in this. In you. And you were loving every second of it.

“Please…” he breathed, voice strained, almost desperate.

His hips bucked slightly against your knee, his body betraying him, making his need painfully obvious. You were right there with him, but at least you were better at hiding it.

You released him and pulled back, tilting your head. “What? What do you need Noel?” Your voice was innocent.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and overwhelmed, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. He knew you were taunting him. It frustrated him. Aroused him even more.

He swallowed hard, voice rough when he finally spoke. “You know damn well what I want.”

You hummed, letting your gaze flick down to the obvious bulge straining against his jeans before slowly dragging your eyes back up to meet his.

“Do I?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t play dumb,” he rasped. “You just want to hear me say it.”

You arched a brow, waiting. You half expected him to push back, to resist the power play you'd boxed him into.

His stare was dark, unreadable. But after a beat, he exhaled sharply and gave in.

“I want you.”

The words sent something sharp and hot through your stomach. Beneath all of your teasing, you could see how vulnerable you’d made him. Stripped of his usual cocky bravado, left raw. It scared you a little. But it also thrilled you. There was a strange pull in your chest, an unfamiliar urge to give him anything he asked for.

You glanced around, scanning the area. It was dark, secluded enough that no one would see. At least you hoped. You vaguely realized that what you were about to do might be pushing it too far. You couldn't explain this away.

You’d finally given in to him, but the thing was… he wasn’t that smug, cocky asshole from the alleyway. This felt far more real. You didn’t understand his change in demeanor, but you were liking it far too much to care.

When you looked back at him, he was still watching you, pupils blown, lips swollen, expression so unlike himself that you hesitated for a brief moment just to take it in.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached down and palmed him through his jeans.

“How do you want me?”

A quiet whimper escaped him, his lashes fluttering as his head tipped back. He squeezed his eyes shut, visibly struggling to speak.

“Any way… any way you’ll give me,” he gasped.

His voice, needy, breathless, made your head spin. You had ruined him. Reduced him to this.

“Okay Noel,” you murmured, almost sweetly.

You kissed him again, swallowing the groan that tore from his throat as you pressed him back against the log. Your legs moved to straddle him, smirking at how hard he was beneath you.

His hands grasped your back, your waist, holding you close, like he couldn’t bear to have any space between you.

Your fingers ghosted under his shirt, nails teasing over his skin. He tensed beneath you, a sharp inhale breaking past his lips. You traced the lines of him, teasing your way down to his belt buckle.

The moment your fingers brushed the metal, his hips jerked violently. A choked noise left him, somewhere between a moan and a plea. The sheer desperation in it made you pause, momentarily thrown by how much he was unraveling.

He was barely holding it together. You could feel it in the way he trembled beneath you, in the ragged breaths, in the way his grip on you tightened like a vice.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this responsive to you. And that it was Noel of all people… the thought alone sent heat pooling deep in your gut.

“Jesus” you murmured in near reverence.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours.

“Be gentle with me,” he gasped. “Please.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. It made you want to comply.

You nodded slightly, drunk on the moment. With careful fingers, you freed him from his jeans, wrapping a tentative hand around him. His head snapped back, eyes squeezing shut as a sharp gasp tore from him. His hips lifted instinctively, thrusting into your palm.

“God,” he panted.

Your stomach clenched. His lips were parted, his face flushed, his entire body wound tight beneath you. He was hot and heavy in your hand. Your head spun as he shifted his hips, twitching in your grip. You tightened your hold, stroking him slowly, using his precum to ease the motion.

His response was immediate. His breath hitched, a moan catching in his throat. His fingers dug into you like a lifeline, trying to ground himself. Every sound he made sent a thrill through you, your own breath growing ragged.

“Noel,” you pleaded, voice dripping with something you couldn’t quite name. You were almost as desperate for him to come as he was. You needed to see him fall apart underneath you.

He groaned, like hearing his name from your lips alone was enough to push him further. He clung to your shirt, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he panted against your skin.

“More… please… I need more,” he begged, voice wrecked.

You obliged, quickening your pace, swiping your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. His whole body jolted beneath you.

His moans grew more desperate, more broken, his hips stuttering into your touch. He was teetering on the edge, barely hanging on.

“I—I’m…so close…” he choked out.

You leaned in, placing a well-timed bite at his pulse point. With one final twist of your wrist, he shattered.

His body arched violently, muscles locking up as a strangled moan ripped from his throat. He spilled over your fingers, his breaths coming in sharp, erratic bursts. He trembled beneath you, clinging to you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

You watched, mesmerized, as he came undone.

A final, weak moan left him before he slumped back, chest heaving. It took several moments for any semblance of awareness to return. When his eyes finally fluttered open, they locked onto yours, utterly wrecked.

You sat there, pulse racing, trying to catch your breath as if you were the one who’d just come. This moment, this image, was searing itself into your mind. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, trying to collect yourself.

Then you realized your hand was still wrapped around him.

You quickly let go, catching sight of his softening cock and your hand coated in him. You averted your eyes, feeling like it was far too intimate a sight. Something hot and embarrassing was starting to climb up your throat.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

Your face burned. The weight of what had just happened was settling over you like a lead blanket. You needed to get out of there. Now.

You quickly wiped your hand on the grass and untangled yourself from him, feeling completely dazed.

An awkward silence hung between you. You forced yourself to stand, legs shaky, unsure what to do next.

You could still feel the remnants of cum you hadn’t managed to wipe on the grass cooling on your skin.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, grasping for words.

"Right, well, I—uh, um," you stammered, turning your head toward the festival grounds. "I suppose I’ll be going then."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but for once in his life, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

You forced your feet to carry you away, not daring to look back. You didn’t want to stay and think about what had just happened. You wandered into the more crowded part of the festival in a daze, barely paying attention to where you were going.

You glanced down at your hand and felt panic claw at your throat. Suddenly, you were overcome with the need to get rid of the evidence. Fast. It felt like everyone knew you were walking around with Noel Gallagher’s spunk on your hand.

Spotting a water spout, you rushed over, scrubbing at your skin furiously. You flicked the water off, running a shaky hand through your hair. You quickly realized the state you were in and hurriedly smoothed out the wrinkles in your shirt and wiped at your mouth like it could erase everything that had just transpired.

No one could know about this. Ever.

Just as you were regaining some semblance of composure, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Well, well, well…”

You barely had time to react before Jo appeared in front of you, arms crossed, a smug grin stretching across her face.

She took one long, knowing look at you, eyes gleaming.

“So… whose dick did you just suck?”

Shit.

--------------------------------------------------------

I saw I got some requests, which I didn’t think I’d get so thank you!! I’ll try to get to those as soon as I can. I have some other ideas rattling around my brain at the moment <3

#noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher #oasis #oasis band #noel gallagher fic #90s noel gallagher

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faiszt · 12 hours ago

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. 𝆬 ⠀ ི᭨ᩧྀ⠀.⠀⠀ faiszt’s ε( ε ´O`)э。゜ BOT! dump⠀⠀❜❜

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heliosunny · 7 hours ago

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you’re so productive like omg too many food in just a few days??!!?! ilysm u literally help soothing my downbad for phainon and mydei pls write more abt them especially mydei ToT looking forward for more wonderful works<33

anw an arranged marriage between mydei and reader who secretly loves him pls like they’re both sassy but obedient at the same time :3

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

You weren’t sure what surprised you more—the fact that your parents arranged a marriage for you without so much as a warning or the fact that it was with Mydei of all people.

Mydei, the warrior. The man of few words, sharp actions, and unreadable gazes. He was not unkind, but he was intense. And while he had always been close to Phainon, your best friend, you had never considered the possibility of marriage to him.

Yet here you were, seated in your family’s courtyard, watching the very man you were to marry approach you with the same unwavering steps he took into battle.

He stopped in front of you, arms crossed, golden eyes locked onto yours. You didn’t miss how his gaze flickered, assessing you the way he would an opponent before a duel.

“You’re not protesting.” he said at last.

“Should I be?” you replied, tilting your head.

His brow furrowed slightly. “You wanted Phainon.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You look at him.” His tone was factual, not accusatory, as if he were merely stating the obvious. “You favor him. Now they’re forcing you into this marriage instead.”

A beat of silence. Then, unable to help yourself, you let out a short laugh.

“That’s what you think?” You crossed your arms, mirroring his stance. “That I wanted Phainon?”

“You never denied it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I never confirmed it either.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak, only watching you with the same intensity he carried into war. Then, as if deciding the conversation wasn’t worth dragging out, he exhaled through his nose and turned slightly.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“We’re going out.”

Your lips quirked. “How romantic. Sweeping me away already?”

He ignored your sarcasm. “We’ll disguise ourselves.”

That piqued your interest. Disguises weren’t uncommon for royals, it was one of the only ways to walk among the people without constant scrutiny. But the fact that Mydei was the one suggesting it? That was unexpected.

Still, you followed.

The market was alive with the hum of voices, the scent of fresh bread and spices thick in the air. Vendors called out their wares, children ran past with laughter, and craftsmen displayed their finest work.

Dressed in simple garb, you and Mydei moved through the crowd with ease. If anyone recognized you, they were wise enough not to say anything.

Despite his usual stoic nature, Mydei’s presence was different outside the palace. He didn’t speak much, but he was aware of everything. His eyes flickered to every small movement, every shift in the crowd, every possible threat. It wasn’t just habit, it was instinct.

You, on the other hand, took everything in stride. While Mydei remained on guard, you blended in effortlessly, casually glancing at stalls, taking in the sights.

“You seem unbothered” Mydei commented after a while.

“Should I be?”

“You’re marrying someone you don’t love.”

“You assume too much” you replied, pausing at a stand selling trinkets. “Tell me, do you think I should be weeping and cursing fate right now?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his gaze darkened slightly. “I expected some resistance.”

You let out a short breath, shaking your head. “You’re mistaken about a lot of things, Mydei.”

He frowned, but before he could press further, a vendor called out.

“Ah, you two! A fine couple, yes?” The elderly woman at the stall smiled knowingly. “A gift for your beloved, young man?”

Mydei didn’t react at first, his expression unreadable. Then, to your mild surprise, he stepped forward and picked up a delicate silver hairpin, a faint red gemstone at its center.

Without hesitation, he handed over a few coins and turned to you.

“For you.”

You raised a brow. “A bribe?”

“A reminder,” he corrected, stepping closer. He reached out, and before you could protest, he tucked the pin into your hair with precise movements, his touch lingering against your temple. “That you belong to me now.”

There was no arrogance in his words, no playful smirk—just cold, firm certainty.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh, Mydei.

If only he knew.

The wedding was grand, of course, it was. Two powerful families uniting was no small affair, and every noble, warrior, and dignitary who mattered was in attendance.

You stood at the ceremonial altar, adorned in regal attire, jewels glinting under the sunlight, your hair styled meticulously with the very hairpin Mydei had bought you days prior. Across from you, Mydei was a vision of strength, dressed in traditional wedding garb.

Phainon and the rest of your mutual friends were in the front rows, watching with barely restrained grins.

“My, my, what a sight.” Phainon drawled, his hair glinting under the light as he leaned toward one of your friends. “Who would’ve thought Mydei would actually settle down?”

“More like, who would’ve thought they’d agree to marry him” another friend teased.

The jesting continued, and you smirked at their playful antics. It wasn’t that you didn’t take this wedding seriously, you did. But the lightheartedness of your friends eased the tension of an otherwise overwhelming day.

Unfortunately, Mydei didn’t share the same amusement.

While you exchanged vows, sealing your union before the gods, you caught glimpses of him stiffening every time Phainon or another friend laughed, every time they whispered something that made you smile. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his golden gaze darkening.

It was subtle, but you knew Mydei well enough by now to recognize what this was.

Misunderstanding.

The wedding feast was lively, filled with music, laughter, and endless toasts. You mingled as required, exchanging pleasantries with nobles and warriors alike. Phainon, ever the social butterfly, stole much of the spotlight, grinning as he recounted tales of past battles.

“So” he drawled, sidling up to you with a knowing smirk, “how does it feel? Becoming Mydei’s spouse, I mean.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why do people ask that as if I were shackled and dragged to the altar?”

“Because our dear Mydei isn’t exactly the romantic type” Phainon teased. “Tell me, did he at least try to woo you? Or did he just stare at you intensely until you agreed?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “He’s been… himself.”

Before Phainon could respond, a shadow loomed over you both.

Mydei's expression was unreadable, but the way he stood—close, imposing, was anything but casual.

“Phainon.” His voice was sharp, curt.

Phainon raised a brow, clearly amused. “Ah, husband duties already? Should I be worried?”

“Leave” Mydei said simply.

Phainon smirked but raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Alright, alright. No need to get all territorial.”

As he walked away, Mydei’s gaze snapped to you. You only sighed.

“Really?” You crossed your arms. “You’re going to be like this today?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took your wrist firmly and led you away from the feast.

----

The journey to your honeymoon destination was swift. As per tradition, a private retreat was arranged—a secluded manor surrounded by sprawling fields and quiet lakes, far from the eyes of the kingdom.

You barely had time to take in the beauty of it before Mydei finally spoke.

“You enjoy his company too much.”

You turned to face him, unimpressed. “Whose?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Phainon.”

A laugh escaped you. “Are we seriously still on this?”

“You smiled at him more than you smiled at me today.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Mydei, I smiled at everyone today. It was my wedding.”

“You laughed more with him.”

“Because he was making jokes,” you deadpanned. “Do you want me to be miserable?”

He stepped closer, golden eyes burning into yours. “I want you to want this marriage.”

You exhaled slowly. “And what if I do?”

He stilled. “Then prove it.”

Silence stretched between you. Mydei was strong, a warrior of action, not words. He wouldn’t believe reassurances alone—he needed something tangible.

So, without another word, you reached up, fingers curling into the collar of his wedding robes, and pulled him down.

The kiss was unexpected—he stiffened at first, caught off guard. But when he realized what you were doing, what you meant, he responded with a fervor that sent heat curling through your spine.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you smirked.

“Was that proof enough?”

Mydei stared at you, stunned, then exhaled sharply, his lips curling ever so slightly.

“You’ll have to prove it again.”

And this time, you didn’t mind.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail mydei #mydei x you #yandere mydei #mydei x reader #hsr mydei

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mastermindmiko · 2 days ago

Text

Finally

Pairing: Sirius Black + Reader

Summary: Sirius reunites with his girlfriend after many years in Azkaban

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, I believe, but lmk

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

The ministry’s guards have been following me around for the last two days. They follow me to work and back to my home. There is a guard positioned in front of my office that stays there, surveilling anyone going in or out. I’m sure they’d have one at my home, if I didn’t so clearly state my distaste for the idea, going on a small rant about my rights.

I wish I could’ve said that I was unexpecting of be pulled out of my work in the middle of the day. Three days after the papers printed out the news, and I had caught a glimpse of his adult face for the first time in years. Despite the disheveled hair and maddening stare with the manic scream, it was still him.

The interrogation room is exactly like I thought it would be. Remus had described it in his letters, he was his friend after all, it made sense to interrogate him as well. There’s only a few people present in the room, most of them being guards and secret keepers. The veritaserum is present in a small vile, on an even smaller table. I sit down in front of it and take a small sip.

The auror raises an eye at me, I gulp down the whole potion. I can already feel the effects start to take place, it’s getting more difficult to hold my tongue. The auror grabs a piece of paper from the secret keeper next to them and the reporter holds more tightly to her pen.

“Please state your name.”

The first questions are standard procedure, making sure that the veritaserum is in full effect. It’s basic questions: my name, my age, my occupation. The Auror clears his throat and I straighten my back ready for the actual questions. His voice bellows as he speaks, “Have you had any contact with Sirius Black?”

“No, I have not.” I reply, and as much as it pains me to say it, it’s the truth. The Auror’s eyes narrow at me suspiciously. I can hear the quill scratching at the parchment paper, my answer recorded. He asks, “Have you been in contact with anyone who has been in contact with Sirius Black?”

“No, I have not.” I repeat, and feel the boredom steep into my skin, not just annoyance that was already present. I had wished that he had contacted me, but surely, he was waiting for the trials to be over, he wouldn’t want to get caught.

“Do you know anyone who Sirius Black might try to contact?”

“Do you have any ideas as to where he might hide?”

“Are there any people who might’ve aided him in his escape?”

“Have you aided him in his escape?”

The questions go on and on, and I watch the arrows of the clock tick and tick till an hour of my day is gone. The Auror is on his last paper with the last necessary questions. He asks, “And finally, what was your relationship with Sirius Black?”

“I was his girlfriend.”

***

“I’m not sure I like this.”

“No, don’t worry, you’ll love this surprise.” Remus teases, hinting at something I don't understand. I had received a letter from Remus, entailing anything except for the fact that the order is coming back together. For the second time, to fight off Voldemort. Harry needed more people around him that believed him more than anything.

I open my eyes and my breath hitches when I see him. He looks older from what I remember and much more sane than the pictures that the daily profit prints.I can imagine that if I’d ask him, he’d just smirk and flirt. He’d say that thoughts of me held him over. He’s got his hair slicked back and his beard trimmed. The dirt that would’ve covered his skin from the confinement in Azkaban, nowhere to be seen. He wanted to make a good impression, and that was too bad.

“Actually, I’m sure that you’ve loved this surprise for a while now.” He says He walks me towards an unknown room in Grimmauld Place 12. The new location for the order is odd, and quite awfully random. I wasn’t sure how Dumbledore agreed, it seemed such an obvious place to hold a resistance against Voldemeort, but maybe that was the brilliance of it.

Remus was being awfully ominous, he’s been hinting about this surprise for a bit, and now that he’s finally leading me towards it, I feel anxious. I clutch my bag tightly in my hand and try not to look like I want to open my eyes so badly, aching to not try to take a subtle peek through my fingers that covered my eyes.

Remus shuts the door behind us and positions me. He lets go of my shoulders, and shouts, “Surprise!”

The feelings of relief from seeing him, all gone out the window as my fist clenches in anger and my blood boils. Why had he not spoken to me? Been out of Azkaban for two years, and not a single word. How dare he rob me of this relief? Everyday coming home from work to eagerly check my letters and find none with his name. Looking deeply into the fire escape, hoping to see a familiar face, but don’t.

I rush over to him and start slamming his shoulders and chest with my bag. I shout, “You’ve been out of Azkaban for two bloody years and you haven't come to find me till now, you idiot!”

“Ow,ow,ow! Darling, please stop.” He says, moving away from my bag and my fists, but I take a step towards him. I feel my eyes water at the nickname and how much I’d missed his voice. He holds my wrists and pulls them down, taking the bag from my hands and flinging it to the ground.

I look at him again, and there he is. The boy I fell in love with,now a man, but with the same mischievous glimmer in his eyes. He smiles when he notices that my defenses have been let down, and my eyes softened. He always knew me too well. I feel my eyes burn and I press my lips together, urging the tears to stay back.

“I’ll give you guys some space.” Remus whispers before leaving the room. Sirius shoots him a smile and then turns back to me when the door closes. He looks skinnier, being on the run tends to do that. His cheeks are more hollowed out, but definitely filled out more since his initial escape. I wonder if he knows that I look at his pictures everyday. Sirius whispers, “How is it that you’re still getting more and more beautiful?”

“How is it that you didn’t come find me? Or contact me at all? Harry’s been talking to you, he’s told me about the letters, and apparently you’ve been talking to Remus too.” I ask, avoiding his expert technique in changing the subject. He lets go of my wrist and I feel my fingers twitch, aching to get a hold of him again. He sighs, and says, “I was in Azkaban for twelve years.”

“So?”

“So…you could’ve moved on, and I-” He admits, pausing to let out a shaky breath. Fourteen years didn’t change the man that I knew. The mannerisms are the same, the same nervous shifting and awkward, but devastating smile. He continues, “I wasn’t ready to see that. Don’t think I am now, but it seems like it’s been long enough.”

“It’s been too long.” I say, and take a final step towards him. I gulp and reach out to take his hand. I feel the softness of his finger tips, sliding my hand over his, feeling the lines of his palm and his callouses. It’s all the same and I can't without the sigh that breaks out from my chest. The first proper touch from the love of my life. He grips my hand the same way he always did, lock and key. I pull him tightly against me, hug him. For years, this is all I’ve wanted, and now it’s here.

“Have you?” Sirius asks, and I pull away, frowning and confused. I ask, “Have I what?”

“Moved on?” Sirius asks, tentatively, part of him not wanting to know, instead wanting to live in an ignorant bliss. To me, it’s a stupid question. I smile, “No, how could I move on when you’ve taken my heart eighteen years ago, and so selfishly haven’t given it back to me?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get around to giving it back.” He grins so widely I think his face might break. He leans down and captures my lips in a heated kiss that’s filled with so much emotion, the emotions that neither of us could’ve expressed for a long time.

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed! I have a feeling that I've been writing too much Sirius Black, though I'm not complaining

I feel a few tears finally escape my eyes, I can’t believe that he’s actually here, in front of me, kissing me after all this time. He wipes them away with his thumbs and cradles my face with his hands. For the first time in twelve years, though maybe without friends and heart bruised and more broken than before, I don’t feel alone.

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moody-alcoholic · 11 hours ago

Text

MIA

Price x Ghost but Ghost is kidnapped on a botched mission…

Who am I kidding it’s basically a poly141 again because I have no self control.

CW: Kidnapping, violence, use of weapons, description of injuries, torture, possessiveness, death.

---

Price would do this for anyone on 141. Sacrifice his entire military career for any of them.

Kyle.

Johnny.

Simon.

They’re his fuckin’ family, his reason to wake up in the morning. His reason to keep fighting the good fight. Right now he feels like he’s failed them all, most of all Simon.

He remembers Shepard's brief; a new terrorist organisation sweeping through Europe. Put a stop to them before they can attack again.

They had a location, they had solid intel, they had a name. It was almost routine, painfully so, infiltrate, capture or kill.

Textbook.

It was a shock to them all when the tunnel blew, when Ghost got left behind.

Price couldn’t tell what was worse, Johnny’s screams or the thought of leaving Ghost behind. Not Ghost, Simon. His family, his partner.

He let him down, left him behind to be captured by the enemy. He had to make that choice as a Captain, for the well being of his team.

The shouting at Soap and Gaz to run felt like a fever dream, he needed to get them out the tunnel before the rest of the charges went off.

He left Simon behind. MIA.

That’s what they classified it as. When they were going through the debrief. Shepherd stood there with Laswell by his side refusing-point blank-to let them go back for him.

“We do not have the resources for a full blow rescue mission captain.” Shepard snapped over the table.

“Are you going to stop me?” Price asked snapping back at him. He felt Kyle’s hand land on his shoulder, Johnny’s raw tear stained eyes digging into him.

“You have orders to follow Captain. Anything else will be classed as treason.”

“General.” Laswell called trying to calm him down.

John didn’t care, he had already made his mind up. They were getting Simon back, no matter what it takes.

He tried to stop them. Told Johnny and Kyle to their faces that if they followed him they would be ending their careers too. He was more then happy to do this alone, he was ready to do this alone.

“This is not your responsibility.” John said watching their expressions, they looked between each other before turning back to him.

“We do this together.” Kyle said.

“No one fights alone.” Johnny said.

It was easy to grab gear and a car. Almost too easy. No one stopped them, no one questioned them. If they did it wouldn’t have mattered, they would have to catch them first.

“I can’t believe Shepard wanted to leave him.” Soap says a few minutes into the journey.

“We never leave anyone behind.” Gaz snaps looking over at Price from the driver seat. John smiles at him then goes back to looking out the window.

“Sure this is where he’ll be?” Soap asks from the back seat.

“If Laswell’s intel is good it’s the best shot we have.” Price said.

The rain was hammering down by the time they made it to to the building. The whole place was an abandoned office block or something. Price didn’t care, Simon was in there that’s what mattered, that’s all that mattered.

The car comes to a stop the engine is turned off. Price jumps out, he picks his weapon up, feeling the cold metal on hands. He looks up at the dark building, he can feel his heart thump in his chest as he steady's his breathing trying to ground himself.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got your back Captain.” He swallows the nerves.

“Lets move.” He orders.

…

Its dark. Dark and cold.

That’s all he feels, cold air making him shiver. They stripped him of his clothes first. Hands wrapping round his throat, skin meeting skin. Punches to the stomach and face.

He tried to fight but the explosion was close, it hit him hard knocking him off his feet. He barely had time to orient himself before people attacked him.

He heard John last. He heard the order to fall back.

He heard the order to leave him.

That was the last thing he heard before he woke in a new place.

It’s dark, he's strapped to a chair in a room with open windows. He can hear the wind, the rain.

It’s cold, the chill causing goosebumps to rise on his half naked body.

They took everything but his boxers and jeans. They’ve already tried to get info from him, the flashes of pain across his chest. Never deep enough to kill him, just enough to hurt him.

He’s stronger then they think, stronger then they’re prepared for.

John left him behind but he will never betray them.

Not his family, the people he loves. The people he spent the last few years letting himself get close to.

John.

Johnny.

Kyle.

His family. His partners.

No doubt his captors be back soon for another round. Another attempt to get him to talk. This could go on for days, weeks. He has to assume the worst, that no one is coming for him.

He has to keep it together, he can’t let them break him. He’s stronger then this, he's been through worse. He’ll keep it together till the bitter end.

He chuckles, he can hear shots. His mind is already playing tricks on him. For a second he lets himself believe its rescue, he lets himself have a moment of weakness. A pained groan leaves his throat as he tries to pick his head up. His eyes are swollen from the beating he’s taken. His chest caked in a thick layer of dried blood and sweat.

There’s a bang, so loud his head snaps to the side, a faint light floods into the room. His ears are ringing as he hears orders being shouted.

The voice sounds so familiar, his heartbeat picks up as someone comes over to him. Hands find his face for a second pulling his head straight.

“We’re here, you’re okay.”

“John?” He asks, his voice catching in his throat. A mask is pulled over his face, it feels familiar, warm, safe. He feels the restraints round his hands vanish.

“It’s okay, we’re here Simon.” It is John talking to him. He feels Johns forehead pressed against his. “We got you, you’re safe, we’re here now.”

Hands grip his shoulders.

“Get him out of here.” John says standing up. Simon almost wants to reach out for him.

“Where are you going?” That’s Johnny. His voice is usually so relaxed, he sounds serious, his words harsh cutting through the air.

“Get him out of here!” John snaps.

“‘Cause sir,” another set of arms hooks under his armpits. He looks over at John pressing another mag into his weapon. His arms are pulled over shoulders as he’s dragged over to the other side of the room.

“John.” He tries to call but it comes out so quiet.

“Stay with us Lt.” Johnny says, pulling him against him so Gaz can call the lift. He’s dragged inside, Gaz coming to look at him, his hands running over his chest.

“We’re getting you out of here. You’re going to be okay.”

He lets out a breath closing his eyes as the door to the lift closes.

…

John is on a warpath. It’s been years since he’s been this angry, this focused. His he squeezes the barrel of his weapon firing off shots at anyone he sees. The image of Simon, blooded and bruised tied in a chair, so exposed, so vulnerable. It made him feel sick.

There are only enemies in this building, a building that needs to be rid of the despicable people who hurt Simon. His lieutenant, they have no idea what they’re messing with.

How dare they.

He lets the smell of blood and gunpowder fill his nose with every room he clears. He expected more, more resistance, more people to take his anger out on.

Christian, that was the name they were given. He was running the whole operation, that’s his target. The person who would have ordered terror attacks, planted the bombs in the tunnel, ordered Simon’s torture.

How dare he.

John makes it to the next floor he spies someone with his back to the door. He takes his knife off his hip sneaking up to the man and pressing the knife to his throat, wrapping his arm round his body holding him in place.

“Where’s Christian?” He growls in his ear.

“N-next floor.” The man sobs. John slits his throat letting his body fall to the floor. He doesn’t bother cleaning the knife putting it back in the holster. He continues clearing the floor. One body, two, three, four…

The walk up to the next floor feels surreal. He changes the mag in his weapon clicking it in place before walking into what used to be an open plan office. The place is surprisingly empty, still he can’t help checking every cubical, every corner. He makes it across to the only other room in the building. There is light coming through the bottom of the door.

He takes in a deep breath moving his finger to the trigger and kicks the door open.

The man behind the desk stands up, his arms raised in the air. He reaches for his weapon, Price fires off the shot hitting him in the shoulder causing him to collapse to the ground. He walks round the desk watching him writhe on the floor.

Price kicks him, his hand tries to grab Price’s foot. Price pulls it away then slams his foot down on his wounded shoulder.

“Christian?” Price asks.

“Fuck you!” The man shouts back. Price lets out a breath and shoots in him in the head. His body goes limp, he removes his foot and turns back to the office door.

It’s done.

Now all that matters is Simon. All that matters is Simon.

---

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waywardstation · 19 hours ago

Text

Take a Break

It's a rainy day today, and everyone is stuck inside the Galaxy Hall. Good thing Akari has brought in a fun board game for everyone to play! Commander Kamado is not exempt, even if he is buried in paperwork.

Here is my piece for the Hisui Chronicles Zine! It was so much fun getting to write this for the project, and such a huge honor to be invited to do so by the mods! Mods, thank you again so much for having me in the zine, and for all the work you did putting it all together!! It came out fantastic!

If you have the zine, you can find this work within and see its accompanying spot art! They're really fantastic pieces, all drawn by Sensushimi!

You can check out the zine at @hisuizine here on tumblr and on twitter; leftover sales are currently open! :)

OR read it here on AO3!

Enjoy!

–––––

Another flash of lightning glared through the rain-streaked windows to illuminate Kamado’s office. The commander gave no thought to look up from his paperwork as the deep rumble of thunder followed close behind, rolling somewhere above — the storm’s impressive display had been a common occurance all day, and he had grown used to it.

So used to it, in fact, that it felt like it was beginning to overstay its welcome. Having rolled in on dark clouds the night before, the rainfall had long since sufficiently watered the fieldlands. Now, it wasn’t doing much more than swelling the rivers, oversaturating the ground, and unnecessarily pelting Jubilife and its residents.

It certainly halted work for the Galaxy Team’s members today. No surveying, no construction, no farming… Kamado couldn’t send anyone out in these conditions under good conscience, and had dismissed everyone who had reported for work that morning. Efficiency was the pride of any respectable organization, but it meant nothing if safety was not considered. Practically every worker who reported in that morning had been quick to agree to this, but Kamado felt it was more in the interest of wanting to go back to bed and catch a few more hours of sleep.

It wasn’t all bad, though; vicious weather hopefully meant no meetings. No need to settle disagreements between disgruntled villagers, bargain with advantageous Ginkgo members, or play middleman between clashing clan leaders. Kamado did appreciate that it gave him a much-needed chance to finally look over a few backed up work orders, as well as notices for final approval and acknowledgement.

Writing off the current one before him — a notice from the Ginkgo Guild that two supply ships would need the docks next month upon their arrival — and setting it aside, Kamado plucked the next one from off the top of the pile.

Let’s see… A request from Captains Sanqua and Colza, petitioning permission for the construction and agriculture departments to collaborate on new facilities and expansions in the crop fields. That seemed reasonable, what with the recent arrival of four new families to Jubilife—

“ NO! Akari!” A sudden shout downstairs from Rei ripped Kamado’s attention away from the words on the page. “Please don’t, you know it’s the last one I need!”

“Buy it! Buy it! He’s trying to start setting down those housing pieces!” A resounding objection followed, unmistakably from Zisu.

…Ah, yes. The small group of Galaxy Team members who did not run home the moment they had been dismissed.

Even through the barrier of closed office doors and an entire floor between them, the group’s excited shouts still slipped through to reach him. For most of the afternoon, it seemed their commotion and the thunderstorm had been competing to be the loudest disruption in the hall.

And currently, the thunder was not winning.

They were playing that game. The one Akari had saved from a space-time distortion the day before. The one that she had nagged him to play with her and everyone else who had decided to stay at the hall this morning.

She had gushed about how fun it was and how she’d properly teach everyone how to play. And perhaps it really was as enjoyable as she had advertised, what with how spirited everyone was downstairs, still fully engaged in it hours later. But the temptation of partaking in a game was weak in the face of untouched paperwork that had already been neglected.

Kamado huffed to himself at the recollection. That sky-faller was a different breed, braving the unstable pockets to bring back such toys and playthings so regularly. Sometimes, it was cards. Other times, it was a colorful board game with most of its pieces. And occasionally it was something different all together, consisting of game pieces that looked as novel and bizarre as the rules sounded.

Regardless though, it always extracted a very… disruptive energy from anyone who got involved.

Sighing through his nose and reclining back in his chair, Kamado tentatively attempted to redirect his attention back to his paperwork — he had a goal to finish it all by this afternoon, and planned to follow through with that goal. Straightening the paper in his hands, he tentatively leaned back into reading.

Sanqua was requesting approval on preparing land for additional farming plots and another storage shed. There was an attached list of required materials and a projected estimate for—

“Wait! I’ll buy it from you!” Rei’s pleas severed Kamado’s weak thread of concentration before it could even fully recover. “How much do you want for it?”

A quick, coveted second of silent thought before Akari threw her voice into the fray. “Six-hundred!”

“What? No! It says it’s only two-hundred!”

“You asked how much I wanted for it, not how much it costs! Besides, you have like three times the money I do, this is nothing for you!”

“I’ve been saving them for all the houses!”

The sky once again illuminated the office with a flash as the bickering went back and forth. It only seemed to have reached a resolution after it was drowned out by a disruptive roll of thunder. The animated negotiation had reduced back to a level that made it audible yet indecipherable as the rumbling faded, but Kamado didn’t even bother attempting to return his focus to the papers.

“Ooh, Community Chest!” Akari’s voice rose up after a moment of jumbled conversation. “Here, read it!”

A moment of heavy silence, presumably as someone was handed a card to decipher their fate. Kamado’s eyes glanced back down at his paperwork, but he was too busy anticipating the impending shouts to read any of the words.

“I’m being thrown into jail!? ” Laventon’s voice lamented with an anguish that evoked a wave of collective exclamations so loud, Kamado reflexively looked up at his office doors; at this point, it was like they had taken the game up the staircase to continue playing right on the other side!

He could not get any work done like this. Especially if they had somehow even roped the professor of all people into the game — he was one of the few people Kamado had expected to do the same as him, using the day off as an opportunity to barricade himself in his office and tuck into his work uninterrupted. And unfortunately, once Laventon became invested in something, he became almost as enthusiastic as the Pearl Clan warden who had been shouting downstairs quite loudly over the last half an hour.

Heaving himself out of his desk chair and crossing the room with a certain unwillingness, Kamado cracked open one of the heavy office doors and slipped through, heading for the stairs to begin his descent down to the madness below.

––––––––––

“...Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.” Akari quickly skimmed through the thin paper money before setting it aside, her Cyndaquil observing from her lap all the while. “Paid your bail! Your crimes are forgiven, you’re free to go next turn.”

“Ah yes, the criminal offense of simply picking the wrong card…” Laventon gave his unlucky card one last look before handing it to Akari so she could tuck it away.

“Well look, I’m in there visiting you at least,” Rei pulled his hand out of a bag of snacks to point Laventon towards his metal piece on the board; while the professor’s figure was confined within the barred section of the square, Rei’s was sitting on the safe outer strip labeled ‘just visiting’ . “I’ll be here for you when you’re a free man again.”

“Thank you, my boy, though I sorely needed that two-hundred I was about to collect!”

Rei lit up at this, giving Laventon a look that Akari had learned to be wary of.

“…If I give you three-hundred right now, can you help me bankrupt Akari and get Festival Plaza from her?”

“Hey!” Akari intervened before Laventon could even give his answer. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can! Come on, Professor,” Rei flashed him a set of three yellow paper bills, “your new hardened life of crime should make this an easy choice!”

“I’ll take that offer if he doesn’t!” Bagin saw his chance to jump on the offer when Laventon, clearly torn, stalled on his words.

“ No! No one’s getting bribed! Just pass the dice, Professor!” Akari reached across the board to firmly guide Laventon’s hands towards Ingo, who was sitting right next to him. Appearing a little victimized yet relieved at the chance to escape the situation, the professor hastily dropped the dice into Ingo’s waiting hands.

“Ah, my turn has arrived now, I suppose.” Holding the dice close, the warden gently shook them. The uncertainty in his wording gave away his hesitance… which was understandable, given his present situation.

His poor piece, a metal figure representing what Akari had reminded him was a modern-day aether, was stationed right before the only three property squares that Zisu had bought.

With every single property choked with green and red buildings, it was a short but fatal stretch of unforgiving financial hell. A ‘Community Chest’ square separating the second and third tiles was the only safe space between them, but Ingo wasn’t counting on being lucky enough to land on it.

“Get ready to pay up, Ingo.” Zisu leaned forward in anticipation, like a Purugly crouching in the tall grass and waiting for a Starly to turn its back.

“Please allow me to traverse these tracks safely,” Ingo begged the dice before releasing them onto the board. “Five or greater, that’s all I need—”

Every pair of eyes around the board was glued to the two plastic pieces as they rolled, their quiet anticipation being held just long enough to hear the muffled pattering of rain against the hall’s roof. The tumbling pair of dice slowed to a stop, and Ingo’s unfortunate fate was declared as matching pairs of black dots stared back up at him — a double roll amounting to the grand total of four.

“AUGH!” Ingo lamented above the collective shouts that rose up.

“Oooh, so close!” Zisu leaned over towards him, pinching his metal game piece and sliding it right into the hotel-infested deathtrap that was her third property square. Then, the same empty hand extended towards him expectantly. “Alright, Join Avenue’s rent is due. Cough it up!”

“Please, Miss Zisu.” Ingo attempted to appeal to his coworker’s empathy as he began to thumb through the few paper bills he still had; mostly consisting of fifties, it clearly wouldn’t be enough to cover what he owed, judging by the amount of hotels surrounding his piece. “I am unsure if I can even afford such an exorbitant amount!”

“Well, that’s what happens when you blow all your money buying those railways off everyone!” Zisu took a teasing jab at him, but eventually relented to an element of mercy. “Ok, ok, just, hmm… give me everything you have except for one of your tens. You can keep that.”

Normally one might have been devastated at being reduced to only standing ten dollars away from bankruptcy, But Ingo seemed grateful enough given the circumstances.

“Thank you; the leniency is much appreciated.” He deposited the money into Zisu’s waiting hand, and she counted over it briefly. Sitting back, he handed the dice over to Bagin, who seemed a little impatient to roll — though, seeing as how he was only seven squares away from passing ‘Go’ , the impatience was understandable.

“Let’s hope I have better luck than you, warden!” He eagerly clasped his hands around the dice and shook them thoroughly. “Come on, seven!”

Bagin more-so threw the plastic pair of pieces as opposed to simply dropping them. The dice tumbled haphazardly across the board, caring not for the stack of chest cards they bumped into, or Akari’s metal piece that they knocked aside.

Laventon blocked their path at the edge of the game board with a quick hand. A five, and a two — the sum of seven faced up towards the hall’s ceiling.

“No way!” Rei seemed almost accusatory as Bagin slid his coin-shaped game piece over to the ‘Go’ space.

“Show me your sleeves!” Having long grown used to Bagin’s exploitative tendencies, Akari felt similarly; she would not put it past the guy to use weighted dice. And his recent streak of extremely fortunate rolls was not helping his case. “That’s the third time you’ve gotten the exact number you’ve needed!”

“No tricks, I promise; I just got lucky!” Bagin tugged at the sleeves of his corps’ red hanten to prove Akari’s accusation wrong. “And two-hundred Pokédollars richer!”

Plucking two yellow slips of paper money from the bank stash, Akari reached across the board to hand them to Bagin, but not without a tiny, well-hidden hint of skepticism. He tucked them away with the rest of his colorful currency, only adding to the comparatively impressive amount he possessed.

“ And , this means that I now have the most savings!” Bagin turned his attention to Cyllene, who was at his right side. “So it’s my turn to wear the crown—!”

“—Ahem!” A stern voice from above killed whatever insistence was about to ensue.

Every head turned towards the top of the floor’s left staircase. With her back to it, Akari glanced over her shoulder to find herself looking up at someone she thought had long since left the Galaxy Hall and gone home on account of the rain.

A muffled rumble of thunder decided to roll somewhere above them at that moment. It might have been seen as an amusing announcement of his arrival, if it didn’t assume his appearance to be one of admonishment.

Akari bristled into surprised silence, but Zisu had no such qualms, flashing a welcoming smile up at him. “Commander Kamado! Did you hear how much fun we were having, and finally decide to come down and join us?”

“Oh, I did hear,” Kamado’s gaze shifted to the Security Corps’ captain, but then moved to scrutinize the large game board on the floor. “I can hear like I’m down here playing this game myself! I came down only to request you all be conscious of your volume; I am trying to finish up a few more work orders and reports.”

“You’re still working on all that paperwork?” Akari lamented, slumping back to better look at him. “You’ve been up there for hours. Have you taken any breaks yet?”

“Coming down here and requesting less shouting is my break.” Kamado descended the rest of the way down the stairs, looking back over the board again as he stepped closer. Apparent curiosity slowed his inspection the second time around in order to take in the finer details.

His gaze wandered over the tiny metal figures and colored building pieces scattered across the red carpeting. Then to the cups of tea and plates of snack cakes around the board, and the colorful paper money, either haphazardly clumped or neatly stacked in piles by peoples’ sides.

While his expression wasn’t one of disappointment, it wasn’t quite one of approval either. “Perhaps I should ask you all to keep the floor a little neater as well?”

“Can do, if you take a real break and join us!” Akari reached over towards Cyndaquil, Oshawott, and Rowlet to pluck an additional metal piece up for him, as at some point the Pokémon had begun playing with the extra ones. “We could squeeze you in real quick—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Come on, ” Akari drew out the last word, giving him a look as she held the metal figure up to him. “It’s supposed to be a day off!”

“You have been working up there for a while, Commander.” Sitting between Bagin and Zisu, Cyllene had been partially obscured by the Security Corps’ captain until she leaned forward to speak up. “I would suggest taking a break if you haven’t yet. The work will still be up there when you return. And I am open to assist you tomorrow with what is left, if you would like.”

“Cyllene,” Kamado turned his head to her. He would have otherwise been even more surprised to discover her playing than Laventon, but his subdued tone suggested confusion more than anything. “What is that on your head?”

“It’s a paper crown.” She obliged to his abrupt change of topic, a hand moving up to ensure the shiny red papercraft was not leaning crooked. “Akari’s rules. The player with the largest sum of money wears the crown.”

“...Which is actually mine now,” Bagin insisted so quietly, that it barely reached above a whisper. He at least had enough decency not to extend an expectant hand out for it at that moment.

“But!” Akari interrupted, “If you join now, you’ll get to wear it! Come on, join us!”

“Join us! Join us! Join us!” The emboldening chanting grew more confident as more voices rose up, with Kamado only shaking his head as even the Pokémon began to squeal, squawk, and bark, the commotion riling them up. The surrounding ambience of the rainfall disappeared entirely under their chanting.

Kamado inwardly groaned. Even if he did go back up to his office now, there was no way he’d be able to concentrate on that pile of papers sitting on his desk; he’d entirely lost the streak he had going. And now that he’d fallen out of it, the growing ache in his hands might make it difficult to return to the repetitive motions of signing his name for who-know-how-many more times...

“Alright,” Kamado huffed, stroking his chin as he surveyed the board one last time. Perhaps he should tentatively feel out a compromise. “I will join in for one game. But only one game. How long does a round usually last? Around ten, twenty minutes?” “Well, we’ve been playing the same round since this morning,” Rei mused around a mouthful of snack cake. “So like, four hours? Maybe? But Akari said that’s normal for this game!”

“...I see.” Of course Akari would grab up a game that took a decade to play. “How about this; you all move this to one of the rooms downstairs, keep this mess contained to a table, and control your shouting; once I finish up this last workform I’m in the middle of, then… maybe I’ll come down and join you all.”

“Yes!” The group collectively cheered. Kamado turned to head back up the stairs as excited shouting mixed together with the rustling of paper bills and tumbling game pieces, all in a big effort to collect the game and move it down to the sub-level.

Kamado shook his head as he reentered his office, but there was a certain smile hidden under his mustache. Such an enthusiastic bunch. He dearly appreciated the Galaxy Team and what it had developed into over these past two years, even if it was hard to keep up with sometimes.

#hisuizine #submas #ingo #warden ingo #akari #pokemon akari #rei #pokemon rei #kamado #zisu #cyllene #professor laventon #its a rainy day and everyone gets to play monopoly!!!#this game destroys friendships lol #waywardstationfanfic

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 2 days ago

Note

See, I gotta disagree about Musk and his potential for being the next Republican demagogue. Republican politicians have repeatedly failed to co-opt Donald Trump's popularity and base. The only person who has gained traction with them is Musk. He's more of a likely successor than Vance.

The issue with placing trust in the "Natural Born Citizen" clause is that ultimately it's an unfair and discriminatory law in the first place. It's always been the Republicans who have been the natural defenders of it. If they turn around put their weight behind amending it, it's gonna be hard for Democrats to argue for keeping it.

And if Trump turned against it, the Republicans would act in lockstep.

The only real defense here is the fact that Trump has never wanted for a successor. He's always undermined anyone who's come close to being one, because he got where he is by undermining those who mentored him. Legacy means nothing to him, only the here and now. That's why the hope has been on him dying: once he's gone, he's set nobody up to succeed him, and his followers have rejected attempts by establishment Republicans at courting them. The expectation being the once he's gone, the lack of a chosen successor will result in the movement fracturing and infighting into obscurity. So far, Trump has set up nothing to succeed him except a succession crisis.

But trusting in Trump to act predictably is never a safe bet.

Oh I've no doubt that Musk could become the next Trump demagogue. The problem is that turning over the natural born citizen clause would require an amendment and neither of them have enough sway to get that.

Amendments require concentrated, deliberate movements, often over decades. The only time an amendment based on a single person was enacted was the two-term limit and that was because there was a long-standing, unofficial two-term limit that FDR violated, and so it was easy to gain political support for making it official. Amendments that actually change the Constitution as opposed to adding onto it are even tougher to enact. It would be easier for them to argue that Donald Trump deserves three terms than it would be for them to upend centuries of tradition for a guy who showed up last year, no matter how much he trends online. As for the Democrats not being able to argue against doing it because it's discriminatory, they could and would just say "oh we're not against THAT, but it should arise from a natural grassroots movement, not one guy buying his way into the presidency" and their voters would be fine with it, because they also hate Elon Musk and are firmly traditional in their own way.

Even if it did get past 2/3rds of Congress, it would never survive 3/4ths of the states ratifying it. The antipathy for changing the Constitution, hatred for the idea of immigrants, and hatred for Musk is simply not enough for most politicians to gamble their careers on "broke the Constitution because of Elon Musk's money".

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caffinated-squid · 16 hours ago

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Jerry Stokes and the consequences of inaction in The Eltingville Club

Time to talk a lot about the last character in the crew, Jerry Stokes. A couple of quick things before getting into some lukewarm observations, this is not me trying to morally grandstand about a character actually being bad, this is The Eltingville Club, all of your faves are problematic. This is just about how his role feeds into the environment, and because I am not satisfied with only going over a list of bad things Jerry has done in the comics and want to go into why he is like this. I have seen a handful of people already go into his toxic behavior, so this is my attempt to contribute. To summarize, Jerry is both the support and doormat of the group. Even though all the characters rip on each other for their interests, Jerry is usually the main target. He is also the character that attempts to break up a lot of the arguments/feuds that the characters have. However, Jerry never actually fixes the problems present in the group, the most he does is postpone the terrible actions, but still goes along with whatever happens. I call Jerry the support of the group, but only by a slim margin. Like Pete, he has the tendency to enable the clubs behavior, but in his case, it’s by his lack of action rather than exacerbating the conflict.

Jerry’s main concern in the club is avoiding conflict. If he prevents the club from arguing, he won’t lose his friends. But because of that, it leads to a refusal to challenge any of the groups bad ideas. The Eltingville club has cultivated an environment where they all need to have the same opinion, and anyone who doesn’t is wrong or stupid and not a real fan. So the most that Jerry can do is just meekly suggest that something is a bad idea, but because he is also the doormat of the group, and isn’t really going to stop them, his protests can easily be ignored by the rest of the club.

Jerry ends up becoming both a bystander as well as an enabler, which has the tendency to get looked over because characters like Bill, Josh, and Pete are more blatantly toxic and destructive, so Jerry’s behavior usually goes under the radar in comparison to the rest of the clubs.

**The main reason the club will actually listen to Pete when he tells them to cut it out is because he backs up his threats, he will follow though if they don’t listen to him.

Jerry’s tendency to postpone conflict also comes with the result of refusing to call out any of his friends for their terrible behavior. He has almost never defended Josh even though the entire group bullies him for being fat is because it’s been normalized. From how bad arguments tend to get and how no one in the club takes Josh’s concerns seriously, he probably just writes it off as playful jabbing rather than bullying. Even with something like Bill making the Greedo-318 account to tell Josh to kill himself and telling Jerry to keep his secret, Jerry’s main concern is not wanting to lose his friends. He wants Bill to like him, because if Bill still likes him, the club can still exist. Jerry already has a lot of anxiety about the club breaking up, so revealing this would do nothing but add more conflict.

From what I can tell, the characters live in the suburbs. Eltingville is a tiny town with not much to do. None of them have a drivers license so they can’t go anywhere by car, days are monotonous, and the only place that holds any of their interest is a shitty comic book shop. I mention this because in this environment there is the need for community, even if that community is terrible, because it’s better than being alone. It is established that the club takes up a majority of all of the characters time, so outside of this group, there isn't really anywhere else for Jerry to go to.

Even if Jerry was able to make new friends, I have the feeling that the rest of the Eltingville Club would probably try to sabotage any attempt, considering that they spread rumors about him going around telling people that he fucked Agnes Zawatsky to reel him back into the club.

Misery loves company, and even if Jerry is the main punching bag of the group that the characters put most of the blame on, he can't leave, because they are The Eltingville Club, and its always them against the world.

#the eltingville club #character analysis #jerry stokes

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felixcloud6288 · 2 days ago

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Dungeon Meshi Chapter 75

First time Marcille saw the Touden's place, she went "Damn, bitch. You live like this?"

Also, this is the first time as far as I can recall where Marcille used her ribbons to tie the end of her braids.

Otta, Fleki, and Pattadol have never seen a demon it seems.

Mithrun's eye changed color briefly but went back to black when he started attacking.

What rules?

Is Mithrun going to get court-martialed if he kills an adventurer who is not a dungeon lord?

Love seeing Mithrun fight. Love seeing his unconventional use of teleportation magic.

Mithrun's Tall-man form was very muscular, and this fight shows how strong he actually is. Each time he pulls that cape out of the lion, he has to be able to pull whatever part of the lion is also weighing the cape down.

Oh. So Kabru wasn't able to talk last chapter. And y'know what, I can tell exactly what happened. In chapter 73, Cithis said "Silence" to him right before she hypnotized Laios and the others. She wasn't telling Kabru to back down, she was giving him a command he had to follow. Cithis may also have been responsible for Kabru's cuffs as well.

What do they expect him to do? He's handcuffed and doesn't have a weapon.

So much of this could have been avoided if the elves weren't such stuck-up supremacists. And I'm not just talking about how the Canaries immediately escalated to trying to murder Marcille.

They were hostile to the Touden party from the start and only became polite when Pattadol thought she was talking to a full-elf. The moment one of them brought up Marcille's half-elf heritage, they all started talking down at her as well.

One thing I'll point out as a token defense for the Canaries is they only became physically aggressive with Marcille when she tried to flee. And after putting up with them, Marcille may have decided she might as well become the dungeon lord since her wish would knock them down a peg.

But still, the Canaries treat everyone as ignorant children who should do as they say because they said so and don't think they should have to give a reason for why others should listen to them.

Now onto the other part about how their supremacist attitude got in the way. Recall that Kabru wanted to be a Canary but couldn't join because he's not an elf. That brief moment where he was able to give orders to the others shows he's able to keep a cool head in a dangerous situation; he'd be a competent leader. But also, he would not have let the situation ever escalate to the point that it got to.

Kui redrew several images from earlier chapters during Marcille's flashback montage. It really shows how well her artstyle had improved over the series.

Marcille's takeaway from reflecting on their journey is that this entire adventure has sucked, it's been a miserable and painful experience, and she'd be better off if she'd given up on any number of occasions.

And it was all worthwhile. What's a little more pain and suffering if it means she'll be able to spend as much time as possible with the people she loves.

She's going to live 1,000 years? Oh that makes everything even worse.

Looks like the lion is restoring everything about the dungeon as if it were new. At the very least, all the mirrors are repaired.

I think the sequence of events was Marcille was thinking she wants to restrain the Canaries and the lion basically went "I know how to do that!" and he summoned giant spiders to restrain them.

And once Marcille saw the lion's approach, it began to adjust its methods to better suit Marcille's desire even if Marcille's approach is even more terrifying than how it was going to do things.

And one of the first things the lion did after becoming Marcille's servant is act against her wishes behind her back. Marcille said she didn't want to kill anyone, but the lion's methods definitely did something to Fleki and one spider was about to kill Otta as well.

And then the lion literally covered Marcille's eyes so she wouldn't see it kill Mithrun.

The lion is not a genie forced to grant peoples' wishes. It grants wishes to feed off desires and it will defy its master's wishes if it feels like doing so.

This would probably drive anyone insane.

Of note, Thistle set up a post to spy on Senshi's encampment, but he doesn't appear to have anything spying on the orcs.

The walking mushrooms have little hearts on them.

Oh look. Mithrun's alive.

back

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi readthrough

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janiehellion · 2 days ago

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Lost At Sea

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You thought you knew Shane Walsh—a man already halfway lost at sea—but nothing could've prepared you for what happens when he's drowning in his own demons and pulls you down to hell with him.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARK!SHANE WALSH X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / ANGST / FLASHBACKS / REFERENCES TO DEATH & MURDER / MIRROR & SHOWER SEX / MANHANDLING / BREEDING / OBSESSION & POSSESSIVENESS / MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE / DISSOCIATION

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.666

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S02E03—SAVE THE LAST ONE

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: My very first Shane Walsh work. Was I mentally stable while writing this? Debatable. Just kidding! This was actually a Wattpad request. I'm really hoping you enjoy it, though! Feel free to drop your thoughts! Be nice. I’m fragile.

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

Shane had been acting strange since he returned. You noticed it the second he stepped back onto the farm—his shoulders stiff, his eyes wide, limping a little bit, and he was out of breath. He barely spoke, barely even looked at anyone. And when Hershel asked him about Otis, all he did was shake his head and answer a quiet "No..." before standing there, mouth open, shaking his head, and looking anywhere, just not at the man in front of him.

And as Rick stepped forward, he hugged Shane. A quiet thank you without any words. Shane barely reacted, nodding, eyes darting toward the farmhouse before stepping away like he couldn't bear to look. His voice was shaky when he spoke about what had happened—how Otis had told him to keep going, how he tried. You weren't sure if you believed him, but you knew one thing for certain.

Something was wrong.

And he wasn't telling anyone.

When Hershel went to break the news to Patricia, Shane stumbled away from the group, looking like a man about to crawl out of his skin. He leaned against the truck, mouth still slightly open, like he was still catching his breath, like the weight of whatever he'd been through was pressing down on him hard enough to crush every single bone inside his body.

You followed him.

"Shane?" You called his name gently, but he didn't react. His gaze was staring at the dirt beneath him, barely blinking, his eyes all wide.

You stepped closer. "Shane, talk to me."

His head moved slightly, but he still didn't look at you.

"You're hurt," you tried again, softer this time, letting your fingers slide along his arm. You felt the way he tensed, how he tried to flinch away from your touch. "At least let me—"

"I'm fine."

"But you don't look fine."

That got you a huff.

"Drop it."

But you didn't want to.

"No. I won't. You know that."

He finally looked at you then. Just a quick glance, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. His eyes were dark, unreadable, a storm that held back the thunder.

But it was his silence that unsettled you most. Shane was never quiet. Not like that. Even on his worst days, he'd have something to say—anger to let go of, frustration to bite down on. But now, he just looked empty. Hollow. As if whatever had happened out there was eating him up from the inside.

You didn't like it.

You didn't like the way he avoided your eyes like he couldn't stand to be seen.

When he started to walk away, you followed.

"Shane..." His back tensed at the sound of your voice, his pace quickening. "Shane, wait."

"Not now," he answered, heading for the house. "We gotta make sure Carl's okay."

You reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move any further. He froze at the contact, his body wet with sweat, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath the skin. Too fast.

"He will be fine," you answered, trying to look into his eyes. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Let it go."

"No," you insisted. "I'm not just gonna stand here and pretend I don't see that something's wrong. Just talk to me."

His fingers twitched at his sides, but he still wouldn't look at you.

"He didn't make it," Shane finally said, his voice hoarse.

You blinked, already knowing who he was referring to. "Otis?"

A quick nod was all he gave you. Nothing more.

You hadn't known the man well, but you knew enough. Knew that he'd gone with Shane to get the medical supplies, that he had a wife here on the farm who would be waiting for him to return.

You loosened your grip on Shane's arm, but you didn't let go. "I'm sorry," you answered, though the words felt small. Unimportant.

Shane inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling just as slowly. "Yeah."

It wasn't an acknowledgment. It wasn't anything at all.

"Look, just—" You hesitated, searching his face for something, anything, that might tell you what was going on behind those eyes. "Just come inside, okay? Get cleaned up, get some rest."

He pulled his arm away—not rough, not aggressive, just final. "Already on it."

You followed him as he made his way inside, and after quickly checking up on Carl, Maggie handed him a set of clothes.

"The bathroom's upstairs," she said, looking at Shane, her eyes still swollen and red from crying. "I brought you some clothes."

Shane took them with only a little "thank you" in return.

"They won't fit well," Maggie added. "They were Otis'."

You watched him go in an instant after he nodded again. This wasn't just exhaustion. It wasn't just grief.

Something happened out there.

That thought stuck with you as you followed after him, slower this time. You weren't about to let this go—no. By the time you reached the upper level, you heard the bathroom door click shut.

Then, gathering your courage, you knocked lightly.

"Shane?"

No answer.

You knocked again. "Shane, come on."

Still nothing.

You pressed your hand to the door, waiting. You could hear the sounds of movement inside—clothes being put away, a pistol being laid down.

Then the water turned on. That was all you could hear.

"Shane, please," you tried one last time, but you already knew he wasn't going to answer.

With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back, running a hand through your hair. You hated this—the way he was shutting you out, the way he looked like he wasn't even here anymore. He had left something behind at that school, and you didn't know if he was ever going to get it back.

But this was still Shane, right? The man who never backed down from a fight, who always looked like he could take on the new world. And yet, this afternoon, he had walked away from you. That alone told you enough.

"I just… I just wanna know you're okay. I'm coming in now."

Frowning, you reached for the handle, turning it slowly. The door wasn't locked. It creaked open, and the rush of warm, wet air hit you instantly. Your eyes landed on Shane's reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He was standing at the sink, shirtless, head bowed slightly, and his hands gripped the edges of the porcelain like he needed it to hold himself up.

Then, he moved.

One hand brushed over his scalp, his fingers running through his hair—and that's when you saw it. The red patch where something had been torn out. A bald and uneven spot.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Shane, hey, let me—"

He turned around before you could finish, his eyes angry and wild. His chest rose and fell fast, like he'd been caught in the middle of something he wasn't ready to share.

"You shouldn't be in here."

You hesitated, then stepped fully inside anyway. "And you shouldn't be acting like this," you shot back, closing the door behind you.

"I'm okay."

"Bullshit."

Turning back to the mirror, his fingers tapped several times against the sink before he reached for something in a drawer—a razor. He turned it on without another word, shearing off his hair as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on his reflection the entire time.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now. "Hey… What happened out there?"

The razor stopped for half a second, his hand tightening around it. Then he continued, shaving off the last of his hair.

"I survived," he finally said. "Saved Carl."

But when you looked at him, you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.

Once he was done, he still hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stared at you through the mirror now, his expression unreadable.

"Shane?"

You took a careful step forward, and for the first time, you saw just how banged up he was. Bruises, fresh and ugly. Scratches covered his knuckles like he'd torn them open on something—or someone. And then there was still the bald spot.

It hadn't been cut; you knew that. It had been ripped out.

You swallowed, stepping closer.

"You know what happened," he then said. "I told y'all already."

"No." You tilted your head, eyes scanning his reflection. "You told Hershel. Told Rick. Lori. Maggie..."

"Same thing," he responded, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Is it?"

You hesitated before reaching out, fingers brushing lightly over one of the bruises, feeling him flinch under your touch.

"Shane," you whispered. "You're hurt."

"‘S nothing."

"It's not nothing." You frowned, moving closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the fresh bald spot. "Your hair…"

His lips parted like he was about to answer—but then he caught himself.

"Told you already," he responded again. His voice was angrier this time. "We got surrounded. We ran outta ammo. Otis said he'd cover me and told me to keep goin'. I did."

You studied him. His body language. His breathing. Everything. "That's what you said earlier."

"‘Cause that's what happened."

Something in his voice was off. The words were steady, but they seemed controlled. Too controlled.

"Otis pulled you up when you fell?" You asked carefully. "You said he wouldn't leave you behind?"

Shane's jaw twitched. "Yeah."

"And then he saved you?"

"He did what he had to do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Or what you had to do?"

Shane's eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Then, slowly, he turned. Face-to-face now, not just reflections.

"What are you askin' me?" He asked back, his voice quieter now. Rougher.

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Ain't nothin' to understand," he scoffed, shaking his head.

But you weren't so sure about that.

You had seen Shane lie before. Had seen the way his gaze looked away, avoiding any eye contact, the way his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tensed when he was trying too hard to keep himself in check, his fingers twitching and fumbling around.

And right now, he looked ready to snap.

"When Maggie gave you those clothes," you continued, "you… hesitated."

Shane's fingers flexed at his sides. "Yeah? So?"

"She said they were from Otis."

His jaw tightened.

"And?"

"And you looked like you were gonna be sick."

"I just watched that man get eaten alive!" He scoffed back at you. "‘Scuse me for not feelin' too good about wearin' his goddamn clothes!"

That was the moment. The exact moment.

Because Shane was a lot of things—reckless, violent, unpredictable—but guilt was never something he let show. And right now? Right now, you could see it in him.

Gnawing at him. Devouring him from the inside.

"Is that all it is?" You asked softly, tilting your head.

His eyes darkened. "What else would it be?"

You didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because you felt it now—the feeling as if he was drowning and dragging you down with him. It was like he was waiting for you to say something else, to push him, to call him out.

You swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You tell me… Shane."

For a moment, he looked like he might tell you. Like the truth was right there, right on his tongue.

But then?

Then his hand moved before you could react, fingers grabbing the back of your neck, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp in shock.

"Don't," he grumbled, his voice strained. "Just—don't."

"Don't what?" You asked in return but stopped as you felt how his grip tightened, just for a second.

Then his eyes looked down—to your mouth, to your throat, feeling the way your pulse was getting faster beneath his fingers.

Shane let out a deep, long, controlled breath through his nose, and when you looked up again, it wasn't guilt you saw in his expression anymore.

It was darkness.

Every inch of you burned with a fire you couldn't put out—couldn't escape.

And you couldn't deny it—the pull toward him, even though you knew it wasn't about you. Not entirely. You knew that.

But you also knew, deep down, that you couldn't look away. Couldn't walk away. Not now. Not with him so close. Not when you were this close to him.

His grip tightened around your neck, but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he was in control. In this moment, he was. His thumb moved along your jawline, his eyes following it.

You knew what had happened. You knew about Otis, about the cold, ruthless way he'd left him behind. About the betrayal—the choice he'd made because that's what Shane did. He made choices. And when they came back to haunt him, he'd just keep moving, keep fighting, keep pushing.

And you? You'd been there. Watching him. From the moment you met him at the Atlanta camp, where things were simpler. When you thought he was just another protector, another one of the good guys, looking after Lori, Carl, and the rest of the survivors.

A cop. A man of the law. A law that didn't exist anymore.

And you hadn't known. Not at first.

But you saw it after Rick showed up. The way Shane's eyes darkened every time Grimes came near. The way his fists clenched whenever Lori touched Rick, the way he looked so annoyed when Carl looked up at his father.

It was only after Rick appeared that you realized how far gone Shane was. How broken and lost he was.

But you'd always had a soft spot for him—maybe even more. He was a leader in your eyes, a protector, brave in ways that made you crave something stronger than just survival. But you had stayed in the background, never daring to get close, because you thought—no, this isn't your place and definitely not your time. In fact, you thought Lori was his, and Carl was his. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it?

A family...

But that was before you realized how badly Shane was losing himself. You were right there, close enough to feel it and see it happen.

And the truth about Otis? You now knew what he'd done. You knew the truth about what happened in that school. And you knew, too, that he knew you knew.

The way Shane looked at you now, the way his lips barely parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to—it told you everything.

And you weren't sure if it was that hatred or the dangerous pull of desire in the bathroom that made you reach for him.

No, you weren't sure.

But when your hand brushed the stubble on his jaw, you knew it didn't matter anymore. His fingers were on your skin again, gripping you harder this time, his thumb sliding across your lower lip as his eyes still looked at your mouth.

You couldn't stop yourself. You wanted him too much.

And maybe that made you just as dangerous as he was.

"You know what I did," Shane growled in your ear. "You know what happened."

You didn't have to answer as he finally pressed himself against you, forcing your back against the sink, the edge of it digging into you as he kissed you hard, almost painfully. His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, making sure you couldn't escape, couldn't pull away.

"Shane, what—"

He kissed you deeper. His teeth grazed your lip, sharp and rough. The way his body moved against yours was desperate, almost needy, like he was trying to lose himself in you, to forget. Forget about Rick. Forget about Otis. Forget about everything.

"Shut up," he grumbled against your mouth.

Before you could speak, before you could even think, his lips pressed against yours once more—hot, forceful, sloppy.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A fast, desperate claim, his fingers now grabbing the back of your neck again, gripping hard enough to make you groan. He tasted like sweat, like fear, like something dark that had been rotting inside him since he came back from that school.

And he wasn't asking—he was taking.

Your hands moved up, instinctively pushing against his bare chest to shove him away, but his other hand grabbed at your hip, yanking you closer to him. There was no space between you, no time to catch your breath, just heat—his body burning into yours, his heartbeat hammering against you like it was trying to force its way next to yours.

You barely managed a muffled whine against his mouth, your fingers pressing harder into his chest, now trying to steady yourself, trying to get some control over the situation. But the second you made that soft, unsure sound, something in him broke.

Shane pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers tightening on your neck before moving them into your hair. His pupils were wide, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

"Don't do that," he whispered, voice wrecked and his breathing still uneven as his fingers twitched against your scalp. "Don't—don't sound like that..."

"Sound... like what?" Your voice was shaky and breathless, but he ignored the question.

Shane's mouth went to your throat, his teeth biting down just hard enough to make you suck in a shocked breath, while his stubble scratched against your skin as he sucked a mark just below your jaw. His breath came in heavy bursts like he was running.

Like he was chasing something.

"Shane—" You tried again, tried to reach for him, but then—fuck. You felt it.

Thick. Hard. Pressing against your lower belly through his pants, but your mind barely had time to process it before he growled.

Not a word. Not a warning. Just a single growl.

It sounded greedy. Like if you spoke again, if you tried to calm him down, to help him, he'd shatter.

But your mind was still trying to make sense of this, still trying to catch up to him. "Wait—Shane, what the hell—"

He didn't wait.

Shane turned you around in one quick move, his hands gripping your waist, bending you forward until you hit the sink again. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips swollen from his kiss, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths.

You barely recognized yourself.

Your eyes—wide, glassy, uncertain.

And then there was him.

Shit...

You saw it. The look in his eyes.

Still dark. Dangerous. Gone.

His fingers dug into the waistband of your pants, and he yanked them down, dragging them a little too roughly over your thighs.

"Shane," you started once more, turning slightly, but the only response you got was the sound of his zipper.

No hesitation. No teasing. He wasn't playing with you.

He just looked... lost. Like a man breaking apart in real time.

Shane's hands slid lower, fingers moving over your naked hips, pulling you back against him, making you feel his leaking cock pressing between your thighs.

"Just—" You tried to talk to him again, your voice unsteady, but Shane's fingers tightened his grip.

A simple "No." was all he gave in return.

His fingers trembled near your waist as he lined himself up, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you steady. Keeping you there.

And when he saw the little bit of hesitation in your eyes, the uncertainty, his breath shuddered out of him.

It was all he needed.

Shane pushed into you.

Hard.

The force of it knocked the breath straight from your lungs, your mouth falling open in a choked cry. Your fingers searched for any kind of grip on the sink, nails slipping against the porcelain as your body jerked forward from the sheer strength of him.

"Fuck—!"

The word barely made it past your lips before his hands grabbed you harder—like he thought you might try to run away, like he needed to make sure you didn't.

There was nothing slow about it. Nothing soft.

Every thrust was deep, fast, and rough.

The mirror shook against the wall, rattling slightly with every movement, the glass only showing the wild look in his eyes.

And he was watching.

Watching everything.

His gaze stayed on the reflection—on you, on the way you took his cock, on the way your body trembled under him.

But he wasn't just looking at you.

He was looking at himself.

His face—miserable, paranoid, ruined.

Shane saw it… He remembered.

Otis' hand clawing at his hair.

The gunshot, the way the man's eyes were going wide in horror.

Fingers ripping at his scalp, a chunk of his hair tearing away as he fought. As he survived.

The veins in Shane's neck pulsed, every muscle in his body flexing as he pounded into you. Gritting his teeth, he fucked you even harder.

He tried to think about how every time he saw your face, every time you let him in, it felt like he was sinking into something he couldn't control. The desperation in his movements was a sign of how he needed to own this moment and drown out every haunting thought in his mind. The things he'd done, the things he couldn't undo.

But you were still there. Still with him. And that made everything… unbearable.

A quiet cry ripped itself free from your throat as he slammed into you, brutal and fast. Your pussy clenched around his cock, your breath breaking apart.

"Shane—" Your voice was a desperate plea, a moan half-swallowed by the force of him.

His hand shot up again, fingers wrapping tight around your throat from behind, but his grip wasn't painful, wasn't cruel—but it was a warning.

Every thrust of his hips pushed your body forward, forced your breath to hitch, and forced your mind to slip deeper into this, into him.

And still—he watched.

His reflection. Like he didn't want to recognize himself.

But he did. And he hated it.

Your mind thought back to the quarry again, remembering how different he was. Not soft—he was never soft—but something close to it. Protective. The kind of man who took charge, who got things done.

You remembered the way he kept the people together after the world fell apart. How he taught them to shoot, how he made sure the fires stayed lit, how he took the night shifts when no one else would.

You'd watched from the sidelines, keeping your distance, convincing yourself that the heat and tingling feeling in your stomach whenever he spoke to you was nothing. A crush, maybe?

Nothing serious.

Nothing real.

You weren't sure when it happened that your 'crush' turned into something more, something deeper. Maybe it was the way he always looked so confident, so sure of what needed to be done. Maybe it was the way he never waited when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

Maybe it was just him.

You weren't sure if he'd ever noticed.

But now?

"You watch me, don't you?" His voice was quieter now, rougher. "Always watchin'."

"Please, just—"

"Think I ain't noticed?" He was thrusting into you harder, deep enough to make you whimper. "Think I ain't seen you lookin'?"

Your skin burned beneath his touch.

"I—"

"Nah, nah, don't go lyin' to me now." He spanked your ass, hard enough to make you stop talking. "I know you, girl. Been knowin' you since Atlanta."

With you panting, he then continued.

"I remember, alright. You sittin' by the fire, sneakin' looks when you thought I wasn't payin' attention. I remember you askin' me to teach you how to shoot. Pretendin' you didn't know how to hold a gun so I'd stand behind you, get real close."

Your breath hitched. "That's not—"

"No? Tell me I'm wrong."

You didn't. Couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong, not at all.

"You still want me?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, strained and deep. "Even now?"

You swallowed hard.

The truth was, you did.

Even now. Even with the darkness behind his eyes, even knowing what he'd done, what he was capable of.

You still wanted him.

But for Shane, it was a dangerous question, one that would cut him open if you lied. He had to believe it—had to see it. You were still here, still taking him. Still needing him.

Your voice trembled, but it was the most haunting sound to him, beautiful and frightening at once. "Yes, yes… even now!"

The confession broke something in him. He groaned into your ear, unable to stop himself as his body moved in an almost feral rhythm. Every thrust was a plea; every sound leaving his lips was a question he was too afraid to answer.

And then? He moved.

You barely had a second to react before his hands were on you, his arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you upright, your back pressing against his sweaty chest. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open as he kept moving, his cock still throbbing and buried deep.

"What the—!" The words came out as a yelp, a half-strangled moan, as he lifted you, his strength and size effortlessly keeping you close to him.

"Move." It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

Still inside you, stretching you open, he half-dragged, half-carried you toward the bathtub.

The bathroom was humid by now, steam clinging to the walls from the hot water as he reached past you, and within seconds, more water poured down on both of you.

"Fuck—!" You gasped, your body shivering against him.

He slammed you forward, pressing your hands against the bathroom wall, his strength keeping you right where he wanted you. The water soaked through the rest of your clothes, ran down his chest, over your breasts, and over the bald, burning spot of his scalp.

But Shane stopped all of a sudden.

You gasped as he froze inside you, his cock still pulsing, filling you to the hilt. His hands, so rough just a moment ago, softened their grip. One stayed on your waist, fingers trembling. The other moved—slowly—gliding up your body, moving over your wet shirt and your breasts, before stopping along your throat. But he wasn't grabbing it. He was just… feeling you.

His fingers twitched slightly at your throat before he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. But this time, it wasn't hungry, wasn't bruising. It was soft. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the sweat and water on your skin, breathing you in.

Shane's nose trailed along your jaw, and then he turned your face gently toward his.

The kiss was barely a kiss at all at first—just the soft press of his mouth, like he needed to know you were real. His lips brushed against yours, rougher now, before fully kissing you deep, as if afraid.

"How many rounds you got left?"

The words didn't belong here.

Not to you.

But they were in his head. Again.

Loud. Too loud.

Shane's body tensed as his eyes flew open, staring at you—seeing you.

But he felt a hand ripping at his head once more, desperate fingers clawing at his head, tearing a piece of his hair away. He felt the gun in his hands, his finger on the trigger. He saw the look in Otis' eyes—that second of realization, of horror, of fear.

"I'm sorry."

The gunshot rang in his ears…

"Let go of me!"

He remembered the feeling of Otis pulling him down to the ground. The walkers getting closer, closer still…

His tender grip around your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to pull him back into now, into you.

"Let go!"

He could still hear his voice screaming at Otis to let go. Still feel the fight, the panic, his nails digging harder into your wet skin.

For a second, he swore he saw blood—smeared all across the bathroom walls, running down his hands, and staining your skin.

But it wasn't there. And the quiet, the stillness—it was gone in an instant.

He yanked you back harder, forcing your back to arch as he slammed into you again. Gone was the hesitation, the tenderness.

It made your knees buckle as he pushed as deep as he could, his cock stretching you open some more, pressing against every sensitive, sore spot inside of you.

But as the water streamed down, it couldn't drown out the sounds filling the bathroom. The quiet whimpers from you. The ragged breaths. The deep groans from Shane.

"Fuck," he groaned, pressing your face roughly against the wall.

There you were—soaking wet, mouth open, eyes half-lidded, fucked, and your body trembling with every deep thrust.

And then there was him.

He was behind you. So strong, so tall, so big. Inside you.

But Shane didn't blink. He didn't look away. He still watched.

Watched the way you took him, watched his cock disappear inside your pussy, watched the way his fingers dug into your wet, trembling body.

He was fucking you like he needed this—like if he stopped, he'd have to feel something else.

Shame? Guilt?

And he wasn't ready for that. He needed to push away the thoughts in his mind. Needed to forget.

"Please—" Your voice broke between uneven breaths, barely more than gasps.

But the way you said it—breathless, needy—fuck. It nearly killed him.

His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts.

"Shit," he growled. "Fuckin'—"

He cut himself off with a groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment before pulling back, teeth biting down into your skin as if nothing else mattered anymore.

Only the desperate, broken moans leaving your lips.

Only him.

Only this.

Shane's breath hitched, his chest pressing against your back as he moved, changing the angle. Your head snapped up, eyes flying open, your hands desperately trying to hold onto the wet wall as the new position had him hitting even deeper.

Shane knew he wasn't supposed to care about that.

But seeing you like that? Seeing you lose yourself in him?

"Doin' so fuckin' good," he growled into your ear, kissing your neck before his hand wrapped around it again.

"You feel that?" He panted, his other hand holding you steady, pulling you harder against him. "See how fuckin' good you look takin' my cock? Talk to me."

Your mind was spinning—still trying to process how the hell you got here, how fast it happened, how good he felt inside you. But Shane—he needed you.

"C'mon, girl," he growled, his lips touching your ear. "Need to hear you."

He didn't just mean the moans. He wanted more. Wanted words.

Wanted to drown in them—let them pull him under until all that was left was this. You. The feeling of your body wrapped around him, squeezing him, taking him.

Another thrust, deep and brutal, knocked a silent cry from your lips. Your fingers dug into the slippery wall, struggling for any kind of grip.

"I—" Your voice was trembling. "Shane—"

"Nah, baby, not my name," he laughed out loud, shaking his head before his teeth bit the skin of your neck to make you whimper. "Tell me what you feel when I'm fuckin' you like this… when I'm making you feel this good."

The way he was talking, you barely recognized him. He was different now. Not the Shane from Atlanta. Not the Shane who always had a way of joking around and keeping the group together.

This was someone else entirely.

Someone who had blood on his hands.

Hell, you weren't sure you even cared.

Your body burned for him. Your skin was on fire where he touched you, his hands claiming you like he could fuck himself so deep inside you that his sins would just disappear.

"I—" You tried again, but your voice broke when he rolled his hips against you just right, his cock pressing into that one spot that made your legs shake.

"Say it." His hand slid up, fingers grabbing your soaked hair. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes.

He wanted to see it. See you say it.

You swallowed, your lips parting, your voice breathy and weak. "Yes, yes! You feel so good inside me!"

Shane choked out a grunt so raw it sounded like a personal kind of prayer. A plea to save him from himself.

But whatever last bit of restraint he had left? Gone.

"Tell me I'm the only one who can make you feel this way," he grunted, his voice turning quieter. "I know you've been wantin' this. Been wantin' me."

You moaned, your knees nearly giving out, the water from the bathtub streaming down your back, soaking into your clothes.

"F-Fuck," you stammered, barely able to breathe, barely able to form any reasonable thought with the way he was wrecking you, your pussy clenching so tightly around him.

"Shane—"

Wrong answer… His grip on your hair tightened, punishing.

"Tell me."

Your breath hitched.

"Only you can make me feel like this," you whimpered, breathing weakly. "Only. You."

Shane groaned like you'd just stabbed a knife into his heart, his forehead pressing against the back of your head for half a second before his mouth was near your ear again, only for him to drag you out of the bathtub, his hands holding you still.

You gasped, and before you could fully adjust, he was backing up, pulling you with him.

"Push back, baby, push back—let me show you," Shane growled as he backed you both up against the bathroom wall, his back hitting it with urgency as you were forced to face the mirror above the sink. It was still foggy, steamy like the room, but still clear enough for you to see the way he took you—hard, fast, with no hesitation.

Without any warning, his thrusts became brutal.

Shane was fucking into you like a man possessed, like if he stopped for even a second, every memory would come back.

"Shit—look at you," he smirked, one hand sliding down, pressing against your lower belly. "You feel me right there, baby?"

Your fingers clenched into fists, your eyes looking slowly toward the mirror.

The sight of it all… You, your skin red from the warmth of the hot water, dripping wet, trembling against his strong chest.

And him, wild-eyed, brutal, desperate...

The way his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way he stretched you open—it made you clench around him harder.

"Shit," Shane gasped. "You like that, huh? Like seein' how fuckin' good I'm stretchin' you out?"

"Y-Yes—"

His fingers dug into your trembling flesh.

"Gonna come for me, baby?"

You tried to nod, tried to breathe. You couldn't see the mirror anymore—your vision blurred, your body on fire and burning in his arms. All you could focus on was the way he was fucking you, the way he was making you feel.

"Fuckin' say it," he growled.

"I—I'm gonna come," you cried out in return as his thrusts became sloppier, pounding faster into you.

And then—your whole body tensed. Your moans came out sobbing, your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that Shane choked on his next groan.

"F-Fuck, fuck," he stuttered, his hips bucking, making you feel him twitch and throb.

He lost himself.

His cock pulsed inside you, buried deep as he came, his hips pressing hard against your ass.

But Shane didn't move after he was done. He didn't pull out. He just stayed there, deep inside you, his breathing all uneven, his chest rising and falling against your back, holding you close.

For a moment, he didn't feel like he was drowning.

For a moment, he wasn't Shane Walsh.

He was just this—just a man, a man feeling your body so close to him, a man feeling the way his muscles ached from how hard he'd taken you.

Shane then let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your back.

He should've said something.

Should've talked about what just happened.

Should've let you know he was still there. That he was still himself.

But he didn't. Instead, he just gripped your hips—steadying himself.

It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.

As Shane exhaled through his nose, long and slow, he was finally—finally—pulling out. The loss of him sent another shiver through you and left you feeling empty in a way you couldn't even explain.

And still, he said nothing.

You turned, water dripping from your body as you tried to look into his eyes, but he was already moving—grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat and water from his face.

"Shane... This—" Your voice was hoarse and shaky, and you weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Are you really okay?

Was this just a distraction?

What the hell was this?

So many questions...

But he didn't react to the sound of your voice.

You reached down for your wet clothes, trying to shove your pants back up, your movements frantic and quick. When you risked another glance at him, he still wasn't looking at you.

He was staring into the mirror. His shoulders tense, his chest still rising and falling, sweat dripping down his naked chest.

But Shane's face? Shane's face looked haunted.

His jaw clenched, so you tried again, softer this time. "Hey..."

Nothing.

He just turned, reaching for the towel again, and wiped it over his chest, his shoulders, and along his arms.

The bathroom felt suffocating by now, not for him, but for you—hot steam and cold silence tormenting you from all sides.

And just when you were about to give up—just when you were stepping toward the door…

"I didn't mean to."

You stopped as the words came out of him, hollow and quiet—like a confession meant for no one, yet meant for everything.

He didn't mean to—what?

You never turned back to ask.

Instead, you pulled open the door and stepped out—out of the suffocating heat—only to be hit with something colder once you walked down the stairs.

A silence far worse than the one in the bathroom.

And you felt it. Those stares.

Rick. Lori. Maggie. Glenn.

All of them…

Standing there, just beyond the door where Carl was still recovering, thanks to Hershel, their conversations had stopped the second you stepped into view.

Their eyes looked at you—at your wet clothes clinging to your skin, the water still dripping from your hair, the red marks already showing along your neck and throat.

No one spoke. No one dared to say a word.

But the silence wasn't empty; it was hanging like a storm cloud over the entire room.

Rick's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his cheeks twitching, while Lori's lips parted just a bit, her eyebrows furrowing like she wanted to say something—like she wanted to ask, but knew the answer already.

Glenn quickly looked away, his face turning red as if he were the one caught in something he shouldn't have seen.

And Maggie? She just blinked. Not judging. Not surprised. Just watching you with her red, swollen eyes from crying.

You swallowed hard, forcing your chin up, calming down your breath. Then, with a final step forward, you kept walking toward the front door, not wanting to talk. It wasn't necessary.

Meanwhile, the bathroom door upstairs remained shut.

And inside?

Inside, Shane stood motionless in front of the mirror—staring at himself, watching his reflection drown in the fog.

He didn't mean to…

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rypnami · 2 days ago

Text

Two Years Later...

Happy Anniversary Hogwarts Legacy!

it's been 2 years of this game!!! that means... it's MC's 7th year!

this started as an idea in my server for a group collab, but i don't know who's still doing it. i might as well post my own, at the least!

now that MC is a 7th year, what are they up to? how did they cope with the events of 5th year as time passed? how do they feel about graduation coming soon?

i've decided to explore this with aurelia, since she is my 'canon' MC. i do look forward to seeing others' takes!

this is mostly just me rambling and auri maybe finally learning that she doesn't have to be terrible to people ALL the time. and her meeting daphne, that's a big part of this. shhh i just wanted to finally write auri being a loser lesbian.

word count: 1561

Two years ago, if you had told Aurelia that there would be a day she was sad to leave Hogwarts, she’d have laughed in your face. How could she ever be sad about leaving behind this dingy old castle, never to return? Back then, she’d hated all the people, hated taking classes, and would rather bite her classmates than have a civil conversation.

She isn’t sure when the shift happened. Perhaps when Garreth had miscalculated his umpteenth potion recipe. When it exploded in his face, it had turned his hair a vibrant pink. It was the first time she’d realised she could laugh at something that wasn’t someone getting hurt, and watching him desperately trying to wash the pink out for the whole week after had provided enough entertainment value that she thought she might even be a little sad if he were to die. Who would ever think she’d one day care about what happens to a man?

Or, perhaps it was when she’d at last mastered broom flight, and bested Imelda at her own broom trials for the second year in a row. There was the satisfaction of beating someone at their own game, the thrill of victory, and the fact that she simply really got on with Imelda. The same energy, the same passion, the same general dislike for slow people… how could they not become friends? To think, if she’d just thrown in the towel after the first round of trials like she’d originally planned, she may never have truly gotten to meet a dear friend. It still sounds odd, sometimes, to think of anyone as a friend.

Perhaps, still, it was when Anne had finally recovered and been able to return to school. At long last, that had made Sebastian stop acting like a bellend and he’d finally given up his stupid obsession with Dark magic- mostly. Auri would put a few Galleons on the assumption that he still sneaks into the Restricted Section to read otherwise forbidden books, but with Anne back around to keep him in line, and Ominis finally speaking to him again, it’s likely quite a bit less than what he used to do. Surprisingly enough, she finds herself enjoying all of their company these days.

Privately, however, Auri thinks what actually began to change things was the day she met Daphne Weasley at the beginning of 6th year. She was a complete accident, someone she might never have seen at all if she hadn’t literally fallen into her after tripping over her untied shoelaces. From the jump, Auri had been fascinated by her. Not only was she completely opposite to her loud, chaotic brother, Daphne was also everything Auri was not. Thoughtful, genuinely polite, didn’t go out of her way to scare small children, and overall pleasant to be around. She was captivating, and so Auri did the only thing she could think of to learn more about her. She started following her around.

It was NOT stalking, no matter what gossip Sebastian might be spreading. And who is he to attempt to have a moral high ground, anyway? He killed someone! So has Auri, but that’s neither here nor there, really.

Auri was not nearly as sneaky as she might usually be when (not) stalking someone, and Daphne was surprisingly not too perturbed by the creepy girl who threatens at least a dozen people a day following her. In fact, she’d almost seemed just as drawn to Auri, and in no time at all they had actually become… friends? Not long after, Auri was doing the very normal and mature thing of screaming into her pillow every night and crying to anyone who would listen about how goddamn pretty she was.

She’d decided to write to Lily Prewett for advice, the only other lesbian she’d ever heard of ever, who had graduated the year before. They’d never been friendly, but who else was she to talk to? Lily had bombarded her with owls about it, and although Auri had thought most of her advice was stupid and pointless (being nice to her? Since when has that been a thing?), it had actually worked.

Even now, almost a year later, she gets several letters a week. They aren’t so much about romantic advice anymore- just asking how her day has been, how she’s feeling nearing graduation, if classes are going well. It’s something else Auri knows would have had her absolutely raging back in 5th year, but now, she looks forward to it. Every morning in the Great Hall, she waits to see her owl swoop in, usually with more than one letter, seeing as Lily almost always realises she has more to say right after sealing the envelope.

In fact, it was one of her letters (and a few weeks of convincing from Daphne) that finally gave her the nerve to do what she’s doing today. To, for the first time, take the small footpath that diverges from the regular road to Hogsmeade, that leads up to where Professor Fig was buried at the end of 5th year. She’s never been up to see it, not even once.

It’s a tree with a twisted trunk that overlooks Hogwarts, just before you’d reach the Mooncalf den. Quite a few of its leaves are gone, having fallen off before winter, but already new ones have started to grow in, fresh and green. At the base of the tree, roots surrounding it like a frame, is a small headstone. There are fresh flowers laid upon it, and growing around it. Auri wonders for a moment who put them there, though it doesn’t truly matter. Everyone had loved Professor Fig. Even she had, much to her own surprise at the time. Death is something you’d think a vampire would be more than accustomed to, but standing here and staring it in the face is much harder than she expected.

“Erm. Hi.” She crosses her arms, slightly uncomfortable. “I… am sorry I haven’t come to see you before. It never… felt right.”

A warm wind ripples through the air, rustling the newly growing leaves as well as her hair. It almost feels like a sign. It’s okay. I understand.

“I’m sorry you died. I’m sorry I wasn’t… better back then.” That hardly covers it. She’s got a lot of blood on her hands, much of it there long before she ever knew what Hogwarts- or even the United Kingdom at all- was. “I still think of you all the time. Without you… I dunno where I’d be. But I wish you were still here. I wish you could see me now.” Auri sits down, crossing her legs and staring at the grass. “You helped me more than you ever knew. You always believed I could be a better person than I was when you were here… I suppose you were right after all.”

“Graduation is in a few weeks, but you probably already know that.” She picks at the flowers growing around his burial place, trying to avoid looking at the headstone. “I’ve done really well, these past 2 years. I… er, I passed all my O.W.Ls, and my N.E.W.Ts went well, too. I still don’t know what I want to do, after school. Or where I’ll go. I have friends, now, though. And… Daphne. I think you would have liked her.” She shrugs. “I really like her.”

She finally looks up at the grave. It has his name carved in simple lettering, and above is what looks like the artists’ attempt at a thestral. “I… yeah. That’s about it.” She brushes a few leaves off the top of the stone, letting her hand linger on it for a moment. “I promise I’ll come by more, okay?” She gets back up, dusting off her skirt as she does. “And after graduation. I’ll tell you everything about it.”

Daphne was waiting several paces back, standing out of the shade of the tree. Sunlight bounces off her auburn hair, and by the great gods is she the prettiest person Auri has ever seen. She smiles as Auri walks back to her.

“How was that?” She asks.

“Good.” Auri takes Daphne’s hand in hers. Though her own skin is always ice-cold, Daphne’s is as warm as the summer sun, and never fails to spread from her fingertips up throughout the rest of her body. “Overdue, I think.”

“Are you alright? Sure you’re ready to join the others?” She gives Auri’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. Sebastian says Anne was able to bribe Feenky into making us an entire basket of Treacle Tarts, and I want to get some before Leander eats them all himself in one go, the greedy bastard.”

Daphne laughs, which makes Auri feel incredibly pleased with herself. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do! Then he might learn a little thing called sharing.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“When I hog all the sweets, it’s cute. When he does it, it’s annoying!”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose.” They both laugh as they walk hand in hand back down the path to the castle.

One might almost forget Auri is an undead being of unimaginable horror. Or, rather, used to be. She is still, certainly, undead, but perhaps not particularly horrible anymore.

And she just might like that better.

32 notes · View notes

scrumptiousstuffs · 3 days ago

Note

Hey, I've been following you for a long time now and I've never seen you complain or rant about literally anything but I genuinely wanted to ask your honest opinion about how you felt about episode 11 of thk like yes it was emotional but I'm asking you in terms of writing and directing side like Idk why it felt rushed and I'm a firstkhao fan so for me specially their scenes felt cut short with no problem dialogues given to them and that child intercepting them was it really needed?? It was the last 2nd episode more than that the whole day was really meaningful for them considering they will literally get to spend time together after 5 freaking years !! I know I'm sounding like a child complaining about such things but we have only an episode left and I feel like we still need 3-4 episodes considering the teaser they showed for the next episode!! Okay okay I'm done with my rant but really tell me how do you stay this positive regarding fk specially

Hello Anon, Welcome to my humble abode of me fangirling over FirstKhaotung, I guess? I am quite bemused that you (or anyone really) can follow my rambling mess.

Anyway, getting back to your asked – I can see you are somehow frustrated and perhaps a tad disappointed with the “lesser screen time” for KantBison compared to FadelStyle?

Writing and Directing for THK Ep 11 (and THK in general)

I won’t pretend I know anything about what is considered good screenwriting/script or directing. I will also admit that there are several things that I am puzzled by in THK. Certainly, there are some weak characterisations and general plot lines that sometimes doesn’t make sense. E.g – Captain Christ being able to promise only 5 years in prison sentence (my eyebrows shot up when he said that lol). And what about the whole Kant having Madam Lilly on tape doing villainy-stuffs – how? Did she really keep her own villainous act on tape – because I am assuming those evidence was the one Keen got for the boys at the beginning of the episode). Or perhaps we are just meant to use our media literacy skills and connect the dots that the tape is likely from Ruerat (which the brothers have successfully hidden him somewhere for the last few days until he is conveniently needed as a leeway for Captain Christ to “help” our besties). Plus, Captain Christ just letting Kant/Style getting away when they are complicit in helping our pair of hitmen.

So, like I say, plot holes. And let’s be honest, The Heart Killers as a series were never going to be an award-winning show per se (unlike P’Aof series that has now won his 3rd? consecutive best BL series in award shows. And judging from fan reactions of Gem4th upcoming series with him, he will have another winner on hand). But see, P’Aof shows have never quite hit the mark for me (I liked ATOS, Bad Buddy enough – we don’t speak about Last Twilight in my blog lol – as far as I am aware, that show ended in Ep 10).

However, what I am feeling when I watched Jojo’s series… is me being entertained every week (even when I am crying buckets in some scenes). And this is especially true with The Heart Killers. From the start, he has made it clear the genre is romantic comedy. He also made it clear the show is the “fantasy of how gay hitmen lives”. Just from that, I know the show will not take itself too seriously.

Plus, if you know P’ Jojo CVs, you kinda know what to expect with his series – and I will sum it up as expect the unexpected and plot twists. 3WBF – Jennie’ partner died at the end. OF – Sand kissing Nick/Top. So, I was prepared for anything when the official THK trailer drop. When I saw the BDSM scene for example – many people were disappointed it wasn’t a “true” BDSM scene. But I personally think it added to the narrative because it showed the distrust between the 2 of them. Of course, it will be amazing for us to have another scene that will show what a BDSM with 2 partner who trust each other will be like. However, I am already impressed by how Jojo (and FirstKhaotung) successfully introduced the concept of safe word/basic BDSM etiquette to the largely conservative Thai audience (and while THK won legions of international fans, I am again reminding people when directors/Thai production houses produced BL shows, it is first and foremost catered for Thai audiences). Or what about the way the safe word is later used in a different, non-sexual manner between KantBison – this to me, gives depth (and again, unexpected twist!) to the writing of the show.

As for Ep 11 specifically – I think there were again some parts that can be improved but overall, it is a wonderful episode that contrast beautifully between our 2 couples while also highlighting how our 4 boys have stayed true to their characters. If there is one thing I am impressed about the script, it is how our 4 main characters stayed true to their inner personality even as we see them blossom once they fall in love. You talked about how KantBison scenes appear truncated, and they didn’t have in depth “problems” dialogues when compared to FadelStyle scenes. See, part of the “problems dialogues” as you mentioned have already been addressed during their stay in Bison’s island – in fact, I will argue Ep 8-9 were particularly focusing on those – from Kant/Bison talking about their trauma and fear, their family members/ the past and what they wished for their futures. However, we didn’t get this from FadelStyle Ep 8-9 (their scenes took a comedic tone to off set the heaviness in KantBison scenes). By end of Ep 9, Fadel’s past remains a mystery (we don’t even know much about his parents/past beyond he had an ex, which he finally told Style about).

So, I am not surprised the scenes for Fadelstyle in Ep 10-11 appears “heavier” when compared to KantBison who are now largely on the same page. We still got amazing scenes like KantBison sweet date in the rock/space museum (and again them continuing to learn about each other – Bison is into astronomy while Kant loves history and archaeology – and isn’t it poetic one loves the sky & stars while the other is rooted to the ground?). The “almost proposal scene” was sweet and yes, it is slightly irritating we have our young interloper (Oskar, you are doing great honey!) killing the mood – I think Jojo meant it as the comedic tone to cut the heaviness in FadelStyle scenes who is finally opening up to Style about how he felt about himself (the self-loathing from Fadel, the way he calmly just told Style – ‘that’s my headstone when I die’ or him telling Style why he goes to the support group meetings etc.)

And it stays true to the boys’ nature – Kant choosing Bison’s date to be lighter and fun because out of the 4 of them, Bison is the more childlike and naïve (him being hitman doesn’t change that). Similarly, it stays true to Fadel’s nature that he chooses to bring Style to his pre-dug graveyard and support group place (or being more physical – like the paintball scene, which is also a nod to the scene in 10 Things I hate about You).

And let me bring even more parallel between the 2 couples:

KantBison heartfelt conversation when Bison talked about the MilkyWay followed by Kant saying he will name a star for Bison so that the latter will be reminded of him. While Bison then softly said he just wants to be in Kant’s heart followed by the scene of them exchanging tattoos (plus Kant saying – The story of you and me will be etched on my skin forever) – that is the equivalent of them exchanging wedding vows and rings (the rings being the penguin/puffins tattoos – did you know penguin/puffins mate for life? I only learn of this fact 😂, and I find it romantic the boys chose them as their matching tattoos. Plus penguin is the safe word for Kant, I’m sure he has also associated it with home)

Similarly, the FadelStyle scene of them cooking together (with Fadel professing he wants to do something he loves with Style) and them having their last dinner meal together through tears – with Style stating he will never forget the taste of the burger. Style narrating the things he will never forget about Fadel – from being shot on the run together to them kissing each other in the sea (doesn’t that read to you like wedding vows a spouse will say before saying “I do”?). Them feeding each other their burgers is the equivalent of them feeding each other wedding cake.

And while you didn’t specifically mention this, I am also very appreciative of the scenes we have of Kant and Style – it really highlights how they are not just besties, but also brothers. The way they beautifully cornered Lilly (Kant/Style looked flawless in those outfits) to them both finding ways to have the upper hand of Captain Christ as a backup plan (Style by making the fake passports while Kant staying true to his nature – slyly obtaining blackmailed material of the captain – and it’s quite telling isn’t it even with them asking for the Captain’s help, both of them instinctively do not trust him, hehe). Personally, my favourite scene for the whole episode is Style breaking apart in Kant’s arms while Kant is trying hard to hold it together when his heart is also shattered into pieces while their loves ones are taken to prison.

Teaser for Finale/Ep 12 and what I expect to see

Also, anon – we still have EP 12. Not only are we getting our unhinged besties volunteering in prison (unexpected twist by Jojo again!) – I am hoping we will have sex scenes from all 4 boys (or at least heavy make out scenes lol), but one of the assistant director that usually post BTS of the show actually mentioned there are so many BTS photos of FK he wants to put but he could only do so during the finale (which kind of hint that we are getting good scenes from them!)

Plus, Khaotung mentioned in the recent fanmeet, he/First will be slow dancing on stage (and don’t we have the BTS footage of our couples slow dancing in the series)?

Also, don’t forget, we still haven’t got the “sweet scene” of our boys (in their boxers) in Kant’s bed (both Jojo and First confirmed there is another scene on that bed)

Bonus if I can get actual proposals/weddings but otherwise, I will take what we have from Ep 11 as them being married, and they just need to make it official once they are out of prison.

As for your comment on THK will benefit from another 3-4 episodes – look, in general, I think most Thai BLs can benefit from more episodes (The Eclipse was meant to have 14 episodes but due to budget constraint, they had to make do with 12). That’s the reality, while the quality of Thai BLs are improving over time – compared to mainstream media in Thai (we won’t even mentioned Western media), the budgets for Thai BLs/queer media in general are limited. Even more so for the show that Jojo tends to produce. Did you realise his shows doesn’t have or very limited sponsors? (for example, we don’t see Lay chips/Oishi Teas or the boys blatantly putting on sunscreens to “promote” the sponsors of the shows?). And for that, I will forgive some inconsistencies, sloppiness and plot holes because they don’t have bottomless budgets.

***I am going to put here – when Cat for Cash starts airing – see people start complaining about the “ads/sponsors” being on blatant displays during the show when its those ads that supplement the budget for the show

Staying positive regarding FK (and BL world in general)

So, I’m not sure your last sentence has more meaning than just FK general presence in THK? Are you perhaps alluding to fans in Twitter crying war with how jobless FK is when compared to other GMTMV CPs? Or how they don’t have a reality TV show of their own? Or brand sponsorships? Or how Somsoms are not pulling their weight on trending on Twitter? (if you are, well – I have my own thoughts/views of this particular matter, which I am not going to elaborate in this ask).

But, if you are asking how I stay positive in general, I made a promise to myself – if I really dislikes something, I will give myself 24 hours before writing/saying anything I will regret🫣. And most of the time, the things I am angry about just seems trivial after that. I also block a lot of users who are just blatantly prejudice against Thai BL (ok, in general, GMMTV productions) – if you have been in the tumblr long enough, you will know a specific group that should not be named (they are my Voldemort) who prided themselves as unbiased “academics” and write long meta essays that frankly highlights their biases even more.

I also work in the medical field – and well, having to deal with anxious (sometimes very angry) patients/family members means I have abundance of patience (and when I ran out of them, I know it times for me take a holiday 😅)

Anyway, I am always reminded that we consume media for fun – don’t take things so seriously. And personally, FK being their lovely self on social media is enough to make me happy. They have never expressed any hatred/criticism towards their work/GMMTV. I also think it is quite telling that none of the Thai fans have mentioned any dissatisfaction with the scenes we have of FK or series, so far?

(Can’t resist putting up our KantBison pictures hehe)

#gosh this has turn to a long answer #please feel free to ignore #asked and answered #firstkhaotung #The heart killers #thk ep 11

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in1-nutshell · 19 hours ago

Note

Last one I promise (I love all your work so so so freaking much I have so many ideas and I’m trying not to send in too many) but. BUT.

What would the TFP memory loss back to Orion Pax arc with Maxima be like? How would Megs try to spin this in his favor?

Or! Following the nutshell summary ficlet where Maxima loses her memories, what would Megs do to her? Would he try and turn her into a weapon for the Decepticons, knowing what a skilled warrior she is, or would he keep her close by, like he did with Orion?

And what about Optimus! Did he lose his memories and become Orion Pax, or is he still Optimus Prime, and has to deal with his daughter getting taken from him, maybe even turned against him? (We already know that Maxima considers the Matrix to have taken her father from her, would those feelings still linger for Megatron to use???)

Thank you for all your wonderful writing and for sharing those skills with us!

This has been a writing I have been putting off on the sole reason that there are too many outcomes that could come out of this change alone. Decided this one was going to be the main one.

Hope you enjoy!

Maxima looses her memory

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Angst, Mention of injury, Cybertronian reader

TFP

Maxima felt like her helm was being pulled in so many different directions at once.

From getting over the fact the Earth was Unicron.

To wanting to dropkick Optimus for even considering going to fight him ALONE!

To nearly having whiplash hearing that Megatron was coming through the spacebridge.

At this point Maxima swore she was going to punch him just because of how many times she heard his name today alone.

She made sure to stand in between Bumblebee and the kids when the Warlord came through the groundbrigde.

A harden glare bore into Megatron’s helm on realizing who else was in the base.

Megatron: “Well, if it isn’t Prime’s daughter. A fitting reunion, isn’t it?” Maxima stays silent. Raf suddenly comes from his hiding place to stand in front of Megatron. Maxima nearly felt her spark leave her chassis as the other humans came out to get him. She was thankful that the adults managed to get Jakc and Raf back. Miko on the other hand… Miko: “If you even think about going anywhere near her this will be the last thing you will ever see! You can double cross anyone but mine is the face you’ll never forget! Never!” Maxima swiftly scooped her up and held a defensive position, as if waiting for him to make the next move. Megatron: “Ha! It seems as if some training I instilled still remains. Tell me, how many times you have used this exact position on the very bots who have taught you.” Maxima: “Don’t flatter yourself Megatron.” Megatron: “It is simply a complement from a former teacher to a former student.” Optimus then stands in between Maxima and Megatron. The subtle protective stance that had not gone unnoticed by the others. The two leaders stare at each other in silence. Megatron: “Such a waste of potential Prime. She would have made one of the finest Decepticons in my rank. She still can.” Maxima was glad that she managed to carefully cover Miko’s mouth, even with a furious muffle noise coming out of her. Bee whirls in anger now trying to get in front of Maxima while Optimus shifts himself, so he is covering more of Maxima. Optimus: “We did not bring you here for this Megatron. You are only here to assist us in subduing Unicron. That is all.”

Soon enough it was time for everyone to go.

Maxima remembered patting everyone on their heads.

She remembered promising to them that she would keep on optic out for their guardians.

Bumblebee had rhetoric back that he would be watching her back.

Maxima just smiled and fist bumped him.

The monster truck never like caves, especially underground ones.

There were too many dark spaces and unknown depths and rocks around.

Too much like…

No, no time on thinking about her, there was some fighting to do!

Just as Bumblebee had promised, he watched her back.

Bumblebee: “Bep beep! (On your left!)” Maxima easily slashes a bot with her twin axes. Maxima: “Bee on your right!” She blasts the drone on his right. Bumblebee: “Boop! (Showoff!)” Maxima: “I’m not showing off. They are!” Maxima points at Prime and Megatron effortlessly fighting off the enemy in sync. Bumblebee: “Beep. (Yeah, you’re right.)” Maxima: “Always am.” Bumblebee: “Beep! (Hey!)”

The side-by-side fighting doesn’t last long though.

Bumblebee had gone to help Bulkhead and Arcee while Maxima had bolted to Prime and Megatron.

And why wouldn’t she if she saw them both going into a secluded area.

She was not going to let Megatron get any advantage of offlining her father if she was around.

Maxima could make out bits of what Optimus was saying through all the noise in the area.

Soon enough she found herself fighting back-to-back with Megatron.

Maxima shoots a drone in the helm. It was heading to Megatron, key word ‘was’. Megatron flashes her a smirk. Maxima: “Don’t mistake this for me joining your side Megatron. We need you alive for now.” Megatron blasts his fusion canon right by her helm, destroying another drone behind her. She barely flinched. Megatron: “Why my dear, whatever gave you that thought? On your right.” Maxima swings her axe to the right and punches the drone. Megatron: “Your form needs to be more guarded and strike quicker.” Maxima: “The day I ask you for fighting advice is the day I join the Cons, which news flash Megatron, isn’t happening anytime soon! Down!” Megatron sucks down giving Maxima a clear shot to the drone.

Did it feel good to fight alongside her uncle again?

…She would never admit it out loud.

The sound of whirling made her look over to the Prime.

Maxima’s movement staggered a bit at the sight of the Matrix of Leadership.

Too many memories started flooding into her processor.

For once, she was glad to have Megatron’s voice ground her to the battle.

But a sudden harsh tremor shook everyone and everything around.

Two giant rocks had knocked both Megatron and Optimus unconscious as Maxima was barely managing to dodge the falling rocks.

She ran over to Optimus, making sure he was alright.

The Matrix shown bright in his limp servo.

Maybe she could…

Oh, this was a terrible idea, but the only one she had right now.

Maxima grabbed the Matrix from his servos and jumped over the fallen rocks until she reached the front of the core.

She prayed to Primus that the Matrix would open, if no for her, for her family, friends, and everyone who would be affected with the wakening of Unicron.

To her surprise the Matrix opened easily and its energy humming through her and sent a beam straight to the core.

Soon everything went quiet, and Maxima fell, the Matrix bouncing off some rocks near Prime.

Megatron hefted himself up noticing the numerous rocks around and how quiet everything had gotten. He noticed Optimus unconscious a couple feet away. This was his chance! The Warlord hauled himself up and started to his enemy, getting his blaster ready. Another painful groan caught his attention. Maxima was struggling to get up. He watched her sit up, a look of confusion clear as day. She looked over at him with… confusion and relief? Maxima: “Uncle Megatronus? Where are we?” …what…? She tried standing up but let a painful hiss holding her pede. Maxima: “Megatronus what’s going on?” Megatron powers down his blaster and walks to her. He helps her to her pedes while hoisting most of her weight by the waist. Megatron: “We will be alright Maxima.” Maxima takes a closer look at him. Maxima: “Uncle Megatronus what happened to your faceplate? Why are you so pointy?” BLAM! Maxima shrieks and holds onto him like a lifetime. Team Prime was slowly pouring in as Optimus was slowly waking up. Maxima stared at the blasters. Maxima: “Who are they?” Megatron: “They are our enemies! Soundwave activate the groundbrigde.” Maxima: “Soundwave? Where is he? What’s a groundbrigde?” The portal appeared behind them surprising the injured bot. Megatron: “Can you run?” Maxima: “I think so?” Megatron: “Go. I will give us cover.” Maxima looked at him hesitantly before starting to limp and run into the portal. Optimus was conscious enough to see Maxima run through the portal. He struggled to get up with fury in his optics. Optimus: “Megatron! What have you done!” Megatron: “Until we meet again next time Prime!” And with that Megatron ran into the portal.

Optimus has no idea what in the world just happened.

One minute he was holding the Matrix, the next he woke up to see the Matrix a few feet away from him and Maxima looking scared in Megatron’s hold.

According to Bumblebee, she looked scared and confused.

As if she didn’t know who they were.

Optimus retrieves the Matrix, noticing it felt much lighter than usual, and heading out with the rest of the team.

At first the humans were happy to see the guardians alive but quickly turns to confusion and worry when they notice a particular monster truck was nowhere to be found.

Ratchet is the first to ask where Maxima was.

Optimus has a heavy spark when he retells what happened in the cave.

Meanwhile with the Decepticons.

Soundwave had been listening in on Megatron’s open coms the second he was alerted that he was down.

He was the first to greet Megatron and Maxima.

Maxima’s optics went from fear to utter joy when she saw Soundwave.

She ran up to him, grabbing his servo and asking so many questions it left him a bit dizzy.

Many Vehicons were nervous when they saw Maxima on the ship.

He notices them reaching for their weapons and loudly states that Maxima was the latest recruit.

Maxima is confused.

The Con’s are confused.

Soundwave has a feeling he knows what’s going on but needs more context.

Megatron leads Maxima into another room.

Now time for stage two, the backstory.

Megatron goes on a detailed story about the rise of a false Prime and how his side had brought a horrid civil war that ravaged their planet.

Megatron turns to Maxima. There is a look of distraught and fury in her optics. Like father, like daughter apparently. She stands up straighter and smirks at him. Maxima: “Where do I sign up Uncle Megatronus?” Megatron smiles back and places a servo on her shoulder. Megatron: “First thing is first; you will address me as Lord Megatron in front of the others. Second, you are to follow my orders, do not question them, Maxima.” She nods. He gently pushes her to the exit. Megatron: “You will get patched up by our medic, Knockout as well as get the Decepticon insignia.” Maxima: “Decepticons? No offense Megatronu—I mean Megatron, but that makes us sound like the bad guys.” Megatron: “That is a discussion for later.” Maxima: “Wait! You never told me what happened to Orion?” Megatron stopped in his tracts. Oh, Primus he had completely forgotten about that. Maxima’s voice quivered a bit. Maxima: “Megatronus… please tell me he is still online. Please…” Megatron: “…He is offline Maxima. He has been for years now.” Megatron is caught off guard by the sudden tears and hugs. She had done her best to muffle the sobs in his chassis, but it could only do so much. Megatron looked around and hesitantly hugged her back. Maxima: “He can’t be gone… he just can’t…” Megatron: “He is gone Maxima… I am sorry.” He stayed like that until most of the sobs had left her frame and both quietly walked to the med bay for repairs and branding.

Megatron was thankful that Maxima was tired enough to not ask too many questions.

As much as he wanted to place her on the field, he was not going to risk Optimus getting his servos on her.

She would do as the Chief Archivist and decoding relic glyphs for the time being.

The youngling could still decipher the readings almost as quickly as her father.

Good enough to give the Decepticons an edge in finding the rest of the relics.

After enough time passed and loyalty stable, was when the training and missions would start.

As Megatron had said before, Maxima would make a fine Decepticon.

And under his guidance, a fine one she would be.

#maccadam #transformers x reader #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #maxima

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