#not good with titles you know

[ladylokianna]

Some quiet moments

Partially based on my own prompt here and written after this post i casually read today. Hope you enjoy a fluffier and softer Aemond (though i love smut Aemond, i'm totally uncapable of writing something smut).

Warnings: no warnings, just pure fluff.

Pairing: i don't like to write Y/N, so is an Aemond x reader (a nameless wife)

English is not my first language and i am constantly trying to improve, so i apologise for any mistakes.

Also not so good to give a good title, sorry XD

***

You are so busy braiding the flowers the girls brought to you now and then that you did not notice Aemond until the very last moment, when you feel him placing something warm on you –his coat, you noticed shortly afterwards– and his hands carefully place it on your shoulders, lifting the collar to protect your neck, taking care not to crease the flower garland that Jaehaera or one of your daughters had carefully arranged on your hair, loosely braided.

"I knew i'd find you here." Aemond greets you in his usual calm voice, sitting by your side. "You might catch cold, love, summer is still far away."

"Hi darling. I was starting to get a bit chilly, actually, but when the girls and i went out, the sun was still bright and i didn't think about wearing something warmer." you answer with a big smile, interrupting what you were doing to take and hold his hand. "And what about you? I can see you're tired."

He told you about his day, spent travelling around the realm between meetings and state matters.

"Then you should reach the Council, they must be waiting for you." you reason.

"They can wait." he reply, encircling your shoulders with his arm and holding you close to him. In your lap, under the flowers you are weaving, Aemond noticed one of his books. "How was your day?"

"It was less interesting than yours, i'm afraid. As always i tried with little success to read something in valyrian, i had lunch with Alicent and spent some time embroidering with Helaena and... just an hour ago, i was crowned queen of the garden." you say cheerfully. You then point to the blue flowers you carry in the lap. "However, i advise you to be careful, because the girls are looking for your favourite flowers with all the intentions of crowning you too."

"That's a risk i'm willing to take, if i can have you alone for a few minutes without having to share you with someone else." he chuckles, surrounding you in a tight hug and leaving many small kisses on your temple.

Feeling him so relaxed and calm during the day is a rare thing, accustomed as he is to always being on guard, always on the alert, ready to detect the slightest sign of danger to react accordingly. Suddenly you both heard the girls' laughter grow closer, a sign that they are returning from their search.

"...i was thinking that i would love to have another baby."

"You want to fill the Red Keep with children?" you ask, amused.

"Why not? After all, our son and i are blatantly outnumbered, and if we are not careful enough, we will certainly end up being overwhelmed by you girls."

You rub his leg affectionately, leaning the head back to get a better look at him.

"I will think about it." you reply. "But who knows, if tonight and... let's say maybe those to come, you would decide to read me something in valyrian, i might... you know... think better about it."

"Wait... is all what it takes? Some reading in high valyrian?"

"Maybe."

"Good enough for me, we have a deal."

You giggle, before he kiss you tenderly.

"I said maybe, Aem."

"You cannot recant now, a deal is a deal."

Jaehaera and her three little cousins, their arms laden with flowers, stood at some distance from the bench giggling between themselves at seeing you two embracing, until your middle daughter run towards you, eager to give her dad something she had picked up in the gardens.

"Can i bring it to Vhagar?" she asked, showing to Aemond a huge yellow flower.

"Vhagar is resting now, my love. We will bring it to her tomorrow. Keep it safe, will you?" promise Aemond. He look up, smiling lovingly at the other two daughters and Jaehaera as well. "Hello, my loves."

The youngest search her father's attention by placing both of her little hands on his face, trying to greet him in valyrian and giggling when Aemond, with a cheeky grin, pretend to nibble on her fingers.

"This one is for you instead." Jaehaera smiles at her uncle, taking the garland you had finished weaving.

She ask him to lean against the back of the bench, but Aemond, with a theatrical gesture, knelt before her, bowing the head as if during a real coronation, before she puts the garland on his head and untying the string that keep his hair neatly tied back, then began braiding it and showing your younger daughter how to do it properly.

If Criston Cole, sent by Aegon to find Aemond, is astonished to faced with that scene, he did not show it, but he take a few long moments to call him, perhaps undecided whether to interrupt that idyll or not.

"I really have to go now." sighs Aemond in a very low voice. "See you later."

[lenaellsi]

there must be something 😳 I can do for you 😳 in return?

[hollytree33]

Hi so I might’ve made a painting of my Inquisitor while trying to mimic Solas’s style so I can pretend he made it

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[claraoswalds]

#mrs flood who are you: time lord edition

[sepssii]

Creatures in heaven ✨💫🪐🌒

[the-old-man-has-the-phonebox]

NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN I AM IN YOUR GODDAMN WALLS

[unknownarmageddon]

hello kross nation

cross belongs to jael peñaloza killer belongs to rahafwabas

+ individual versions with notes!!!!

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

jon val jon or something

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Tango, reading chat: 'You can craft netherrack in Create-' I don't think you can. I don't think you can.

*a pause, as Tango searches netherrack in the blocks on the sidebar*

Tango: Yeah. You can turn netherrack into... netherrack. If you- If you use the mansory bench, you can turn netherrack into netherrack, so. Keep that in mind. There's always that option.

[thelvadams]

XENOBLADE CHRONICLES: DEFINITIVE EDITION

first released for Nintendo Switch on May 29th 2020

[worstloki]

imagine being Thanos and you get completely conned by this Asgardian Prince sorcerer guy you tortured and left with a mind-addling infinity stone years ago and when you chase him down 10 years later you find out he wasn't even Asgardian or their Prince the entire time

[slythereen]

and that’s on ✨manifestation✨

[mingirn]

heavenly

lee minho x reader

genres: smut, some fluff

warnings: smut, grinding, dry humping, some dirty talk, getting off on the way someone smells, gender neutral reader

notes: titled after the song heavenly by cigarettes after sex

word count: 1,7k

”You smell good,” you say quietly, nose squished against his neck and lips brushing over the collar of his t-shirt as you speak.

”I smell good?” he asks, and you hum. ”Like my perfume? Or just the fact that this shirt is fresh from the wash?”

Minhos voice is humorous, underneath the softness of it he’s poking fun at you.

”Yeah, but also just- you. Your skin, your breath, your hair, your sweat, everything.”

Your hand is under his shirt, resting on his side. His naked skin is so smooth and warm, and with your eyes closed you can recall exactly what it’d feel like to kiss the skin thats underneath your hand. You know exactly what he feels like, every inch of him, you know every little spot on his body from the countless times you’ve kissed all over him. You know what he smells like too, whether he’s just gotten out of the shower and his skin smells like the bodywash he uses, or if he’s just woken up and he smells of sleep. You even love the way he smells when he comes to see you right after practice, when he hasn’t yet washed up and he just smells like himself.

”You’re crazy,” he laughs softly above you, while his fingers stroke over your hair. His voice reverberates through his chest and sounds a little lower when you lay on his chest like this. Everything about this, about him, feels like so much right now. His smell in your nose, his body in your hands, his touch on you, his leg between yours, the very warmth of him so close.

You scoot a little further up, aligning your chest with his so you can burrow into his neck, the tip of your nose brushing against his ear. You give him a quick kiss there, just where his ear meets his jaw and neck, and he shivers from the sudden contact in a place you know he’s sensitive.

Minho must be able to tell that your breath has gotten a little heavier, but he’s kind enough to say nothing of it. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. He smells best here, somehow stronger than any other place on his body, here it’s just so richly Minho. Without even thinking you hitch your hand higher, moving from his side up to his chest, letting his shirt bunch around your arm and reveal the skin of his stomach. He smells so good it’s almost makes you dizzy, having all your senses be so full of just him.

”Do you like this?” he asks suddenly. He has dropped the tone he had earlier, no longer teasing you but sounding genuinely curious, or just entirely oblivious. It’s not the first time you’ve commented on his smell, nor the second or the third, and Minho should be more than aware of his effect on you at this point. The fact that he somehow doesn’t know, or perhaps didn’t really realize the depth of it until now has you whining silently into his neck.

”Yeah, I thought you knew,” you mumble sheepishly, pushing closer to Minho as if you’d somehow be able to sink into him to avoid the embarrassment.

”I knew you liked the way I smell. Fuck, I love the way you smell too. I just.. didn’t know you liked it this much,” Minho says.

”Mm, what?”

”This much,” he states, grabbing onto your hips. ”You’re grinding against me.”

Minho is right, but until now you hadn’t noticed the unconscious pull of your hips against his thigh. Suddenly, you become aware of your own body, before you’d been preoccupied taking Minho in, feeling him underneath you and trying to drink in as much of him as you can. Now, you feel pleasant warmth spread through your body, pooling together between your legs where you’re far too effected by all this and somehow you still can’t make yourself stop, even though your boyfriend has drawn attention to it.

”Oh my god,” you whine in embarrassment. Your hips stutter as you try to will yourself to stop, but it just won’t happen, your lips are brushing against the skin of Minhos neck every time you take a breath and he still smells so fucking good, you just can’t bring yourself to stop. Then, you feel his hands wrap around your hips further, fingers digging into the side of your ass, and you realize he’s helping you guide your hips.

”That’s it, there you go,” he says softly. His voice is right by your ear, so close it sends shivers down your spine. ”You should have told me you like it this much.”

”What?” you manage to spit out, trying desperately to stay focused in the moment.

This is something Minho likes to do. He talks to you, asks you questions and makes little statements he fully expects you to answer. He words them like he’s not helping you grind yourself into his thigh, and he’ll do the same when he’s fucking you, not relenting until he’s gotten the reply he wants. It makes you just a little dizzy, how he stays so composed when he’s got you falling apart in his arms and your head always feels so light when you think about how much control he has, not just over you but of himself too.

”If I had known you liked my smell this much I think we could have had some more fun with it,” he says, and you can hear it on his voice that he’s smirking.

”Fuck,” you breathe out. ”What- what fun?”

”Something like this. Or maybe I’d skip showering at the studio, if I knew I’d come home and get you to be like this for me.”

Minho lifts his leg a little, pushing his thigh further between your legs so you have no choice but to ride it. The new angle makes your breath hitch, it feels even better like this and Minho is still controlling your hips, making you yearn for a lot more than just his thigh.

”Really turns me on to know how you get for me, you know that right?” he says. You can tell that he’s hard against the side of your leg, but Minho still grabs your hand and places it over his shorts to make sure you can feel how hard he is. He speaks again, ”Fuck, it makes me so hard, can you feel that? Just for you.”

”Minho, please, please-” you choke out, mouth against his neck. He understands you somehow, reads your mind in that stupid Minho way, and weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck so he can pull you up and then he kisses you.

It’s messy and desperate, even Minho is starting to lose himself and he kisses you as if he’s never kissed before. He’s all tongue and teeth, tasting you and moaning into your mouth when your tongue meets his. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but the hurried kisses make your head feel like it’s spinning and all that’s repeating inside of it is Minho saying just for you, just for you, just for you.

It hasn’t been long, you know that, but you’re already starting to get close. Even though your underwear and his shorts are seperating you from feeling him, there’s something so intense about this and about Minho that it hardly matters, and you know it won’t be long until he’s got you making a mess in your underwear. It has your hips faltering a little, unable to keep up with how good it feels. Luckily Minho still has a hold on you, and when he notices that it’s getting harder for you to keep composed he lets go of your head to keep both hands on your hips.

”Don’t stop,” he murmurs into the kiss. You moan into his mouth, a lot too loud and a lot too desperate. ”Want you to be good and cum for me like this, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod fervently, stuttering out something between a ’yes’ and a sob, and he rewards you with a kiss. You lean your forehead against his, eyes shut tight and hands fumbling to get a hold of anything to get your bearings. You want him as close as possibly and somehow this, his mouth mere millimeters from yours, swallowing your breath, isn’t enough.

”Minho, Minho, please. Please, I’m so close-”

”Baby, you can cum whenever you want. Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum for me,” he speaks softly, his own breath erratic from being so worked up.

He starts thrusting up, meeting your hips so you don’t have to do any work, Minho does it all for you when he can tell you’re about to cum. It’s this that finally does it for you, his hands holding you and his hips meeting yours just like he does when he fucks you like this.

Your breath catches in your throat, too overwhelmed and sensitive and still cumming, and Minho doesn’t stop for a second, just talking you through it with mumbles of ”I’ve got you, you’re so good, there you go, angel”.

Your legs are shaking when you finally come down, vision unblurring and lungs catching air again. Minho is rocking his hips ever so slightly to help you ride it out, and when you return to your senses you can feel the cum that’s soaked through your underwear and probably now stains his shorts.

”Oh my god,” you breathe out, slumping down on him. He laughs quietly, stroking your hair and craning his head to kiss your forehead softly. You continue, ”Thank you, Minho, what the fuck.”

”Thank you,” he says. ”I think I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this.”

”Oh, shut up!” You squeeze his arm a little, a pathetic attempt at being intimidating, but your fingers feel fuzzy and you’re still regaining your strength.

”It’s just because I love you so much, you know,” you say. He hums lowly at this, and yet again you know he’s smiling without having to look at him.

”I love you too,” he says. ”Always.”

[aroaceleovaldez]

im really not a fan of Rick's recent trend of recycling bits of his writing that got a good reaction the first time and acting as if that's a valid substitute for. actually bothering to write something original a second time around. It's clearly just there as a callback and nothing more.

It's "Nico's rage exploded" and "Percy's rage exploded" with the exact same paragraph formatting. It's CoTG having titles like "My Singing Makes Things Worse, and Everyone Is Totally Shocked" (reference to TLO, when Percy says he thinks his singing would cause an avalanche) or "Pretty Much the Best Good-Night Kiss Ever" (reference to TLO "Pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time") or any other number of near word-for-word references to the first series. It's Nico calling Percy "seaweed brain" in Un Natale Mezzosangue (when Percy says in TTC that anybody but Annabeth calling him that is a major offense). It's Nico and Will falling into Tartarus in TSATS word-for-word referencing Percy and Annabeth in House of Hades, despite it not making any sense for their characters (and otherwise being written as Percabeth 2™). It's the show making huge changes but keeping random "fan-favorite references" (mostly overusing "seaweed brain" and "wise girl" and emphasizing percabeth) only because they're popular in-jokes and considering that a faithful enough adaptation to market it heavily as such. It's lazy writing.

And it's a disservice to the series and to the audience, because it clearly shows Rick doesn't have original ideas anymore (though given all his writing is heavily derivative to begin with, it begs the question how much was original in the first place and how much he has difficulty when he doesn't have a structured mythological plot to work from) and that there is an expectation that the audience will just sit down and accept that behavior hook-line-and-sinker. Everything recently is clearly such lip-service to the audience, either in retcons that are overt speaking-to-camera acknowledgements of things he's been criticized on or wink-wink-nudge-nudges of community in-jokes that have no business in the actual text (see: over-use of ship names in canon). Especially since Rick tends to be about 5 years behind on the fandom uptake. It's just so disappointing to see.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I have greatly enjoyed your comics ever since i saw them and have been quietly Iurking as ya do- thought youd want to know that i played hollow knight based on how enthusiastic u were and how fuckin cool youre art of hk/mdzs is. OH and watched dungeon meshi. Your influence is vast and i have been enriched. Keep on keepin on 🫡

You have bestowed the highest honour upon me.