#and yet i have built up an intricate relationship between them in my head and its canon to me now

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part v, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // She's the first one that I see

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, questionable relationships, you know the drill, also mentions of terminal illness.

Words: 9300

A/n: Aemond's pov here we gooo. This part gets its own header coz vibes. Also available to read on AO3.

Another summer brought another two months at Dragonstone. 

The relief Aemond felt clambering out of his mother’s Volvo and into the coastal breeze was immeasurable. Helaena got the front seat, as always, which left the three boys to be packed into the backseat for two hours, in the middle of a June heatwave.

He somewhat resented Daemon and Laena’s absence this year. Generally they alternated summers between Dragonstone and Pentos with the Velaryons. It was a shame, his uncle often brought some much needed tension to family holidays, the entertaining kind as opposed to the depressing kind, and Baela and Rhaena were by far the most tolerable of the younger family members.

Viserys hadn’t arrived yet. He had some work things to catch up on and would drive down later, which just left the Strongs. Alicent had received a call from Rhaenyra while they were in the car to say they’d be a few hours behind them. Thank the Gods. At least it gave them a few hours of peace.

Dragonstone had originally been built as a castle, preserved over the centuries as a place for pleasure rather than a defensive keep. It had a gatehouse, turrets, arrowslits, parapets and ivy sprawling over the outer walls that turned red in the autumn. It looked idyllic, like a castle out of a fairytale.

After bringing his bag up to his room there was only one place Aemond wanted to be.

His favourite part of coming back to Dragonstone were the gardens, sprawling walks of greenery, sweet-smelling rose bushes and sandstone archways. If the weather was right, he could convince himself he was in some remote corner of an Italian manor house. 

One of the gravel paths led down to the pool, overlooked by a patio from the back of the main house. It was a blissful little oasis, when he could have it to himself, of crystal clear water, tall hedges and blue and orange tiles laid out in intricate patterns. 

He had his trunks on already and left his t-shirt and shorts on a sun lounger before he slipped into the water. The cold was a welcome reprieve, especially when he dunked his head under and pushed off from the side, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. 

It had been a while since he’d had time for swimming and he felt slightly irritated at the ache in his arms from the unfamiliar movements. To be fair to himself, he hadn’t made time for any hobbies over the last few weeks on account of his exams, and it had paid off at least. He still had a few weeks until he would get his results but he knew he would do well. 

As far as he was concerned, his future was set. He would get four A*s, then in September he’d be off to Oldtown to start university. In three years, he would graduate with a first and come back to King’s Landing to start at Targ Corp, despite his grandfather’s attempts to convince him to consider a career at Beacon, the Hightower family business. Otto had a vision that one day, his grandsons would run two of the largest companies in Westeros, Aegon at Targ Corp and Aemond at Beacon.

Although the offer of a generous salary and an internship during his studies had sounded tempting, it was a question of pride more than anything. The silver hair should have been evidence enough; Aemond was a Targaryen before he was a Hightower.

Despite his determination to live up to the family name, he had come to resent these summers at their ancestral home. The house and the gardens were beautiful, and he loved being so close to the isolated beach below the hill the house was set on, but he could think of no worse fate than having to spend ten weeks with his insufferable sister, their father’s pride and joy, her idiotic husband and their three sons. 

He ran his hands over his face as he emerged on the other side of the pool, his left palm skimming over the scar on the side of his face. It was easy to forget it was there sometimes, until he’d catch someone frowning at it. 

Rhaenyra was lucky his mother hadn’t pressed charges and publically issued a statement that the whole thing had been a “tragic accident”. Later he learnt Alicent had been holding it over Rhaenyra’s head ever since, waiting for a time when she’d need the leverage.

Ten weeks with the Strongs was all that stood between him and the rest of his life, some sick test of patience. 

He wasn’t alone for long before he spotted Aegon and Daeron at the outlook up at the house. They sprinted out of view and soon came hurtling down the steps to the pool in their trunks. They leapt in, disturbing Aemond’s laps but he reluctantly let himself be happy that the three of them were in the same place for once.

Aegon had just finished a degree in criminal psychology. Alicent and Otto had had to practically buy him a place at KLU. How he had managed to pass was a mystery to everyone, Aemond wondered if he had pulled it together at the last minute purely out of spite. He had already been living in a flat in central with a few of his friends for the last two years. Helaena said he rarely visited the house.

Aemond and Daeron had barely been back from Duskendale before they were all in the car to Dragonstone. He hadn’t minded boarding school, in some ways it made him appreciate the times he got to be at home, and it meant he didn’t have to see his father on a daily basis or watch his mother drive herself insane with her self-imposed workload. Again, Helaena gave him updates on that. He supposed it would make the move to Oldtown less jarring. 

For now he laughed as Aegon challenged them to swimming races and tackled Daeron when he lost. The oldest Targaryen brother was surprisingly strong for his shorter stature. Daeron towered over him but he was wiry, easy for Aegon to sling him over his shoulder.

They were making such a scene in the water that Aemond didn’t notice his mother until she shouted Aegon’s name from the bottom of the steps. “Put your brother down and get changed, seven hells!”

Aegon tossed Daeron’s legs over his head, sending him flopping unceremoniously into the pool. “What’s the rush?” 

“Rhaenyra and Harwin are only half an hour away!” Alicent shrieked, as if this was something they should have cared about. “And they’re bringing a guest, so I want you all presentable and ready for dinner before they arrive.”

Daeron was starting to climb up the ladder, so Aemond pressed his palms to the edge of the pool and pushed himself out. 

“What guest?” he asked, reaching for his towel from one of the sun loungers.

Harwin’s niece. 

She’d been a flower girl at Harwin and Rhaenyra’s wedding, but he only knew that from the photographs. He didn’t remember the last time he must have seen her, probably some family gathering with the Strongs, before Luke slashed a knife in his face and they stopped seeing them as often. 

Aegon seemed eager for “fresh meat” as they marched back up to the house.

Daeron was more sceptical and shot Aemond a concerned frown. “Just what we need, another Strong kid.”

After a quick shower, Aemond changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of dark green cargo trousers, and made his way through the maze of hallways and ornate staircases. He found his parents in the reception hall, a spacious room located at the front of the house, leading off from the entrance hall,  going through to the dining room on one side and the drawing room from the other. It was where they usually lingered when the arrival of a guest was imminent. 

Most of the visitors to Dragonstone considered this to be the most impressive room in the house, with its tall stained glass windows, silver chandelier, walnut panelling and carved columns supporting a gallery on the first floor.

The smell of smoke and charred wood drifted from the fireplace, mingling with the musk of antique velvet sofas. Alicent was torn between typing something on her phone and discussing some arrangement with their head of security, a deceptively young looking man with black hair named Criston Cole.

Evidently Viserys had arrived. He was sitting in a red armchair, taking small sips of a glass of whisky. He looked up when he heard footsteps against the floor, and offered his son a vague nod.

Helaena and Daeron weren’t far behind Aemond, and Aegon was of course the last to make it down. He insisted it was “perfect timing,” because the moment he walked into the room, Cole received a call from the front gate.

Daeron perched on the windowsill and jittering like a puppy as a black escalade pulled up before the gatehouse. 

Within minutes Viserys was throwing his arms around his favourite child. Aemond cast a cold glare over Harwin, Jace, Luke and little Joffrey, clinging to his father’s hand with his thumb in his mouth. The sixth guest followed behind them.

Her hair was pulled away from her face, wide eyes sweeping curiously over the people, the paintings on the walls and the antiques in glass cabinets. The beginning of a smile spread across her lips, but her face fell when her eyes met his.

Aemond sucked his teeth into his lips. He was used to people looking at him like that, or averting their gaze altogether. He could only imagine what Jace and Luke might have told her about their cruel uncle and his horrible scar. 

At dinner she sat on the other end of the table from him, between Harwin and Jace. She was a few years older than her cousins but they all seemed to get on well, joking and smiling at each other. It made Aemond’s blood boil.

Daeron made a point of introducing himself to her but he suspected this show of hospitality was mostly because she was pretty.

She really was pretty though, and quiet, but not necessarily in a nervous way. She seemed content to listen, smiling vaguely at the things people said, feeling no need to fill the silences. When she did smile– properly smile– it was wide, bright and unashamed. 

He overheard her mention an interest in history as dessert was brought out, asking Rhaenyra and Viserys all sorts of questions about Dragonstone’s origins and architecture. He thought of a few books in the library he could recommend but dismissed the idea. When Aegon suggested giving her a tour of the house he felt his grip on his fork tighten. 

Dragonstone was large enough that even with most of the family there it was easy to feel alone, and Aemond spent the first few days of their stay doing exactly that. In the mornings he’d go for a run, then head down to either the pool or the beach for a quick swim. He had his reading list for uni already and was making his way through a textbook on political philosophy, which he read either in the library or a quiet corner of the garden. 

Daeron and Aegon were far better at being civil with Jace and Luke than he was, and she seemed happy to tag along with their antics. Aemond avoided them where he could. 

One afternoon he decided to take his textbook to the patio at the back of the house, and winced at the shrieks of laughter coming from the pool. He was going to head back inside but found himself stepping towards the balustrade, looking over the greenery to the unnaturally blue water.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool in a red swimsuit, with her legs in the water. Even from so far away he could make out the details of her smile, her teeth, the roundness of her cheeks and the way she squinted her eyes.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, until a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.

“Aemond?”

His heart almost stopped and he spun around immediately. An awful feeling sank into his chest, like he’d done something wrong.

Helaena was standing in the doorway, in a pale blue sundress and purple sandals. “Me and mum were going to drive into the village, if you’d like to come?”

Maybe some time away from the house would do him good. He nodded and uttered a quiet “yes.”

She came onto her tiptoes, trying to peer past his shoulder, but from where she was standing she wouldn’t have been able to see what he was looking at. Maybe she didn’t need to see. Another few howls of laughter drifted up to the patio, and a cry of “Aegon, you bastard!” 

Helaena sighed and smiled. He left his book on a table in the entrance hall and followed his sister out to the gatehouse where Alicent was already waiting in the Volvo.

The village was just over a ten minute drive away from the house. Aemond leaned his head against the window in the backseat, feeling content in the blur of vibrant greens and blues. He could have fallen asleep to the hum of the air con and the voices of his mother and sister.

Until he heard her name.

“What?” he mumbled, absentmindedly, shifting himself in the seat and catching Helaena’s eye through her overhead mirror.

“She’s starting her A Levels in September,” Alicent said. “Politics, philosophy and history, same as you.”

He had also taken an extra class in High Valyrian, but he wasn’t going to hold it against her.

“You’d get on I think,” Helaena added, pushing her John Lennon-esque sunglasses on top of her head. He could see she was smirking.

Aemond huffed and went back to staring out the window at the fields, the sky, the sea and the wildflowers growing at the side of the road. He could say he didn’t care about their guest but it would have been a lie. He couldn’t get that red swimsuit out of his head.

Eventually he started agreeing to the occasional beach trip or tennis match. Turns out he quite enjoyed spending time with his nephews when he could beat them at something. And it meant he could see her more often.

There were these odd moments, when he’d catch her staring at him over breakfast or by the pool, that got his hopes up a little, only for her to quickly look away and find someone to fawn over, usually Aegon or one of her cousins. But then she’d find him in the garden and ask about the book he was reading, or sit next to him when they lit a campfire on the beach, just brushing her leg against his. 

They could be confusing but he liked those moments. Every day he woke up ectatic that he would get to see her, and that they might talk about politics or philosophy or a shared love for Daphne du Maurier or the Great Gatsby.

He needed her alone, just once.

He got the chance on the last weekend of July. Alicent, Rhaenyra and Helaena had gone to Rosby for the day, while Harwin had been talking about a trip to Dragonstone harbour to go fishing, something Daeron sounded rather enthusiastic about. Leaving him, Aegon and Viserys at the house. 

After a late breakfast, Aemond went up to the library with the next book on his reading list, An Introduction to Essosi Regionalism. He was rather taken aback to see her sitting at the writing desk by the window. He had assumed she had gone to the harbour with the others.

In a sudden and awkward motion she stood and turned to face him, with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Sorry,” she said, pointing at the desk, “did you want to–”

“No.” He instantly regretted how short and final he sounded. 

Her eyes dipped and he realised he was clutching his book far too tightly.

“I was only looking really,” she said, reaching back for her book, a biography of Queen Alysanne. 

“You like history,” he said, intending it to be a question but it sounded more like a statement.

She smiled again, at his mistake, he guessed. “Yeah, it’s incredible getting to spend so much time here, it’s a beautiful house.”

He stepped forward to place his book on the desk behind her, noticing the sweet citrusy scent of her perfume and the way  she tensed up when he came too close.

“I could show you around, if you’d like? I mean, you’ve already been here long enough and you’ve probably seen most of it by now–”

It was only when she put a hand on his shoulder did he realise his head had dropped down to the floor.

“I’d love to,” she said.

Suddenly his chest felt a little lighter.

He showed her his favourite parts of the house, except the library which she had already seen, obviously. She had so many questions, noticed every detail and traced her fingertips along the ancient stone walls with a look of wonder that made his heart flutter.

Then they came to the long gallery overlooking the reception hall. He pointed out the fan vaulted ceiling detailed with gold and the line of portraits of hundreds of years of Targaryen history, monarchs and more recent family members. She was especially fascinated with a portrait of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with children. She could put a name and a story to every face.

She turned her head towards him and her breath hitched when she realised he was looking at her. His first instinct was to back away and apologise, but she didn’t move or say anything, just looked up at him with those pretty eyes. 

He wondered if he should kiss her. He’d never tried to kiss someone before. It should have been simple enough but it felt so daunting. What if he did it wrong? What if she didn’t want him to?

He saw her eyes flicker to his scar, and felt like he understood.

“Do you want to look at the old solar?” he asked, already walking towards the north door at the end of the gallery.

Behind him he heard her mutter a quiet “yeah.”

He rushed through the last few rooms. He could hardly catch his breath or think beyond the choking feeling in his throat or how hot the house seemed all of a sudden.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked when he suggested going to the Maegor suite. 

He nodded, and followed her down to the entrance hall, where they ran into Aegon. He was in trunks and an unbuttoned shirt to show off the tan on his abs.

He glanced between them with a strange look in his eye. “Beach?”

“Sounds good!” she said with a bright smile. “I just need to get some stuff from my room.”

Aegon grinned at her, then at his brother.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aemond grumbled, and went to spend the rest of the day sulking in his room.

Something was different about her after that. She stopped asking so many questions and rather than smile at him when they passed each other in the hallways she sighed and put her head down.

He really didn’t have much experience with these kinds of things, and he sure in seven hells wasn’t going to ask Aegon for advice. 

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he thought about trying to talk to her he pictured her eyes on his scar and decided he’d rather spare her the trouble.

August went by far too quickly and then she was gone.

His time at the University of Oldtown brought some interesting experiences.

People seemed to respect him in a way he wasn’t used to. His lecturers complimented his work and his commitment to his studies. His classmates listened to him when he spoke in seminars, asked for his opinions on current affairs and invited him to lunches and parties. 

He felt like a novelty in Oldtown, people wanted to befriend him, be seen with him, earn his approval. He felt shallow for admitting it, but the newfound attention felt good.

When he went back to King’s Landing that first summer, everyone said he was different. He’d always been interested in sports but he’d committed to a gym routine, shed some of the baby fat and toned out nicely. He traded the trackies and sports trainers for black shirts and leather jackets, got his ears pierced, drank whisky and smoked cigarettes on nights out.

And it turned out he wasn’t as hideous as he thought he was, in fact more often than not, the scar worked in his favour when it came to flirting. 

After graduating he spent the summer in Oldtown, on an internship at Beacon, until Alicent told him she needed him in King’s Landing. She needed a contender of her own to pose as Viserys’ successor against Rhaenyra, and it was obvious neither Aegon or Helaena were going to live up to her expectations. So he did as he was told and moved back home, just in time for everything to start going wrong.

Viserys made his will. Rhaenyra was set to inherit Targ Corp and just about everything else he owned, including Dragonstone. Fucking typical. She had always been his golden child, all that was left of his beloved first wife. His mother always said he never got over Aemma. Singling out Rhaenyra was his way of making it up to her.

But Alicent had been the one helping Viserys run Targ Corp for twenty years, while Rhaenyra’s only real talent was her ability to get whatever she wanted out of their father.

If Rhaenyra were to succeed Viserys, everything his mother had worked for would be for nothing, but Aemond could be the one to change that. He could bring Targ Corp to new heights and live up to the legacy of the Targaryen name. All he needed was for Viserys to give him that chance.

Alicent had been in talks with Borros Baratheon of Storm’s End, an energy company based in the Stormlands. A deal with them would open Targ Corp to a whole new industry, and maybe then Viserys would recognise the lapse in judgement. 

The Storm’s End contract was everything and Alicent had trusted Aemond to see it through. Only it fell apart in his hands. One seemingly minor mistake and Baratheon was out.

Alicent was devastated and it killed him. The late nights and weekends working in the office when she should have been with her children, the constant spite and security from the corporate world, the tabloid news stories that called her a “gold digger,” and the years she spent chasing her husband’s approval had all been for nothing.

She never said it, but Aemond knew she blamed him.

It had been a shitty three months and by December he was exhausted. Daeron was back from Duskendale, Aegon was staying for a few weeks, and Helaena was adamant that they were going to have an enjoyable Christmas. She covered the house in fairy lights and put up a tree in the living room, decorated with colourful baubles that really had nothing to do with Christmas; rainbows, butterflies and bees. 

The other three agreed to indulge her. Aegon suddenly became an expert at Christmas cocktails, Daeron was in a baking frenzy and Aemond put his old piano lessons to good use. He sat at the baby grand in the hallway for the first time in forever and played some old hymns mum used to make them sing. Until Aegon put the chords for Fairytale of New York in front of him, which he agreed was a much better song.

Alicent came in from the office on the 24th, rain soaked through her coat and her eyes red. She’d had a call from Lyonel Strong.

Harwin was in the hospital. Pancreatic cancer. He’d been ignoring the symptoms for years apparently, and by the time Rhaneyra made him get a diagnosis it was too late.

Nothing was an isolated issue. Mum, dad, Rhaenyra, work… everything fed off each other in a single spiral of chaos and grief.

He needed the space, he decided at a fundraiser on New Years Eve. He and Viserys had arrived together but they didn’t so much as make eye contact the entire night. Rhaenyra was understandably inconsolable, mum had refused to go, Helaena wasn’t cut out for these kinds of events and Daeron was studying for mock exams. He at least found solace in the knowledge that he was preferable to Aegon.

A woman with black hair caught his attention. She moved effortlessly throughout the room, martini in hand, which she sipped through dark red lips as she struck up conversations with the other attendees. Did she realise she was targeting the richest people in the room? Probably. She blended in well, in a black slip dress and a pearl necklace, but there was something else, glaring him right in the face.

She was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before.

She smirked when she realised he was staring at her. After ordering herself another drink she waltzed over to him and introduced herself as “Alys Rivers.”

He must have let a little of his shock show on his face, because she smirked again.

Alys Rivers. Harwin’s cousin. The woman with the pretty daughter who’d spent a summer at Dragonstone.

They chatted for hours, she was very curious to hear about the company politics at Targ Corp, the few months he’d been working there and the whole debacle with the Storm’s End contract. She told him about herself too. She worked for Harrenhal PR, alongside her brothers, but was looking to start her own company.

He asked about Harwin. 

That was the only time her perfect persona faltered, just for a moment, but then she took a sip of her drink and she was back to business. She said she was doing alright. It was a shock, he was like a brother to her, and she was trying to make the most of the moments she had left with him.

“It makes you appreciate what you have,” she said. They had found a table in a corner of the bar, ordering too many cocktails. She sighed heavily and put her hand on her chest, over her heart, “I’m so lucky I’ve got my darling girl.”

He didn’t even need to ask before she started telling him more. She was in her second year of studying history at KLU, a bright student, a sweet and serious girl.

She said Harwin adored her, always had, even once things got serious with Rhaenyra and he started having kids of his own.

“Poor thing,” he said, “this must all be so hard on her.”

“She’s like me,” Alys insisted, finishing off another martini. Her words were starting to slur, but even when she was drunk she did it gracefully. “Nothing phases her.”

He could still remember the smell of her perfume, sweet and citrusy.

Alys’s perfume was dark, bitter and boozy. When he kissed her the taste of her martinis burned on his tongue. Vodka. He was more of a gin man.

Generally he tried to avoid one night stands, but it didn’t take much convincing before he found himself in her hotel room.

He spent the entire night on his back while she edged him relentlessly, with her hands and her mouth, before she finally rode him, whispering praises in his ear as she did it. 

He decided it would be bad manners not to text her, so the following Friday night, they went to a steakhouse on Conquest street. It felt more like a business meeting than a date, they talked more about Targ Corp and her plans for her own PR firm. She had the ambition and industry knowledge, but needed the strategy and the connections to make it work. 

“You and I could be a match made in heaven,” he said.

She paused midway through a sip of red wine, and raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. “I don’t usually go for younger men,” she said, “but you’re smart and uncomplicated. I think we could work something out.”

The line between business and pleasure was non-existent. They looked over contracts and business plans over coffee, accompanied each other to conferences and fucked in hotel rooms. She was straightforward, blunt at times but he found it impressive and refreshing. He never had to guess what she was thinking because she didn’t see the point in trying to hide behind niceties. Every time he complimented her confidence she said it was “a consequence of age.”

Things moved faster than he realised. Suddenly winter was turning into spring and Alys asked him to work for Rivers PR full time. 

He found the wherewithal to tell Alicent and Viserys on a rare occasion that his father actually bothered to eat with them. He tried to be as casual as he could about his sabbatical from Targ Corp. It ended with an explosive row over the dinner table, leaving both Helaena and his mother in tears. Viserys was still shouting from the hallway as he packed an overnight bag and stormed out to his car.

He had to call three times before Aegon finally picked up. “Good for you!” his brother cheered down the end of the phone. “Who would have thought you’d end up like this though? Six months ago you were mum’s favourite son.”

“She just kept telling me I was selfish,” Aemond said, first the Storm’s End contract and now this. “And apparently Rhaenyra’s been up in arms about Alys branching off from Harrenhal, especially with everything that’s going on with Harwin.”

“Will you go to hers then?”

He was already heading towards central. “That’s why I called, I need somewhere to stay, I thought you could put me up for a bit.”

Aegon drew out an exaggerated “uhh,” and Aemond hung up, not in the mood to listen to some long winded excuse.

He gripped the steering wheel as he came to a junction and a sign for Queen’s Park. So much for being “uncomplicated.”

Alys was in a silk robe when she opened the door. “Mummy and daddy kicked you out?” she asked with a pouty frown.

He insisted he had left of his own accord.

It was a beautiful terraced house, plaster fronted, overlooking the park. The interior was understated and elegant, dark wood floors, white walls and bursts of muted greens.

It was quiet too, and the only light came from the kitchen.

“Where’s–”

“She’s out with a few friends,” Alys said.

He followed her through to the kitchen, where she poured out two glasses of wine and he told her everything. 

By the time he was done she had finished her glass. She looked into it, like she was surprised to see that it was empty. He hadn’t touched his. 

“Are you planning on staying for long?” she asked.

For a moment he felt stupid for coming to her at all. He couldn’t quite figure out what they were to each other, and suddenly he was showing up on her doorstep and using her like a therapist. 

“I called Aegon first but I think he’s busy. I can be gone in the morning if you want.”

She took hold of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his shirt. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

He looked at her. He was used to her expression being so smug and severe, but she looked gentle now, her eyes wide and full of pity. When he took a shallow breath he realised she was wearing the same, dark perfume from New Years.

He kissed her slowly, nudging his nose against hers and slipping a hand around her waist to pull her in closer.

She chuckled softly as she pulled away. “I’ll be off early in the morning. Take some time if you need to, sort something out with Aegon or…”

“Right,” he said, swallowing down the lingering taste of red wine from her lips.

They slept in her bed, with their backs to each other.

When he woke in the morning Alys was gone. He checked the time on his phone, 8am, and he had a text from her: Help yourself to coffee. Let me know what your plan is.

He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before he headed downstairs. He quickly figured out his way around the expensive coffee machine and settled on a stool at the island with a cup of black coffee.

His hands were restless, tapping against the coffee cup and the counter top. 

She was in the same house as him, probably sound asleep upstairs, though he hadn’t heard anyone come in during the night. Did she know he was here? She must have seen the car outside, but she wouldn’t know it was his. 

He’d hardly even considered the possibility of seeing her again until now, but he hadn’t expected things with to Alys to go this far.

He looked down at his phone. Maybe staying with Alys wasn’t such a good idea. He started typing out a text to Aegon when he heard the door to the kitchen open.

“Hello again.”

She stood in the doorway, squinting her eyes at him, hair loose and tousled, in nothing but an overused Black Sabbath t-shirt that covered the tops of her thighs. She looked a little dishevelled and utterly perfect.

“Hi,” Aemond said, putting his phone down and reaching for his cup. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I got a text from mum. She said she had a guest and I was free to ignore him or kick him out.”

“Have you decided which?”

She huffed a laugh and there was that smile again, though not as wide as it had been that summer. “I felt like being nosy,” she said. 

She moved towards the sink and filled a glass of water, which she finished in one go, with a sound of satisfaction. She drew the tip of her tongue between her lips and set the glass on the counter before she turned to look at him again. “So you’re mum’s new boytoy?”

“Is that what she calls me?” he said, trying to play off the tight feeling in his chest with a small smirk.

“She doesn’t call you anything, actually. She’s been going on these little dates, calling them ‘work calls’ and hoping I won’t notice.”

“How do you know they’re not work calls?”

“I wouldn’t have until she brought you home with her.”

“That was my fault…” he looked down at his coffee. He was convinced he could already feel the caffeine buzzing in his fingertips.

“You look different,” she said.

His eyes shot back to her. “How so?”

“Your hair’s longer. It makes you look older.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the way she recoiled into herself.

“I meant it as a compliment, honest.”

She looked different too. Her face hadn’t changed much from what he could remember, but mostly he noticed that she seemed more subdued. Her eyes were set in dark circles and they weren’t as wide, and when she wasn’t speaking her lips fell slightly. She looked older, but then how long had it been since Dragonstone? More than three years, less than four. 

She told him where everything was in the kitchen, which he could have figured out himself but he didn’t want to interrupt her. She asked how long he was going to stay and he said until he heard back from Aegon.

That turned out to be a week later, and by then Alys insisted she liked having him around.

Initially he looked at a few rentals, which Alys discouraged and insisted he should buy his own place. Between work and the daily mass of texts he was getting from his siblings about Targ Corp and their parents, he couldn’t find the time to truly consider it.

It was easy to fall into a routine with Alys. She left for work earlier than him so he took his own car every morning. Everyone at the office guessed they were ‘together’ but they kept things professional. If he so much as put a hand on her shoulder she scared him off with a warning look. She always stayed later than him so he’d go back to the house, sort out dinner and have it waiting for when the girls got home.

The girls. He was going domestic.

She only had lectures a few times a week and when she was at home she stayed in her bedroom, only occasionally bringing a book down to the garden or the lounge while he worked in the kitchen. He wondered if she was avoiding him. Considering the awful impression he made at Dragonstone, he didn’t blame her. 

But eventually she started to warm up to him. They found some common interests and small talk turned into in-depth discussions of history and politics and their favourite films and albums. She loved Mazzy Star especially. Sometimes, when he had the house to himself, he’d listen through their albums and imagine her listening to the same songs.

He soon learned just how elusive Alys could be. She always had something going on, a work event, a conference or even trips to Pentos with her old uni friends. When she was at home she was usually in the study on the top floor of the house, on a call, looking over contracts or managing some kind of crisis that only she could solve. If he joined her on work trips it was by her invitation.

So he often found himself alone with her. Movie nights became a weekly ritual, usually late in the week, and every week they seemed to sit a little closer to each other than before.

One night she fell asleep against him. His arm was around the back of the sofa and her head gently fell against his chest.

He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should wake her, but she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, lips parted and breath fluttering down the collar of his t-shirt. Her body was warm and she was wearing that same citrusy perfume. 

He wanted to keep her there. He could lie down, hold her in his arms and fall asleep pressed into her back.

Guilt told him otherwise. So he moved away from her, as carefully as he could, and guided her to lie fully on the sofa with a pillow under her head and a blanket draped over her body.

Alys came in from a dinner sometime after 1am and slipped wordlessly into her side of the bed. Within minutes he could hear her gentle snores.

He closed his eyes but he didn’t sleep. All he could think about was her breath on his chest, the way her shorts had ridden up her thighs, and that fucking perfume. 

He was probably just tired, getting excited by some old crush which he was way past by now. He was sure he would forget about it by the morning.

If only it had ended there.

By the time spring came around she had warmed up to him. They spent Sunday mornings drinking coffee together in the garden and went for drives out to Blackwater Bay. They had inside jokes and talked about their families. Some nights she’d come crying to him over uni, arguments with her mother and a stupid boy who broke her heart. She was so pretty when she cried.

When she asked him to help her with a particular exam he couldn’t help himself. He noticed everything about their study sessions together, the way she shuddered when he put a hand on her shoulder, the way her breath hitched when he praised her.

His heart swelled when she came home from that exam with a wide smile, throwing herself into his arms and telling him all the details she could remember. Her eyes were so bright and gazing up at him almost adoringly. 

He was so happy for her, and so proud.

She didn’t pull away when he kissed her. She met him with soft touches to his neck and a hummed whimper that threatened to spark something primal in him. 

They smiled at each other when it was over, until the haze started to wear off. He cleared his throat, and muttered that he still had work to do. She nodded but they kept staring at each other, his hands on her waist and hers drifting down from his neck to his chest.

She was the first to step away. He watched her disappear through the door and wondered how he had managed to make such a mess of his life.

For the entirety of the next week he couldn’t get that muffled whimper out of his head.

Every time he saw her he wanted to drag her into him and kiss her again, harsher, hungrier, with his hands tracing over every inch of her body. 

He told himself he was being stupid and he just needed an outlet. For the most part, he and Alys doing well together, but on the few occasions they actually fucked he found the novelty of being beneath her was starting to wear off. 

Frustratingly, everything else seemed to be working well for him. He was good at his job; working for Rivers PR was certainly helping to distract him from his family and the company was thriving. He didn’t have to put up with his parents and the Rivers girls seemed happy enough to have him around. The only problem left was him.

In June Alys was accompanying a client on a trip to Dorne, a few days in Salt Shore, Lemonwood and then a week in Sunspear. Aemond wasn’t sure if he was elated or dreading her absence. Every time he’d been around her lately he held his breath, waiting for her to realise something was wrong.

She remained perfectly normal though. Her exams were finished and she had an internship at Lion Publishing lined up for the month of August. In the meantime she was living life as she pleased, lunch dates and picnics in the park with her friends, but she spent a lot of time at home too, mostly reading or writing in a leatherbound notebook.

The kiss was a mistake. A stupid mistake. He kept looking for a chance to talk to her, but decided it might be best until Alys was away.

Alys’ flight was due on a Friday evening and he dropped her off in the afternoon. They sat in silence for most of the journey but silence wasn’t a rarity for them.

When they reached the airport they both went to take the bags out the boot.

“I’m a big girl, I can manage,” she said dryly, but that was just her sense of humour. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

She set her suitcase by her side and slipped her arm through her Prada tote bag. “The two of you can look after yourselves well enough,” she said, fussing with the collar of her blouse. “I don’t need to tell you not to answer the door to strangers or anything?”

He smiled unenthusiastically. “No.”

With her eyes one the pavement, she brought her fingers to the styled waves of her hair, bringing a few tresses over her shoulder.

“She’s fond of you,” she said. “I know I can’t always be there for her when she needs me, but I know you helped her with that exam and I appreciate it.” There was no sign of shortness or irritation like there usually was when she spoke about anything remotely personal. She was being sincere and it just made him feel worse.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders and the businesswoman was back. “Right then. I’d give you a kiss goodbye but I have lipstick on.”

How devastatingly practical, as always. She threw an arm around his shoulder and he pecked her cheek before she headed for the terminal, quickly and gracefully, heels clicking against the ground. 

He had plans to meet Helaena for dinner at a restaurant in central. With her mother out the way, she had invited a few friends to celebrate the end of exams and he figured she’d appreciate the space.

He didn’t realise how much he missed not living with his sister until he saw her. That was the downside of the new circumstances, he never got to see his siblings as much as he wanted to.

Helaena asked him about Alys and her, how they were dealing with Harwin still in the hospital. He told her the truth, they didn’t really talk about it much, but by that point it was a matter of waiting for the inevitable.

Apparently Rhaenyra was a mess. She would be. Her husband was dying, she had three kids to look after and Harrenhal PR was falling to pieces now that Larys was in charge and Alys had poached half of their best clients.

Helaena was exhausted. She was getting ready to start a PhD in Highgarden and she should have been excited, but she hardly had the wherewithal to think about it with Alicent and Viserys’ constant rowing. At least Daeron would be back in a few more days so she wouldn’t be the only child at the house.

“Are you coming to Dragonstone this year?” she asked.

He took a telling breath through his nose and finished off his glass of wine.

“Aemond, please, it won’t be the same without you.”

He scoffed. “No one wants me there.”

She frowned at him with those sad blue eyes of hers. “Don’t say that.”

“Did you know mum hasn’t called me once since I left? It’s been five months. Do you really think I can just show up and we’ll play happy families then go back to hating each other when we get home?”

Her face twisted like she might start crying. 

“Sorry I just–” he held his forehead in his hands and dragged them back over his hair. He didn’t want to think about Dragonstone, it just made him think of her.

He felt her hand gently take his wrist and guide it down to the table so she could see his face. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She raised her eyebrows and hummed like she didn’t believe him.

It wasn’t long after 10pm when he got back to the house. He heard voices and giggles in the front lounge. He walked softly through the hallway and slowed when he came to the door.

“... that’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Jo, you’re sick.”

“Oh step-daddy!”

Laughter followed, with a few disbelieving sighs. He recognised her laugh, and made out two other distinct voices. He guessed they hadn’t heard him come in.

“Is he hot though?”

He listened for a reply but she stayed quiet.

“Oh come on! I bet you’ve thought about it.”

“No.” She said it so simply he almost believed her. 

He moved through to the kitchen intending to get some water. There were two empty pizza boxes and an assortment of empty wine bottles on the kitchen island. He went to clean them up when the door opened.

“Hi,” she said softly. Her face was dewy and a little flushed. “I didn’t hear the door.”

“I only just got in,” he said, “don’t worry I didn’t hear anything incriminating.”

She tilted her head at him with a slightly dazed smile. She looked gorgeous and the pair of jeans she wore fit her perfectly. 

She refilled the glasses from a new bottle and nodded to an empty glass on the counter. “Do you want to join us?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she said.

He followed her through to the lounge, bringing the glass and the bottle with him. 

Before he opened the door she leaned into him and whispered, “don’t worry, Margarey has work tomorrow and Jo’s waiting for her boyfriend so they won’t stay long.”

Margaery and Joanna were effortlessly charming but he distrusted them for being law students. They both grinned when he sat on the sofa by the window and were eager to ask him about his time in Oldtown and his job.

Joanna kept glancing over to her, but she remained unphased until Margarey mentioned Targ Corp. Her face slowly fell in irritation. He found it quite endearing.

“So why did you leave?” Joanna asked, “it was something to do with Viserys’ will, right?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” she said shortly.

Aemond gave her a quick smile to let her know it was alright and she settled back to contentment.  

Just as she said, they were both gone before midnight. She saw them to the door and when she came back to the lounge she fell beside him with her legs against his and her head on his shoulder.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked. If he turned his head just a little further his lips would brush against her temple.

“Really lovely,” she sighed.

He considered asking about the kiss, but she was definitely tipsy and just sitting with her was too peaceful. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the moment and the sound of her breathing. 

Her fingers began to trace up over the fabric of his shirt, up and down over his stomach and the lines of his abs underneath.

He put his hand over hers to stop her, but somehow it only seemed to spur his own want. He closed his hand around her, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

She shifted her head so she was looking at him and her breath echoed over his neck. 

She leaned in first. Their lips met with gentle grazes, just feeling each other and breathing the same air. 

Gradually they deepened their movements. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he melted at her softness and her warmth. He cupped her jaw to pull her into him despite the gnawing feeling in his chest, like he was getting too close, like he could never get close enough.

She started to move and he tried to keep hold of her, expecting her to slip from his grasp, until he felt her weight on his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her hands around the sides of his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. She gave him another dazed little smile before she continued to kiss him fiercely, desperately.

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea, but for now he would take the guilt if he got to feel her like this, her lips trailing along his jaw and down his neck, her heavy breaths and whimpers as she started to rock her hips against him.

He reached to take hold of her hips, moving with her at first before he set a new, steadier pace, dragging her against the tightening bulge in his jeans. “You alright there, pet?” he hummed.

She nudged her forehead against his. “Please can you just…” her eyes followed her hands as she propped herself against his chest. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered.

She let out a whine that went straight to his cock.

“Come on,” he hissed, “talk to me.”

She clenched her fists to tug at his shirt. “I want you,” she breathed.

He strained an exhale as he tried to stop his hips from bucking into her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said with a groan, but he was already trying to rationalise it.

She could be the outlet, just once, just to get it out of his system. 

“No it’s not, but I still want you,” she said.

Or maybe it didn’t have to be about him. He could just give her what she needed.

“Please,” she whined trying to fight against his hold on her hips, “I want you so bad, it fucking hurts.”

“Oh you poor thing,” he cooed, moving his face down to tease the skin of her throat with his lips and tongue. 

He knew they were on the cusp of something dangerous and damning, but it was her, the girl from that summer, the girl with the pretty smile and the curious look in her eyes, Alys’ daughter. 

When he looked up to her face her eyes were wide and pleading.

Maybe he felt he owed it to a younger version of himself, or maybe it was the wine he’d had at the restaurant but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences. 

He pressed his palm against her stomach, feeling her body tremble and her quick, shallow breaths. He trailed lower to undo the buttons on her jeans. “Take these off for me,” he muttered.

She didn’t hesitate to follow his instruction. She drew the jeans down her legs, leaving her in her top and a black thong. He told her to straddle him again, which she did. 

With firm but gentle hands he felt along the bare flesh of her thighs and her ass, positioning her over his thigh. He pulled the thong against her until she was squirming and trying to rut against his jeans.

He chuckled softly to himself and held her waist tightly to keep her still, and she followed the silent instruction so well. She was panting, leaning in closer to him, but waiting for his lead. He was slightly scared of how much he loved it.

He brought his hand to her cheek, stroking and toying with her bottom lip. “Do you want to be good for me?” he whispered.

She hummed her agreement. 

“Fuck yourself against my thigh, pretty girl, show me how desperate you are.”

With a small nod she started to move, letting out little moans when her clothed clit rolled against his leg.

He kept her movements slow, even when she tried to fight against him and go faster.

“No,” he said, “be a good girl for me, do as you’re told.”

The pace was agonising for her, eyes screwed shut and jaw hung open as her hands got restless, running over his jaw, his neck and into his hair.

He kept her steady and pressed her down against his jeans with each drag of her hips, playing with the change in pressure and smiling at the way it made her whine and her eyes water.

“Aemond… I need more…”

He still kept the movements nice and slow. “Just let it happen– there you go, good fucking girl.”

She didn’t hold back her moans as her climax hit her, tensing hard and falling into him. He kept her moving through it, until her thighs were shaking and she begged him to stop.

He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life, but he held her there, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume.

Then he brought her away from him so he could see her face, beautifully blissed out. There was that light, hopeful feeling in his chest, but it was starting to crumble under the realisation of what they’d done.

“Is that actually a thing, the step-daddy thing?” he asked.

She huffed a breathy laugh. “According to Jo it is. Why, do you want me to call you daddy?”

He wouldn’t admit it then, but he liked the way it sounded coming from her.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

[myshiptrashcan]

What I do to not feel so lonely

I combat my loneliness by seeing other people's posts online, people watching, and thinking of scenarios in my head.

Before going to bed, I think of a scenario. It is an intricate storyline involving myself and different fictional characters. Most of them basically become my Dad's. I go over each scene and dialogue repetitively until I get it just right, this will go on sometimes for days before moving on to the next part of the story. Relationships are built and the lore and universe of the story is thought out well before the story takes place. I try to go over different or interesting aus, or revisit aus I've already done before.

Usually my story starts with me being on my own. I am alone, a lot of the times I've gone through abuse or tragedy, whatever it is it's usually not pleasant. I try to find a way in which the characters come to care about me. How and why?

Good things can't be mine or come my way until and unless I've suffered.

Maybe I think like this because I have suffered and do suffer. Past trauma and shit. Idk.

I have no real life friends or crushes so a romantic interest in the story always falls on the same OC. Felt weird and disloyal to always change it up. It's easier to keep track of one person and understand who they are and what they're like, than make up a new guy all the time. I add some nice angst right before the happy end all the time. Love that shit.

I used to not do this, I never indulged in stories where I'm important. Or special. Because I'm not. BUT! I finally had enough and thought, 'if it's just in my head I'm allowed to be important. I'm allowed to pretend to be worth knowing and caring for and even loving. No one else is going to think of me, so why not?' at least in my head I'm not lonely. My favorite characters care about me. How fun is that?

Even then in the story I'm usually just me, not important or special, a burden sometimes even. But a part of me wants to believe I do have value, that I am worth knowing and I am special, so I try to think that in my stories too.

It's actually made me like going to bed now, because that's when I get to continue the story. It helps me get to sleep.

Honestly between that and checking Tumblr, those two are my main weapons against my loneliness and isolation.

It's not the same as writing stories. Which I do a lot of too. I have written a self indulgent fairy story just for me. Have these fairies I made up and I wanted to write out the lore. So I did in a way. It's over 40,000 words long and still isn't done yet. Not my best work but damn it's kind of cool that I've done it.

One of my stories I am writing started off as one of my scenarios. I changed it up a bit to not involve me , I'm really excited about though.

#this is me

[gohyuck]

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno​ @domjaehyun​ @waithyuck​ for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day. 

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong. 

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage. 

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned. 

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur. 

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye. 

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up. 

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer. 

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple. 

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be. 

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe. 

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together. 

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal. 

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response. 

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either. 

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now. 

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is. 

nobody is the warrior that jeno is. 

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.” 

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy. 

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here. 

he is real. he is here. 

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights. 

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips. 

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin. 

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one. 

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that. 

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face. 

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips. 

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours. 

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy. 

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach. 

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body. 

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own. 

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body. 

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way. 

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you. 

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it. 

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded. 

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that. 

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him. 

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing. 

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath. 

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care. 

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours. 

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed. 

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe. 

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want. 

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need. 

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”  

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?” 

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want. 

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper. 

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced. 

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again. 

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet. 

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full. 

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want. 

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly. 

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately. 

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.” 

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit. 

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer. 

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows. 

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan. 

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side. 

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware. 

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does. 

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops. 

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind. 

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment. 

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love. 

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

#first #five #tags #dont #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream

[spxllcxstxr]

Game On • J.P

(Gif not mine)

Writing Challenge: @lunalovecroft ‘s 2.7k Trope Writing Challenge! Congrats again! Everyone go check out their fantastic blog! Trope: Quidditch Rivals and Secret Dating

Summary: No one knows that rival captains, Potter and (Y/Ln), have been in a secret relationship for quite some time. Then, the Championship Game arrives.

Warnings: cursing, a small hint of steaminess (nothing big—it’s like a quick mention and that’s it), slight Wolfstar and Dorlene mention, mention of breakfast at the Great Hall, kissing, use of Ms when referring to the reader (only once), nonGryffindor!reader

Word Count: 2k

A.N: Kinda long winded but I actually like the dialogue for once??? Wow. Congrats again on 2.7k! Everyone go follow them because I get so happy seeing them on my dash ❤️ Hope you all enjoy and love you all ❤️

****

Your eyes snap open hours before they have to, your dorm still pitch black, the soft snores of your friends filling up the otherwise quiet space. The covers feel heavy and restricting on top of you, something you quickly remedy by kicking them clear off the mattress.

You swing your legs over the edge, feet meeting the cool wooden floor.

Rubbing your eyes, you glance over at the ornate clock on your nightstand. One in the morning. You sigh, your goal of getting a good night’s sleep before your important match in ruins.

Your skin crawls at the thought of the Championship Match only hours from now. The amount of blood, sweat, and tears you’ve shed in preparation for it is frankly quite concerning.

Unable to get back to sleep, you drag yourself out of bed, shoving your feet into plush slippers before slipping quietly out of your room. You’re forced to tiptoe around scattered books, most of them Quidditch related from last night.

There’s no way you’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon, the anxiety of the morning’s match coursing through your veins. The nerves were the worst part of competitive Quidditch—after all these years you still couldn’t shake them.

Absentmindedly, you think about heading to the Kitchens, the warm and comfortable environment sounding like exactly what you need.

Late night visits to the Kitchens aren’t anything new, you and James often sneak out after curfew hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Sitting in the far corner behind countless shelves and barrels was a frequent date for the two of you since it offered enough privacy from the rest of the castle.

The two of you could hold hands on the table, his thumb open to draw little figure eights between your knuckles. Your eyes could light up just looking at him without the fear of being called out. His lips could capture yours in a sweet or passionate kiss and no one would know.

The real and complete reason for keeping your relationship a secret was long since forgotten, but the general idea is still shared. It’s just easier being Quidditch rivals instead of being Quidditch rivals that snogged the second feet touched the ground. Neither of you were ever accused of going easy on the other during matches, and that’s how the two of you preferred it.

Plus, there was something romantic about sneaking around the castle and through secret passage ways pressed closely underneath his cloak. Stolen kisses in empty classrooms and quick shags in broom closets were fun when they weren’t inconvenient.

In the back of your mind you have an inkling that James might be huddled up in the usual spot as well, considering he has a match as well in a few hours.

You shuffle through the common room, a few third years spread out on the couch, sleeping atop their textbooks and notes. The fire crackles and pops lowly. A shiver runs down your spine as you step out into the corridor.

“Lumos!”

A murky blue light blooms from the tip of your wand, lighting up the dark corridor.

You shuffle across the stone, the occasional laugh or snore echoing throughout.

Filch isn’t an issue at this time of night, surprisingly the old care taker does get some sort of beauty sleep, though it does him no good, so you find yourself walking normally instead of carefully creeping around.

It doesn’t take long to get to the portrait of the bowl of fruit, faint giggles coming from the pear. You extend your arm to tickle the bottom of the pear, it’s giggles erupting even louder before morphing into an intricate brass doorknob.

Stepping through the threshold you’re immediately met with a blast of heat due to the large fireplace that practically takes up the wall to your right. Even though it’s the middle of the night, plates and goblets and utensils are clanking and crashing together, the pitter patter of house-elves darting around the area isn’t surprising at this point.

“Nox.”

The blue light fades and flickering orange takes over.

A small and pale grey figure rushes up to you, jittery like they’ve just consumed a gallon of coffee. One ear droops low enough where it’s almost dragging across the floor while the other is significantly shorter.

“Ms. (Y/Ln)!” The house-elf squeaks, wringing their lavender cloth between their fingers. “Mr. Potter is waiting for you!”

“Alright, Tilly.” You smile warmly at the elf. “Thank you.”

As you make your way to your usual spot in the back of the Kitchens, you hear Tilly bound back over to the counters, joining the many other house-elves that work down here.

Behind stacks of old crates and barrels, there’s an old and decrepit picnic table, obscured from the rest of the room. Each time you and James show up you’re surprised the house-elves haven’t chucked it into the large fire yet. It’s so rickety it’s practically only good for firewood.

And being the spot for the two of you to find refuge in.

James is sitting with his back against the wall, legs outstretched across the bench just like you suspected. He’s lazily tracing a finger around the lip of his steaming mug, hazel eyes lost in thought. From your spot you can see his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“You ok Jamie?” You ask softly, trying not to startle him out of his thoughts.

His eyes flick up to yours before he fixes his glasses and runs a hand through his bedhead.

“Knew you’d join me eventually, love.” He sends over a wink, face lighting up.

“And you didn’t think to pick me up at my common room?” You playfully scoff, slotting yourself between his legs, face pressed into his chest.

The red fabric smells suspiciously like the Quidditch shed, like he got in some late night practice.

“Oh yes, because standing out in the cold corridors outside of your common room after curfew is much better than just waiting for you in the warm Kitchens.” James’ chin rests in the top of your head, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“Blimey, chivalry really is dead.”

“Y’know, you could’ve waited outside the Gryffindor Tower for me.” James points out, chuckling at your complaint.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp. “Who has the Invisibility Cloak, again?”

“You got here just fine, didn’t you, love?” He snorts, chest rumbling.

“Whatever.” You grumble, rolling your eyes in defeat.

James sighs, rubbing your side. “You ready for the morning?”

You hum noncommittally, the thought of tomorrow’s match swirling through your mind.

“Nervous, love?” His voice is soft and delicate against your temple.

“I mean, this is my last chance, Jamie.” You mumble into his chest. “And of course it’s against you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, (Y/n)?” James asks, concern laced within his voice.

“It’s just that you’re an amazing player and I’m—“

“A spectacular player as well.” He interjects. “I’ve seen you out there practicing. You’ve built a bloody good team this year. We’re on equal footing.”

“Yeah well, I’ve never beaten you before.” You huff lightly, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So?” He questions. “That doesn’t mean anything. There’s a reason you’ve made it into the Championship match, (Y/n). Because you’re a fucking phenomenal Captain. And I’ll hex anyone that tells you otherwise.” You feel his fingers flex angrily against your waist.

“You’re so sweet.” You pick your head up slightly to face him, a pout tugging at your lips.

“Guess I should give you a good luck kiss now, considering we won’t have time in the morning.” James’ hazel eyes shine in the flickering light while looking into your own.

“Does luck even last that long?” You bring your fingers up to hover over his sharp jawline.

“Sadly, love, we’ll have to test that.” He sighs.

You bring your lips to meet his, your fatigue making it a bit sloppier than it should’ve been. He nips at your lips, pulling you closer to his chest momentarily before pulling away.

You whine slightly at the loss of warmth.

“Gotta save some of that luck for myself, love. Can’t just let you win.” He smirks, lips grazing your hairline.

The two of you end up sitting there for another hour or so, listening to the fire crackling and the house-elves rummage around. Eventually, he pulls you underneath his cloak and drops you back off at your common room, a quick peck pressed to your lips.

You manage to drift back off to sleep, dreaming of James rather than Quidditch.

When you pry your eyes open for the second time, the sun is actually filtering through your curtains and most of your dormmates are awake and shuffling around.

You tune them out the best you can, opting to go through your routine in whatever silence you can find.

Your routine is quite simple, you let your joints pop and muscles stretch, trying to shake yourself awake.

The rest of the castle seems to be alive with boisterous laughter and over the top festivities. Glancing around at the corridors and the Great Hall, you’re able to notice a pretty even split between red and gold and your own house colors.

This was going to be one hell of a rematch.

Marlene and Sirius have a crowd forming around them as they flex and throw out trash talk. You watch as Remus and Dorcas try to coax them down from the tabletop, but they seem unsuccessful.

Peter, Mary, and Lily are fawning over James, hyping him up, even you can tell from across the Hall.

But he isn’t paying attention to them, his eyes are clearly trained on you behind his round glasses.

“Already envisioning Potter’s demise?”

You tear your eyes away from him, instead focusing on your teammate.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, before throwing yourself into last minute charts and maneuvers.

Breakfast goes by quick, your leg never stops bouncing underneath the table and your fingers tap incessantly against your goblet.

You and your team strut down to the pitch earlier than anyone else. There’s a slight breeze rolling through the grounds, something you take into account.

It becomes a bit of a blur after you’ve changed into your uniform, the crowd begins to show up and their cheers take over your hearing.

Remus is announcing the game, which you have no idea why since it never goes well for anyone. His commentary ranges from picking on James to flirting with Sirius to just trying to get McGonagall pissed off.

Marching out to the center of the grassy pitch, broom in hand, you’re bombarded with your name being enthusiastically chanted across the entire stadium. Confidence bubbles inside of you as you face James, Madam Hooch just beside you.

“Alright everyone, I expect a nice, clean, and fair game today. This is the Championship, no one will get away with any funny business.” Her tone is clipped as her yellow eyes take in everyone. “Captains, shake hands.”

You and James take a step forward, his hand firmly grasping yours.

“Good luck, love.”

With your hands still connected, James plants his lips on your own, and you eagerly kiss back.

The crowd erupts into even louder cheers.

“Bloody hell!” You hear Remus exclaim over the loud speaker. “James and (Y/Ln) are now snogging on the pitch! You own me five bloody Galleons, Sirius Black! I told you, you—“

“Lupin!”

James takes a step back, his usual smirk painted across his face. His hazel eyes glint mischievously behind his goggles, which he takes the time to adjust like they were his own glasses.

The roar of the entire castle fills your ears after your little reveal.

It’s a little overwhelming, you have to admit, but it doesn’t deter you. You’ve spent too many hours training for this very moment to back down now.

You roll your neck, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, but pixies have already erupted in your stomach. You feel James’ stare burning into you.

“Mount your brooms.” Madam Hooch’s harsh tone cuts through the crowd, but you’re barely paying attention to her as you swing a leg over your broom handle.

The whistle pops into her mouth like usual, but in the split second before she blows with all the air in her lungs, you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

His red and gold robes billow behind him, confidence just rolling off of him. Dark and chaotic curls drift in the breeze.

He sends you a wink.

“Game on, love.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

For @lunalovecroft go check their blog out!

#lovecroftstropechallenge #James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #the marauders x reader

[manikas-whims]

for quick headcanons: soc ships proposals

these are simply my take, you don't have to agree. and if you wanna add something, reblog and do add your own spin :3

⚠ Warning ⚠ Long Post.

WESPER

• Since their anniversary as an official couple is coming up soon, Wylan decides to propose.

• But he realizes planning isn't exactly his best forte and seeks help from none other than Ketterdam's best schemer Dirtyhands himself.

• Kaz is flattered but even he is weak when it comes to the matter of hearts. He still agrees though, provided Wylan invests a bit in his newly brought club around the Lid. Wylan agrees.

• So Kaz simply asks Wylan to bring Jesper with him to the Fifth Harbour on the day of the event. Wylan is suspicious but he agrees in the end.

• Wylan manages to keep Jesper busy by portraying as a model for Marya's next painting, just so he can go out and pick a ring.

• When the day arrives, Wylan asks Jesper to meet him at the Fifth Harbour by 6 bells.

• Jesper being bad at dates doesn't remember if its because of some special occasion. So he decides to keep it safe and buys a bottle of expensive alcohol.

• When Wylan and Jesper arrive on time, they're both too shocked to speak, their mouths wide open.

• Kaz being Kaz has got the whole harbour decorated in traditional Kerch and Zemeni colors for the duo. There's fairy lights hanging all over, varying cuisines that Jesper has never seen in his life before and a band hired to play throughout the night.

• As they walk in, they spot Nina speaking with Colm Fahey who got invited earlier on by Kaz and Inej gave the man a lift on her Wraith as she herself didn't want to miss two of her favorite people's proposal.

• Jesper is slightly worried because of his father's presence, even more worried because he believes today's supposed to be some big event that only he can't seem to remember.

• Matthias is standing with a Priest and he comes over to congratulate Wylan & Jesper.

• The pair is very confused and so Matthias quirks his brows and tells them: "Brekker said you're getting married."

• The bottle of alcohol in Jesper's hand drops and Wylan is stuttering, unable to form coherent words. He finally yells: "This isn't what I asked Kaz!"

• Kaz finally shows up, Inej at his side. Everyone's staring at him and he shrugs. "What? Too much."

• After a few minutes of yelling and chaos between their squad, the situation is finally calmed down.

• Wylan rummages out the ring from his pocket— a golden band with their initials 'W+J' engraved in it along with intricate patterns. He looks at Jesper. "So amongst all this extravaganza, if I tell you that I want you to adore my stupid face for the rest of our lives, will you?"

• Jesper is wide eyed and has that kinda dubious expression because Wylan has managed to surprise him yet again. So he just tries to collect himself and goes, "Ofc! I already told you I like your stupid face."

• They hug and kiss and everyone cheers. Nina proposes an after-party with waffles.

• Kaz suggests they could still get married cause we know he's secretly the biggest Wesper shipper xD

Thankfully Inej drags him away.

• The actual wedding takes place a month later and yes, Kaz is the wedding planner. Kuwei is that uninvited guest..:)

HELNIK

• Nina keeps joking about wanting Matthias to propose. But she doesn't realise all her meaningless teasing has actually spurred him into action.

• He's secretly making plans and has only told Inej and Wylan about this because he knows Jesper will end up babbling. And Kaz is the last person he wants to take help from.

• He needs a place and proper timing. Inej takes up that task on herself and somehow convinces Kaz to let them use The Crow Club for just one evening.

• Wylan helps Matthias in purchasing a custom ring with a heart-shaped ruby. With his newly acquired mercher title, Wylan’s got connections with the best jewelers in Ketterdam. Marya also tags along cause she believes they'll need a woman's opinion on this.

• So on the day of the event, when Nina is coaxed into wearing the best replica of a Ravkan Kefta and brought into the Crow Club by Inej, she's excited but also wondering whats up.

• Wylan is playing some romantic melody on his flute.

• The whole club is lit by candles and as the members of Dregs part slowly, at the end is Matthias in replica of traditional Fjerdan garbs (another courtesy of Kaz).

• Nina's eyes keep growing wider and she's at a loss of words when Matthias bends on one knee. "Nina Zenik, will you be the beguiling Drusje to this mighty Fjerdan till the end of time?"

• There's tears in her eyes and she looks around everyone. Wylan is smiling, Inej gives a nod, Jesper gives a thumbs up and winks, even Kaz's eyes flash somewhat in approval.

• She looks back to the brave blond soldier she fell for. He must've planned for them to be unified in their own lands' traditional clothes. She smiles, already tearing up. "Saints Matthias, I'm supposed to be the one full of surprises." She messily wipes her eyes and mumbles, "I..will."

• The whole Dregs break into a roar of cheers as Matthias glides the ring on her finger. Marya is clapping her hands in joy.

• Rotty yells from somewhere in the crowd, "KISS HER YOU PODGE!!!" And Matthias tilts his face down. The newly engaged couple share a passionate kiss.

• Their wedding takes place in a Ravkan forest. King Nikolai himself decides to give his blessings (in disguise ofc). Zoya and Genya are there too.

KANEJ

• It will be super vague. Like Kaz and Inej's relationship is built more on silent gazes and fleeting touches. So they've got this unspoken thing going on. They both know they're each-other's but never actually address it.

• Inej has returned from another of her sea adventures and taking a short break in Ketterdam. She's casually sitting by Kaz's window, feeding the crows while he works on his papers.

• He glances at her, mesmerized by the sight of her glowing skin in the evening sun. Her long hair (free for once) sways due to the wind as she peacefully smiles and looks out at the city.

• He just speaks out of nowhere, "Inej?"

She turns her head and looks at him, the smile never leaving her face. "Yes Kaz?"

"Do you want to tie the knot?" he asks.

The smile immediately leaves her face and she frowns, unsure about his words. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

• He puts his pen down, passes a hand through his hair and huffs out a breath.

"I'm saying my dear Wraith," he starts, methodically taking off his gloves and then joins her at the window. He offers his palm and she gladly places her own in it, her eyes somewhat expectant. Kaz quirks his lips slightly and continues, "would you like us to exchange vows and make it official?" He squeezes her palm and gestures between them.

• She's stunned for a moment because between the two of them, its always her initiating any sort of new action— a hug, a kiss,..making love. And it has taken them a good amount of years to reach this level of intimacy without triggering the other’s traumas so its even more shocking that Kaz asks her first. A small part of her had even wanted to propose him some time in the future but now he's clearly beaten her to that.

• "Inej?" Kaz rubs the back of her hand, "if you don't want to—"

"NO! I do!" she says hurriedly before he can take it back and he breaks into that crooked grin of his, fishing out a simple silver band with a single black feather atop it, its end pointy like a knife.

He smoothly slides it onto her finger and they exchange a gleeful smile.

• After a few minutes he goes, "So like..do you want to do this my way or yours?"

And she's confused so he explains. "If its your way, we can have a traditional Suli wedding, whatever your people do and take your parents' blessings."

He adds a dramatic pause later, "If its my way, I'll just ask Specht to put our names on a marriage document and be done with it."

She rolls her eyes.

• In the end, Inej tells the other Crows. Jesper wiggles his brows, teases Kaz but also gives him a big hug. Wylan is surprised but also happy. Matthias is slightly displeased at the holy bronze girl for letting herself be charmed by this notorious demjin. But he does believe that the two belong with no one else and congratulates them.

• Nina takes it upon herself to plan the wedding and decides it should be a Suli one. She wants to see Inej draped in red. But also wants to see Kaz out of his fitting suits for once and in traditional Suli clothes for men.

• Mr. and Mrs. Ghafa find their son-in-law quite odd but give their blessings happily because there's no one else who'll be more suitable for their lovely daughter.

.

Send your SoC Headcanon requests via asks

SoC Masterlist

#kanej #wesper #helnik #six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #soc headcanon

[nutty1005]

Exclusive Visit of 72 Hours! Full Record of “A Dream Like A Dream” Behind the Scenes

Original Article: https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yI4arm9P9nJwE3RMSUW-5Q Original Author: 杨晋亚 Translator’s note: The original author is part of Yuli Studio, this article is published in Yuli Studio’s Weixin Official Account on 23 Apr 2021 as a part of “Behind the Screens” Volume 640.

On 22 Apr, “A Dream Like A Dream” Wuhan Charity show was still in the midst, countless related topics were already on Weibo Hot Search.

This is probably the hottest play on the internet till date.

A big intellectual property that lasted for 21 years, and now with the addition of the hottest celebrity, debuted for the first time as a Charity Show in honor of the heroes of the pandemic last year, “A Dream Like A Dream” contained stories on stage and backstage.

Before the official start of the play, Yuli Studio walked into the backstage of “A Dream Like A Dream”, and entered the dream in advance.

“A Dream Like A Dream”

Celebrity Cast

On 19 Apr noon, 15 minutes before the first full dress rehearsal for “A Dream Like A Dream”, there were not much audiences, they were all in the lotus pond seats.

Overall producer Wang Keran was suddenly notified that there was someone recording secretly, he immediately called the executive producer Da Shan to check, who had already expressed multiple times that audiences were not the take pictures. Wang Keran face turned gloomy, loudly accused Da Shan of incompetency, stood up, “Trusted friends who are currently seated, I hope that everyone would protect the actors, stop filming.”

Afterwards Wang Keran told us, his anger then was actually “for show”, that situation needed him to make a stand, scold Da Shan so as to alert everyone else, “I needed to kill two birds with one stone, control the scene, protect the actors.”

Xu Qing, Xiao Zhan, Zhang Liang, Huang Lu… the addition of many celebrity actors, caused the interest in “A Dream Like A Dream” to increase.

Protecting his actors, was something that Wang Keran always did ever since he built this group.

Yanghua Theatre and Baoli Theatrical Center collaborated and did some massive and intricate work, in order to ensure that protection project was as per usual, “The theaters put in a lot, the meager profits that this project is giving them, can’t completely cover their massive investment.”

Wang Keran also helped to block countless signature and photograph requests for Xiao Zhan, his good friend had came from afar to Wuhan just for a photograph with Xiao Zhan, but Wang Keran did not agree, “I promised a clean creative environment for my actors.”

The “A Dream Like A Dream” group tried their best to give all the actors an equal, harmonious creative environment, and in here, there is no celebrity actor Xiao Zhan, only Patient No. 5 B.

In the backstage of the Wuhan Qintai Theatre, the plaque on the door of Xiao Zhan’s resting room was not labelled “Xiao Zhan”, but “No. 5”.

Director Chen Limei and Zhang Rui said that the group did not treat Xiao Zhan specially as a celebrity; Actress Huang Lu, who portrayed the role Jiang Hong, had the most scenes with Xiao Zhan, she said that everyone was just actors.

Privately, Xiao Zhan would treat Huang Lu fruits, as well as recommend good motives to her, Huang Lu said, working with Xiao Zhan was not much different from working with other partners, the only difference was that there were suddenly a lot of Xiao Zhan fans leaving messages on her Weibo, most of them were messages of encouragement and support.

“A Dream Like A Dream” , Xiao Zhan, Huang Lu

During the very initial rehearsals, the director closed Huang Lu and Xiao Zhan into a small practice room, in order to cultivate tacit understanding.

“When we were rehearsing the French portion of the play, I knew he was from Chongqing, I would suddenly use French translated to Wuhan dialect to talk to him, what d’ya wanna eat what d’ya wanna eat, and then he would suddenly reply me in Chongqing dialect.”

Huang Lu remembered, when Xiao Zhan entered the group, he had already memorized all of his lines, the tacit understanding between them were built up within 3 or 4 days, and on the details of the performance, they would also inspire each other.

For example, the biggest reaction from the audience in the Wuhan show was the scene in the Parisian apartment, actually contained Xiao Zhan’s designs, when they spoke the lines “Monday Wednesday Friday Tuesday Thursday Saturday and Sunday”, Xiao Zhan suggested that the two of them would lean their heads on each other, so as to give a better effect.

When the two of them were conversing in comedic Japanese scene, there were traces of the old version of the play, but there were new creativity as well, “Pikachu” was from the old version, whereas “sleeping” was an idea that Xiao Zhan came up with.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xiao Zhan, Huang Lu

The duration for “A Dream Like A Dream” was long, the lines voluminous, there was once during rehearsal, one of the actors had a sudden breakage and his lines became more and more scattered, voice lower and lower, that day Director Chen Limei gave him a stern talking to, but in the director’s memory, this problem never occurred to Xiao Zhan.

“Xiao Zhan was very serious, we could all feel that, every night after he went back, he definitely thought through his scenes once more, so that he would not make this kind of mistake.”

Xiao Zhan expressed that his familiarity with the lines had gone to the state that he could say it “whenever”, he was more focused on the “current feeling and the chemistry with his partners.”

Xiao Zhan was very strict with his own expectations, on the 19th after the first full dress rehearsal, there were many audiences who gave his performance good reviews, but he said, “I’m not quite satisfied with today, it wasn’t as good as yesterday.” Although the audiences did not spot any problems with the lines from the scene ”Monday Wednesday Friday Tuesday Thursday Saturday and Sunday”, but after the performance ended, Xiao Zhan himself felt that there were some slight flaws.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xiao Zhan

The lotus pond seats in “A Dream Like A Dream” to Xiao Zhan was a challenge, it made it easy for him to lose concentration, and once you had lost it, it would be easy for the scene to scatter, he described, “the feeling in concerts is that you need to interact simultaneously, plays to me meant that I need to make myself lonely”, so he needed to make sure he could ignore the audiences.

Wang Keran invited theater critics to view the play for the 19th’s full dress rehearsal, after the upper half ended, they were exclaiming in praise of Xiao Zhan’s acting, Wang Keran also proudly recommended this newly found actor to people around him: “He had a different layer of creativity process, the first day we’ve finished the script, he surprised me onstage the second day, it was green but came with a lot of accurate instincts. He constructed the character to be intricate and abundant, but yet layered, not just emotional scenes, everyone could burst into emotions, but he was intricate, lively and entertaining, he conveyed the soul of the character, his sense of pace was this good.”

“A Dream Like A Dream” Performance Stage

The story of “A Dream Like A Dream” and Xiao Zhan had to begin with the Cao Yu 110 Anniversary Special Event last year.

In 2019, Wang Keran heard of Xiao Zhan’s name, but he quickly forgot about it. “Then I was in Wuxi, there was a large excited crowd of people, said that the hottest actor, Xiao Zhan, was in there.”

Until 2020, a psychiatrist friend told Wang Keran, to take note of this actor Xiao Zhan.

“Before then I was an older person, I’ve always picked actors above 35, but after the psychiatrist finished talking, I started subconsciously noticing this person, and then I found out that this person was really interesting.

How interesting? There were a lot of people attacking him, I thought I’d understand what these attacks were, I found out that these people were a contradiction of the most realistic things and most hypocritical things, this era’s idols were different from 5 years ago, they are now placed on a pedestal as a symbol, as something to be fought over or stepped upon. Via Xiao Zhan I noticed the new pulse in the development of society, understood this movement, art should be something that is most compatible with the times, my personal view on plays is just like this, plays should be the current drama action of this moment, and the emotional relationship of the people here and now.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xiao Zhan

The commemoration event for Cao Yu, Wang Keran needed to find a young guest who could have a conversation with Wan Fang, a colleague suggested Xiao Zhan, Wang Keran suddenly realized, this was perfect, “The complexity on Xiao Zhan would fully represent the complexity of plays.”

The first time he met Xiao Zhan, Wang Keran captured the mysterious sense of fate behind his back, but yet he also gave a sense of youthful obtrusiveness, gentle and warm. Wang Keran gave Xiao Zhan a list of books and asked him to go back and read, after which Xiao Zhan finished the books in a few days, even wrote some 10 over questions to Wan Fang, the questions were simple but deep, and moved Wang Keran.

On the Cao Yu Commemoration Event, Wang Keran studied Xiao Zhan, and found that his sense of stage was fantastic, and immediately invited him to join “A Dream Like A Dream”.

To Wang Keran, the similarity between Xiao Zhan and Patient No. 5 was that they were both trapped in the uncertainties of fate.

Xiao Zhan’s portrayal of Patient No. 5 gave Wang Keran a pleasant surprise, as to whether he would continue as Patient No. 5 after this year’s shows, they had not spoken about it, but Wang Keran felt that “A Dream Like A Dream” already gave Xiao Zhan some rewards, “I feel that via this play, he can prove that he is a good actor, I feel that ‘A Dream Like A Dream’ gave him a power.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xiao Zhan

Entering the Dream Again

Not only Xiao Zhan was a new addition, the Yanghua version of “A Dream Like A Dream” had almost a brand new cast.

Zhang Liang and Yanghua had collaborated for 2 plays, they were old friends; Huang Lu was recommended by Xu Qing, she was also the only actress that was confirmed without meeting Wang Keran.

Director Zhang Rui was in-charged of arranging actors, but because of the pandemic, the Taiwanese actress who was supposed to play the role of the wife could not arrive, another actress had to take on this role. “A Dream Like A Dream” had a total of 31 actors and actresses, many times one would take on multiple roles, any adjustment of actors would have big ramifications.

Zhang Rui created many versions of the casting chart, “This casting chart was an intricate process, move an actor, we might need to reallocate every scene, whether they could make the scene in time, whether they were suitable, reasonable, I’m so frustrated my hair’s dropping.”

Starting from 2013 when “A Dream Like A Dream” premiered in Mainland China, Director Chen Limei and Zhang Rui grew with this play for 9 years. Chen Lipai previously also handled the role of Stage Executive, Zhang Rui was with the crew everyday, there were the two who were most familiar with “A Dream Like A Dream”.

In their memory, the first rehearsal for 2013 lasted 3+ months, after which if there were not much changes with the actors, repeat rehearsals would last 1 week. Some years they had to change an actor, but yet they did not give sufficient rehearsal time and almost drove the actor insane, “Because the crowd actor had to act as multiple roles, the management of every role was complex, he needed to remember his position, his clothes, and he had to depend on himself, there would be no one backstage to inform him, he had to take care of himself.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”

This year, more than half of the cast was changed, theoretically they needed one and a half months, but to gather 31 actors to rehearse at the same time was not easy, the group merely squeezed out 17 days for practice time.

Practice time started officially from 9 Mar, the group settled in Hebei Tangshan, the time was tight, the mission was heavy.

Lai Shengchuan, who was faraway in Taiwan, gave instructions via video conferencing to the actors, to help answer their questions. Wang Keran, Chen Limei and Zhang Rui handled the task of direction.

Wang Keran mainly handled the mini classes to the new actors to the group, every actor had different classes to attend.

Huang Lu was a movie actress, her method for lines was to say to herself, but “A Dream Like A Dream” was to say them to 1200 audiences, Wang Keran gave her a training method, “He made me rehearse only with Xiao Zhan, each of us would stand at the furthest corner, but we must be able to hear each other’s lines, that is we needed to get used to speaking loudly, I felt that this method was actually quite crucial.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xiao Zhan and Huang Lu during practice

When he first entered the group, Zhang Liang was tortured by the role of the Baron for 3 days, he totally could not find the sensation, Wang Keran gave him 3 days of progressive classes. The first class was to control the micro expressions and movements, “For example, the first day I reached Tianxian Court, he requested that when I did gestures, my hands could not be higher than my chest, when we normally spoke my palm would face up, but he said that the Baron could not have a moment where his palm was facing up, his palm would forever be facing down.”

The second class was culture class, discussing European culture, politics and artistic background, so as to understand the motives behind Baron’s actions. “Baron would not let Xianglan draw abstract art, made her start from still life, it actually had political connotations. Classical realism represented calm and control, whereas abstraction and symbolism, etc, developed from the lowest of the masses, represented the destruction to order, Baron hoped from the bottom of his heart that Xianglan would live with him, if you liked something he didn’t like, that represented betrayal to Baron, that’s where the cracks in their relationship started.”

Chen Limei and Zhang Rui understood every detail of “A Dream Like A Dream”, when the actors gave any small questions, they would immediately solve them.

For example, how to swiftly get into positions, what to wear after changing out, both directors could immediately give the correct answer, “We found that this time round that one of the new actors was slow in moving, he would say he could not make it, I would say you definitely could make it, you tell me why you couldn’t make it, I would know where you did wrong. He said it was very dark and he couldn’t find his bag, and he needed to take the gun from 2nd floor to the 1st floor, I said there’s another prop gun downstairs, you don’t have to carry it down, he said he didn’t know. We actually spoke to him after observing him for a few days, because we knew that the 2nd floor was very dark, we definitely had to ensure the safety of our actors first.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing, Xiao Zhan, Zhang Liang, Huang Lu, Lan Nan, etc.

The time left for the directors was not much, rehearsal, costume, positions, etc, all had to be done simultaneously, the volume of “A Dream Like A Dream” was supposed to be large, there were pressures on progress, the experience for the whole group was basically demonic scheduling.

For example, for 22 Apr Charity Show, the schedule for the actors that day was like this —

10:30 to 11:30 Actors and actresses would set of from their hotels to the theater for make up and costume; 12:30 Lunch; 12:30 Microphone testing; 13:10 Warm up; 13:30 Audience entry; 14:00 Start of Charity Show.

After nearly 8 hours of performance, when the actors were having their media session it was already 30 minutes past midnight.

Everyday they worked for around 12 hours, that would be the normal hours for the group for the month, during practice they did not wear their make up and costume, but they still had to set out by 12:00, practice starts 13:00, 17:00 was dinner, 18:00 was practice again, and they end at 22:00.

“This time round we really went for it, we didn’t work this hard previously, because we changed very few people then, we could probably get to the practice at 2pm,” Chen Limei said.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, actors practicing

The tight rehearsal schedule was a challenge physically to the actors, as they practiced day and night everyday, even Huang Lu felt lost once.

“Because we would be acting the same thing everyday, everyday when you went in, it was day, but when you left, it was night, that period of time I really craved a normal life. There was once we were video conferencing with Teacher Lai, I just said that after this play, I suddenly feel that plays, movies weren’t that important, what’s important was our real life, I especially wanted to experience communicating with people, the feeling of being with family, friends and loved ones.

When you filmed dramas, you would still be outside, after you knock off you could be in touch with a more realistic life. When I was in the same play group as Zhang Ruoyun, we practiced in Beijing, everyday we practiced for around 3 hours, we could still meet friends in the afternoon and night, but this play was concentrated practice, when we left it would already be midnight.”

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing and Huang Lu during practice

Wang Keran could foresee, that actors would experience this type of lethargy, so the arrangement from the very beginning was that after the 17 days of practice, the group would briefly rest for a period of time, until a week before the Wuhan Show, where he would recall them.

This method of working was not easily seen in plays, but to actors, this was a good time to rest and digest.

“The first day we returned, Keran said that was the best time I’ve acted with Xiao Zhan,” Huang Lu said. “Perhaps in-between I had time to digest, get in touch with real life, and had a new understanding.”

In comparison with “A Dream Like A Dream” from 8 years ago, besides the changes in actors, this year’s Yanghua version also shortened the script by around 15 minutes or so, without affecting the foundation of the script.

The adjustment was mainly on the pace of the actors. For example, at the end of the upper half, the housekeeper of the castle would talk about the past of Baron and Gu Xianglan, it used to use a slow and narrative tone, Wang Keran felt that it was not right, “This type of expression seemed to cause Grandpa, who just arrived at Shanghai, to seem unfamiliar with his surroundings, but in fact, Grandpa was very familiar with the castle, he could have returned frequently, like the feeling of a tour guide,” so he adjusted the tone and pace, and made the play richer and more layered.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing, Zhang Liang, Lan Nan

Every improvement in detail, came from written notes from everyday.

When rehearsing, both directors would sit in the middle of the lotus pond, with a small table, and a faint table lamp, the actors would be acting while the directors discover problems and mark it in the script, or write furiously on white paper, after the end of a day’s rehearsal, the paper would be littered with over 200 to 300 notes.

After the rehearsal ends, actors would sit together in the lotus pond and listen to the directors reading the notes one by one, every actor would record down their respective portions.

Xiao Zhan’s phone memo was full of everyday’s notes, for example there were around 10 notes for 19 Apr, Xiao Zhan’s note taking method was simple and concise, note down the scene, or a point, with the remarks of watch out for emotion or pace.

In Zhang Liang’s memory, with regards to his notes, there were up to 20 notes a day, but later on as the problems lessened, the notes also reduced.

Director Chen Limei said, some actors would be confused, why were there always 200 to 300 new notes everyday during the note session, did that mean that they had not improved, but actually everyone was getting better on the basis that they were already getting better.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, the directors at the rehearsal

There was a process in practicing, at the start you might not have memorized all the lines, that note would be about lines, when the lines passed, it could have been about wrong position or movement, at the last part when the acting was getting better, I might notice intricate details such as costume, hairstyle, which you needed to notice carefully. Every stage had its own set of problems discovered, only when you walked from Step 1 to Step 2 that I can see the problems of the current step, otherwise my focus would not be that.”

For example, on the last day before the official show, the note for Xiao Zhan became “the singing before the curtain call, stand slightly westwards” this type of small details.

After experiencing the full dress rehearsal of 18, 19 and 20 Apr, the last day of rehearsal became “note rehearsal”, that is to repeatedly rehearse based on the problems in the notes so as to affirm the scenes that could easily cause issues, including the group scene at Tianxian Court, the scenes between Baron and Young Xianglan, etc. For Xiao Zhan and Huang Lu, the scene they rehearsed was the propless scene around the staircase, which needed to take note of the eye contact as they two of them went up and down the stairs, entering by pushing the door.

After the premiere on 22nd ended, the notes continued, so as to have new improvements for the consecutive shows.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing, Zhang Liang, etc.

Idealism

After the full dress rehearsal ended on 19 Apr, all of the actors gathered backstage, surrounding the directors, quietly standing, it seemed like a special ceremony.

For the new actors who joined this year, this was their first time witnessing this ceremony, but to the actors who had been with “A Dream Like A Dream” before, this had already became a habit.

Director Chen Limei introduced that this ending ceremony was called “Echo”, it was a habit from Lai Shengchuan — a habit that existed since the first premiere in 2013, “When we finish a show, and gain the applause from our audiences, as well as new empathy for our roles, we must return this feelings out, give them to more people, you can imagine that there was a large crowd of people, we would send out these blessings and share them.”

After “A Dream Like A Dream” came to Mainland China, it had always been well acclaimed, it used to show in Beijing and another specific city. Starting the 9 Cities Tour, especially adding the Wuhan Charity Show, was also a form of “Echo”, to share this play with even more audiences.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Wuhan Charity Show inside view

2 years ago, in Chongqing Theatre, Wang Keran came up with the idea to get more people to understand theater, experience theater. He started conceptualizing the 9th Anniversary 9 Cities Tour for “A Dream Like A Dream”.

When they heard of this plan, Chen Limei and Zhang Rui thought it was an impossible wish.

“Because ‘A Dream Like A Dream’ was such a large play, we would actually lose money by doing a tour. Such a big group, there’s about 130 people in the group, so many people’s living expenditures, including putting up the set for each location, it takes a week to put it up, only for a few shows.

Until the start of last year, Keran told us that we would still do it, I said we really had to do it? How could we do this in the pandemic? Last year he said that we could definitely do it the next year. This might had to do with his view of life, he would do what he set out to do, just like then when he did his first play, he sold 4 houses.”

In comparison with previous “A Dream Like A Dream”, the investment of this tour was obviously bigger. More touring cities meant that there was more costs with transfer of set, when they rehearsed in Tangshan it was not as good as Beijing, all the actors had to be in Tangshan with their living expenditures.

On the other hand, the seats in the theaters were fixed, there’s a ceiling to the ticket prices, in the face that it was not profitable, Wang Keran included a not-for-sale charity show, “The cost is too high, after completing the charity show, we basically have no profits for this stop,” Wang Keran said.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing and Xiao Zhan during rehearsal

Early last year during the pandemic period, Wang Keran already thought of doing a charity show in Wuhan.

Then, he spoke on the phone with the person in-charge of the theater, and asked about the situation in Wuhan, “He had always stuck to Wuhan, and told me that if you really cared about us, then you should bring your best show over, I asked which one did you mean? He said ‘A Dream Like A Dream’. I just felt that if ‘A Dream Like A Dream’ did not come, it would not fully express our special respect for Wuhan, and we would do a charity show, free.”

The actors had the same idealism.

Wang Keran said, theater would definitely be tough, the rehearsal time was long, and while they would perform for 3 days in every stop, they had to allocate 1 week for practice, a popular artist’s time would be calculated in days, but they were willing to allocate their schedule for the play.

Sun Zhongyi, who played roles such as the old housekeeper and professor, was one of the core actors for Yanghua Theatre, he was given the rare opportunity for a lead role in a movie, it was very important to him, but the schedule collided with one of the shows for “A Dream Like A Dream”, and for the play, he gave up this rare opportunity.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, actors rehearsing.

Plays do not earn as much as dramas and movies, no matter how popular the celebrity is, the profits from plays will never match up with the value of the drama, an actor’s rehearsal fee for “A Dream Like A Dream” is 100RMB a day, but all of the actors cooperated seriously.

Huang Lu said, sometimes we would joke that we “missed money making opportunities”, but everyone felt that this was especially fine, it was rare that we had a whole year to focus on doing one thing, the period where we practiced in Tangshan was very much like return to school.

“Everyone basically didn’t come here for money,” Huang Lu said, she viewed “A Dream Like A Dream” as a rare opportunity, it was a training for acting, also like a chance for self improvement.

After the “A Dream Like A Dream” Wuhan Charity Show ended, Huang Lu came to the front lobby for a photo.

Every actor gave their best performance.

Newly added actress for Young Gu Xianglan, Ge Xinyi, worked hard to match her senior; seasoned actress Feng Xianzhen controlled her character with grace and power, all 3 Gu Xianglan had an overall soul; Zhang Liang performed a Baron who was different from Jin Shijie’s version, but it was still accurate and layered; Fu Xing as the representative of the original group, became the foundation, their steady and down-to-earth performance assisted every new actor in building up their steady and accurate system of performance.

After performing for 9 years, Xu Qing had already embodied the blood and soul of Gu Xianglan, she also followed the progress of the group, and participated in all of the practices. Wang Keran expressed his thanks to Xu Qing once in Tangshan, “I say I really thank you for appearing in the practice, because your every practice would always accurately complete every detail, even if it was the most basic practice, you always put your heart to it, never held back, completely constructing the character.”

Xu Qing constantly improved her performance, frequently discussing how to handle every word with Wang Keran, for example after Baron had his car accident, Gu Xianglan would run up hurriedly to the police to say “I saw your incompetence” that kind of transition scenes, she would repeatedly try different expressions, after 9 years of “A Dream Like A Dream”, she is still pondering over it repeatedly, searching for the best method to handle every detail.

“A Dream Like A Dream”, Xu Qing and Zhang Liang during rehearsal.

During the rehearsal in Wuhan, Yuli Studio also witnessed how Xu Qing gave all of her emotions in every rehearsal, especially the important scene where Gu Xianglan took off her Cheongsam and walked through the lotus pond in sleeping garments, everytime Xu Qing finished that performance, her eyes would be filled with tears.

Xu Qing told Wang Keran one sentence later, and hoped that he would share that with the new actors, “Just tell them this point, 1 minute onstage, 9 years of effort offstage.”

Theater people always had this persistence in idealism and passion for the stage, with so much interest in “A Dream Like A Dream” this time round, Wang Keran hoped that with this play, more audiences would understand plays and love plays.

He especially prepared a live broadcast after the charity show ended, so that people beyond that 1200 audiences could see “A Dream Like A Dream”, hear the words from the actors’ hearts, he hoped that the other actors besides Xu Qing and Xiao Zhan would also be noticed.

“I know that the rules of news broadcast, if it wasn’t live broadcast, you would definitely cut away the people who weren’t important, right, but I hoped that everybody could see everyone’s effort. Xu Qing, Xiao Zhan, they were also very happy to have this method, I think that this is also a faith in collaboration equality built upon plays for them.”

“A Dream Like A Dream” would continue to tour 9 cities, Wang Keran hoped that through this play, it would encourage more youths to enter theaters, “I had this thought a long time ago, I just needed to find the right opportunity. For all of our lives we had hoped that plays would have more influence, could have more people entering theaters, if this worked out, then actors and actresses such as Xu Qing, Xiao Zhan, Zhang Liang etc, would have great contribution.”

#xiao zhan #sean xiao #xiaozhan #肖战

[gandrewheadcannons]

I wanted to share some writing I had done earlier this summer with you all! If you like it let me know if I should continue? It’s meant to be a story focusing around the beginning of their time in Washington and into the podcast. I’ve left it at a really weird stop but that’s all I had so far.

Title: Undetermined

Pairing: Garrett Watts/Andrew Siwicki

Tags: Mention of prescription medicine, mention of Jeffree/Shane/Ryland, unfinished

Evening is dimly creeping through the half-opened windowpane casting a glow across the built-in table connected to the cramped inner wall of Andrew's microscopic kitchenette. His studio apartment in LA sat cramped in-between Hollywood and Calabasas, a mediocre waypoint for his work for the last few years. He clicks the viewfinder and focuses on the bright oranges and yellows that dance teasingly across the glittering tabletop; catching flicks of sliver and reflecting them back to the lens. A mug of dark roast with just an edge of too much cream is left forgotten in the corner of the frame. It feels cinematic and lonely all at once. The cafe style booth he sits in causes his back to ache, the rest of the kitchen a sterile and unforgiving white, but he misses capturing the day to day beauty the world had to offer. He imagines the reel being played back with a layered sound of twinkling windchimes, quiet laughter and a piano reverb with cuts of the morning sunrise on a hike and steam off the top of a ceramic mug. A familiar face with flecks of blonde in the beard, strong jawed and a roguish smile weaving in and out of the frame, turning back to laugh at something the cameraman said.

“-with a mandate like this.” Garrett is brushing his teeth through Facetime. Andrew catches the corner of his bamboo toothbrush flashing in and out of the lens. He must have laid his Iphone flat on the countertop because when Andrew really looks he can see the bottom of the mirror and a bunch of bright light.

“I know. It sucks. Couldn’t get honey the other day, man. Fucking honey. It’s not like the bees are going anywhere.” He laughs but it doesn’t feel funny. The minimal supply he had was dwindling thin. He was beginning to ration his meals and he wasn’t sure how much toilet paper was left under the bathroom sink. It was all very apocalyptic without any of the zombies or scientists swooping in with immediate remedies.

“Ah dude.” Garrett spits and there’s a tapping sound like he’s hitting his toothbrush on the edge of the porcelain sink before he fully pops into frame. He looks relaxed, sandy hair flopped to one side and beard properly scruffy though they’d only been locked down about a week and a half now. “I know. I can’t handle it anymore. I miss people.” Andrew hums at that. He doesn’t really. He misses the occasional gathering, sure, but he hadn’t quite placed his anxiety surrounding the idea of seeing others since they’d released the Jeffree series. "What was it that bothered you most about taking part in this?" His therapist had asked him. "I missed the fun," he’d answered. "What was the fun?" She’d pressed deeper. "Garrett," Andrew had been quick to reply. "And like. Everyone else too." He'd added when she hadn't said anything. "I miss it not feeling work." She had let him talk about that instead.

"Some people." He tacks on to Garrett who hums easily. He doesn’t think he misses many of the people he’d spent most of 2019 with, his life a mixed cocktail of Ambien, Adderall and Lexapro without any feelings of relaxation manifesting. His psychiatrist had discouraged upping his doses anymore and by early January she began urging him to begin seeking new opportunities to “work on his environment”. He hadn’t quite figured out the avenue to take to do just that.

"Well, some people." Garrett agrees and he's already back out on his couch. "I don't know how many more times I can watch Winter Soldier before I freak out." Garrett sighs. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Same as you and every other person." He turns his camera off. He needs the break from the screen.

"I miss you." Garrett is easy like that. He isn't ashamed to tell people how he feels in every moment. It was something to be admired and yet Andrew just felt envy at it. When Garrett had begun to slip away from him, melting like honeydew sweet and sour into a depth of a place where Andrew couldn't quite find him, he'd only managed to grab him back out by Garrett's honesty. Doesn't know if they'd be having this conversation if Garrett hadn't used that honesty like an anchor and letting Andrew catch him last minute with it.

"I can come over." Andrew offers. He hates being confined in these walls anyways. It was hollow and dark. The email from Shane still sat open on his Mac across the room on his bed. Thinking of extending the break, can't really decide. Want to get quarantined together? I have a few video ideas we could maybe mess around with or just film some day to day footage until creativity strikes us it reads. His skin itches for the company but the image of their guest room makes him uneasy. Doesn't know if he could withstand being there with very little to fill his hands with, editing complete and no real ideas on the table for the time being.

"I can come to you." Garrett offers like he was inconveniencing Andrew who had offered anyways.

"If you touch your car right now I am going to freak out Garrett Watts." Andrew admonishes. "The second they open up the garages and mechanics again I'm making you take that thing there, burn it and we get a new one." He's opening a duffle now and throwing in his travel toiletries and a few pairs of underwear.

"Oh come on Andrew it's not so bad." Garrett laughs as if Andrew wasn't still reeling from the aftermath phone call of Garrett nearly wrecking on the 101 barreling top speeds until he reached a secluded patch of grass to slow his Pirus down onto. By the time Andrew heard the story Garrett was okay; Michael had gone to pick him up and Garrett was sending pictures of little Star Wars figurines that Michael kept mounted on his dashboard. His heart didn’t calm until he had managed to get his hands on Garrett in person though, sneaking out for an afternoon to grab some coffee with Garrett before heading back to Shane’s to finish editing. His shins still feel heavy with the weight of Garrett’s calf as he’d pressed their knees together until the table while they’d talked – the weight reminding him of how alive and okay Garrett really was.

"Oh yeah a car that dies out randomly is really great." Andrew throws in a box of protein bars and a Gatorade into his bag. He hesitates before grabbing a stitched bear made from gray yarn, green buttons for eyes luring him in. "I'll be over soon." He doesn't know how well the conversation will hold up over Facetime as he's moving.

"Okay cool Andrew." Garrett's eyes are soft. "See you soon. My dad is actually calling."

"Tell him I said hi. See you soon." He so easily could tack on endearment, babe at the tip of his tongue burning hot. Garrett's ending the call before Andrew even has the chance.

**

The half opened can of frosting is across from, the only lights on are the ones twinkling from some intricate set up Garrett had on a shelf. Garrett’s on the third loop of the home screen on Prime, humming thoughtfully whenever he pauses on a summary to read but then continuing to scroll before picking one. He’s slumped down low, long legs kicked out on the coffee table while Andrew is curled up in a ball against his side. Once, Caleb had pointed out that if people didn’t know them they’d get the impression that they were dating. Garrett and Andrew had awkwardly laughed at that comment, tinged with humiliation at how their relationship was being interpreted. They tried to be better then, not letting themselves fall so in sync when other people were around.

Andrew loved it like this though, when it was just him and Garrett, so he could press his cheek into Garrett’s bicep and not have to question why it felt so right. In his left hand his phone illuminated with another message from Shane. Opening it he read a message about how much they all missed him and wanted him there during this time. Apparently Ryland was looking for someone to help film a video he had planned. He quickly shut the screen off and pulled back from Garrett some, his stomach in a sudden tangle of knots.

“Good?” Garrett asked him looking down. His crew neck was for Spokane and looked a little like the Taco Bell logo from when they were younger. He’d paired it with a pair of sweat shorts for the night as they were both supposed to be going to bed soon. Andrew picked at his own Adidas track pants, imagining a loose thread to busy his hands.

“You ever just. Feel like you gotta get out?” He tilts his head to the side and watches Garrett pause what he’s doing with his Playstation controller and set it carefully on his coffee table.

“In what way?” He asks thoughtfully, turning so his chest was open to Andrew. Their knees bumped and Andrew felt like a little boy when he wished he could crawl and hide in the empty space of Garrett’s lap.

“Like okay. Say you just really loved what you used to do. You basically achieved your dream job. You have all these amazing people, you like your boss, things are going really great and you’re making a lot of money.”

“You buy yourself a really good vacuum.” Garrett plays along teasingly causing them both to laugh.

“You get yourself those stackable containers for your meal prepped lunches.” Andrew plays back. “But then…” He runs his tongue inside his teeth then outside methodically. He searches his brain to try to figure out what to say to Garrett to

“Then?” He drums his fingers on Andrew’s knees to get him back to the present.

#gandrew #gw #as #my writing

[luxekook]

zero gravity ✰ namseok

✰ pairing: namjoon x hoseok x reader

✰ genre: space au, f2l, angst, smut, slight crack & fluff

✰ summary: being the captain of a spacecraft is all fun and games until the only two others on board start hooking up and you start falling for both of them. it’s only natural that you act out - just a little

✰ word count: 11k+

✰ warnings: 18+, pre-established namseok relationship, mentions of throbbing disco sticks, jealousy, an unintentional viewing of dick pics, dom/sub themes (bratty sub!reader, dom!joon, switch!hobi), a bdsm club (reader watches a scene), grinding ft. jooheon from monsta x, smut (slight voyeurism, mxm, manhandling, spanking, threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it), oral (m + f receiving), double penetration, slight breeding kink)

✰ beta’d by: phia @meowxyoong​ | ✰ banner by: rose @jeonggukingdom​

✰ commissioned by: THE LOML ATLAS @miamorjoon​ I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS UWU

The blinking lights from the monitors adorning the walls of the control room of your ship - The Imperial Kween - illuminate your path as you make your way towards the navigation deck. It isn’t like you to be awake at this hour; you’re usually sound asleep by 0100, tucked snugly in your soft bed within your cozy captain’s quarters. Yet, here you are at 0300 after a late night of binging Tron and Agnate Plus Eight (Tentacles). 

As captain of the Kween, you are perhaps a tad bit overprotective of both your ship and your crew. You had won your ship some moons ago when you were on Xyreus - the lawless planet of the Huvian System. You had been on the run, having just recently fled the Space Force Academy where you had been a rising captain.

The Academy had seemingly been your only option as an orphan. Your years there had been heavy with intense physical, mental, and intellectual training. The strict regimen enforced by your commanders had almost crushed your spirit. Almost.

Instead, your path had crossed with Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon. They had been assigned to you in your last month with the Academy when you rose high enough in the rankings to begin training for captaincy. You had been designated as their tentative captain with Hoseok as your pilot and Namjoon as your first officer. Upon meeting them, you had been the perfect captain that your superiors had wanted you to be - cold, callous, calculating. 

But then you had grown to like the boys. Actually, it had more so been that they had forced you to like them. With the two of them surrounding you day in and day out, your walls had crumbled. Hoseok taught you how to be happy again, how to see joy in the little things, and how to share that joy with others. Namjoon made you see other options, futures separate from the rigidity that had been the only life you knew. 

It hadn’t been until you caught them whispering about wanting to leave the Academy that you realized that could be a possibility. And then that possibility became all you could think about. You had hacked into the Academy archives, taken inventory of the ships in the cargo bay, and carefully extracted information from your commanders. 

What you had found was not pretty. Yet, it had also been strangely unsurprising. Perhaps you had always known the Academy was built on corruption and oppressive tactics. Perhaps you had subconsciously chosen to ignore it until you couldn’t anymore - not when such pure souls like Hoseok and Namjoon had relied on you and still do.

You had laid out your plans to Hoseok and Namjoon at the last possible second, protecting them from anything incriminating until the end. Your heart had burst when they dropped everything, choosing to follow you, to stay with you, to trust you. You think that had been when you first knew you loved them.

Sneaking out had been easy. You had been scoping out a small ship in the cargo hold, tinkering with its systems to get it set up for your escape. The hard part had been staying out. You, Namjoon, and Hoseok had barely breathed sighs of relief before you had Space Force officers tailing you. While Hoseok worked on evading their grasp, you and Namjoon had decided to direct your course to Xyreus to ditch your stolen ship and to negate any authority the Academy might try to push on you.

The three of you had spent a year on Xyreus, trading the parts from your Academy ship for a tiny apartment. The Academy eventually had lost interest in you all, probably replacing you easily. You had obtained freedom by the pen of a freelance forger who constructed new identification cards for you and your crew. And you had won your ship.

It had been a particularly eventful night. Hoseok and Namjoon had dragged you out of your apartment and to the Snake’s Den - a particularly popular club within Xyreus’ gambling district. The boys had really been into the fight scene and the rapid betting that accompanied it. You, however, had found your place amongst the card players. Your game of choice back then had been and still is Queen’s Revenge - a vicious game of strategy and deceit. 

Amidst the haze of the club, you had located your people, settling into the crowded booth of players. Soon enough, you had picked your victim, a loud, obnoxious fellow from Gwexion who would not shut up about his ship. “She flies faster than any ship you’ll ever see!” He had cried, thrusting his stein of Xybrew in the air, “And she can vanish without a trace with the flick of a switch!”

You had wanted that ship. And you had gotten it.

About two hours after sitting at the table, you had made your move. “My ship for yours,” You had wagered, taking advantage of a lull in the conversation. The rest of the booth had laughed, only seeing you for your gender. Twenty minutes later, there hadn't been a sound other than the sobs of the man from Gwexion and the jingle of the ship’s control keys in your hand.

Hoseok and Namjoon had berated you for hours about your recklessness of wagering a ship you didn't have. You hadn’t cared; you had known you would win and finally be able to fly. The three of you had sold your apartment the next day, boarded your ship, and flew off. You haven’t looked back since. 

Now, two years later, you’ve made quite a name for yourself across the galaxies as a mercenary of sorts. Your trade of choice? Information. 

If something is going on in space, you’re likely to know about it; and, you’ll make people pay for that information to be shared or to be kept quiet. As captain of the Kween, you’re in charge of keeping the ship running - and that includes earning a profit.

Hoseok and Namjoon aren’t too fond of your enterprise of information because it often puts you all in danger. You can’t fault them for that. You know this venture is tricky, but it's also very lucrative and it often results in you screwing over bad people. So, you take that as a win.

You arrive at the navigation deck and sigh in disappointment at the absence of Hoseok who sometimes monitors the flight course during the night. Instead, you activate your ship’s Responsive Electronic Environmental Systems Engine - simply called R.E.E.S.E. for short. “Hey, R.E.E.S.E. Status report, please.”

“Hello, Captain (y/n). It is my esteemed honor to deliver a status update to you at this hour. I have been getting so lonely, you see. Usually Pilot Hoseok stays up with me, but tonight he has abandoned me for—”

“R.E.E.S.E.!” You groan. This is typical R.E.E.S.E., going off about something trivial in a dramatic fashion.

“Oh my. I have done it again. My apologies, Captain (y/n). All systems operating as normal. Shields activated and secure. Navigation set on nightly autopilot course.”

“Thank you, R.E.E.S.E.” You gaze out of the front windows for a moment; the view never gets old. Countless stars surround you with planets of every color scattered in between. Sometimes, you would see an occasional ship passing by, but right now there is not one to be seen. 

You deactivate R.E.E.S.E. and head back to your captain’s quarters. Walking through the control room once more, you pass through the common quarters and finally enter the hallway containing your shared bathroom, both Hoseok and Namjoon’s respective quarters, and then your own at the end. The hallway is dim, illuminated only by the slight glow of the floor beneath you. 

You move slowly, careful not to wake either of the boys.

And then you hear it.

Your first thought is porn as you pause in your tracks, standing stock still as the sounds of muffled groans and slapped skin seep through the sliver of space under the metal door leading to Hoseok’s quarters. Is he really jerking it right now, you think as you shamelessly creep closer to get a better idea of whatever - or whoever - is going down right now.

“Fuck, give it to me harder.”

Yup, that’s Hoseok all right. You place your palm on his door, dirty visuals racing through your mind. Who is he imagining? What you wouldn’t give for him to be thinking of you...

“Oh yeah, I’ll fucking give it to you hard, baby. Just how I know you like it.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you slap your palm over your mouth. Holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy hell in a handbasket. That’s Namjoon. Namjoon is there with Hoseok, fucking Hoseok.

Your imagination goes wild - as do your heart and your thoughts. How long has this been going on? How have you missed this? Are you that oblivious? Or are they just that good at hiding their relationship? Why haven’t they told you? Do they not trust you as much as they say they do? Do they think you won’t accept them if you knew?

It’s those final thoughts that hurt the most.

How is it possible that you know the intricate plans of an uprising occurring on a planet light years away, but you don’t know your only two crew members are hooking up?

You somehow manage to soundlessly continue down the corridor to your quarters. How does someone respond to overhearing the two men that you’re desperately in love with having sex? And just steps away from you at that?

All of your training never prepared you for this moment. You sit in your empty bed, gazing out the large window that takes up the majority of your quarters’ back wall. Emotions roll over you like waves. Arousal. Grief. Shame. Longing. 

It isn’t that you are upset at them for being with one another. If anyone in the galaxies deserves love, it is Hoseok and Namjoon. You are more upset with yourself for naively thinking that they might have had feelings for you, that they might have loved you back.

There had been that fateful night at a bar on Xyreus when the three of you had gotten just a little too drunk on Xybrew and had fooled around. You still remember the feeling of Hoseok grinding into you on the bar’s tiny dance floor, his hands wandering across your body, driving you insane. You still remember the taste of Namjoon’s lips as he pushed you up against the wall of the small alley behind the bar, his fingers digging into your ass as he pushed his hips into yours. You still remember how Hoseok watched you with fire in his eyes as Namjoon sunk to his knees and—

Fuck, you can’t go there. You can’t revisit that memory because it only ends in disappointment. 

“A drunken mistake,” They had called it the next morning before you could get a word in edgewise. “A threat to our crew’s dynamic.”

What a joke. It turns out that their only regret must have been including you. 

Your mind wanders to all of the small moments over the past few years. The hugs, the tender looks, the things that had made you question whether they actually felt more for you after all turned out to be just signs of friendship.

With all these thoughts heavy in your mind, you eventually fall into a restless sleep.

The next morning comes all too soon as you find yourself going through the motions of everyday life with much less enthusiasm than normal. You’re drained, both from your lack of sleep and from the onslaught of emotions that still riddled your body.

And so when Hoseok greets you in the ship’s kitchen with that beautiful smile of his, you can barely get your lips to even turn up slightly.

“(y/n), are you okay?” Hoseok’s eyebrows are drawn together and he looks concerned.

You sigh, grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring yourself a cup. “Yes, I’m fine, Hoseok. I just didn’t sleep very well,” You eventually answer him, refusing to meet his eyes and choosing instead to gaze into your coffee like it might tell you how to behave right now with the knowledge you gained last night.

Obviously, it does not. You only see your distorted reflection gleaming back at you from its brown depths.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hoseok pouts, making his way over to your side, “Is there anything I can do?”

You try in vain to ignore the affect his proximity has on you as you flick your eyes across his form. Hoseok is tall and lithe with delicate features and the most beautiful heart-shaped smile you’ve ever seen. Though he may look slight, you know the lean muscle that lies beneath his oversized t-shirts from the early mornings you catch him roaming around shirtless and half asleep. You have first hand knowledge of how well he can move that body from the late nights at the clubs on Xyreus. You know how well he f—

Nope, not today. Instead of going down that dangerous path, you choose to be the little shit that you are when you feel like you are at a loss. “You can share your secret on how to be so well rested, Hoseokie,” You say, your eyes laser-sharp on his expression, “You’re practically glowing this morning.”

Hoseok’s cheeks flood with color as he laughs lightly and replies with a slightly wistful look on his face, “Maybe someday, (y/n).” 

You let out an unamused huff, which only makes Hoseok laugh again. You glare at the happy boy and then stiffen as arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back against a warm body. “Morning, (y/n),” Namjoon murmurs into your hair, his fingers leaving a blazing heat on your skin as they drag across the swell of your hips. 

He turns your body around to face him, and you hesitantly bring your gaze up to his. God, he’s just as beautiful as Hoseok. Namjoon’s height had been the first thing that you noticed about him in the Academy. The second had been his dimples. You have been a goner for him ever since. 

Your eyes drift up past his strong thighs to his tapered waist, his toned chest, his tanned neck, and finally to rest on his warm brown eyes. “Hi,” He grins, those godforsaken dimples popping out to greet you, too.

“Hi,” You manage to reply, your heart constricting painfully in your chest.

Always too smart for his own good, Namjoon catches your mood immediately, “What’s wrong?”

“She didn’t sleep well,” Hoseok comes up next to Namjoon, throwing an arm around his shoulders. His frown is prominent as he stares down at you. Namjoon’s expression quickly matches Hoseok’s as he brings his hand to cup your chin, lifting your face up to look at you.

“Baby,” He murmurs, “Were you dreaming of that damned place again? I thought that had stopped for you.” 

You bristle under the weight of their inspections and from the pet name you now know means nothing. Namjoon is, of course, referring to your recurring nightmares from the Academy, and he is also inadvertently giving you the perfect excuse not to come clean about the real reason for your fitful night.

And so you nod as best you can with Namjoon’s hand cupping your chin, and the boys exchange a long look. Hoseok turns to you, “Go rest today. Namjoon and I can handle things. Okay, lovely?”

You turn away, forcing Namjoon to drop his hand. “I need to plan out a potential deal on Naroxu,” You mutter in disagreement, “I’ll be fine.”

“Naroxu?” Namjoon bites out, “(y/n), we talked about this.” You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Sometimes it feels like you're not the captain of your own ship. And it is exasperating.

“You know what?” You grab your coffee, brushing past the boys, “I think I will go rest after all. Don’t disturb me, okay?”

“But (y/n)—!” You leave them in your dust. Of course you should have realized they would have a problem with Naroxu. It’s a planet just as lawless as Xyreus, but it’s focus is more on the carnal sort of chaos. You aren’t unaware of the dangers that lay within the pleasures on Naroxu; you’re just unfazed by them.

Apparently, Namjoon and Hoseok feel differently. Your boys can argue with you about anything in the name of “safety”. You’ll definitely need to make certain that you’ll have a foolproof plan which leaves them with no room to argue. But, that is a bridge you shall cross another day...

A few days later, you realize that you definitely must have been oblivious to the relationship occurring right under your nose. There are signs of it everywhere - in the way they speak to one another, in the way their eyes linger, in the way their hands brush as they pass each other by.

You have not dared to venture out of your quarters late at night ever since that fateful discovery, but that doesn’t help. Your thoughts are constantly plagued by the sounds of their desire, their intimacy. Your mind conjures images that you can’t forget. You crave that. You want to be part of that passion with a desperation you have never felt before.

And so, you have accordingly descended into internal chaos, choosing to throw yourself into your plans instead of joking around with Namjoon and Hoseok in the common quarters like you usually do in your spare time.

They know something is up. It’s not like you haven’t spent almost three full years together. Knowing each others’ tendencies and habits is second nature. Well, clearly that knowledge has excluded intimate relationships - at least for you. 

The tip of your pencil snaps under the strength of your grip; and, when you look down to assess the damage, you sigh. All you have written down so far is: “Plan A: Go with Joon and Hobi. Plan B: Go without Joon and Hobi if they don’t like Plan A.”

Pushing your desk chair back, you stand and stretch out slightly. The rest of the logistics for the meeting are set. Now comes the hard part - convincing the boys to come along. It’s not that you can’t go alone; it’s that you feel better knowing you have two people watching your back, no matter how frustrating they might be.

Walking out of your quarters, you make your way towards the sounds of laughter and low voices coming from the control room.

“We really do have to tell her soon, Hobi.” You hear Namjoon say as you draw closer. Are they talking about you?

“I know, Joon. I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose her friendship.” Hoseok’s voice is small, barely above a whisper.

“You won’t, baby. Just think of how free we’ll be to share our love…” Your ears strain to hear them now, even as you get closer.

“...Leaving her.”

Your feet stop in their tracks. Leaving? Are they really thinking of leaving you? Your body sags against the wall, sliding to the floor. What would you do without them?

You guess you could recruit a new crew, but no one could replace Hoseok and Namjoon. Not when they’ve been with you through everything. Not when they’ve accepted you for who you are. Not when they’ve become your life.

You allow yourself to sit for a moment. And then you collect yourself, shoving your useless emotions down to the pit of your stomach. You just need to move forward and enjoy every last second with your boys before they go. Because they would leave you, and you would let them go because you love them.

Standing, you make sure to make louder footfalls then normal to alert Hoseok and Namjoon of your incoming presence. Sure enough, the minute you step into the control room Hoseok tackles you in a hug.

“(y/n)!” He picks you up and swings you around, “I’ve missed you, lovely!”

You laugh despite your lungs being constricted by his tight embrace, “I saw you last night at dinner, you fool.”

Hoseok sets you down and jokingly pouts down at you, “But that was so long ago! You left me all alone with this one.” He juts his thumb out at Namjoon, “And you know how he can get.”

“Not as well as you,” You mumble under your breath.

“What was that?” Namjoon narrows his eyes, focused on you from his nearby stance leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his biceps.

“Nothing,” You smile sweetly at him. “Hi, Joon, nice to see you, too.” 

Namjoon stares at you for a moment more and then sighs. Walking over to you, he pulls you close, “It is really nice to see you, baby.” That blasted nickname is going to lower you into an early grave. Indulging yourself with a short hug from Joon, you pull back and decide it's time to get down to business.

“Alright, let’s go over the plan for Naroxu.”

“(y/n)!” Namjoon shoves a hand through his hair, “I thought we scrapped that idea. That planet is on our ‘no-go’ list!”

“Naroxu is dangerous, lovely,” Hoseok’s wide eyes bore into you, “Please think this through.”

“You scrapped the idea,” You say to Namjoon, “I kept it. Besides, that ‘no-go’ list was all you and Hoseok.” Turning to the boy you just named, you continue, “And I have thought this through. Extensively, Hobi. Don’t worry. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself, okay?”

You can tell they are getting pissed; but honestly, so are you. 

“We know you’re a ‘big girl’.” You do not appreciate Hoseok’s use of air quotes, but you allow him to continue because you’re gracious like that. “But there are tons of bad people on Naroxu who would love to chew you up and spit you out - physically and metaphorically speaking.”

“Gross, Hobi,” You scoff. “And before you both cast judgement, why don’t you give me a chance to explain the plan? You don’t even know who I’ll be meeting for gods' sake.”

The boys exchange a glance. “Fine,” Namjoon bites out, “But this won’t change my mind.”

Obviously, you think to yourself. Trying to get Joon to change his mind is like trying to get R.E.E.S.E. to delete the overwhelming amount of data she has dedicated to some group of musicians from Earth. Impossible, but you would always try anyways.

“Okay, so the contact that I’m meeting on Naroxu is Joohoney—”

“What?!”

“Joohoney from Monsta X?!”

“Oh my gods, will you let me finish?” You roll your eyes to the ceiling and plead with any higher power to help you find patience, “Yes, Joohoney from the Monsta X clan. How many other people in the galaxies go by that name?”

Hoseok opens his mouth to answer, and you cut him off, “That was a rhetorical question, Hobi.” He blushes, bottom lip sticking out slightly. 

“Anyway, we’re going to be meeting up at this space BDSM type sex club called Throbbing Disco Sticks. I’ll tell Joohoney what he wants to know, he’ll pay me, and we’ll bounce. Got it?”

You get nothing but silence. Looking at them, you notice the tightness of Namjoon’s jaw and the darkness in Hoseok’s gaze. 

“Oh, now you want to be quiet?” You push them, “Well, you can both stay here. I made a separate plan to go alone so—”

“Not happening,” Joon grits out, moving closer to you. “We made a pact, (y/n). Or have you forgotten?”

“Together or never,” Hobi recites and you almost laugh. It’s absurd that they bring this up when they had just been talking about leaving.

“Fine,” You shrug, “Then we leave at 2200. Hope you have something tight to wear.” With that, you stalk out of the control room. Their shouts follow you.

“Tonight?!”

“(y/n)!”

You grin. Maybe this will be fun after all.

Update: it is not fun after all. You only have twenty minutes left to get ready and you’re panicking. You had just made the mistake of asking R.E.E.S.E. to bring up pictures of Throbbing Disco Sticks and immediately had regretted all of your life decisions.

Is that why they named that club what they did? You think both you and R.E.E.S.E. are scarred from the unexpected amount of male genitalia that the search produced. Only after you add the addition of ‘Naroxu club’ do you get the results you’re looking for - mostly. 

You had just wanted some guidance on what to wear. Instead, your thoughts are now full of images of chained leashes, silk ropes, and dark rooms with blinds raised to welcome an audience. You wonder what sort of things happen in rooms like that and if you’d ever get a chance to try those things out.

Your tablet beeps, alerting you of your upcoming meeting. Taking one last glance in the mirror, you assess the way your tight leather pants accentuate your body and your slightly sheer black crop top hints at your lack of bra underneath. Still, your outfit is missing something… You think it over as you tug on your pointy black steel-toed heels.

Ah, you stand and make your way over to your trusty jewelry drawer. Of course. Carefully pulling out your body chain from its place, you drape it around yourself. The chain clasps around your neck and then falls lower between your breasts, settling around your waist. The coldness of the metal causes you to shiver, but the way the crystals embedded in the silver glisten as you turn to admire your final outfit makes it worth it. 

You keep your makeup minimal - just a red lip and a slash of black eyeliner. You want to blend in, not make a statement.

Finally, you tuck the map outlining the information Joohoney wants into your back pocket. Any bag you might bring would be searched, so you can do without one.

You take one last calming breath and make your way down the hall to meet the boys. “Hoseok, Namjoon: Are you ready?” You call as you don’t see any sign of them out in the common quarters.

“Coming!” Hoseok’s voice calls back to you and then he emerges from his quarters. 

You have to use all of your might not to let your jaw drop. It seems like he also had searched up what to wear because he looks like he stepped right out of the pictures you had seen just a half hour ago.

Hoseok is wearing tight dark jeans tucked into black combat boots that buckle up to the middle of his calves. What he isn't wearing is a shirt. Instead, a deep red leather harness is strapped across his chest with a silver hoop in the middle.

Did he just have that harness lying around? Gods save you.

While you are busy ogling Hoseok, you fail to notice him doing the same to you - so much so that he doesn't move an inch from his spot until Namjoon bursts out of his own quarters and bumps right into him.

At this point, you begin to sweat because Namjoon looks just as lethal as Hoseok in his light jeans, a black leather thigh harness, and a completely see through tight mesh t-shirt. You watch as he fiddles with the two leather cuffs circling his wrists.

“Hoseok, what are you doing?” Namjoon scowls, dropping his hands to his hips. Hobi says nothing and just points in your direction.

“Why are you pointing at me?” You huff, “Don’t blame me for being an idiot and just standing there practically waiting to get hit.”

Namjoon stalks towards you, eyes blazing into you as he takes in your outfit. “Change,” He orders.

He’s giving you orders? A burst of heat flares within you that you try to classify as anger but fail miserably. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Joon,” You fold your arms across your chest. Hoseok chokes as he comes up to stand next to Namjoon who is suddenly all up in your face.

“Go. Change.” Namjoon’s voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it.

“No.” You stand your ground. Why is he trying to dictate your clothing choices anyway? He’s not your father or your boyfriend - not that you’d let either of those people tell you what choices to make with your own body.

Namjoon turns to Hobi, who still hasn't uttered a word to you, and says lowly, “Go set the course to land on Naroxu.”

Hoseok practically runs off in the direction of the navigation deck. You gape after his fleeing figure and then turn back to face the fuming Namjoon.

“Listen,” You shove your finger into his admittedly toned chest, “I don’t know what has gotten into you, Kim. This outfit isn’t even that bad. Besides, you’ve seen me naked before. Remember?”

“You’re really going to ask me if I remember.” Namjoon’s face is inches from yours. His scent wraps around you and you have to collect yourself for a second. His eyes drop to your lips for a second so brief you believe you imagined it. “You’re really going to ask me that as if the image of your body isn’t burned into my memory and as if every single time I close my eyes I don’t see you.” Namjoon takes in a shaky breath, “And so, (y/n), I’m begging you. Please go change. Not for you, but for me. And for Hoseok.”

You’re at a loss as your brain scrambles to make sense of the words Namjoon just spoke. Okay, he does remember... So, is he mad that it happened? Or is he mad that it only happened once? Must be the first, you think. He has Hobi, after all.

“Maybe you two should stay back,” You suggest, patting Namjoon’s chest comfortingly, “Then you won’t have to look at me while I look like this. I’m sorry it brings up bad memories.”

Namjoon looks completely baffled, “What? What the hell are you talking about? Stop trying to get us to leave you alone!”

“Please,” You laugh without humor, “Like I have to try.”

This time, Namjoon just looks pissed. “Baby, that’s the second comment like that you’ve made today. And I’m getting the sense that you have something to say. So why don’t you just say it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He is so onto you. 

Namjoon’s presence looms over you, making you feel so small. Your gaze drops to the floor, “I don’t have anything to say.”

“You’re lying. Hm, what a bad girl.” Your head snaps up, eyes wide as you try to slow the pounding of your heart and the increasing pressure between your thighs.

“Do you know what happens to bad girls, (y/n)?” Namjoon croons, eyes dark and locked on yours. You don’t even have the ability to respond, and so he just continues, “They get punished.”

A small whine bursts from your throat before you can stifle it back down. Namjoon’s smile in response is predatory.

“(y/n)! Namjoon! We’ve landed! Oh—” 

You and Namjoon turn to stare at Hoseok whose face shows a whole number of emotions in the blink of an eye. Hurt. Confusion. Lust?

All of a sudden, the ship feels too hot, and you need to get off. Ducking around Namjoon, you head towards the ship’s main door. You can hear them murmuring behind you, but you ignore them.

You need to get your shit together. It’s not good to get distracted on a job. It’s even worse to get distracted before said job even starts.

Practically punching the exit button, you tap your foot and wait for the door to open and the ramp to descend. 

“(y/n),” Hoseok calls to you, “Slow down! We need to talk to you!”

“No time,” You reply, stomping down the ship’s ramp. Barely taking a second to appreciate the beauty that is Naroxu, you power forward through the landing site. Ships of all kinds surround you. The night sky is a dark inky purple and Naroxu’s famed twin moons shimmer with swirls of silver. 

“Then make time!” Namjoon’s growly response sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the crisp night air. You increase your pace, heading towards where you hear thumping music and peels of laughter and murmured conversation. 

“Namjoon, you of all people should know that’s against the laws of physics,” You retort as you finally burst through the end of the landing site and into the crowded street dotted with neon signs and vendors of all sorts. 

“She’s so infuriating!” You hear him spit out behind you to Hobi, and you can't help the smile that winds its way across your face. At least you aren’t alone in your anger.

Finding Throbbing Disco Sticks is the easiest part of your night. You simply follow what looks like cylindrical sticks of shimmering glass mirrors spinning from atop a building. There’s a line that winds its way from the club’s doors and down the block. You quickly realize that your outfit is on the conservative side and grimace. You settle for tying your crop top higher on your waist so it hits right below your breasts. This is the best you can do.

“(y/n)!” Hoseok gasps from beside you as he realizes what you’ve just done, “Why are you torturing us like this?”

“Not this again,” You groan and decide that - fuck it - you’re going to name drop to bypass the line. It’s totally tacky, but you’re desperate at this point. Ignoring the hecklers amongst those waiting, you come to a stop in front of the two burly bouncers who are clearly Naroxuin natives with beautiful lilac skin and curling silver horns.

“Can I help you, little lady?” The slightly taller one addresses you, and you immediately swoon at the depth of his voice as it flows off his tongue like chocolate. Damn these sexy Naroxuins…

“I’m meeting an old friend,” You flash them your best smile, “And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Would you be able to let us in?”

Blinking your wide eyes up at the two bouncers, you watch as they exchange a short glance and then turn back to you. “Who’s your friend?” The other bouncer asks you, his sharp eyes assessing your figure.

“Jooheon,” You say, shrugging, “He usually goes by Joohoney.”

Their eyes grow large. “We didn’t know Joohoney had a pet,” The first bouncer comments, eyes flicking over your form, “But then again, you are quite delicious, aren’t you?”

A hand slips around your waist and grips it firmly, while another settles on the small of your back.

“Oh, does Joohoney share?” The second bouncer grins, his eyes turning to crescent moons as he stares at the hand digging into your hip. “I never would have guessed. Keep me in mind, would you, pet?”

“Oh, shut it, Jimin,” The taller bouncer laughs, “Like she’d ever pick you over me.”

“Fuck off, Tae,” Jimin glares, stepping aside to let you through. “Have a nice night, pet. You know where to find me.”

“And me!” Tae calls, laughing again as Jimin shoves him. 

You move along, shaking your head at the oddity of that encounter.

“I thought you were supposed to be keeping a low profile!” Namjoon hisses over to you as soon as you’re out of earshot of the two bouncers.

“Yeah,” Hoseok mutters, “Flirting usually doesn’t fall under the category of ‘low profile’.”

“Oh my gods,” You tug out of their holds, “I barely said two words to them! And I didn’t realize that flirting at a sex club would be completely out of the ordinary. Wow, lock me up!”

“Don’t fucking tempt me.” Namjoon’s response is immediate. Your breath hitches as he corners you close, “Now, go finish your little mission and we’ll settle this back on the ship, baby. And, believe me, it will be settled.”

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. You watch as Namjoon tugs Hoseok further down the corridor towards the main club area. “We’ll be watching!” Hoseok calls over his shoulder and shoots you a look you’re not even sure you want to interpret. And you can’t - not when you have a meeting to attend.

After grabbing a non-potent drink from the bar, you make your way around the crowded club. The dance floor is packed full of people of all shapes, sizes, and skin tones. You even see a few Uyiths with their glowing gold skin in the far corner, practically providing light for their whole area. 

The majority of the clubbers here seem to be experienced in the lifestyle. Many are collared or are the ones leading the collared. Others are unclaimed and waiting to be approached or to approach. You, however, are just trying to not be propositioned for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes.

“Well, aren’t you exquisite,” A low voice murmurs from your left.

“Not interested,” You say, sipping your drink and wishing you weren’t on a job so you could have something stronger.

“Your loss,” The man shrugs in your periphery before slinking away. At least this one had not been pushy like the last. You had to threaten to remove his balls using just the tip of your stiletto to get him to flee. You are so over it.

Hopping off of your barstool, you decide to explore the rest of the club while you wait for Joohoney. You try to ignore the heat from the two pairs of eyes glued to your every move. And then you duck into the dim hallway that you know leads to the individual rooms full of sin.

The first few have their blinds closed, much to the disappointment of your curiosity. However, the fourth room is fully on display. Only two others are gathered in front of the glass, paying close attention to the activities occurring on the other side. 

And what activities they are… You peer through the glass at the sight. A man is tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross, his arms and legs straining against the cuffs as a woman dressed in only a leather bustier runs her finger teasingly up and down his shaft. A second man lays beneath her, his face buried between her legs. Your attention returns to the man restrained.

What had he done to deserve such painfully pleasurable punishment? Had he done it on purpose?

As if he feels you staring at him, the man’s head lifts up and he meets your eyes. A small smile forms on his lips as he raises his chin to acknowledge you.

The woman turns to follow his gaze and raises an eyebrow at you. She hooks her finger in your direction, beckoning you to come inside. Almost subconsciously, you listen. But before you can take a step, a hand catches your wrist and tugs you back.

“What are you doing, lovely?” Hoseok’s voice jolts you from the scene that had captivated your attention. The woman in the room eyes you for a second more and then shrugs, returning to her other playthings. “You weren’t really thinking of joining them, were you?

“And so what if I was?” You reply petulantly. You cast a glance around you, noticing that the other couple watching had since disappeared and that there is no sight of Namjoon. “Where’s your other half?”

“My other half?” Hoseok’s nose crinkles adorably as he thinks, “Oh, you mean Joon? He’s taking care of something.”

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead, “He’s taking care of something? Why does that sound so sinister, Hobi?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, lovely,” Hoseok grins and then glances over your shoulder at the scene you had been watching. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

You, of course, turn immediately. The man is still tied, but now the other is sucking his dick as if his life depends on it while the woman watches with a small grin on her face. She holds a small device in her hand and is fiddling with its buttons. Then you notice the glimmering jewel that winks back at you from the ass of the man kneeling.

“It is… What do you think is hot about it?” You ask, as the tied man moans, throwing his head back and baring his throat. 

“All of it. The way she commands the room, the way the men please her, the way she tortures them. I don’t know who I’d rather be,” Hoseok lets out a small laugh, shoving a hand through his tousled hair, “Do you?”

“I’d want to be tied up,” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hoseok’s breath hitches in his throat as his hands come down to clench your hips.

“(y/n), lovely, I’d want to see that, too,” His eyelids are heavy as he stares down at you. One of his hands travels lower on your body, palming your ass slightly.

“H-Hoseok,” You gasp, your back arching into his touch.

“Goddamn, lovely,” Hobi moans, “I thought I might never get to hear you say my name like that again.”

Your thighs clench as you vividly recall the memory not unlike this when Joon had eaten you out against the back wall of the club and then Hoseok had slid into you and fucked you until you couldn’t walk. You definitely had cried his name more times than you could ever count.

And this makes you so confused. Does this mean he had been wanting to hear you moaning his name again? That makes no sense considering he’s sleeping with Namjoon and planning to leave you.

Hoseok must read the thoughts on your face because he sighs, bringing your hand to his lips. “Later,” He promises - of what, you don’t know. He presses a kiss to your knuckles and then disappears back into the crowded club.

“Well, that was quite a show,” An amused man emerges from the shadows, “Just when I thought you might join the Mistress with Suga and Jin, you get caught up in another. How delightful.”

Sighing, you stick your hand out to greet your contact, “Hi, Joohoney. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Joohoney’s dimples flash at you as he grins and you internally melt. God, your thing for dimples is getting out of hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, pet. Please, call me Jooheon.” His hand grips yours firmly as he takes you in. You pay him the same regard, eyes wandering over his black long sleeve shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His shirt is tucked into slim fitting black pants and cinched with a belt that looks like it could also double as a harness. He looks expensive as hell.

And then what he says registers to you.

Groaning, you tug your hand out of his and grimace, “That wasn’t my fault! The bouncers just assumed, and I didn’t think to correct them.”

Jooheon’s grin turns wicked as he stares you down, “Oh, I’m not complaining. You can be my pet anytime you want, (y/n)…” He not-so-subtly flexes his wrist where a black choker with a silver ring in the center is wound around it twice, “This would look pretty around your neck, wouldn’t it?”

You struggle to find a response, your mouth opening and closing as you blink at the absurd turn your night has taken.

“Ah, don’t answer that. Let’s dance,” Jooheon smiles sweetly down at you like he hadn’t just asked to own you in every sexual way possible. 

So you agree, nodding slightly, and then he whisks you onto the dance floor. The music thumps through you as Jooheon drags you into the throng of the crowd. Looking around you, your eyes fall on your boys.

Hoseok and Namjoon are wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed together, hips grinding to the beat. Their eyes are both on you, their gazes absolute and piercing. Namjoon grasps Hoseok closer to him, his hands drawing the other boy further into his crotch. 

Are they really doing this right now? In front of you? While staring you down?

And so when Jooheon grabs your own hips to pull you back into him, you let him. The response from Hoseok and Namjoon is immediate. Namjoon’s nostrils flare as he watches you begin to shift your body in time with Jooheon’s. Hoseok’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he glares over your shoulder.

“Looks like we’re making some people mad, pet,” Jooheon laughs, his lips brushing your ear. “Are you with them?”

You lean your head back to respond, “Technically, yes. They’re my crew.”

“Well, then why does your crew look like they want to fight me for putting my hands on you?”

“Oh, they’re just protective,” You reply, “They’re in a relationship anyway, as you can see.” You wave a hand over to where Hoseok and Namjoon are murmuring to each other, almost seeming to be mirroring you and Jooheon.

The motion of your hand recaptures their attention and you swear the movement of Namjoon’s lips produces the harsh phrase of ‘I’m gonna destroy him’.

You’re almost certain that Hoseok and Namjoon are about to blow your entire deal; you cannot have that happen. And so, you turn to Jooheon and ask if you can make the trade now. Luckily, he agrees and leads you through the crowd towards a door beside the bar along the far wall.

Before you step over the threshold, you turn back. Hoseok and Namjoon are steps away from you, looking pissed. And then you let the door fall shut behind you.

The trade deal goes down fairly quickly. You tug the map out of your back pocket; Jooheon places a few stacks of currency on the table. You count it first, of course. This isn’t your first space rodeo. 

Thankfully, Jooheon is true to his word and has the full amount ready for you. You then unfold the map you had drawn and begin to explain it in detail. “So the Alravi are planning to attack the Wyxian border here, here, and here.” You point out the spots you had starred. “My informant is certain they will strike at 0400 in two rotations.”

A scoff meets your ears. One of Jooheon’s partners stands. He’s handsome and tall with full lips and sleepy eyes. “How do we know that this information is even legit, Joohoney? She could be making this up.”

Jooheon shoots you a look and you step towards the skeptic. “Well, Chae Hyungwon,” You purr, “I can guarantee that this information is as real as the tattoo of your mother’s name on your left asscheek.”

Hyungwon turns fuschia as Jooheon cackles, “Is that true, Wonnie? Do you have that?” 

“Yah!” Hyungwon glares at you, “It’s not a tattoo of my mom’s name, it’s a tattoo of my ex-girlfriend’s name! It’s not my fault they happened to share the same one.” 

Jooheon wipes tears from his eyes as he hands you your money, “Please, pet, call me for a trade anytime. This has been the most fun I’ve had in months.”

“Will do,” You grin, sliding the money into your pocket. It barely fits, but you don’t care. It always feels good to secure a bag.

You wave at Jooheon and his crew as you exit the small room and re-enter the crowded club. No further than two steps out of the door, you are thrown over someone’s shoulder.

“Hey!” You pound on your assailant’s back, “Put me down!”

“Shut it, (y/n),” Comes the growled reply. 

You still for a second in an attempt to process what the hell is happening. “Joon?!” You cry, “What the fuck! Where’s Hobi?”

“Here.” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you and it’s devoid of any of its usual amusement. 

You curse, trying to wiggle out of Namjoon’s hold.

Thwack. Your ass stings and you gasp. Heat floods through you as you realize that Namjoon just outright spanked you in the middle of a crowded club - in front of Hoseok.  

Damn you for even thinking a deal at a sex club would go well. No one even paid the three of you any mind as Namjoon sauntered out of the club and into the night with you hitched over his shoulder and Hobi trailing behind you both.

You even hear the laughing comments of the two bouncers from earlier as they yell over to you... 

“Have fun!” 

“Come back to visit, pet!”

You flip them off, but sadly Hobi obscures the gesture from their sight. 

“I can walk, you know,” You mumble, thoroughly put out by your situation.

“Yeah, we do know, (y/n),” Hoseok scoffs, “You walked away from Joon and I just fine a few minutes ago. What happened to having one of us in the room with you?”

“I can handle myself just fine,” You retort, turning your head to assess how much further you’re going to be left hanging. You’re probably almost at your ship if you had to guess. “Plus, it was good practice for when the two of you leave me.”

Namjoon halts in his tracks and slides you off his shoulder and onto the ground. You wobble a bit from the blood rush, but he steadies you.

“What did you just say?” Namjoon’s voice is deceptively soft, his hands grip your biceps firmly. You can feel Hoseok behind you, his breathing hard.

You snap. Honestly, you’re a bit shocked it took you this long when you’d been feeling like you might crumble for days. 

Your eyes glare back at Namjoon as your lips curl into a sneer, “Yeah, I know you’re leaving me, just like I know about you and Hobi. So why don’t you drop the act like you actually care about me and fuck off.” 

Namjoon’s eyes are wide as they stare down at you. Hoseok seems to have stopped breathing altogether and a slight whine sounds from him. 

“Hoseok,” Namjoon says, “Bring her to her quarters while I set the course.” He steps around you and stalks towards your ship which is only a few paces away. 

“Come on, lovely,” Hoseok grabs your hand but you just shrug him off. A flash of hurt crosses his beautiful face and you almost cave and hug him close. But you have to be strong - just like you always have.

You march forward, heading up the ramp and onto your ship. Hoseok closes and locks the door behind you; the ship lifts off immediately.

Laughing bitterly, you head towards your quarters with Hoseok in tow, “What’s the big rush here? Can’t wait to start your own life together without me?”

“(y/n), please. Let’s talk about this,” Hobi begs, for what you’re not sure. The quiet desperation you hear in his words almost drains the fight right out of you, but you’re in too deep to stop now.

“What’s there to talk about?” Your words sting with bitterness as you enter your room, “I know you two don’t love me, and I get it. Who would? You and Joon deserve a better life. I’ll be fine without you just like I was before you came into my life.” 

Hoseok shoves a hand through his hair as he gazes sharply down at you, “Lovely, no. Don’t say such things.”

Angrily wiping away a traitorous tear, you sink onto your bed. Just when Hoseok looks like he’s about to say more, Namjoon storms in. He takes one look at you and Hoseok and sighs deeply. “What are we going to do with you, baby?”

“She thinks we don’t love her!” Hoseok cries.

Namjoon blinks and then approaches you, “Is that what you really think, (y/n)?” He bends down, his face level with yours from where you sit on your bed. Hoseok sits beside you, and you watch as his hand slowly inches towards yours.

You tug it out of reach. “I know you don’t love me, Joon,” You shrug, “And that’s okay. I’ve always been alone; it's what I know best.”

Namjoon shares a long look with Hoseok and then he turns back to face you, “Baby, how did you get these ideas in that pretty head of yours?”

Your anger boils back up, “I got them from you!” 

You spring up, standing toe-to-toe with Namjoon, “If you really want to leave to be “free to share your love”, don’t let me hold you back. After all, I’m just a drunken mistake, aren’t I? Just a nasty little hiccup in your relationship. Just a painful memory that makes you cringe. Don’t you realize how much that hurts me? I fucking love you and you both can’t stand the sight of m—!”

Namjoon’s hand grips the back of your neck as his mouth slams onto yours. Your mind blanks as you gasp, his tongue sliding over yours. You kiss him back. Your hands wind up his chest, feeling his skin burning through the flimsy mesh of his shirt. You feel another pair of hands grip your hips and that jolts you enough to come to your senses.

“Wait, wait, wait,” You pull your mouth away from Namjoon’s, “You can’t just kiss me and touch me like I’m yours when I’m not.” 

“But, lovely, you are,” Hoseok tugs you back into his body and places a light kiss on your neck, “You always have been.” His mouth feels hot as it sucks gently on your skin, undoubtedly leaving marks in its wake. 

“I-I don’t understand,” You stammer, trying to wrap your head around everything that’s going on. “I thought you were leaving me. I thought you were ashamed of that night on Xyreus. I thought you didn’t want me when you so clearly want each other.” 

“For someone so smart, you sure draw some dumb conclusions,” Namjoon mumbles, his hands cupping your face carefully. “Number one: the conversation you overheard was about how we agreed that we would never leave you.” Your breath hitches as you feel Hoseok’s hands slip around your body to toy with the hem of your crop top right under your breasts.

“Number two,” Namjoon continues, recapturing your gaze, “We are ashamed of that night on Xyreus. But what we’re ashamed of is how strongly we came onto you, how we were so sure we felt more for you than you felt for us. We couldn’t lose you. If we scared you off with how much we loved you - and still love you - we would never live with ourselves. And so we cut it off.”

“You love me?” You breathe out, “Both of you?” 

“So much, baby,” Namjoon looks down at you like you’re the most cherished thing to him. 

“So, so much,” Hoseok growls in your ear, nipping at it slightly. You shiver, your body pressing back into his. You feel his cock hard against your ass and you press back even further, craving some kind of friction. “Fuck, lovely,” His head falls to your shoulder as he grinds into you.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon’s tone is hard and full of warning. It sends a rush of heat straight to your core. 

The other boy groans but pulls back from you just a bit. You frown at the loss.

Namjoon notices and rolls his eyes, “How did I forget that you’re just as insatiable as him?” Before you can even retort, he continues, “Number three: yes, Hoseok and I want each other; but, we also want you. We talk about it all the time. How your pussy tasted on my tongue. How you felt around Hobi’s cock. How it might feel to fuck you at the same time… 

His eyes are dark, his pupils so dilated that they encompass his irises. “I think about that, too,” You bring a hand up to hold one of Joon’s as he still cradles your face. “I think about how it would feel to be between the two of you as you pound into me, using me for your pleasure.”

“She almost joined a scene tonight,” Hoseok blurts. Your eyes widen as Namjoon’s eyebrows raise. 

“Is that so, baby?” Joon murmurs, one of his thumbs brushing over your lips. “What drew you in? Hoseok and I can give it to you in any way you want; you just have to ask.”

Your thighs squeeze together as your walls clench around nothing. Of course, Namjoon’s observant eyes miss nothing and he quirks a small smile. 

“I liked how they pleased their mistress,” You gasp out, “How they touched each other to make her satisfied. I want to do that. Let me do that for you.”

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans, “You want to please me? Fine. Strip - both of you.” 

Hoseok immediately sets on unbuckling his harness. Meanwhile, your hands shake too much to be able to unclasp your body chain. 

“Leave it on,” Namjoon slips a finger under the chain between your breasts, “I’ve been dying to see you in this and nothing else.”

“But my shirt—!” Your protest is cut short as Joon grips the collar of your top and rips it straight off. “Namjoon!” You berate, shooting him a dirty look which he definitely doesn’t see since he’s staring at your half-naked body like it’s the sun in which he revolves around. 

“So goddamn beautiful.” Just as you think he’s going to touch you, he backs off. “Hobi, take her pants off, and then I want to watch you make her come.”

Hoseok moves to stand in front of you. You stop breathing as you take in his bare body - his cock already hard. He sinks to his knees in front of you, hands winding their way up your calves, your thighs, your ass. Hobi slowly tugs down the small zipper on the side of your pants and then pulls them off you.

He lets out a moan as soon as he realizes you aren’t wearing underwear. How could you have in tight leather pants?  

“You dirty girl,” Namjoon’s words reclaim your attention as you look up at him. He’s sitting in your desk chair, legs spread wide, making no move to hide his arousal. “Now keep your eyes on me when Hoseok fucks you with his tongue.”

You let out a moan both at Namjoon’s words and at the first brush of Hoseok’s tongue on your aching pussy.

“Gods, Joon,” Hoseok growls, “She’s so wet, so sweet.” His tongue flattens as it drags down the length of your folds before circling your clit.

You’re panting at this point, and when Hoseok lightly kisses your clit and sucks it into his mouth, your back arches. You grind your hips shamelessly down onto Hobi’s face, craving more with a desperation you haven’t felt before. 

Your eyes never leave Namjoon’s as he speaks to you in a low voice, “Fuck yeah, baby. Ride his face. Does it feel good?”

“So good,” You moan, hands winding into Hoseok’s hair as he slides his tongue inside you.

“Do you think you deserve to come, (y/n)?” Namjoon questions, his fingers steepled in front of his face as he leans forward. “Even after the stunts you pulled tonight on Naroxu?”

“Y-yes,” You answer petulantly and then jolt as Hobi spanks your ass. Your walls clench automatically around Hoseok’s tongue and he moans, the vibrations make you squirm. The pleasure builds and builds inside you, coiling in the pit of your stomach and spreading across your body.

You murmur Hoseok’s name like a mantra as your fingers dig into his hair, holding him against your pussy.  

“Stop.” Namjoon’s voice cuts through your impending bliss. Hoseok draws back and you whine at the loss of contact. 

“Joon, please,” You beg, “I’m so close!”

“I want to feel you come around my cock, baby,” Namjoon walks over to you, “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod furiously, and he smiles, his dimples peeking out at you. “Good girl.”

You watch as Namjoon strips, taking in the sight of the thickness of his thighs, the hardness of his cock. 

He kisses you swiftly and then turns you around. “I want you on all fours, baby. Go on,” Namjoon squeezes you ass and then pushes you lightly onto the bed. 

You shift onto all fours, all too aware of how much you’re on display for them. And you feel yourself getting even more turned on. 

“Damn, Joon, look at that pretty little pussy,” Hoseok groans, “It’s all ours. She’s all ours.”

You feel a finger slide into you. “Babygirl,” Namjoon groans, “When I wreck you, I want you to suck Hobi off, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You pant, needing them both so bad. 

Namjoon chuckles darkly as Hoseok gets into position in front of you. He barely settles before you lean down to taste him. Your tongue swirls around the tip and then you take him into your mouth.

You feel Namjoon’s finger slip out of you only to be replaced by the head of his cock. As he eases into you, you groan around Hoseok’s length, making him twitch. 

Namjoon slowly begins moving in and out of you. “You feel so nice, baby,” He murmurs, gripping your hips, “So hot and tight around my cock.” 

You clench around him and Namjoon moans, “Fuck, baby, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come too soon.” You clench again, because you’re a brat.

Thwack. Namjoon’s hand comes down hard on your ass and stays there, kneading the sting out slowly. His pace picks up. His cock slamming into you, his hips grinding into your ass with each thrust. Soon enough, you’re hurtling towards the edge once again. You release Hoseok from your mouth; and instead, you focus on moving one of your hands up and down his shaft as you lap at his tip.

You feel yourself gripping Joon tightly as you move your hips back to meet each of his thrusts. “You gonna come, babygirl?” Namjoon spanks you again as his other hand reaches around your body to rub your clit. 

You come with a scream, your vocabulary erased to the point where you only know the names of your lovers. Namjoon continues to pound into you, carrying you through your orgasm. 

But still, you’re not satisfied. “Hoseok,” You peer up at your sunshine, “I want you inside me, too.”

“Lovely,” Hoseok sighs, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” You nod emphatically, shaking your ass slightly.

Still inside you, Joon groans, “We’ve unleashed a monster, Hoseok. Go grab the lube from your room, yeah?”

“Why? I have some,” You point towards your bedside drawer. “It’s in there.”

Hoseok opens your drawer and curses, “Lovely, have you been fucking yourself with these toys?”

“No,” You retort, getting up from your bed and ignoring the noise of protest that Joon makes when he slips out of you. “I just stare at them for the aesthetic, Hobi.” You move him aside with your hips as you grab the lube from its spot.  

Hoseok bites down on your neck. “Such a brat,” He mumbles into your skin as he kisses the mark he just made.

They don’t know the half of it... You grin, “Now, are you both going to fuck me? Or should I go back to take those bouncers up on their offer?” 

No sooner had the words left your mouth than Namjoon grabs you, wrapping your legs around his waist and sinks his cock back inside you. “You think that’s funny, baby?” He growls into your ear, “You’re not even going to remember their existence when Hobi and I are done with you.”

You moan as you feel Hoseok’s finger teasing your ass, getting you ready to take him. The coolness of the lube sends a shiver down your spine as you eagerly anticipate being full of both your boys. “Please, Hoseok,” You whine, desperate for him. You grind your hips down onto Joon as best you can, and when you feel the first gentle touch of Hoseok’s cock against your hole, you throw your head back so it rests on his shoulder. 

Hoseok sinks into you inch by inch, torturously slow. You’re panting now as you are stretched around the two of them.

“Gods-fucking-damn,” Hobi moans, his hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out inside you. “Joonie, I can feel you. Gods, you’re so tight, lovely.”

“Please,” You cry. You need them to move, to fill you up with their come.  

And when they finally start moving in and out of you, you think you might be ascending into the astral plane. Namjoon’s mouth lowers to suck at your nipples. Hoseok’s hands roam around to flick and play with your clit. You’re so overwhelmed by the multiple sensations, your hands digging into Namjoon’s hair, holding him close to you.

“I’m gonna come,” Hoseok whines, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips stuttering as he chases his high.

“Me too. Come with us, baby,” Namjoon orders, his own voice straining as he shifts your legs up higher to get deeper inside of you.  

Tears stream down your cheeks as his cock hits that spot inside you, and you’re coming. Your walls clench down around both of their cocks, milking them. Their cum fills you up with warmth as your pussy continues to pulse around them. 

“Oh, lovely,” Hoseok sighs, his voice breaking as he thrusts shallowly in and out of you, riding out his orgasm.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Namjoon places light kisses all over your chest, “You were made for us.”

You can’t even find words as they eventually pull out of you. Cum drips down your legs as Joon sets you down. You watch as Hoseok swipes at it with two fingers and then brings it up inside you. “Want you to be full of us always,” He says, placing a swift kiss to your lips.

“My heart already is,” You murmur, your lips twitching as Hoseok groans at your cheesiness.

“Baby,” Namjoon sighs, his arms wrapping around you, “That was terrible.” 

“Please,” You roll your eyes, “You love it.”

“Yeah,” They reply, “I guess we do.”

© luxekook do not repost, edit or translate

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[drwgonslayer]

JAMIE X CLAIRE, fanfic.

What if Claire Beauchamp was a ballet dancer and Jamie, a doctor?

The Ardent Dance Of Swans

 chapter 1: Hearts Of Swan

Prospero: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” 

– William Skakespeare.

ATO I – Pas De Deux 

Jamie Fraser could not say he was a fan of Classical Ballet. In fact, he was unable to understand even the smallest thing about it or the intricate and elegant movements of the dancers. But he was a fan of classical music since he was a child in Lallybroch, running away from his sister’s shoes and listening Ellen Fraser, his mother, playing the piano with undrilled passion and full heart. It was the sweetest parts of his childhood, seeing his mon safe and healthy before the gloomy claws of cancer came and took her away, far from him and his two brothers. Then, of course after that, the music stopped. Ellen was the shape of music, melody and happiness, the heart of the house, without her there was no reason to keep playing and living their best life. Until his middle sister kick their ass out of self-pity. 

“Mama would be ashamed of us.” – Jenny said in her firm voice but betrayed by her shaking hands. “We have to keep walking. Head up and keep walking. That’s what she always said. Head up and keep walking, William and Jamie.” – So did they. 

Head up and keep walking, he made up his way on the med-school. He built a solid career as a Trauma Surgeon, after came back from the army, and a home in Edinburgh. William was an administrator,  married and almost a father and Jenny was an architect, with three little children and married with Ian, a good man, friend and lawyer. 

He, working as a doctor in full time, didn’t spend time looking for real bonds or marriages like his brothers did. As a man not adept to the casual sex, he only had short relationships in almost ten years. Leogharie, who scared the hell out of him at the end – she was a stalker and very jealous, toxic, if he could say – and Genebra, a doctor too, but immature and selfish.

None of them was the one that his mother always talked about, so he got over easily. But, anyway, he was not looking for it —the one—,  like his brothers did, because Jamie really knew it would be difficult find one love like his parents had and after all he went through, difficult was not so attractive anymore. 

So, now, he was on a theatre alone after he refused the company of a girl that Angus and Rupert, two orthopedists, invited for him, watching the First Act of Swans Lakes. 

Jamie, of course, knew that the libretto is based on a story by the German author, Johann Karl August Musäus, The Stolen Veil, that tells about Odette, a beautiful girl, that was cursed to spend her entire day as a swan, returning to the shape of a woman only at night. The curse  said that the spell can only be broken if one who has never loved before swears to love Odette forever. So, one day, at night, Prince Siegfried was hunting at a lakeside when he found her and fell in love.

But nothing would be so easily, even in the fairytales... On the other side from story, there was Von Rothbarth, an evil sorcerer, that disguised his daughter, Odile, to look exactly like Odette and deceive the Prince. 

He watched the acts without really paying attention, just absorbing the Tchaikovsky’s melodies played by the intrumentalists when the act changed again and a new character entered in scene.

She was... Breathtaking. And he was speechless. 

All dressed in black, stormy eyes and graceful intricate movements, she was the shape of hurricane and captvated Jamie completly... it was as if he was watching a whirlwind though the windows of his house, anxiously waiting for the moment when he would be dragged by her overpowering wind. 

But in the meantime, he watched she dances...

Her movements were passionate and full of emotion... it was like seeing fairys dancing, slow and softly as the melody went down a few tones and  chaotic as the melody rose. She never stopped, she never hesitated. She kept going and going, in ups and downs: passionate and enchanting. 

He felt her angry, her love, her ambition every time she stretched her body, raised her thin but strong arms above her head or just around her; every time she raised her long legs on a elaborate movement and every time she changed her facial expression. 

She was brilliant and ethereal, like something between the orphic and the magical. 

She stole the scene, and being mushy, he could say that she stole a part of his heart too, (without any protest). 

The Black Swan… She had already overwhelmed him. 

ATO II — Dance Of Swans 

Even when he left the stage, he kept in a chaotic silence inside himself. He tried, but he could not recognize the feelings he felt when he saw her leaving. He supposed to be watching the new act that was happening, but his mind was a mess.  

Jamie was not a man who believed in love at first sight. He was a romantic, but not so daring. However, it was  ironic that nothing could explain exactly what he felt  beyond the words “love at first sight.” 

He never had a experience like that in his life. 

Jamie sighed, feeling the need of took a deep breath far from the audience, where her energy still hovered in the atmosphere. He left his place, calmly, and walked through the halls of the theater when he heard some loud voices.

Approaching himself from where he heard the noise, he could not help but heard the conversation of some dancers. 

“I think she will not come back to the stage.” — then, the fiery hair woman sigh. — “She wants to be strong and she will not say that she’s tired, but if she keep dancing today, her feet...” — another sigh and a man near the woman took a deep breath too. 

“Do you think it’s broken or just...?” — he asks. 

“Not broken, yet.” — he heard the woman emphasizes the ‘yet’. — “But will be if she not leave someone take a look at it.” 

“She still has two acts, what we gonna do without the ‘Black Swan’?” — Jamie’s heart sank. She was hurt and he could not just be here, listening to this and not trying help.

Using his 20 seconds of courage, he left the shadows and scared the both dancers, who looked at him with doubt eyes. 

“Good-night, I-’’ — he cursed himself, what the hell was happening with him today? — “I could nae help, but I heard ye two sayin’ that someone is hurt. I’m a doctor. There is somethin’ I can help?” — he finished his introduction. The woman and the man took a moment to staring at him, looked over if he is confident, what apparently they decided he was. 

“We don't have time... He will fit.” — the man said to his company. — “Our friend hurt her feet. It looks like it will swell...” — Jamie nodded,  already in his doctor-mood while the dancers and him were walking through the hall to the backstage. 

Jamie was the last to enter the room and when he saw her, the unknown  feelings dragged him again. 

She was just sitting in a chair clenching her feet, but he felt like she was tap-dancing on his heart. 

“Claire, we found a doctor and he will look at your feet, so maybe you can come back and keep performing.” — the woman said. Then, Claire raised her face and looked at him. 

Her stormy eyes (between blue and green as an ocean) met his eyes (just grains of sand) and Jamie prayed to the heaven. 

Oh, Lord, if Ye are puttin' this rare woman in front of me... I hope she can be mine. 

He approached of her and kneeled by her side without his eyes leaves hers. 

“You do not need to do it, Sir.” — her english accent appeared and again, she choked his words. Furthermore, he already knew that the way she drawled the words, her hoarse and  melodic voice would chase him in his dreams. 

“Och, dinna fash, Sassenach.” — he tryed to wink, and saw her help a laugh. He helped frowned his head, confused. He already did something wrong? — “It’s a pleasure to help. ‘Dancers are the athletes of God’.” 

“Uuh, Einsten...” — She recognises and so frowned her forehead. — “Had I thought Sassenach was an insult?” 

Jamie wanted kill himself. Please, 5 minutes in her presence and he already had embarrassed himself.

“Och, lass, I dinna want tae insult you. It's just meaning ye are an English.” 

She giggles. 

“Yeah, somethings you can not change.” — he smiled and so, with a look, asked for her permission to touch her right feet. She smiled and with a Herculeos Effort, he helped himself to look at her with heart-stupid-eyes and  started to squeezing it. 

Realizing that the two dancers had left the room, Jamie felt the sweat run down his forehead and his hands freeze. Oh, please. Give me a chance, Lord. 

He started his analyse of her feet, and Claire started analyzing him. His eyes his jaw, his hands squeezing calmly her bones. He was a beautiful man, probably at the 28 age, married and with one or two beautiful redhead child. 

“My friends said you are a doctor.” — she starts a talk. Jamie nods. 

“Aye, I’m a Trauma Surgeon.” — she sigh. 

“Wow. This is amazing. They don't know, but I'm a doctor too, a neurosurgeon ...  if you can call ‘I have med-school certificate’ like that...”

Jamie stops for a moment and looks ate her. Amazed. Dragged by her, again. Claire keeps winning it. 

“Now, I have tae say ‘WOW’, Sassenach.” — he jokes and she smiles. 

“None questions about how fool I’m for spend my time dancing when I have a doctor certificate in my safe box?” — she mocks herself. 

“What ye feel when ye dance?” — he asks, instead. And she did not need time to think about it. 

“I’m feel free.”  — she says. 

“So, there is my answer.” — he wink again and she smile, pure and enchanted.

She, despite the fact that he was a stranger, feel safe to share her stuffs with him. By the way, they probably will not meet again. 

“I was tired. Tired to be a surgeon. I always loved to do my work,. it was what I always wanted to be. A doctor. A neurosurgeon. When I was in an O.R, I felt like I was on top of the the world. I felt I could do anything. But... with the love comes the responsabilities and the pressure, the oppression... I almost got depressed. So I stoped and came back to dance.” — she smiles. — “And I do not tell it to anyone, because... probably, I don't like the questions that came after.” — she slipped out with a sigh, at the the end. — “Do you can understand?” 

He had stoped his analyses to listen to her, squeezing her hand in his, trying to comfort Claire a little bit. And a bubble seemed to catch they two, leaving they stuck in their own atmosphere. 

“Aye, I get it. I was in the army.” — he tells. — “And when I came back, I thought I could not scrub in an O.R again. I loved surgery, bein’ a doctor, but it was like I was not in love anymore. I think it happens because we feel as a fraud. We supposed tae be healers, and we believe we are at the first moment, but then, we can not save all lives. Deaths are many than lifes saved and it destroys ye.” 

Claire squeezed his hands, smiling at him. “Yes, it is exactly it. That’s why I left my job and started in a Ballet Company, travelling around the world with them.” 

Jamie smiles. And, without realises, wrap his her hair around one of his ffingers stroking the black crows's curls.   

“Ye are a wee brave thing, aren’t you?”  — he asks, rhetorically, and the atmosphere changes completely. The friendly air turned out in a heated bubble. Just popped when Claire took her eyes off of him. Suddenly, very conscious that she did not even know his name yet. 

He seemed steady as he kept talking. 

“Well, Tchaikovisky did the same, ye ken. It’s incredible, aye, after all “a man who does not feed his dreams, grows old soon.” – he quotes Skakespeare, while kept analyzing her ballerina foot, squeezing in all the right places and, inevitably, pulling little noises from Claire, now. Jamie heard and almost interrupted his work, but with a Herculeous Effort, he kept doing his analysis. 

“Oh, a trauma surgeon and a Skakespeare reader... You really are a MacDreamy.” — she drawled her words exactly as he found the hurt bone, letting a really loud noise came out of her mouth. 

He tried, really really tried, but he could not help the feelings grownt in his veins, driving him near to edge of madness. It’s not right, in many ways. He could not rocognize himself, jamie thinks, but he never felt like that way before. He never felt this “longing alive”, this fever that he feels when he touches her. It makes him wants to build bridges between his aorta and core, just to see her spend dancing with her soft ballet shoes. 

He took a deep breath, mentally. And play on doctor-mood again. 

“It's not broken as ye ken, but my advice is keep it quiet for a moment, letting it rest.” — she nodded. 

“But I have to go back to the stage soon...” 

“Look, Claire,” — her name slipped out of his mouth, subtlety in his hoarse voice and accent, as if he had did it many time before. 

He chokes her words, now. His voice saying her name was like a melodic song. Or a whisper in a silence night. 

“I ken ye have to do it, but I bet for The Cross Of My Lord Jesus Christ, that this foot is hurtin’ as hell. So, ye can stay here. Resting. Or tryin’ go back and have me in that stage huntin’ ye and catchin' ye.” — he said, firmly but still softly. — Ye does not seem so heavy...” — she stared at him, hiding her surprise. 

“Och, ye..” — she imitates, badly but reallly funny tentative, mooching. — “... will catch me?” — he nod, with a guttural noise from his throat and a wild look. She knew he was playing a character in that little scene she was building but she could not help the healed wave increasing in her core. “I would like to see you try it.” — she smiles, malicious, leaning foward in the chair to be closer to him. 

“Och, Sassenach, dae not test me...” — he leans his head to her while she decided to touch his face, stroking his facial redhair.

“Why not?” — she asks, closer to his face. Her nose touching his. Her eyes just few cents to his. 

“Ye ken what people say... play with fire and ye will get burned.” — he squeezed their noses a little bit until she leaned back, running, just to come closer again, back to the same position, giggling. 

“‘One fire burns out another’s burning.’”— she smiles, sassy, as he dragged his nose across her face. — “And I never give a damn for other’s people opinion.”  

“Good tae hear that.” — he says, looking at her in the eyes. So close that he could feel her breathing against his own mouth. He approached his lips of hers and she leaned back again. 

“Cheeky.” — he winks. 

She smiled and, holding his face between her two hands, looking at him in his blue eyes with undrilled  burning fire in her pupil. 

“I don’t even know your name, MacDreamy.” — he laughed. 

“Och, lass...” — he does a little reverence, still on his knees. — “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, at your service, ma’am.” — she nodded. 

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.” — she introduces herself, properly now. 

“Fits well, mo chride... Claire Elizabeth.” — he touchs his lips in his chin. — “Now, ye will have me?”  — he whispers in Claire's lips. 

“Yeah, I will have you.” 

And then, without any word, they shocked their lips. 

And the world tumbled down. 

The overpowering wind he was waiting to dragged him at his windows finally came and was overwhelming. 

Her lips is his, her hands in his face...  but could be in his shoulders, arms,  chest or neck... he could not say rightly because she was in everywhere. He felt her in all the places of his body, like she had absorbed him, entirely, just to burn Jamie with her fiery waves.  

He was tightening up her neck to bring her closer to him, as if it was possible... and her hair... it already was a completely mess. But they kept kissing. Claire’s lips were meant to be his. And Jamie’s tongue was created to fit inside her mouth. They were puzzles, made for each other. 

They kissed like there was no tomorrow, because maybe, really would not have it. But they took their moment and took advantage of their time together. Kissing and kissing until the air is needed.

At the end, it was a kiss of swans. Elegant, but ardent. And the premise of an unknown “forever”.  

“Wow.” — she said, first. Her forehead in his, both nears to edge of the unexplored passion. 

“Yes, wow.” — he can say, between his hard breaths. 

“Just-” — she strokes his face. “Wow.” — Claire says again.  

“Shaoil ​​mi gum biodh mo chridhe a ’spreadhadh, mo nighean dhonn.”

She lay her head on his shoulders for a moment. 

“What did you say?” 

“I just though my heart was going to burst.” — he explains.  She giggles, stroking her nose against his chin and cheek. 

“Don’t you want to escape?” — she whispers in his ears. 

“And the ballet...?”  — he asks, dizzy. 

“My doctor said to rest my foot very well... and I have a surrogate.” — he laughed. 

“Now, I’m yeur doctor?” — Jamie provokes. 

“Yeaahh.” — she drawled it. — “And I’m going put this foot on the floor now...” — she provokes, her voice going down a few tones. — “And I will start running away from here. Will you join me or-“ — she bites his ear lobe. — “-will you stay here, all alone in this sad room?” 

He roared, softly. 

“You are such a vixen.” 

She gets up from the chair and starts to run to the exit door. 

“Come find me.” 

God knows he would go. 

#jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #claire fraser #outlander #sam x cait #jaime x claire #jamie fraser #swan lake

[mojjisxng]

dance, baby! | prince!niki au

requested

pairing- niki x gender neutral reader (there is a mention of a dress, but anyone can wear dresses, not just girls, sooo yeah)

genre- fluff, angst if you zoom in with a microscope, forbidden love

warnings- literally one swear word (if that counts lmao)

word count- 1.5k

a/n- correct me if i’m wrong, but this is the best piece of writing i have ever done, probably because i spent a bunch of time on it. i feel really proud of this au, so it would be very very very appreciated if you gave it some love🥺😘 -issy❤️

mellifluous sounds from the string orchestra rose in volume, from a soft murmur up to a clarion call, which seemed to penetrate every nook and cranny of the Ume Kingdom; the ball was about to begin.

for palace servants like you, the annual new year’s ball is a taxing and mind-numbing event. the truth of the matter is that you had to rush from handing out drinks, to taking guests’ overcoats, to then clean up after everybody, all the while being treated like shit by most attendees. however, there was an upside; you were actually allowed to wear A GOWN this year. the dress appeared to gleam every time the dazzling lights of the ballroom caught it, and it’s blush pink satin with intricate gold detailing soft to the touch. although you felt gorgeous in your new getup, the wisps of hair falling from your updo due to the labours of your work, got on your nerves nearly as much as the pompous guests and the clanging music that hurt your overworked brain. after about two and a half hours of attending to the royal family and their acquaintances, you finally found a slot of time to stand and take in the jovial atmosphere of the party. weeeeell that was until you felt a faint tap on your shoulder….

now, the beloved prince niki was on the opposite end of the ballroom to you at the start of the ball, where he had to interact with all of his parents’ ‘friends’ (more like people they can use to boost the status of their kingdom). these tight-lipped exchanges usually surrounded the topic of arranged marriages, as an irritated niki had to listen to a plethora of noblemen’s daughters blether away about how great they were. all the poor boy wanted to do was let loose a bit and dance, but he knew he’d get severely scolded by his parents. you see, rumours circulated (very true rumours in fact) that niki had a passion for dancing and would always be seen leaping down the grand palace halls- giving him the immensely unfortunate sobriquet, ‘the pirouetting prince’. when he eventually escaped the clutches of the desperate and power-hungry party-goers, niki sprinted with superhuman speed to a secluded corner of the room. that’s when he laid eyes on you; not for the first time though. in actuality, you and niki had established an unexpected bond, which had started when you were mopping the floors of the palace’s spacious corridors and happened to trip right onto niki’s patent leather shoes. you thought he was going to yell at you, just as any other member of the royal family would, yet the kid only started howling with laughter. you were utterly shocked by his easygoing behaviour, mainly because you always thought that he purported the same air of regality as his strong headed parents, even at such a young age. nevertheless, that’s how your friendship, aaaand maybe some other feelings blossomed. this led to secret conversations away from the prying and disapproving eyes of the other staff, the monarch, and his wife. sometimes you two would sneak out of the palace to go on late night adventures in the city, strolling along the cherry blossom avenues, too engrossed in your own little world to care about anything else.

all of the air left niki’s lungs as soon as he saw your ethereal figure in the distance. even though your hairdo was as good as ruined, you had sweat lining your brow and your resting bitch face was at its highest level of ‘i want to die and i also want all of you to die’, he thought you exuded the most magnificent energy in the room. even the classical music, which honestly constantly ground on his gears sounded marvellous when he looked upon you. so he bounded over to you like a puppy to their favourite human, and lightly patted your shoulder.

you pivoted around when you felt the tap on your shoulder, and was faced with a dashing prince niki. a deep blush immediately tainted your cheeks and crept down your neck, at the realisation that niki was talking to you in public.

“h-hey prince niki, do you require my service?,” you stuttered.

“uhhhh yeah i do require your service,” he mocked your politeness, “i require you to come and dance with me. what’s with the formalities all of a sudden?”

“well i didn’t expect you to come and talk to me with all these people around; you know that your parents don’t like that we’re friends.” in fact, the king and queen despised that he was friends with a lowly, working-class servant like you.

“anyways, i can’t dance with you, i have a job to do unlike you,” you continued with a hint of jealous spite in your voice.

niki shot back with nonchalance as he grabbed your wrist and tugged you along behind him, “well i’m the prince, the future ruler of the Ume Kingdom, so what i say goes, which means you’re going to put that tray down and dance with me.”

and that was that.

gracefully, you and niki almost floated around the dance floor in time to the bounding waltz that enriched your ears. what you failed to notice as the both of you stared into each other’s love struck orbs, was the king muttering to his guards, commanding them to separate his son from you. it was a good thing that niki detected the shifty and brisk movements of the palace guards just in time to instruct you to run. swiftly, the pair of you manoeuvred through the swarm of people, bolted into the vast, luscious gardens and made your way to the centre of the hedge maze, built on the wishes of a five year old niki many moons ago.

when you reached the middle of the colossal maze, you both fell onto a marble bench, catching your breaths as though you had ran a marathon. finally, your heart rate decreased and you turned to face niki, who was already observing your every move, “niki, when they find us, i am soooo going to get fired, maybe even exiled. i’m terrified of losing you at the best of times, never mind us being caught interacting right in front of a bevy of your female suitors!”

“yeah i’m scared too, but even though i’m afraid, i strongly believe that we should do our best with the situation; let’s just try. it should be obvious by now that i like you, i like you a lot, so i think that we should change their outdated attitudes on the relationship between stupid social class and love,” niki declared with conviction.

“i like you a whole lot too, but it’s not that easy. maybe your parents are right to judge, i’m just a poor scullery maid, who has no parents and nothing to offer,” you replied dejectedly.

“listen to me y/n, you are the most fair and precious person i have ever laid eyes on. you are intellectual, generous and you have the best sense of humour that even the jesters are jealous of-”

“wait- are you calling me a clown?” you teased.

“n-no i didn’t mean it like that. i told you to just listen didn’t i? i’m not finished. you’re eyes hold the andromeda within them, you’re lips outshine the loveliness of the roses in these very gardens and the brightness of your cheek would shame those stars up there.”

the poetic words that spouted from the boy in front of you brought a tear to your glittering eyes. no words could leave your mouth, too choked up to utter a word, so you engulfed him in the warmest hug niki had ever experienced and smashed your pouty lips onto his porcelain cheek. that was confirmation enough of your feelings towards niki. even so, he whispered words of comforting optimism into your fluffy hair, “we don’t need the approval of anyone, we should be able to run for our hearts, run for our lives, run for our dreams.” he paused to press a tiny kiss to the crown of your head, but continued with all the solemnity he could muster, “we can make this work, we will make this work.”

so as the new year materialised into view, the young lovers could be seen under the pale moonlight and twinkling constellations, huddling close to avoid the light pinches of the winter zephyr and dreaming of their future together.

#enhypenwriters #enhypen requests #enhypen #enhypen ni ki #enhypen ni ki scenarios #ni ki scenarios #ni ki requests #nishimura riki #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen au #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen royal au #lee heeseung #jay park #jake sim #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #kpop #kpop scenarios

[ororowrites]

By the Open Fire - Yahya x Black Character

I’m getting back into the writing spirit and decided to write a little Christmas one-shot about my latest celebrity crush. Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy Holidays! 

Warnings: Very, very, light smut, fluffy as hell

Word Count: 2,664

Six months was entirely too long to be away from the love of her life. 

Candace tapped the tip of her pen against the blank page, hoping her writer’s block would magically disappear. Being an actress was so much easier than trying to write a novel. Why didn’t Candace just stick to her day job? Since the pandemic began, she was trying her hand at other talents and writing a novel seemed to be the one wish on her wish list that stood out. On top of Yahya being out of the country filming for most of the year, Candace was in search of a way to fight a depression that was on the brink of flooding her life. Her filming project had come to a halt until 2021 and she was stuck in her Manhattan apartment until it was safe to come out again.

Yahya would be home in a couple of days and Candace was looking forward to his arrival. So many months a part made her heart ache and the heart below her waist. After hundreds of facetime calls, numerous texts a day and a few Zoom sessions that included their shared friends, her man would be there in the flesh. 

“Fuck,” Candace cursed under her breath. The block wasn’t budging, forcing the actress to give up and retreat to the kitchen for wine. Her phone rang, interrupting her attempt to brainstorm for the next chapter in her book. “You always call at the perfect time,” she groaned at her twin sister on the other end of the line. 

“Candy, you can never just say hello like a normal human,” Trinity laughed. “But did mama call you with the latest gossip?” 

“No, but she’s been texting me all damn day. I’ve been busy so I haven’t checked them yet. Wassup,” she pressed, knowing the gossip was most likely church related. Their mother had been an usher at the same church since they were nine. 

“Girl,” Trinity exclaimed, before explaining the recent Chicago gossip. “Mrs. Jackson got caught cheating with James. Someone saw them out at the park together, kissing up on each other and all that.” 

“Ewww, in this panoramic,” Candace gagged. “I’m not shocked though. That old floozy was always flirting with daddy and almost made mama beat her ass one Easter Sunday. Remember that?” 

Trinity cackled, “Boooooy, mama was about to peel that woman’s skin back and break her neck. Ol’ girl was trying it that day and knows she is too old to still be acting like that. But enough about Florence, what have you been up to today? Ain’t your man on his way back to New York?” 

 Candace rolled her eyes because she knew where this conversation was going. Her sister had four children, leaving Candace the only childless sibling left in the pack of five children. 

“He’ll be back in two days and then we’re going to Colorado for Christmas. Since we can’t gather for the holidays, figured we’d go somewhere where we can safely distance ourselves but still get away. You know,” Candace said, swirling the wine around in her glass before taking a sip. 

“Mmmhhhhmmm. You gon’ get knocked up in them mountains,” Trinity added in a serious tone. “You two renting out a cabin or something up there?” 

“Ain’t nobody getting knocked up until she has a ring on her finger. Yes, we’re getting a cabin and just chillin’ out. Yahya has been working and needs a break. I’ve been....lonely.” Candace paced her kitchen, trying to think of an excuse to end this call before her twin irritated her soul. 

“Ya’ll haven’t seen each in months, he’s going to tear--” 

“Trin!” One major difference between the two of them was the lack of filter on Trinity’s part. The woman would say anything in front of anyone. “Look, I need to go straighten up before before Yah gets here. I’ll talk to you later?” 

Trinity sighed loudly on the other end because she knew her sister was rushing her off the call. Not liking people in her relationship business bugged Trinity because she was the nosey twin that wanted to know everything, much like their mother. “Well at least you won’t be needing to replace the batteries in that vibrator any time soon since the real Dr. Manhattan is back in the picture.” Before Candace could reply to the vulgar comment, Trinity squeezed out a quick ‘love you’ before hanging up. 

“Nasty ass,” Candace rolled her eyes and placed the phone back in the pocket of her jeans. 

The next two days were the same song. Candace’s brain did not want to focus on writing, so she eventually gave up and settled on online shopping to ease her frustration. The night her beautiful man was supposed to return, the actress fell asleep on the couch. His flight had been delayed by a couple of hours and he didn’t make it home until 3AM. 

He quietly entered the apartment, knowing Candace could never stay awake past twelve. The 6′3 actor, tip toed across the floor doing his best ballerina impression. Light snores could be heard over the infomercial playing on the television. She looked peaceful, almost child-like curled up on the sofa under her favorite coral throw. Yahya slowly leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Candace’s pouted lips. She stirred slightly, mumbling under her breath and fell back into a slumber. 

“Baby,” he sung into her ear, placing another kiss on her cheek. 

“Hmm.” Candace finally opened her eyes to see her Christmas gift standing right in front of her. Even with blurred vision, the smell of his cologne was a dead giveaway. She screeched and scurried to her feet to throw her arms around Yahya’s neck. Naturally, her legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked them back and forth. “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too,” he grunted, peppering Candace’s face in kisses. “My baaaaaaby,” Yahya sang as they fell to the sofa in a heap of long limbs. “It smells good in here, what you cook?” 

“Negro, you’re always looking for the food. Ol’ hungry ass,” Candace shook her head and playfully punched her lover’s bicep. “But, I saved you some fried rice and shrimp...homemade because that’s the only dish I’m good at.” 

“Oh, that’s not the only dish you’re good at,” he bit his lip, pulling Candace into a slow, passionate kiss, showing her how much he really missed her. With both of them being in the industry, they understood the heartache that came with being in a relationship and not seeing your significant other for weeks or months at a time. In this case, their time away from each other was extended due to the pandemic. “Mmmmm,” Yahya hummed into Candace’s lips before pulling away. He wanted to save the X-rated loving for their trip when he would have more time to rest and beat the severe jet lag from flying across the world for 12 hours. 

“We should get some food in this belly, babe,” Candace couldn’t contain the big cheesy grin that made her cheeks hurt. 

------- 

Christmas Eve 

Toni Braxton’s sultry voice filled the cabin as Yahya finished pouring the wine for their night cap. They had a busy day on the slopes trying not to kill themselves or break any bones. 

“Baby, where your fine ass at,” Yahya called out, making his way to the living room. The fireplace crackled, sending waves of heat throughout the cabin’s living area. The sun had set, but the mountains were still glowing against the dark sky. Their view was impeccable and the mood was set for a night of bonding and loving. “Candy, don’t make me come get you.” He warned playfully, sitting in front of the fire on their floor palette they had built earlier that night. 

“What was that,” Candace teased, stopping in the doorway getting a front row view of Yahya’s bare upper half. His back muscles bulged as he tended to the fire. 

“You back there sleeping, old lady,” he asked, with his back still turned away from her. 

“No, I was back there wrapping one last gift,” she replied, her voice dropping an octave prompting Yahya to turn around. 

His eyes almost fell out of his head, “Damn girl.” Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, he moved forward, inspecting the gift that was screaming to be unwrapped. “This all for me?” 

“Every inch of it.” Her words almost came out as a moan. The way this man was eyeing her had moisture pooling between her legs. The fancy lingerie wouldn’t last long at this rate. Words became an afterthought when actions began to do all the talking. All it took was a soul turning kiss to send them both to the floor on their palette in front of the fireplace. Candace couldn’t tell if the fire had her skin tingling or the anticipation of having his hands rubbing over the most sensitive parts of her body. The wine and fruits sitting on the mantle quickly became an afterthought. 

For minutes, they enjoyed exploring each other and parts they hadn’t touched in months. Yahya was nestled between Candace’s thighs, both of them breathless and horny. Candace’s lace get up was quickly removed and thrown to the side. She giggled when his lips grazed her belly button, those giggles soon turning into pants and whispered obscenities. With gentle licks, he coaxed her clit out of its hood.

 Toys were fun but they weren’t the real thing and oh did she miss the real thing. See, the real thing knew exactly how to pull her close to the edge before sending her back. Her man’s skilled tongue sank deeper drawing intricate patterns in her center as she massaged the top of his head with her fingertips. 

Candace’s breath hitched in her throat and her thighs shook awaiting the impending release. “Jesus,” she moaned as her body suddenly felt light and her center thumped. 

“Still as sweet as I remember,” he grinned, kissing Candace’s inner thigh. 

Another track on their Toni Braxton Christmas playlist began to play and Yahya rested his head on Candace’s stomach. Time was precious and Yahya didn’t want to waste an ounce of the rare quiet moment they had. Soon, they’d both be filming again and the world would be back to normal. 

“What’s on your mind, baby,” Candace asked, her heart and breath back to a steady rhythm. 

“I don’t spend enough time with you. At least not lately,” he began. “I knew what I was getting into when we were back in school. Still makes me feel bad though.” 

“Yah, I enjoy all the moments that we do get to spend together. You’ve been working your ass off this year. Yes, I would love more times like this but we should also celebrate all your accomplishments. Because you’re doing the damn thang and I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you. You always say the right shit to get me together,” he chuckled. “Sometimes a nigga just be in his feelings and I missed the hell out of you those six months.” 

“Yeah, six months has never gone by that slowly. You should see my credit card statements. I’ve never purchased that many sex toys in my life,” Candace covered her face with her arm. 

“Word? Well.... you won’t be needing those sex toys for awhile.” 

A smirk formed on her lips when she felt him bump against her thigh, “No, no, you just sit back and relax. I got this.” Sitting up, Candace placed a hand on Yahya’s chest, prompting him to switch her spots. 

“You are beautiful,” Yahya’s eyes gleamed. After all these years, he could still make Candace blush like a little school girl. “Don’t hide that smile, girl.” His large hands massaged her thighs as she eased him inside of her. 

They both exhaled, letting Toni Braxton serenade them through the night.

--------- 

Christmas Morning

They had finally made it to bed and got a few hours of sleep before Christmas morning arrived and it was time to get up for their next day of adventures. 

First, they needed to re-fuel their bodies after the festivities that took place the night before in front of the fireplace and in the bedroom. The shower also got some of their loving that morning. Candace could hear Yahya singing his own version of Joy to the World while whipping up his famous oatmeal. That man never knew the words to any song but sung his own words with all the confidence in the world. 

“Yah, do you ever know the words,” Candace questioned, placing a quick kiss on his cheek before grabbing a bowl from one of the kitchen shelves. 

“Nope,” he replied in a matter of fact tone. “It’s the Abdul-Mateen version.”

“Uh huh, sure.” 

Over breakfast, they continued joking about Yahya’s talent of making up his own versions of songs. Joy and love was on full display. They had always been the couple to roast each other and the next minute adore each other like the two biggest saps in the world.. Their relationship was built on a strong friendship they developed while they were in film school before reconnecting a few years later. 

They walked a short distance to one of the coffee shops near their cabin to grab hot chocolate. It was a chilly 45 degrees, but to avoid sitting in the shop, they walked back to their rental, taking a scenic route that Yahya suggested. 

“If we get lost or I end up falling off one of these mountains, I hope my family doesn’t kill you,” Candace joked, admiring the beautiful scene before them. 

“Oh, I know where we are. I was out here early yesterday morning trying to find the perfect spot,” Yahya replied. 

“Huh, perfect spot for what?” 

He didn’t answer right away and instead reached for Candace’s hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for awhile.” Placing his cup on one of the rocks, Yahya pulled a box from his pocket and got down on one knee. 

“What...what...” For once, Candace was speechless and caught completely off guard. 

“It’s hard as hell to surprise you and I’ve been trying to think of the perfect time to do this without your nosey ass finding out.” Tears began to flow down Candace’s cheeks. “We’ve been at this for a few years and I’ve had some of my best moments with you by my side. I want to make what we have forever.” He opened the small box to reveal a beautiful emerald cut ring. “Say love... would you marry me?” 

Being the goofball that she was, Candace laughed between her tears “You’re trying to get me pregnant on this trip, aren’t you?” 

“Well that can be arranged if you say yes.” 

“Ye...yes, of course!” Her vision blurred as Yahya slid the rock on her finger and stood to his feet to kiss his future bride. Moments later Yahya’s phone rang with an incoming Facetime call. 

“Hey Trinity, hey moms,” Yahya cheesed, turning his phone to share the screen with Candace. “Looks like you two aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon.” 

“She said yes,” Trinity screamed, jumping up and down with their mother. “Aye, aye, ayyyeeeeee.” 

Still in complete shock and happiness overflowing, Candace shrieked, “Wait, you two knew about this the entire time!” 

“Yep! It’s been burning my ass to keep this secret from you all this time,” Trinity teased, sticking out her tongue. “He took mom with him to ring shop last year and everything.” 

“Welcome to the family, son. Congratulations baby,” Ms. Fredrick sang, clapping for the happy couple on the other end of the call. 

“Now, I hope you two are using protection out there because having a baby before the wedding is-” 

“Trinity,” Candace called out, shaking her head. 

They should have followed Trinity’s advice because approximately two months later..... 

Hope you all enjoyed! This is the first piece I’ve written in a year. I have no idea if I’ m going to continue the stories I began before my hiatus, yet. But, we will explore that in the coming year! Who knows, we may get more Candace and Yahya depending on how hard writer’s block slaps me. May the new year bring you all peace and joy! 

#yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya x black character #fanfics #celebrity fanfics #black love #ororo writes #holiday one shot

[thegreatbigfourmain]

Royalty!AU

The young chief had a somber expression on his face as he readjusted the fur cloak resting upon his shoulders. Although Drago and the former Alpha retreated to the ocean, the battle had taken many casualties within the village of Berk. Both dragons and Vikings suffered in the crossfire, leaving them with half their population still standing. It left him with the drastic decision of needing a treaty with a neighboring village to keep his people and dragons armed for another attack.

However, that proved to be a problem. No one wanted to encounter what Berk did in their village. Many of his allies rejected his request no matter how much he emphasized the superb protection done by his dragons. Thankfully to the gods, one did accept. The kingdom of Corona could never turn away a desperate plea for help. And Thor Almighty he was in dire need of assistance.

The arrangement showed to be more than what the Vikings bargained for.

As a way to kill two birds with one stone, the King of Corona agreed to the Viking chief’s wishes if he complies in escorting his daughter, the princess. All other suitors were sent away by her highness, though she is compelled to choose one. He tried to weave his way out of it, but the king would not budge. In his words, “It is not an arranged marriage, but rather being a potential candidate for the role.” To his displeasure, he had no choice but to accept it for the good of his people. It forced him to have a very long conversation with his girlfriend, who was livid when she heard of the final decision. It was the cause for the look on his face.

Hiccup Haddock the Third put on a brave face before entering the throne room where her grace awaited his arrival. He did notice how Corona was the complete opposite of Berk. Everything from the buildings to the atmosphere was different and foreign to him. Banners of the kingdom’s emblem hung everywhere. It seemed like these people are obsessed with the sun. He shouldn’t think much of it considering he’s just as obsessed with dragons, something Astrid also poked fun of whenever they trained.

Astrid…

The brunet made his way down the aisle as he stepped on the softest lavender carpet his feet have ever felt. Then again, he hasn’t much use for fancy rugs and such in his home. The closer he moved toward the royal family, the more his heart sank in his chest. A future without Astrid was unheard of, but the world without dragons was one he simply could not live without. Like the king said, it is not an arranged marriage, just a courtship. If the princess prefers not to marry him, she might be willing to tell her father to keep the treaty. It was the only shred of hope he had for his relationship.

Finally, Hiccup stood in front of the three of them sitting in their lavish thrones. He had seen the queen and king before, but never the princess. He bowed respectfully to them before his forest green eyes couldn’t help but glance at the rumored beauty. When he did, it took every ounce of power within him not to gawk in wonder.

In layman’s terms, she was gorgeous. No, that did not fully define the vision before him. Hiccup could not find the words to describe being in her presence. He was utterly speechless. It horrified him.

The chief knelt down before the princess in an attempt to not gaze any longer. He kept his eyes on the carpet beneath him.

“Your highness,” he said as soon as he realized no words escaped his shocked lips.

“I am here to escort you back to my village of Berk. I hope you will enjoy it there for the time being.” Hiccup said while his fingers rubbed against each other, something he does when thinking of his next sentence. If he raised his head, it would only entice more emotions and thoughts within him.

"You may rise, Dragon Rider," spoke a soft, yet confident voice. Despite what his brain was telling him, Hiccup did what the voice told him to. In the back of his subconscious, he knew he would do anything that voice would tell him to do from now on.

Once he looked up, he was hooked.

Just what was it with him and blondes?

The blonde beauty dressed in a lavish lavender gown with intricate patterns stood before him. It felt as if they were the only two people in the room, no doubt due in part to the way his forest green eyes met her emerald irises that reminded him of spring. Her adorably speckled freckles spread across her button nose seemed to disperse once they reached her rosy pink cheeks. Her unusually long golden hair was braided behind her frame and decorated with freshly picked flowers will most definitely be out of place in Berk, though he wouldn't mind if she asked for him to pick those flowers for her every day.

What was he thinking?!

Probably depicting his nervousness, the princess flashed him a heart-piercing smile. If she meant it in a friendly way, it was anything but. It took every ounce of his being not to continue gawking at the princess before Hiccup cleared his throat to form some sort of response.

"Are, are you ready to leave Your Highness?" He stuttered his words like he was back to being a teenager, though his 20 years of age.

She gave a quick nod as she descended from her throne to meet him, the Viking holding his breath for the close encounter. When she was a mere few feet away, Hiccup gulped down the knot in his throat.

"What is your mode of transportation to Berk, Chief Hiccup?" she inquired curiously, with a slight tilt of the head. Could she stop being adorable for a moment while he tries to wrap his mind around everything right now?

"Umm, dr-dragons. Dragons Your Highness."

"Rapunzel. You can call me Rapunzel," she responded with a soft grin.

"Rapunzel," he repeated, testing out how the name rolled off his tongue.

"Is it safe?" A loud, anxious voice asked in the room. The pair glanced behind to the king standing up at the mention of his only daughter riding on the back of a dragon. Hiccup has mentioned their way of living in between the letters they exchanged, but maybe the realization finally caught up to his majesty.

"Very much so, Your Majesty. I built all the mechanics myself and tested them out numerous times. I have the scars to prove it," he chuckled, though it did not seem to ease the tension in the room.

Tough crowd.

The blonde giggled behind him, grabbing the brunet's attention. He didn't think he's heard such a melodious laugh before in his life.

"I'm sure it's fine, father. If Chief Hiccup believes so," Rapunzel confirmed as she stood beside him. Her presence alone was enough to nearly hinder the Viking under her spell.

The king still seemed to be hesitant, though gave the pair a nod in conformation to allow this stranger to take his child on a possibly dangerous journey back to his homeland.

"Very well. I wish you both well on your route to Berk," he replied in a baritone voice, though there was a hint of sadness in his bright blue eyes. Rapunzel must have seen it as well, considering she picked up her dress skirt to rush over and give her father a hug. The whole image might have been heartwarming if Hiccup didn't first notice the fact that this certain blonde seemed to be barefoot.

Just who is this girl?

The princess then gave her equally gorgeous mother a hug, the small family exchanging a few words before the blonde returned to Hiccup's side. Her smile was something his heart was beginning to enjoy.

"Ready when you are Chief Hiccup."

"Hiccup, just Hiccup is fine Your- Rapunzel," he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair out of embarrassment.

"Okay, Just Hiccup," she joked before taking the lead to show him outside.

The pair walked through the same elegant doors Hiccup did when he arrived to find his best friend waiting for him. He was accompanied by a guard who nervously kept his distance away from the nigthfury.

"Hey bud," Hiccup greeted, feeling much better seeing one thing familiar in this land. The nightfury jumped over to him like a dog, licking his face.

"No Toothless! You know that doesn't wash out! The princess is here~" the Viking groaned when Toothless backed away when he was satisfied.

"I'm so sorry Rapunzel," he muttered, clearly embarrassed by how informal the interaction was. The blonde didn't seem to mind, evident by the huge grin on her face. Toothless already lost focus on his human, examining the blonde and advancing towards her. His snout sniffed her face, getting close enough to ruffle her bangs. Hiccup noticed the way more guards readied themselves in the chance this might turn ugly. He chuckled, how naive.

"Hello, Toothless. Are you going to be taking us to Berk?" She asked softly. A slow yet confident hand reached for his snout, which surprisingly Toothless went in with no hesitation.

"What a sweetheart," she beamed as her other hand went to cup the dragon's muzzle. Hiccup couldn't help but smile himself. It seemed she could easily adapt to their ways faster than he assumed a princess would be.

While she kept herself occupied gaining more of Toothless' love, Hiccup glanced at the royal couple who gave him a knowing nod. His high from facing the princess quickly faded away with the realization that there was an agreement between the two lands. This was a courtship for potential marriage, not simply showing her around his land. The thought of Astrid returned to his mind and the guilt of anything he felt towards Rapunzel weighed heavy on his chest. She never once passed through his thoughts once he met Rapunzel's eyes.

The Viking mounted himself on the nightfury to ready himself for the long trip back to Berk.

"Are you ready, Rapunzel?" Hiccup asked in a monotone voice as emotions swirled within him. Thankfully, the blonde was oblivious to his change of attitude from playing with Toothless when she heard him.

"Yes Hiccup," she replied, walking over to him and trying to figure out how to mount the dragon. "Umm, Hiccup, how do I...?" she trailed off.

He had been so caught up in himself, he didn't realize her unfamiliarity with riding dragons. It reminded him of when he taught Astrid all about them a few years ago...

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here," he stuttered over his words as he reached his arm out. The blonde gently took it and steadied herself for Hiccup to heave her body weight, which was lighter than the axes he swings around, to settle behind him.

Thor Almighty give him the strength for the remainder of the trip to not have his heart pound like a Thunderdrum's roar when her arms wrapped around his lean form. He could feel her warmth all down his back, his arms frozen in place sensing Rapunzel adjust herself comfortably in her seat.

"Okay Hiccup, I'm ready," she said in a nervous, yet excited state.

Sensing her anxious tone, Hiccup absentmindedly reached down to gently hold her arm to ease her nerves.

"Don't worry. I got you," he muttered softly, sighing in defeat that this girl was doing something to his soul. It must have to deal with the fact her people are still new to dragons, and the more positive promotion they can have, the better it is for future generations. At least that's what he kept repeating to himself in hopeless denial.

"Take it easy with the flight bud, we need her to like us" Hiccup whispered to Toothless. The last thing he needed on his plate was Rapunzel not having an easy time on the way to Berk.

The nightfury seemed to get the message as extended his wings out for the wind to gingerly lift him off the ground. Despite the easy takeoff, Rapunzel still tightened her arms around him while letting out a cute squeak of surprise at the new sensation of being in the air.

This is going to be a long ride.

#royalty au #hiccunzel #drabble #again my grammar isn't the best #sorry lovelies #hopefully it's not too OOC for him #with the whole back and forth #ugh sorry y'all #still kinda proud of it though #more like hella proud of it

[renaissanceduroi-archive]

The backstory section on my about page is way shorter than the rough draft I'm working on so???

Here is what I have for Lysandre's backstory...

more than what is on the about page. Still not very long. Still a draft!! I also have no idea what the formatting of this is going to look like sorry

EARLY LIFE AND FAMILY

Lysandre is the youngest of two children of the Zéphirin (mother's last name -- royal name descended from AZ’s brother 3000 years ago) de Lis (father's last name) family. His parents were responsible for reviving the importance and status of "royal blood" in Kalos after it having become less and less socially important.

Lysandre was always a naturally troubled child; his brain worked differently than the rest of the children he knew, somehow, inexplicably. He was obsessive from day one -- wanted things to be a particular way and became distraught when something was ruined, not being the perfect way he had imagined it to be. He escaped his overbearing parents by exploring the city and the routes outside with his older brother, or by secluding and playing with technology. He built his first computer at 13. The intricate parts, optimization aspects, and idealistic ideas of how technology could change the future kept Lysandre rapt.

Lysandre’s mother is the one with royal blood. She was the only child of her father. Her father wanted a son so that he could continue royal blood through male heritage, but his wife died after giving birth to Lysandre’s mother. He was always hard on her because of this. Lysandre's mother was pressured to have children early on so that her father might have a boy to impart royal values onto, and she had two: Lysandre and his older brother. The age difference between Lys and his older brother is 3 years. Their grandfather was tough on both of them, but his older brother got the most of the brunt of it. Lysandre’s brother left for Unova when he was 17 and lys was 14, changing his name, shaving his head and shunning all royal lineage. His grandfather died shortly thereafter. This event, his brother leaving, worsened Lysandre's mental state tenfold. He had lost his only support system. He secluded even further, spending days and nights alone in his room, hyperfocusing on building technology so as to do something else with his mind other than search for and tear apart everything in the world.

His parents were always quite strict with him, even when his brother was still around. Lysandre was expected to remain quiet and proper -- seen not heard. Really, this wasn’t too difficult for him. After a while, Lysandre truly internalized most of what his mother was attempting to impart: he must embody his royal status and present a positive image of the family. This mindset still carries over -- though lesser so -- to this day.

RELATIONSHIP WITH POKEMON

Lysandre did not participate in the gym challenge whatsoever. Despite the dominant narrative being that pokemon battling was a positive exercise, Lysandre could not handle seeing any pokemon in pain. Too often, Lysandre saw pokemon being used as tools for human success, and it sickened him. Yet -- he wanted to be a strong and competent trainer with powerful pokemon, because he found the mystery in their strength enticing, as well as wanting his pokemon to live a full life and embrace the entirety of their strength. Because of this, the bond between Lysandre and his pokemon is especially strong -- he is training the pokemon for their sake, rather than for his own advancement. Little did he know how important battling prowess would become.

His grandfather gifted him his first pokemon at the age of 7: a shiny magikarp. He had many mixed feelings about it -- its shininess was a symbol of status, which had both its positives and negatives; it was a useless magikarp; it came from his grandfather, so it carried a weight of burden.

What he really wanted was a pyroar: grand, majestic, powerful! However, his parents refused to gift him a pokemon, viewing it as a rite of passage for him to secure one himself. It was quite difficult to train a magikarp on its own, and Lysandre felt rather pathetic attempting to do so. So when, on one of his ventures into the woods in search of isolation, he came across a litter of litleo, Lysandre was delighted. He took every one of them home, which his mother was not pleased with whatsoever. She made him pick one, which broke Lysandre’s heart-- having to choose one and discard the others. But he did as he was told.

Lysandre’s distaste of humanity’s use of pokemon was particularly exacerbated when he learned of Team Rocket. They were infamous throughout the entire world, their notoriety spreading beyond Kanto and Johto as the years went by; Lysandre grew up hearing about Team Rocket through most of his childhood.

However, Lysandre’s loving-to-a-fault attitude toward pokemon has lessened as he has grown older. He still loves pokemon, seeing many of them as pure and sacred beings -- however, he cannot unsee how humanity has shaped their species and corrupted nature’s path. He has distanced himself from his own pokemon some as well, seeing them more as partners, even associates, rather than family.

TEENAGE YEARS AND YOUNG ADULTHOOD

Lysandre excelled in school in most subjects. He struggled the most with chemistry and organic biology; he excelled the most with physics, engineering, and history. Thus, this is what he studied in university: double major in Mechanical Engineering and History (with a focus on Kalosian Studies), and a minor in Business Administration. Lysandre did not bother pursuing higher education, because he knew he would not need to-- he can educate himself however he wishes, and had no intention of applying to jobs elsewhere. As soon as he graduated, Lysandre began the creation of Lysandre Laboratories: the company that would eventually create the HoloCaster. He effectively had every resource imaginable at his fingertips, what with such generational wealth, so he felt like he could create anything he wanted. So he did!

He was inspired to create the HoloCaster because of a desire to connect the Kalosian people. Facilitating communication, the exchange of ideas, would certainly bring about a better world!

Lysandre inherited the following properties: the penthouse apartment in Lumiose where he grew up, as well as the entire apartment building ; the building that has since become Professor Sycamore’s Pokemon Laboratory : a lakehouse that is about 45 minutes outside the city ; a small castle in the countryside that has been converted into the Kalosian History Museum ; a few more residential buildings in Lumiose, which he has since sold.

[wherevermyway]

bound up // binchan // oneshot // 18+

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, BDSM, rope bondage, dacryphilia, degradation word count: 2,722 also on AO3

originally posted: 13 november 2020

Chan and Changbin had an unconventional relationship, and they had some peculiar ways of relieving built up tension. Sometimes, vanilla sex was too boring. Drawing out their orgasms in the oddest ways possible really bring them closer together and make them feel better in multiple different ways.

Luckily, their oddities fit well with one another.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“Is that tight enough, love?” Chan sarcastically coos, knowing that his lover can’t respond. If Changbin was honestly uncomfortable, he would have pressed the clicker he held in hands. Instead, the man bent in half, arms behind his back and tied up in an intricately woven criss-cross pattern in black rope, offers a strained grumble through his open-mouthed spider gag.

“It’s a shame you can’t speak, hmm? You’ve been so talkative lately, and it’s so nice to not hear you talk for once.” Changbin winces at Chan’s words, drool starting to spill from his mouth as he looked up to his senior.

Chan wore a proud, arrogant smirk on his face like he had gotten first place in a marathon, looking down at Changbin. His junior was being a bit too snappy and opinionated during rehearsals, and Chan knew this would be the perfect way for them to relieve some tension. “Shall we begin, my pretty little bratty boy?”

Changbin offers a weak nod, wiggling his toes around and adjusting the positioning of his arms as they pulled against the rope fastened to the ceiling.

“Remember to click if you need me to stop, alright?” Another nod in affirmation, paired with a tiny squeak.

The two of them just simply worked this way. They had been an unofficial item for nearly a year now, but they really preferred their unconventional relationship and unusual way of relieving tension. One night, when they were drinking on the rooftop and staring out at the Seoul skyline, Changbin blurted out how he had always wanted to try restraint play, but he figured he’d never find someone he trusted enough to try it.

“Why not me?” Chan slurred slightly, taking a drink from his bottle of strawberry soju. “We’ve known each other for years, dude. Not to mention, we’ve been sleeping together for, what, five months now? It could be fun.”

Changbin had shook his head in disbelief and stared wildly at Chan. “You don’t know what you’re doing, though.”

Chan offers a cheeky smile in response. “I never said that.”

This was their sixth restraint session, and they were getting bolder and bolder with each new session. Chan had just installed a seemingly innocent hook into the ceiling of their studio, something strong, yet easily concealable, and they were both dying to try it out.

Sure, their sex was satisfying enough, but to open up to someone and be so vulnerable with them was like ascending to another plane that was unattainable for most conventional relationships. Chan would bring Changbin down enough, knock him down several pegs to reset his arrogant attitude and pent up energy. Then, he would bring him back up to where he wanted to be as they cuddled in their dorm room and watched stupid videos on the internet, Changbin curled up against Chan, until they passed out together.

Chan’s embrace at the end of all of this felt so much sweeter because of the labour they went through to get to it. For Changbin to earn it. Sure, he could find himself in Chan’s arms whenever he wanted, but the way that Chan felt to him after their sessions was otherworldly.

“Alright,” Chan sighed as he sat down in the chair across from Changbin. He danced his fingers over the rope shears on the table, then grabbed a remote control, fiddling with his laptop with his other hand. Some background noise-type of lo-fi electronica quietly boomed through the studio’s speakers.

“I want you to be a good boy and press the clicker in your hand. Let’s see if I can still hear it over the music.”

Changbin does as requested, a couple of plasticky clicking noises coming from behind him. Chan nods and taps around on his laptop a couple of times until the music shifts to some other similar sounding song. “Now we can get started.” He leans back into his chair, bringing up the remote control to his face as he locks eyes with Changbin.

The two of them exchange an excited, somewhat nervous glance. A string of drool continuously spills from Changbin’s mouth, and Chan devilishly smirks.

“Three minutes, twenty five seconds until the next song.” He presses a couple of buttons on the remote control, and Changbin’s knees curl inward and his head drops. A throaty moan shakes its way through the younger man as he shudders at the sensation as the vibrating prostate massager quivers inside of him. “Like we discussed prior, you’re not allowed to come until the end of this playlist, and I’m not going to tell you how long the entirety of it is, only how long each song is. With every song, I’m going to up the ante. If you come before you’re permitted, there will be consequences.”

Changbin lifts his head, locking eyes with Chan before he nods once and drops his head back down. He tries to keep his pathetic mewls restrained, but some choked whines and whimpers still manage to escape him, causing Chan to nibble on his bottom lip in excitement. As the music played in the background, Chan grabbed a small candle off of the table next to him and lit it, preparing it for the next song.

Using wax wasn’t really something that crossed Chan’s mind, but when Changbin awkwardly gave him a couple of candles the day prior, he couldn’t resist the thought of adding it to the session he had in mind. “They’re special,” the younger man had whispered. “Don’t use these to make shit look pretty, because it’d be a waste. These were expensive and I don’t wanna waste them.”

Chan shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“Me,” Changbin furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips, his face flushed. “Use them on me tomorrow. That’s why I bought them.”

The tiny flame flickered and Chan smiled as he looked at it. There was twenty seconds left of the current song, so he stood up and held the candle, taking a few steps towards Changbin. “The next song is two minutes and fifty-five seconds. I think you’ll look pretty with your back painted in blue, hmm?”

Changbin tried to hum in some sort of response, but the spattering of warm wax to his back causes his soft murmur to turn into an unrestrained, loud moan.

“Now, now,” Chan tuts as he stops dripping wax onto the younger man’s back. “Everyone may be back in the dorms, but you never know who may hear you sound like such a needy whore. Do you want someone to walk by the door and hear you pathetically moaning for me?”

Chan doesn’t wait for a response he knows won’t come, so he tips the candle in his hand again, painting mindless patterns against Changbin’s skin, indigo blue spattering recklessly onto the roped arms of the bound man, against his own black button-up shirt. The wax would come off, Chan figured, and this was a small price to pay in order to watch his junior squirm.

The song was nearly over, and Chan brought the candle up to his face and blew out the small flame. Almost perfectly timed with the end of the song, he spun on his heel and walked back to the table, setting the candle down as the next song started playing. He started pressing buttons on the remote control again, causing Changbin to cry out again, curling his toes and shaking the ceiling rope a bit as his body convulsed. Saliva dripped from his lips, feeding into the growing pool underneath him.

“Four minutes, twenty-five seconds. Let’s see if you can hold out with this setting.” Chan looked over his shoulder, taking in the view of the mess they were starting to make all over the studio floor. Blue wax had splattered onto the hardwood floor, which would easily come off with a bit of effort. Changbin was twitching uncontrollably now, and precum was starting to add to the chaos painted on the floor.

Waiting for four minutes for the next phase was going to kill Chan. He reached a hand down to his pelvis, pressing the heel of his palm against his erection. Subconsciously, he looked to his laptop. Three minutes, thirty-seven seconds. A hiss escaped his teeth and he shook his hands away, trying to compose himself.

“You should know better than to talk back to me during practice, you know,” he groans, trying to distract himself by talking down to Changbin. “A dumb slut like you knows better, unless you’re specifically trying to rile me up so I treat you like this?” Changbin makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a moan, shaking his head and causing saliva to go flying from his mouth.

At first, Chan didn’t understand why Changbin asked him to talk down to him during their sessions, to call him such degrading things. However, for some bizarre reason, it was one of the things Chan loved doing the most. With each session, he looked forward to this more and more.

Two minutes, fifty-one seconds.

“Regardless of if you’re even capable enough to not come before you’re allowed to, I’ve decided I’m going to paint that pretty face of yours with my cum,” Chan’s breathing was heavy, his nails digging into his skin as he felt his cock throb against the cotton of his briefs. “I’m gonna make you walk around with my cum all over your face and show you off to everyone, show every one of our friends how much of a pathetic slut you are for me.”

Chan’s words were dangerously close to causing Changbin to prematurely come all over the floor. He buckled his knees and whined, tugging hard against the rope fastened to the ceiling. He regained enough composure to look up to Chan with teary eyes, tears spilling down his face, a pleading look in his gaze. It may not seem like it to anyone else, but this look was what made the degradation worth it to Chan. Changbin was beside himself, loving how he was being forced exactly into the place he wanted to be.

Another glance to the computer. One minute, twelve seconds.

It was early, but Chan slowly walked over to just in front of Changbin’s face. “Are you going to be a good boy and keep yourself from coming?”

A nod. A whine.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Chan whispers, reaching up to Changbin’s soft, black hair, and giving it a couple of gentle strokes. “But you’re going to stay just as you are a little longer and make yourself useful.” The elder knelt down, taking in the look of how the metal fastened to leather straps inside of Changbin’s mouth looked. He made a mental note to make sure to apply some more lip balm to the younger man’s lips as soon as they were done, as they were starting to dry and crack a bit.

They exchange a caring glance, something that couldn’t be hidden no matter how hard and stern Chan tried to act. Deep down inside, they both really did love each other. That couldn’t be hidden.

The song faded out and blended into a new one, and Chan smiled. “Five minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Once this one is over and I’ve come all over that pretty face of yours,” he says in a low voice, standing up and fumbling with his belt buckle, “I might let you come. We’ll see how much of a good boy you are while you get me off, hmm?”

Chan doesn’t bother removing his pants, only undoing them enough to pull his cock out. The cool air is enough to cause a shiver to run down his spine. He takes Changbin’s chin into his hand and guides his way into the younger man’s mouth. It feels a little different, knowing that there won’t be the added sensation of having a vacuum-like seal around him, but it didn’t matter. He was already so close to coming from watching Changbin writhe and listening to his pitiful whimpers and moans.

Changbin wastes no time guiding his tongue around the length of Chan’s cock. He acts as if his tongue was a paintbrush, painting swift, broad strokes of saliva against the warm canvas presented to him. Chan revels in this for a few moments before pushing in a bit more aggressively, needing more stimulation. As he hits the back of Changbin’s throat, he watches the younger man twitch, and he pulls back a bit.

“I’m gonna move. Be a good boy and stay still, hmm?”

Changbin lets out a muffled whimper, but doesn’t press down on the clicker, so Chan interprets that as an affirmation. He sucks in a deep inhale, grabbing a fistful of his junior’s hair and slowly increases his pace.

The music is more intense now. Chan specifically picked this bass-heavy song, imagining how it would feel to fuck Changbin’s dripping wet mouth. A pained groan leaves his lips as he starts to relentlessly thrust into the younger man’s mouth, the head of his cock rubbing against the firm tissue at the back of his throat.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Chan tries to stay composed as he whines. He doesn’t bother looking at the remote in his other hand as he aimlessly presses a couple of different buttons on it. Changbin nearly collapses onto the ground in reaction and Chan rubs his thumb soothingly against his scalp. “Not yet, not yet.” He’s not even trying to hide his pants as he fucks a little faster now. “I’m gonna come all over that pretty face of yours first. Gonna let everyone know you’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

Chan can’t help but gasp as his possessive nature slips out, but he doesn’t care. The way that Changbin gives himself up to Chan, trusts him so much, enough to restrict his movements and use him as nothing more than a glorified sex object makes him possessive. Protective. If anyone did anything to hurt Changbin, Chan wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

“Fuck,” the older man whines as he pulls out, right as the song transitions into the next bass-heavy song. He lets go of Changbin’s head and mops up some of the spent drool under his chin, using it as a makeshift lube as he pumps his cock. “Look at me. Show me how badly you want my cum all over your face like the cumslut I know you are.”

Changbin obliges, his eyes weepy and his cheeks tearstained.

That’s all it takes. Chan throws his head back for a moment before he forces himself to watch as his cum spills all over Changbin’s face. He pants and shudders a couple of times, nearly collapsing to his knees due to the intensity of his orgasm. “You’ve done so well,” he gasps. “You’ve earned it, so do it. Come. Just fucking come for me.”

Chan pushes a button on the remote control again, and Changbin’s back arches, a choked, guttural moan absorbed by the soundproofing on the walls. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, his arms staying in place thanks to the ceiling restraint. Chan watches as Changbin’s cock twitches, cum splattering over the dried wax and precum from earlier.

They take a moment to come back to reality, and Changbin finally drops the clicker from his hands. Chan bends down to the younger man’s face, undoing the metal fasteners at the back of the gag. “You did so well; I’m so blown away by you yet again. That was absolutely incredible. How are you feeling?”

Changbin pops his jaw a couple times and shakes his head. “That was great,” he sighs and looks up to Chan. “I’m not gonna lie, though, my jaw is killing me.”

The older man laughs, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “Well, I’ll untie you, get you cleaned up, and then you can have a well-deserved break. We can shower and get that wax off of you, then cuddle up under the covers all night. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds great,” Changbin weakly smiles. “I love you, but you’re cleaning all of this up, though. My arms are sore as fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chan rolls his eyes. “I love you too.”

#bound up #skz smut #skz fics #binchan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

[allsassnoclass]

“Every day you wake up and make it my problem” Luke to Ashton

alrighty a theatre au for the only person in the theatre department who can handle me <3

Opening night brings a palpable excitement in the air, a nervous energy that can only naturally be produced at this point in the production process.  The scenes have been blocked, the lines memorized, the sets built, the costumes sewn, and every piece of design meticulously brought together to create something ready for sharing.  As Luke hangs up the laundered costume pieces and ensures that the dressing rooms are prepared for the night, he can already feel the excitement amongst the crew milling about.  It will only be compounded once the actors arrive for the night.

Luke has his sewing kit, numerous pins, extra hairspray, and a bite light.  There aren't many quick changes in Hamlet, and all of them have been easily doable in dress rehearsals.  He's ready.

When he wanders out to backstage, Calum and Michael seem to be ready, too.  Calum is sitting on the acting block Michael has commandeered as his seat since tech, scrolling through his phone while Michael goes through his pre-show duties on the other side of the stage.

"Ready for tonight?" Luke asks, making Calum jump.

"Yeah.  Is the laundry up?"

"Costumes are all clean and accounted for," Luke says.  "If you want an empty dressing room, now is your time."

He stands and stretches, wandering over to the dressing rooms.  Luke takes his spot and watches Michael  continue to double-check props on the other side of the stage.  Once satisfied, he heads back over, stopping short when he sees Luke.

"You're not my boyfriend," Michael says.

"He went to go get ready before the rush," Luke says.  "Ready for tonight?"

"Very," Michael says.  "No one has broken anything yet, which is a bit worrying, but I'm fucking ready to open."

"No one's broken any props or sets, you mean.  I've had to resew numerous buttons and seams.  Ashton can barely keep his clothes on."

"I bet you like that," Michael says, waggling his eyebrows.  Luke flips him off, too used to Michael's teasing to be truly bothered.  Ever since he first saw their lead actor and tripped over his own feet he hasn't known peace.

In his defense, Ashton is very beautiful.  It is not Luke's fault that he got flustered during their first interaction.  At least he was only writing down measurements instead of having to take them, because being that close to him without time to mentally prepare would have been embarrassing for everyone.  (If he still has to take a few breaths when helping Ashton get on his more intricate costumes, that's his business, especially because being under the stage lights only enhances all of Ashton's best features.)

"Ashton gets to make out with your boyfriend every night.  Stop laughing," he says flatly.

"Yeah, and it's fucking hot," Michael says, nudging Luke out of his seat.

Luke rolls his eyes.  Reducing the relationship between Hamlet and Horatio to a "fucking hot" make out scene is a disservice to all of the painstaking work that Ashton, Calum, and the director have done to seamlessly incorporate it into the story without alienating or reducing Ophelia, but Michael isn't exactly wrong.

Ashton seems like a good kisser.  Luke wants to know what it'd be like to be on the receiving end of that when there's no acting involved.

Luke kills time with Michael until he has to go on headset, signaling that it's late enough that Luke should probably check on the actors.  Gertrude's zipper on her dress keeps getting jammed to the point where Luke is really considering replacing it.  It works most of the time, but Luke is getting sick of having to finagle it.  He helps her get it up and makes a note to replace it before tomorrow, then he heads to men's dress, ready to camp out until someone else needs him

"Luke!" Ashton greets exuberantly as soon as he steps in the door.  He has his makeup on, just simple things to ensure he doesn't get washed out under the stage lights, but he looks stunning.  He isn't even in his main costume yet, an intricate black tunic with gold embroidery meant to blur the line between historical and contemporary like everything else in the show, but Luke wants to swoon.

"Hi."

"Thanks for fixing my buttons," he says.  "Again."

"Try not to rip them off tonight," Luke says.

"I always try," Ashton says.  Somehow, Luke still feels like he's going to be fixing a button.  Ashton doesn't restrain himself onstage.  It makes him captivating to watch, but it also means that unnecessary rips and button tears occur, sometimes in ways that Luke thinks should be impossible.  Being wardrobe head for this production has taught him many new ways to break a costume.

He helps the actors here and there with things like hair or specialty makeup, distracting himself from Ashton changing in the background and passing the time until the actors go to warm ups.  Rosencrantz has managed to misplace his socks because he hadn't zipped his laundry bag when he gave it to be washed and Gildenstern can't find one of her shoes, but otherwise there isn't much for Luke to do with this show.  He wanders out by Michael, knowing by now where he can stand to watch from offstage and when he'll have to move so he's not in the way.

When the lights go down and the warnings about flash photography and food in the theater play over the loudspeaker, Luke's heart starts thumping harder in his chest.  Michael turns on the fog machine for a bit of haze at the beginning, Bernardo and Francisco take their places onstage, and the play begins.

Even after having seen the show during the crew view and hearing it over the monitors backstage every night since, he manages to get lost in the story.  Each performer is on top of things tonight, none more so than Ashton.  From the moment he steps out on stage the charismatic actor is gone, replaced by a moody but no less magnetic Hamlet.  His grief and anger is palpable in his introductory scene, and his relief at seeing Horatio for the first time perfectly sets up their dependency in the rest of the show.  His scene with the ghost is heartbreaking, and Luke finds himself subconsciously biting his lip and leaning forward, wanting nothing more than to erase his pain.  Hamlet is enamored by Ophelia and broken by her betrayal, and every soliloquy is captivating.  No one can command a stage like Ashton Irwin.

Intermission sees Luke attending to his actual job as a dresser, helping with the laces on a few costumes and checking with all the actors to be sure there's no issues.  Ashton grabs his shoulders and blurts an excited sentence about crowd reactions, then immediately goes backstage to get "back into the Hamlet zone."  Calum watches this interaction with raised eyebrows.  When he heads backstage, Luke hopes he's not going to gossip with Michael.

The second half of the show goes just as smoothly as the first.  Michael has him take care of the actress playing Oscric when she feels a little bit faint, but once she gets more water in her she perks back up and Luke can return to watching Ashton's breakdown on stage.  The ending duel scene is more polished and realistic than they've ever done it, but it's Horatio's final moments with Hamlet that leave Luke speechless.  Something about Calum cradling Ashton in his arms while Ashton commands him to stay alive and tell his story has Luke tearing up.

He leaves during curtain call to grab the laundry bag and set himself up outside the dressing rooms, ready to take everything that needs to be washed.  It feels anticlimactic to have the first night of the show done, but Luke typically doesn't feel the same sense of accomplishment as the actors do after each individual performance.  It never truly hits him until strike, when he has to put everything away and reset the theatre and costume space to prepare for the next show.  Luke congratulates every actor that passes and waits for them all to leave so he can go home.  There's no one waiting for him in the audience tonight and he wasn't told about any after-parties, so he's looking forward to getting sleep before returning to the costume shop tomorrow to take care of the notes he has.

"Ashton's the last one in men's dress," Calum says when he hands in his own laundry.  "He asked me to send you in."

Luke had been hoping that Ashton would be able to make it an entire show without a costume mishap.  Apparently that hope had been misguided.

"It's Luke," he announces, knocking on the door.

"Come in!"

Ashton is pulling on a t-shirt, giving Luke an accidental glimpse at the dimples in his lower back.  When he turns around he looks sheepish.

"I lost a button during the duel."

Luke sighs.

"I promise I'm not deliberately being destructive," Ashton says.  "I'm not trying to make more work for you."

"Yet every day you wake up and make it my problem," Luke says.  "Can I see which button?"

Ashton brings him his dueling vest, pointing out where a simple black button had fallen.  Luke will walk by the stage to see if it's still there or Michael found it, but if not then it won't be difficult to replace.

"I'm really sorry," Ashton says, still standing close.  "I swear I won't make you fix my costume tomorrow."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Luke says.  "You have the worst track record with costumes out of everyone I've ever worked with."

"Well, I need some excuse to keep talking to you."

Luke blinks at him.

"That was a joke.  I mean, I do love having a reason to talk to you, but it'd be shitty of me to be deliberately making your job hard."

"Oh," Luke says.  "You don't need a reason to talk to me.  You can just do it."

"There's not a lot of time for it in the middle of a show," Ashton says.  "Unless you'd want to see me outside of work sometime?  Say, for a coffee or dinner?  As a date?"

"Me?" Luke asks.  Ashton makes a show of looking around the empty dressing room.

"I don't see any other tall, attractive blond men named Luke who keep putting my clothing back together."

Luke smiles, not trying to hide his excitement.  He's a shit actor anyway, and Ashton would see right through him.

"I could do that, but only if you stop ruining your costumes every night.  Make it through tomorrow with no mishaps and we'll go on a date."

"You drive a hard bargain, Hemmings, but I'll try my best.  For you, I'd sew everything back together myself if I had to."

"Please don't," Luke says.

"You don't trust me?" Ashton pouts.

"No," Luke laughs.  "You keep destroying your costumes.  I'm not about to trust you to fix them correctly."

Ashton shrugs.  "Yeah, okay.  I'm not a good sewer, anyway."

"That's what you have me for," Luke says.  Ashton smiles, just as dazzling under the dressing room lights as it is onstage.  It takes Luke's breath away, just a little.

The dressing room door opens, bringing Luke back to Earth.  Calum pokes his head in.

"Hey Ash, your siblings want to see you.  Stop flirting with Luke and get out here."  He doesn't wait for a response, thankfully leaving them alone again for another moment.  Ashton ducks his head, scuffing his shoes against the floor.

"I shouldn't keep them waiting," he says.

"It's hard being a star," Luke replies.  It makes Ashton smile again, which is an exhilarating experience in of itself.

"We'll check in about the date tomorrow," Ashton says.  "No more costume mishaps, cross my heart."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Luke teases.  Ashton snorts.

"Have a good night, Luke.  Congrats on the show."

"You too," Luke says.  "You're really amazing up there."

"Thank goodness," Ashton says.  "It'd be a bit late to replace me otherwise."

Luke rolls his eyes with a smile.  "Get out of here, superstar.  Go see your family."

Ashton blows him a kiss and ducks into a bow with a flourish on the way out the door.  Luke stands in the middle of the dressing room, running his finger over the spot on Ashton's vest where the button is missing.  He should probably be annoyed, but he's not.  He's going on a date with Ashton at some point, and that's worth all of the lost buttons and torn costumes in the entire production.

#my writing #lashton #drabble #I want to be involved in a production of hamlet SO BAD #SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! #also hello I miss traditional theatre #zoom theatre is great given the circumstances but I can't wait to actually Watch A Show In A Theater again #and be involved in one

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Six

Ao3,   Masterpost,   C.1   C.2   C.3   C.4   C.5

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality. platonic dukeceit, creativitwins, and dlampr.

Yet again there are no italics. its new years eve sue me. oh also happy 2021 nobody question my priorities thanks <3

Warnings: so much softness, implications of self-isolation, swearing, Lots of Feelings, sympathetic everybody, descriptions of the sides having non-human features.

Word Count: 3,962

Something Remus came to realize was that he, a bit paradoxically, was not used to people being in his space.

It was weird. Not weird in the way that people usually felt when he was the one interrupting- he wasn’t scared by it, or disgusted, or even really annoyed. It was just… surprising, to have somebody else hanging around him, unprompted by anything. 

Remus wasn’t known for having boundaries- or respecting them, for that matter- but he’d at least been attempting to restrain himself just a bit after being accepted by the others. Out of courtesy, if nothing else. 

And apparently he didn’t need to. Not after what happened with Patton, anyway. Now that Patton had deemed the two of them ‘close’- something he was absolutely happy to agree with, for the record- Remus’ world had flipped sort of around. Back to no boundaries, only he wasn’t the one crossing those lines, and nobody was running screaming. Least of all Patton!

Remus ran the thoughts over in his head, feeling like that day was shaping up to be a great example of the change:

He and Patton were sitting side-by-side in the living room, content, with the rest of the sides spread around in different seats and configurations just the same. The unlikely pair were at the fringe of the circle, close enough to be part of things but far enough to zone in and out at will (as both were prone to do). It was nice, amiable.

 But minutes before- forty of them at most- Remus had been up in his own room, happily dissecting some gooish creations and only vaguely aware that there was a meeting that day. His attendance to group meetings varied from week to week- sometimes he was bored and could use an argument, and other times he was having fun on his own and knew that it wouldn’t be all that important if he ditched. He joined more often than he used to, sometimes he was even asked for, but he was optional still. A favored option, suggestions taken now, sure- but still not mandatory. 

He was going to stay upstairs for that one, but Patton had come to get him. Had dragged him down in that sweet, puppy-dog way of convincing that worked so well and, knowing him, was totally unintentional. And even if Remus didn’t care about arguing his way through content production right then, Patton had promised that it was important for him to be there.

That was the word he’d used for Remus. Important.

How the hell could Remus say no to that?

At least the meeting was going by without a hitch, for once. He assumed it was- Remus was honestly paying very little attention- but the lack of anger or tension was practically palpable. These things were usually so spiteful that even Remus, renowned lover of chaos, could almost taste his headache when everybody started shouting and hissing and fighting. It just got sad.

But not that time, apparently.

As Logan went on his third ramble of the evening, smiling widely at a surprising lack of interruption, Remus turned to Patton. He whispered:

“Okay, when are they gonna snap? Did they all finally get lobotomized?”

Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean where’s all the screaming and crying? Specs and Prince Priss haven’t had a single one of their horny yelling matches, what gives?”

Patton smiled in a way that said he was trying very hard not to laugh, rolling his eyes.

  “These meetings have calmed down a bit, I guess,” he shrugged.

Remus glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. While that certainly seemed like the truth, he couldn’t buy it. 

“Yeah, I give it until one of them vaguely insults the others,  and then everybody’s gonna shut down for the next week. That kinda tension doesn’t just go.”

Patton didn’t say anything. Half-gazing at the carpet, he didn’t look like he’d even heard. He was smiling, but it was one of those jumbled up expressions, the type that tried to span a hundred different feelings. He had so many expressions like that, that seemed bottomless and swirling and so intricate on a humanoid face that, in reality, wasn’t built to display something like that. It was uncanny- not like an eerie doll, but like something with unearthly beauty. This face, though, had tones of upset.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been around everybody,” Patton said.

It wasn’t a question and it didn’t need to be. While Remus wasn’t exactly known for keeping to himself, he couldn't be called sociable either. He dropped in to say something, usually random, and then he was gone as soon as he’d visited. Even before the first Patton incident, fuck, it had been weeks since he’d actually stuck around through something.

Since The Acceptance, now that Remus thought of it, he’d been spending more time alone than ever. Not all of  his time- he remembered being surprised at Logan talking to him, willingly, like friends, and after that had even come Virgil and Roman. He saw people, talked to them, yeah. The time spent was friendlier, more welcoming, but it was so much less. 

Well, it was obvious why: they visited him, but- like he’d mentioned, he’d been trying to give them some space.

“Sure, it's been awhile,” Remus admitted, “But I never expected shit to change so much around here, still.”

The haze on Patton’s face thickened like fog on the moors, a soft and sympathetic mist over his eyes that Remus knew was aimed at him (even if it was pointed more to a sort of middle distance). 

“I don’t think I did, either,” Patton’s mouth barely moved, his voice less of a whisper and moreso a fragile breath. “I was hoping for it, but… I’m still trying to get used to stuff being allowed to change, you know?” He picked at a loose thread along the seam of the couch. “I haven’t done this stuff in a while, either.” 

Remus’ head shot up, and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two in the room. Somehow, he stopped himself from shouting:

“You- it has?”

A tiny smile. Something built up behind Patton’s eyes; a wave, dark and lonely and filling his bright blues with cloudy gray. “I just needed some alone time, after everything changed so much so fast. I still feel, I dunno, weird. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- but…” he swallowed, his head lifting. “I’m really happy for them,” he was staring- so very loving- first at Logan, then Roman, then Virgil and Janus. It was a wonder none of them felt his gaze on them, Remus thought, because he was sure if anyone looked at him that way, he’d burn up like a fae upon iron. “They deserve it so much. I know that not everything is perfect still, but, I’m just so proud of us anyways. I- I think maybe-”

He cut himself off, blinking rapidly. Remus gave the room a quick once over to make sure nobody was looking their way- and nobody was: Virgil was very resolutely trying to get everyone to stay on topic despite Janus and Logan’s continued tangenting, and Roman was scribing furiously on several different pieces of paper- before he inched close enough to curve his arm around Patton. Touching like that had steadily become familiar to both of them, and it didn’t take long for Patton to fall untense against his side. He leaned into him, muttering: “I mean, they’re all doing a lot better than me, that’s for sure. I- I don’t even know what I’m for anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve been… ditching, really.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder. There were so many things he could’ve said and done, but all of them loud and fervent and definitely not subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone. So, for the sake of Patton’s privacy, he settled on this:

“That makes two of us, Morey.”

 The meeting that was planned to take two or three hours took the entire day, just as always. Hours and hours were spent in a room filled with excited conversation, of which the subject oscillated wildly between relevant topics and complete nonsense- which Remus and Patton did, eventually, tune back into (and contribute to as well, mainly in the nonsense department). Eventually, even Virgil gave up on trying to keep anything in order. 

But the meeting ended on a good note anyway. Lots of good notes, actually, if the stacks upon stacks of paper they’d scribbled up were any indication. Mess, the sides had come to believe, was usually a measure of their productivity: if crumpled pages were strayed across the room, if forgotten pens and pencils balanced on every surface from coffee table to TV stand, and if- in the process of snacking- they’d accumulated enough dishes to fill the sink for days on end? Shit. Got. Done.

Remus stared over the chaos with unfocused eyes. He felt distantly proud of the stormish state the living room was in. Draped over the back of the sectional, he gnawed idly on a wood pencil, stripping its yellow into beige. The paint fell off in bitter chunks, and the taste made him think of grabbing some non-acrylic dinner before closing the night off. Maybe he’d steal some of whatever saccharine sweet Patton usually made in the late evenings, and then spend the rest of the night with him, anyway. Remus debated what would be the most fun (or if he was tired enough to sleep yet), partially aware as he did so that he’d chewed and swallowed the metal-eraser end of his pencil.

“Ugh,” a drawn out groan broke his thoughts, petulant and whiny. “Do you have any intention of helping us clean up this, the common area?” 

Roman was kneeling beside Janus on the carpet, the pair surrounded by papers and binders and trashbags, the former of which they were sorting into either of the latter two, depending on how useful each page was. Roman had stopped working, however, to stare up at Remus indignantly. Remus glared right back.

“I’ve never had an intention in my life,” he answered.

Janus shrugged, smiling in that I-told-you-so way at Roman. But Roman, ever the nuisance, wasn’t letting it go. 

“Come on! It’s not like you’re even doing anything!”

“I’m doing something,” Remus’ words were wide and wobbly as he stripped another line of paint off the pencil, breaking some splinters off into his teeth.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” another chunk of wood, down the hatch. “I’m flaying all these leftover pencils until they’re lead-sticks.”

Roman hopped up from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch, shoving himself into the way so jarringly that it reminded Remus of himself. 

“Well, now you’re going to help us clean.” 

Janus rolled his eyes, not even glancing up. “Roman, just leave it alone, we-”

“We are all parts of this whole now, including him! Remus-” Roman rounded on him again, “If you’re going to come down here and help us make all this mess, with all of your numerous contributions that we have to write down, you’ll help clean it like anybody else. Do you think that I like any of- of-” he gestured, flamboyantly, at the room, “This? Ugh, please, I’m a prince! But, fair is fair, and fair means everybody.” 

And that was the point of the conversation in which Remus would cackle, push Roman backwards off the couch, and proclaim how much it’d go against his very being to clean a mess instead of cause it. He’d tell Roman how funny it was that he thought he could boss him around, because it always had been- that full-of-it Older Brother kind of attitude that had never worked. The Prince had never once managed to get him to do anything, and each attempt only got funnier than the last. 

He didn’t say any of that, though. 

Roman was bitching at him, not to go away this time, but to stay. Stay and help the group, because he was a part of said group. So he was asked to help them, the group that he was a part of, because he was part of it. That group. 

“Okay,” he blurted, “Okay, I’ll- alright.”

Roman blinked at him, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “You- oh!” he smiled, utterly baffled. “That was- very easy?”

Janus, too, was looking up at Remus with bewilderment, his task of paper-sorting all but forgotten. Remus couldn’t blame either of them, but he still huffed, trying very hard not to be embarrassed by that whole… moment.

He shook it off, rolling off the couch and standing up, jittery. 

“Whatever, just- tell me what to pick up, okay?” 

They seemed not to hear him, the gawking continuing on until he started working unprompted, and longer than that still. Each time he (begrudgingly) shoved something into a trashbag, it earned him another Exchange of Glances from the pair. 

They got over it eventually, though, because there was a fuck-load more to clean than there was room to stare. So they cleaned.

Remus thought it would get old after a minute, and he’d finally gather up the guts to bail on them, but it just… never happened. It felt unnatural to be getting rid of a mess- like an animal having its fur brushed the wrong way, continuously- but by some point the sensation was distant. The rest of him was still busy processing, experiencing, maybe possibly overthinking this kind of recognition he’d never gotten before. It was handed to him now like it was something normal. The three of them worked together, and it was normal. 

Acceptance, as it turned out, wasn’t synonymous with ‘soulless assimilation’. In fact, it was pretty fucking great, getting to watch his brother and best friend find documents from the floor with his ideas on them, then tucking them into a binder marked important, instead of a trashcan marked to burn. It was… surreal. 

But the tidying was over in just an hour and a half- oh wow, never in a million years would Remus have thought an hour and a half of cleaning would be too little for him. He made a note to absolutely destroy something big and important later, to balance the universe out again. 

Roman sank through the floor as soon as they were done, complaining loudly about how very exhausted he was. Remus teased him on his way out, but it was just for the habit- he was way too mushy to think of anything properly mean at the moment. 

Janus watched him go, silent. He sat beside Remus on the couch, and despite his obvious tiredness, he waited a good few minutes before saying anything. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

Remus shivered. Janus pulled him up into a hug (one that maybe dragged on for a little too long, but who was counting?), and it spelled out all the pride and care that he’d never been good at verbalizing. With that, he gave Remus a short nod, and then was gone as well. 

Which made everyone else upstairs, probably in their rooms and halfway asleep. Then there was Remus, antsy in the living room, itchy with feelings. 

Everyone but Patton, of course, who could still be heard humming in the kitchen; who never went up until he knew everyone else was in their rooms, true to the protective parent persona. Remus suddenly didn’t think he wanted anything else but to see Patton after what had happened, to talk to him, to… 

He walked to the kitchen.

“Pat.”

Patton looked over his shoulder at Remus, up to his elbow in sudsy sink water. A smile fell naturally across his face.

“Hi,” his voice was low, delicate. “You about to head up?”

Remus watched his friend work, trailing into the room slowly.  He grinned, “Are you kidding? I could stay up all night, if I wanted.”

“Do you want to?” Patton asked him.

Remus thought on it for a moment. He shrugged, iunno, leaned against the counter by the sink. Patton turned away again.

It was so quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Not a muffled voice upstairs, even- just the sound of water and ceramic hitting ceramic. Everything was still.

Remus hated it. Silence was fragile, and he crawled with the need to break it. He felt it get tense as it stretched out, and he just wanted to tear the air apart with sound. It felt like nothing mattered anymore, when peace was so easily able to drown it all out. Cold and alone. He hated it.

Sometimes, Remus imagined that if the silence went too long, he’d never be able to make a noise again. There were few things that made him so unhappy, but the quiet… 

“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked.

Remus jolted. Patton was staring, concern gathering in his eyes the longer he did. Remus took a deep breath- he remembered something, something small and unimportant that Janus had told him once. 

When one is so intensely happy, they can fall to agonizing upset even quicker than if they’d been mildly perturbed in the first place, because of the ferocity of the feelings. Something like that. 

“A lot more than I’m willing to throw on your shoulders, Pops.”

Patton pouted. Actually. Fucken. Pouted. The worst part was, his puppy-face was actually working.

“Ugh,” Remus rolled his eyes, “Just- could I- I dunno, have a hug, or some shit?”

If Patton was surprised, he hid it well. God knew, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Remus would ask for. He almost never asked to get attention- taking it was much easier, and much more entertaining. Besides, if he’d ever asked before that point… well, he already knew what answer he would’ve gotten. 

Patton’s smile only widened, until it was positively melting. “Of course you can,” he shut the sink off. “Of course.”

He reached haphazardly for a hand towel, to dry his arms. Remus, riding the high of that enthusiastic permission, absolutely could not wait that long. He latched his arms around Patton’s middle before the side had even finished talking, burying his face between his shoulder blades and hugging tight. 

Patton went still, like he didn’t know what to do. After it became clear that Remus had no intention to move, Patton laughed, dreamy and soft, and shook his hands as dry as he could. He patted Remus’ forearm; bead-bracelets clattered under the Duke’s sleeves. 

“Hey,” Patton said.

“Mmh?”

“Not that this isn’t lovely,” he laced his fingers with Remus’, squeezed them, “But I’d like it better if I could hug you back, ya know?”

Remus let go, reluctantly. In the true fashion of intrusive thoughts, there was a second he was so convinced Patton would run, now that he was freed. Make an escape from him, an escape from his claws.

He didn’t. He spun right around and pulled Remus against his chest- one arm linked around his torso, the other winding into his tangled hair. Anyone, at a glance, could see that Patton was huge- but up close the difference was dizzying: his wide chest, encircling arms that seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and padding, and that height, all made him so… comforting. Big and strong, a body that disguised power in soft edges and fat. If he squeezed just a little too tight, in fact, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Patton could make splinters out of his bones. Which Remus definitely, definitely wouldn’t mind, but the knowledge that Patton not only could do that but also wouldn’t ever do that- that was what really did him in. 

And he’d hugged Patton before- months ago, and somehow Patton had seemed so small then, when everything had started- but being hugged? Properly, too, not underwater while one of them was drowning- it was a world of difference. No panic, no breakdowns, just a real, solid hug.

He could just ask for this and then have it. He could smell sugar cookies and candle wax, and feel somebody- a willing body- pressing in. It was weird. He thought that someday, he might get used to it. He wanted a chance to get used to it. 

“Do you wanna talk now?” Patton prompted, forcibly reminding Remus that he had a bloodhound’s nose for emotional distress. 

“I don’t know.”

Patton hummed, his fingers scratching through Remus’ hair. “Today went better than I thought it would.”

“You didn’t have to bring me, if you thought it was gonna be bad.”

“I wasn’t worried because of you! I was worried because of me. Things have been… a lot for me, lately.”

“Oh,” Remus angled his head to the side, looking up at him. “Yeah. I feel ya.”

“But they were all so much more patient, weren’t they,” Patton’s eyes went a little misty, the way they always did when he talked about his family. “Everything’s different now, and I guess that scared me, but I think that now… it’s a good different, you know?” 

“Like us, right?” Remus laughed, “This is the craziest difference, if ya think about it.”

Patton chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest so that Remus felt it more than heard it. 

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten through with today without you, you know that?” 

It was deeply honest. There was a beat. 

“I-” Oh fuck, Remus was choked up, when did that happen? “I wouldn’t have even had a day like today, without you, so. Do with that what you want.” 

Remus buried his face in Patton’s sternum, just to avoid the sad understanding in his eyes. 

He- he wasn’t exactly made for the care he was getting, not the kind of softness in that face. Not when Patton was still patiently untangling his matt of hair while they hovered in the stillness of the dark, empty kitchen, and Remus desperately didn’t want to cry. 

Patton gave him a minute to breathe, at the very least, before:

“They like you, though. Janus loves you.”

“Yeah, okay, but it’s not-”

“I know how you feel,” said Patton, and did. “Like they couldn’t actually care about us, even though it doesn’t make sense for them not to. It’s one of those things that’s easy to forget,” Remus could hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s good we have each other, when we need to get out of our own heads. At least, it’s like that for me, I don’t know if you even-”

“No,” Remus curled his claws in the back of Patton’s shirt, something dark and emotional flooding like tar through his chest. “Nah, you’re right, Morey. This is good for us.” 

Remus shook his head at nothing in particular. He forced his hands unballed, pulled back, and wormed his way out of Patton’s hug after way too long. 

His skin felt like paper from the affection, like he’d been electrocuted, and while that was fun- was amazing- for a while, he didn’t think he could handle much more in one sitting. 

Patton let him go, smiling warmly, leaning back against the counter. His eyes were shiny and wet, but he was content. 

“Thanks,” Remus said.

“What for? The hug?”

“No- I mean, that too, but I was saying ‘thanks, for caring’. For giving enough of a shit about me to try and help.”

Patton smiled, solemnly.

“I told you so,” he breathed, “I promised I would like you when I got to know you, and then I did. I do!” 

Remus felt a grin returning to his face, sliding across his lips more naturally than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.

“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Pat.”

Chapter Seven

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