#ash hits 4k

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[jamminvroomvroom]

ruined.

LN x fem!reader - 4k celebration

based on this request!

in which, why wouldn’t they fall in love?

back with another celebration request! thank u anon, love this one sm! so tempted to make something longer form outta this one omg... lemme know what you think of this, hugs hugs hugs

i had to reupload this! sorry if you already interacted :(

songs to set the mood: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas, you are in love by taylor swift, sofia by clairo, till forever falls apart by ashe and finneas

warnings: 18+!! minors go away dni!! smut, fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, voyeurism? kinda? friends to lovers, mutual pining

3.4k words

“i bring gifts!” you call out, throwing the keys on the side. you shuffle your feet against the doormat, awkwardly balancing the bottle of wine you hold in one hand and the box of pizza in the other. it doesn’t help that you feel like the michelin man, bundled up in a jacket and a scarf. you kick off your boots, leaving them haphazardly in the hallway.

“in the kitchen.” lando shouts back, and you trudge towards the sound of his voice, sliding around in your fluffy socks.

“i hate all of those stupid little cars that everyone in monaco seems to drive.” you tut, sliding the pizza box across the counter, the bottle of wine clinking against the granite.

“even my jolly?” lando pouts. he’s waiting with two wine glasses, even though you’ll drink most of the merlot while he scrunches his nose up in distaste, but this is routine, standard procedure.

“i do miss the jolly, to be fair.” you give him that much, grinning playfully.

five minutes later, your coat and scarf are long forgotten, slung over one of the high chairs that line his breakfast bar. you’re in the living room, sprawled on one end of the couch, him on the other. your feet rest in his lap and the pizza box rests across your knees. some series you’ve been trying to watch for weeks is playing on netflix, but you aren’t really paying much attention.

“so, you’re telling me,” you pause to take another bite of pizza, swallowing between giggles, “you’re telling me that you heard oscar through the wall?” you choke.

“yeah, i’m telling you! little oscar is definitely not… little, from what i heard.” he cackles. “and then afterwards, bless them, they were all dishevelled and he would not make eye contact with me.” lando explains, both of you a mess of giggles.

“oscar piastri, what a minx.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“as if that’s what i needed, by the way! the dry spell was not helped by whatever him and lily were getting at.”

“dry spell? you? don’t lie to me, norris.” you kick him gently.

“what? i’m serious! start of the season has been so busy, haven’t had time to… get busy.” he wiggles his eyebrows and you roll your eyes.

“welcome to my world, you prick.” you tease, kicking him again. you catch his ribs as you do, knowing full well you’ve hit the prime tickle spot.

“what’s your excuse?”

“excuse you, i’m a busy gal! we can’t all be famous jet-setting f1 drivers.” you feign offence, and he grins toothily.

“i meant,” he starts, speaking slowly as if you’re stupid, and for a third time, you kick him, a tad harder than the last two times. “you’re a catch, how are you not getting laid?”

you pray he can’t see the way you’ve gone pink.

truthfully, he’s the damn reason. how can any man live up to the one and only lando norris? how can anyone compare to your best friend? world famous, beautiful, down right hilarious, beautiful!

lando’s the guy that picks up the pieces every time some loser breaks your heart. he’s the guy who’s key you keep on your overflowing keychain, the guy who buys duplicates of the skincare products you use, so you can keep them at his place - you still laugh every time you remember the first time he tried to pronounce salicylic acid. he’s basically your guy, but after 10 years of friendship, you’re not willing to tell him that.

“just… not.” you shrug, tucking your hair behind your ear. he hums in response, sounds like he doesn’t believe you, but he drops it.

you sink three glasses of red, the pizza box is on the floor, and your eyes are drooping, heavy.

“bedtime for you, methinks.” lando whispers, gently shifting your feet from his lap. you frown, missing his touch already. you make grabby hands at him, too comfy to move on your own. “want me to carry you?” you nod lazily, a smile stretching across your face.

he slides one hand under your legs, the other under your back, and hoists you up. he holds you close to his chest, your head resting against his heart, so close that you can hear the soft thrum that keeps him warm.

“thank you.” you murmur as he places you softly on your- his guest bed.

“anytime, honey.” he smiles down at you. he thinks you’re so pretty like this, so sleepy and cosy. he fights the demons that tell him to crawl into the empty space beside you. “there’s some water here, sleep well, love.” he walks away, reaching the door when:

“love you.” you coo. he shivers. you always say it, and he always says it back, but lately, it pains him.

“yeah. love you too.”

lando pulls the door to quietly, leaning against the wood for a moment trying to compose himself.

-

it’s been an hour, and you’re sobered up, wide awake in the dark.

you try to fall asleep, really, you do, but your mind is moving a thousands miles an hour, and all you can think about is his dry spell. your dry spell.

how can you sleep when you know he’s on the other side of the wall, as needy as you are for a warm body. you also know that you’ve soaked through your underwear. you’re wildly uncomfortable, restless, desperate for a sweet release, whether that be of sleep, or something else.

you can’t ask him, it would be a step too far, despite how torturously close you already are. so instead, you drive yourself insane with the thought of him; the image of him, head thrown back, slick and sweaty, cock hard in his hand.

what’s the harm in helping yourself out?

you’re throbbing, hot all over. you lose the war with yourself and your hand trails shamelessly down your body. you’re so sensitive that you’re instantly stifling moans, hand slapped over your mouth. you can’t get the earlier image out of your head, and you pray he’s on the other side of the wall thinking about you. you’re desperate, bucking your hips into your hand, aching for a release. you wish your hands were lando’s, big and rough, toying with every quivering part of you.

you have an idea, a twisted one, the kind that almost sends you over the edge. what would happen if you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, if you tore your hand away and cried out like you wanted to? every shred of rationality leaves your needy body.

you’re whining, clear as day. your resist calling out his name as your high builds, tweaking your clit between your fingers. you’re so dangerously close, hovering right on the edge. that’s when you hear it.

on the other side of the wall, your vision of lando has become a reality. your faint whines through the wall have him rock hard, fucking his own hand. he wishes it could be yours, and with the way you’re crying out, he doesn’t think you’d oblige to sitting on his lap, wet and pretty, and letting him sink his cock nice and deep.

but he can’t cross that line. not with you. it doesn’t matter how badly he wants you, how he’d go to the ends of the earth for you. one night wasn’t worth ten years of friendship, washed down the drain.

his hand speeds up, his head thrown back, at the same time as you slip two fingers inside of yourself. you fingers curl, hitting deep when you hear a throaty groan sounding from the other side of the wall.

you’d think a millionaire would have thicker walls.

he hears the exact moment you cum, a noticeable change in your sounds. they’ve gone up an octave, breathless, and before he can even register, he’s spurting thick white ribbons that land hotly on his skin.

you clean yourselves up, rooms apart but the same exact things running through your minds.

i just got off to the sound of my best friend.

-

you nibble the crusts of your toast. the kitchen is quiet, painfully so, and the air is still.

lando has his back to you, making you another cup of coffee. he’s forgone a shirt and you try your absolute best to ignore the warm glow of his skin. he looks radiant. you know why; orgasms can do that.

“lando-“

“we don’t need to talk about it, honey.”

“um, i was just gonna tell you that you’re burning your toast.” you snicker.

“oh, fuck.” he slides along the floor to the toaster, burning his fingers on blackened bread.

when he turns to you, he’s tinged red, grinning bashfully.

“moving on.”

“i need to get home but dinner later? i won’t stay the night.” you wink. you crave the normalcy that once was, the light, teasing nature of your friendship.

“i’ll cook.” he’s still blushing.

“ooh, on second thought.” you suck air through your teeth, pulling a face.

“get outta here.” he sticks his tongue out at you.

-

dinner was… well, it was edible.

he made spaghetti and some kind of sauce, one that you couldn’t quite work out the contents of but it was good enough.

“thanks, lan.” you smile softly, helping him clear the few plates off the table.

“anytime, honey.” he replies.

you’re standing at the sink, placing the cutlery down when you feel him behind you. you spin around, instantly regretting it, because you’re caged in. he’s leaning up to reach into a cupboard, frozen. so, so close. his panicked breath fans your face and you can feel the heat of his body.

you lean in, because why wouldn’t you? and so does he, so, so close. your hand that rests on the edge of the sinks moves so that you can reach out and cup his disgustingly perfect face but then-

a knife that had been hovering between the counter and plunging into the soapy hot water gets nudged over the edge by your clumsy hand and clatters against into the bowl.

the irritating noise springs you both back to reality and he jumps away like an orange cat. you grimace at the awkward tension, and he scratches the back of his neck. and then you’re laughing, hard, and of course he joins in because this situation is utterly ridiculous and your laugh is so beautifully contagious.

“oh my god, what is wrong with us?” you wheeze through the laughter, leaning back against the counter.

“last night was… insane. and now everything feels weird so, let’s just go back to basics.” lando smiles gracefully. you nod.

“that sounds absolutely perfect.”

“netflix?”

“and chill?” you chime in sarcastically. he glares at you. “couldn’t help it.” you hold your hands up in faux surrender.

-

you don’t know when you fall asleep, but you conk out, head lulling against his shoulder when you do.

he haunts your dreams, fingers thick between your thighs while you whimper his name. you must be out of it, so deep in your slumber that it takes lando a good few coos of your name to draw you out of it.

when your eyes shoot open, he’s looking down at you, a single curl falling over his forehead, taunting you.

“you dreaming of me?” he grins, something in his eyes that snaps you out of your grogginess.

“wh-why?” you splutter, sitting up. he’s still so close to you, coy smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips,

“kept making these little sounds, panting my name. got me thinking.”

“about what?” you whisper.

“how much i wanted to pin you to that bed last night and make you cry for me.”

“is this gonna ruin us?” your voice trembles with a unique blend of fear and anticipation.

“after last night? baby, we’re already ruined.”

his lips meet yours, tentative for just a brief second, and then it’s passionate, warm, lightning. his hands are firm on your body, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no other option but to clamber into his lap. your hands find his hair, tugging wildly until his curls are a disheveled mess, pulled every which way.

“you’re so beautiful. want to tell you all the time but-“ lando mumbles into your mouth, urgent and hushed.

“but friends don’t do that.” you cut him off.

he pulls away from you, his nose bumping yours. his eyes are so blue today, sparkly.

“i think we’re more than that.” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “i think we have been for a while.”

“yeah.” you pant. “yeah we have. yeah.” your eyes dart between his and his kiss swollen lips.

and then you’re licking into his mouth, sighing at the relief. he paws at your waist, warm hands sliding under your jumper, gliding over your hips and up, up, up, until he’s dragging the material over you head and tossing it carelessly to the side. he kisses over your collarbone, licking and nipping while his hands smooth over your bra. he plucks at the fasten, and you relax as it snaps open, and the straps slide over your shoulders.

“is this okay, angel?” he whispers.

“perfect.”

his thumbs trace over the curve of your breasts, teasing your nipples gently, enough to send shockwaves through your body. you’re subconsciously grinding down on him, dragging your hips over his crotch, mouth dropping open when you hear the way his breath catches in his throat.

“driving me insane, honey.” he gulps, rolling your nipples between his fingers. “need to get inside of you.”

“hurry up then.” you sound desperate to your ears, delicious to his.

“do you know how hard it was to stay in my room last night? when i could hear you making those pretty little noises? you’re so bad.” he tuts, lifting you off of his lap and laying you back against the couch.

nimble fingers undo your jeans and you jolt as he slides them down your thighs, intimate touches on intimate skin. you lace your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, and you moan into his open mouth when his fingers trail beneath your underwear.

lando dips his fingers between your folds, groaning as soon as he feels where your wetness has pooled in your panties. you’re intoxicating, he thinks, and he’s starving for you. he pries his hand from between your legs, lapping at his soaked digits. his eyes fall shut, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks.

your taste sparks something within him, and he wriggles onto his belly, resting in between your thighs. he toys with your panties, just for a second, and he can’t help but latch on. he laves his tongue over the growing wet patch, eyes fluttering shut. he drags your underwear to the side, lapping over your cunt messily.

“taste so good.” he slurs into your pussy, depraved and ravenous. you buck your hips, the sensation of his words sending rumbles of vibrations to every one of your nerve endings.

you writhe against the plush couch, sinking deeper between the cushions as he fucks his tongue deeper and deeper, burrowing his face as far between your thighs as he can go.

“lando, ‘m so close.” you gasp, tugging hard at his curls, taking your nails across his scalp. he whimpers, whimpers, at the sensation and that’s enough to finish you off.

he keeps going, kitten licking you through your orgasm and you pant, nothing but white behind your squeezed shut eyes. you have you drag him away, overstimulated and twitching against the silvery grey fabric of the sofa.

“fuck.” you laugh, breathless.

“good?” he smirks.

“shut up and come here.” you make grabby hands at him, and he clambers over you, smiling wide, his lips coated shiny and red.

“you’re pretty.” he coos, licking his lips clean.

“so are you.” you whisper.

he collapses on top of you, urgently slotting his lips over yours. he slides his hands all over your frame, memorising every dip and curve, while your hands find the waistband of his joggers. you push the material down his hips gently tracing his hip bone; he shudders at the graze, kicking the fabric away and wrapping his hand around his cock.

you glance down, taking in the sight before you. he’s thick in his own hand, red and slick already, as he runs his hand over himself.

“you want me?” he manages to ask through gritted teeth.

“please.” you whine, reaching to replace his hand, but he bats you away.

“patience, baby. wanted you like this for so long, you can wait a few seconds.” he scolds, condescendingly.

you don’t get a chance to talk back, because he’s sliding inside of you, nice and slow. your eyes roll back at the delectable stretch, he’s bigger than you’ve had in a while, and you hum lowly. he kisses over your throat and you can hear his shaky breath fanning your ear. you’re fluttering around him, adjusting to him with small circles of your hips.

“do something.” you beg, hushed and breathless.

“you think you can take it?” lando taunts, but you can hear the way his voice waivers as your walls spasm around him.

“can you?” you whisper, giving as good as you get. something inside of him snaps and pride kicks in, because before you can even truly gloat, he’s barrelling into you.

you cling onto his shoulders greedily, digging your fingertips in to whatever part of him you can get hold of. he thrusts so deep, all the way in, before dragging fully out, leaving you aching for him to fill you up again. he’s going quick enough that you can’t really complain, but slow enough to tease, to drive you insane beneath him. it feels too good to hurry him up, he knows what he’s doing and you want to take it, feel him like this. you’re quivering, his cock hitting every single spot that makes you tick and you think you can die happy now that you’ve had him.

“i’m so close.” you warn, overstimulated from your first orgasm. he ups his pace, just enough to send you spiralling, and you can’t keep your eyes open as you let go, your legs kicking out.

it’s too much when you open your eyes and find him staring down at you, sleepy and sweaty. he’s gorgeous like this, pupils blown, bronze skin glistening in the low light. he feels the way you throb around him, still buried so deep.

“not done with you yet, angel. c’mere.” lando sits back, pulling your limp body along with him until your right back where you started, sprawled over his lap.

he’s so close to his own release, pained and restless, and you can feel the head rubbing against your clit. even in your state of pure exhaustion, you can’t help but grind down against him, and he lifts your hips enough for you to sink down on him.

your sounds of pleasure ricochet off of one another’s, animalistic contentment spilling from between two sets of equally swollen lips. you’re so full like this, rocking tiredly, backwards and forwards.

“just like that, baby. just like that.” he’s breathing heavily, brows furrowed. his head tips back, neck thick and flexed, and you’re thrown back into the deep end of your fantasy.

“oh my god.” you choke, tears of satisfaction building. “lando!” you cry, meeting his shallow thrusts. he’s guiding your hips up and down, just enough to hammer against that special spot that makes you whine his name.

“cum for me, baby, last one. know you can do it pretty girl.” the praise knocks the last bits of air out of you and you collapse forwards into his arms. he holds you tight, groaning sweet nothings and your name like a prayer, right in your ear.

“you’re definitely staying tonight.” lando laughs softly, coming down. you think back to your earlier refusal, grinning lazily.

“guest room?” you joke, kissing his shoulder.

he pulls you back so that he can look at you, cupping your face.

“you’re never staying in that room ever again.”

he kisses you, then. soft. warm. home.

it’s natural, everything you’ve been missing, and somehow the only thing you’ve been missing in your relationship with him. he already gave you everything you could ever need, tonight was the cherry on top.

“are we gonna be okay?” you whisper, so quiet that you can barely hear yourself. fear pools in your belly.

“i hope so. ‘cause i’m never letting you go now.”

-

i feel so warm inside hehe

-

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[targaryen-dynasty]

TO STOKE A FLAME.

Aemond Targaryen x servant!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (m receiving), power imbalance (prince and maid), mutual pining, female Reader

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: this is written for the writing challenge hosted by @targaryenvampireslayer I got the prompt "Just relax for me, I'll make it feel good" and the trope mutual pining. This was my first time writing mutual pining, and I hope it's at least slightly fitting lol.

When you’re first assigned to cleaning the chambers of the King’s second son, your heart leaps for it means you are able to escape the tortures of being a scullery maid for a position that is at least a bit higher ranked, and not as ungrateful and strainful. 

Prince Aemond is an early riser, already up long before first light, and whenever he sets off to train with the sword in the morning, it’s time for you to take care of his quarters. 

There’s another maid that has been offered the same opportunity, only that she is in charge of making the chambers Prince Aegon presentable, and from what you have gathered, you wouldn’t want to trade places with her. 

Aemond’s chambers are always immaculate when you step into them. Everything is in its place, and the air is always filled with the cool morning breeze from the windows he’s kept open. Quite different to the quarters of his older brother. 

But what they do have in common are their questionable reputations. 

While Aegon is promiscuous, known to pinch and fondle at any serving girl who strays within his reach, Aemond is somewhat feared, at least among the staff. Most servant girls keep well away from the prince, and a part of you is certain it is solely because of the black eyepatch he dons after losing his eye, and the grim expression he usually holds on his face. 

The other maid that tends to his chambers with you is overly cautious when dusting or putting fresh linens on his bed, something that even makes you swallow thickly. However, you can’t seem to bring yourself to share their sentiment. 

How could you?

Despite only meeting the prince very briefly, you feel like every day that you sweep through his chambers, you get to know him more and more. If there’s bedlam following in Aemond’s wake when he leaves in the morning, it merely consists of several books scattered all over his desk, his armchairs and sometimes even his bed. 

Most of them deal with dragon lore, history, and a variety of other subjects which you wouldn’t expect to be read by any other lord, making clear that the prince is very well educated, and always strives to learn more. 

And though he keeps his chambers mostly spotless, there’s very much of his personality in them – if you read between the lines. 

More oft than not, the armchairs close to the fireplace don’t stand in their usual positions, turned to the side to face each other with one of them being piled by books or scrolls. And you know from the servants that he’s often found sitting beside the fireplace either in deep thought or engrossed in a book with the flames of the fire dancing in the corner of his eye. 

You’re cleaning his quarters all by yourself today for Darla, the other maid assigned, has been called to take care of something else, which means you’re granted slightly more time for Aemond’s chambers. 

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, you’re knocking off as much ash and debris as possible back into it, before some of it is swept up and emptied into the pail standing next to you. 

You’ve been a bit too engrossed in your task when the doors behind you burst open, catching you by surprise and startling you. There’s only one person that could and would enter the prince’s quarters at this hour of the day – the prince himself. 

As you hurry to get back on your feet, already straightening and dusting off the skirt of your maid attire, you’re a bit too quick and hit your head on the ledge of the fireplace, your mob cap falling to the ground in the process. 

It’s a stinging pain that shoots right through your whole body, and a throbbing that settles at the crown of your head. You bring a hand up to soothe the pain at least a bit, before you’re reminded of the reason why you got up in the first place. 

Gritting your teeth, you take in a sharp breath and lower your hand, bobbing a small curtsy with a strained ‘Prince Aemond’ leaving your lips to the man that stands still in the room, clearly regarding you.

“My apologies, I–” you say, trying to make excuses and wanting to state that you’re just about to leave, but he cuts you off. 

“Are you well?” he asks, though there is a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I apologize for startling you, that was not my intent.”

What’s even more unusual than him apologizing to you, a servant, for barging into his own chambers is that he's inquiring about your well-being. You’ve never before been acknowledged by any of the Targaryen’s, not that you expected it, and feeling his gaze on you kind of makes you nervous. 

He raises his brow when there doesn’t come an answer from you, and you take it as your cue to speak. “I–Yes, Prince Aemond,” you stutter, bowing your head. Raising it again, your hand brushes the crown of it briefly, the spot still throbbing despite it happening a few moments ago. “I am well. It’s–It’s nothing, my prince.” 

Gathering your things, you’re caught off guard for a second time since he’s entered his chambers as he slowly approaches you. He has a sympathetic smile on his lips now, and you’re not sure if it’s the embarrassment or him coming close enough to tower above you, but your body feels like it’s been put on fire. 

“Are you certain you’re well?” he asks, eye flitting from your head to meet your eyes. “You’ve struck your head rather hard.”

He reaches to inspect the spot on your head, yet he hesitates and pulls back right before his fingers could brush your hair. You’re slightly disappointed, but your pounding heart is grateful. Just the mere proximity brings a blush to your cheeks and has you shifting your weight from one leg to the other, and you’re certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle him touching you. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, and your hands clutch the handle of the pail tight enough for your knuckles to blanch from the force. It’s unnerving, and you’re torn between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. You’re afraid he’s not the man you’ve made up in your mind, that there’s just a hint of truth in the rumors that make their way around staff and court. 

His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade, smooth and somewhat calming. “What’s your name?”

Taking in a deep breath, you tell him your name, but not without your eyes darting to the ground. His gaze is heavy, too heavy for you to meet it, and you feel as though there’s something else than curiosity woven within it.

“You’re quite flustered over nothing,” he hums, and the way your name slips past his lips with so much ease almost makes you melt right then and there; at least it’s enough to make you forget that he’s clearly noticed the effect he has on you. 

Aemond takes note of you being nervous around him, his attention causing your blood to rush through your veins. It seems as though it’s a rather strong reaction that you have to him, something not many women feel when he comes near them. It’s endearing.

Your eyes flicker upwards to meet his good one again, and you straighten your back for another curtsy. 

“M-my apologies, Prince Aemond.”

You can spot the exact moment the corners of his lips curl into a teasing smirk, your timid demeanor and your nervousness the trigger for it. And being as cocky as he is, he thinks he could have a bit of fun with you. 

“It seems you’re rather out of sorts for something so trivial,” he notes, his tone teasing and playful, matching the flicker of mischief in his eye. “Perhaps I should inspect you myself to see if you have in fact sustained any injuries.”

His words make you feel as if the world around you is slowing down, making everything feel almost unbearable. You’re finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eye without blushing or your breath becoming heavy, and therefore fix them on the ground again. Noticing his large feet in comparison to your much smaller ones, your thoughts briefly stray to what else of him might be large. 

But before you can answer him, or your thoughts can dive deeper, Aemond places a hand beneath your chin and gently tilts your face back up for you to meet his gaze. You’ve only seen one other in passing, and even then you’re certain he’s paid no mind to you at all, so his touch comes unexpected. But you don’t tense, and you certainly don’t pull away. However, you’re unsure if you should give in and lean into it. 

His finger brushes along your jawline, trailing down the curve of your neck, and coming close to your collarbone, a heat following in its wake. He stops for a second, as if he’s debating whether or not he should move his touch any further. 

Aemond’s surprised by your reaction, yet he also realizes that you’re much more interesting than any of the other maids for they were all alike – all not daring to look at him or stay in his presence for longer than a few minutes. But you’re different. 

He could already tell by the way you so neatly clean and store his books when he’s spent his night reading by the fire, or how you seem to pay extra attention when you’re putting fresh linens on his bed, fluffing his pillows without the hurry the previous chambermaid has had. 

And seeing his touch having such a significant impact on you, the little maid he’s spent so much time dreaming and fantasizing about, feeds a desire he didn’t have before – the desire to bed you, to claim you. 

“Get on your knees,” he orders, hooded eye looking down at you. 

Swallowing thickly, your mind struggles to comprehend what he asked of you. “I-what?” you stammer in disbelief. 

“You heard me. On your knees.” He’s a bit firmer now, and uses the slight grip he has on your shoulder to give you a little help sinking down. You follow his lead, the pail rattling onto the ground. 

Your hands are folded in your lap when you gaze up at him, eyes wide and curiously studying his next move. With your thumbs brushing over each other, you try to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, grazing your skin to distract yourself from the throbbing that blossoms between your legs. 

Aemond looms over you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s something in the position you’re in, and the combination of his gentle touch and stern orders that gets to your head, and lures you in to lean into his hand. It also makes you a bit bolder as you place a hand on his thigh in return.

It piques his interest, obvious in the way he raises a brow, and his eye flickers to where your hand rests on his body. But he doesn’t shy away from the touch. 

“Do you know what I require of you?” Aemond asks, sterner than before. 

You bow your head, batting your eyelashes at him in an innocent manner. “I do, my Prince.”

That’s all he has to hear before he swiftly unlaces the front of his breeches and tugs them down barely enough to free his cock and stones, the sight alone making your breath hitch in your throat. He’s well endowed, and far bigger than the cock of the one man you’ve slept with before.

You release a shaky breath, replaying all the knowledge you’ve gathered about pleasuring a man with your mouth, and catch a whiff of musk mixed with the salty smell of sweat – he’s definitely trained with the sword this morning. 

Squeezing his thigh, your eyes flicker between his and his hard cock as the slight nod of his head encourages you to curl your hand around it, your thumb and index finger barely touching. 

He throbs in your palm already, and the tip is covered in a red that makes it clear he’s desperate to be buried inside of something; probably not caring whether it’s your mouth or your cunt.

Even though you cower beneath his dominating presence, a jolt of boldness strikes you that makes you lean in and lick a flat stripe from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip. A salty taste lingers on your tongue as you drag it over the slit, making you hum appreciatively, seemingly pleased to witness the effect your touch and presence have on the prince’s body. 

Aemond buries his hands in your hair, loosening the bun you’ve put it into this morning, and grabs a fistful of it. It’s a sharp tug of him that catches your attention, and your wide eyes flit up to meet his demanding gaze. 

Spurred on by the heavy breaths moving his chest, you swallow, and eventually part your lips to slowly ease him inside, and even though he holds you by your hair, he’s generous enough to not force himself inside, allowing you to move as you please. 

“Fuck,” he growls as he gets accustomed to the warmth and tightness of your mouth, head tipping back to release a bawdy groan. 

You hollow your cheeks around him, and, after a few moments that allow you to adjust to him, start to bob your head back and forth his thick length, flattening your tongue against him for added stimulation. 

Growing bolder and bolder with each passing moment, you squeeze your thighs together every time the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat, robbing you of the ability to breathe until you pull off of him again. 

With his hand in your hair, Aemond senses you getting more comfortable, and starts to guide your head along his member, encouraging you to set up a quicker pace to which you eagerly comply. 

“That’s it,” he groans, not able to tear his eye from the sight of your lips wrapped around him as his cock repeatedly disappears inside of your mouth.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips down your chin with how fast you sink down on him, and the lewd sounds of his soaked cock sliding back and forth past your lips fill the prince’s chambers, hardly drowned out by his grunts and groans. 

At this point, you’re drenched in your arousal, the linen of your small clothes clinging to your swollen mound in a way that’s almost uncomfortable. 

While you bring one hand up to clasp around the rest of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh a bit harder than before, holding onto him for dear life as he uses your face however he pleases. 

You feel the muscles of his thigh tense and contract under your palm and his cock throb inside of you, indicating that he’s close to reaching his peak. It’s the first time you pleasure a man with your mouth, and you’re not quite sure what to expect. But before you can brace yourself for whatever might come, Aemond pulls you off of him by your hair, prompting you to topple back to sit on your haunches. 

You lock your teary eyes with his good one, lips smacking as his musky and salty taste spreads on them and your tongue. “My Prince, I–”

“Remove your clothes,” he interrupts you, his voice less friendly and more a command. 

There are so many thoughts rattling your mind right now, and you don’t know where to start and what to process. 

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls, his impatience showing as you don’t comply quickly enough. 

With a bow of your head, you rise to your feet and peel the beige-ish apron off of your body, the red dress and smallclothes following suit. You waste no thought on your modesty, on the fact that you’re standing bare in front of a prince of the mighty House Targaryen. The longing for him that has built with all the days you’ve cleaned his pristine chambers, and the undeniable aching between your legs don’t allow you to. 

You’re undressed when he stalks around you, regarding you like he’s the hunter and you’re his prey. You see that your obedience arouses him, his hard cock throbbing and bouncing with each step he takes around you. It’s thrilling in the best way possible, and the feeling of being desired by him feeds your confidence.

“Are you just watching, or will the prince undress as well?” 

His eye narrows and flickers up to yours at your question, and there’s the hint of a smile adorning his features. “Would you like that?” 

Biting your bottom lip, a blush creeps on your cheeks. “Very much.”

As you size him up, you notice a flush blossoming from his cheeks down his neck, the same warmth you feel obviously spreading through his body, too. 

“Then I suppose that I’ll oblige.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothing, slipping out of layer after layer, starting with the black leather robe, and ending with his smallclothes.  

You all but drag your eyes over his lithe frame, taking in every muscle that ripples beneath his pale skin, and every silver, coarse hair that trails from below his navel to his cock and the sac of his stones. 

It seems like he basks in your attention, in the way you stare at him in awe as you lick your lips, and he’s certainly not afraid of showing himself in his full glory. 

“Get on the bed,” he says, smugly. “On your hands and knees.”

This time you know better than to take a few seconds to comply, bowing your head before climbing his bed right away, getting in the desired position. You suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, completely at his mercy in a way you’ve never experienced before. However, your curiosity and desire overshadow any reservations you could have. 

“Pray tell, have you lain with a man before?” You feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he slowly settles behind you. His hands find your hips, and you shiver with anticipation. 

Looking at him from over your shoulder, you nod. “Just once, my prince.”

A soft hm rubles in his chest at your words, and he raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. You certainly seem to take him very seriously, which isn’t unusual given his station, but it’s your honesty that’s a whole different matter to him. “You enjoyed it, I presume?”

Still meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. You’re hesitant to answer, not sure why it’s of importance, but he doesn’t seem willing to let you off the hook just yet. “Yes, I did.”

Aemond gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze at that, and shuffles close enough for you to feel his cock press against your arse. “Would you be willing to again?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a grin, but fail miserably. The prince behind you takes that as his cue to continue, and you’re most grateful when you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your soaked folds. 

“Just relax for me,” he purrs, his eye fixed on the motions of his hand, watching as his cock disappears inside of you. “I’ll make it feel good.”

The moment you stretch around him, you take in a sharp breath, his cock breaching your cunt at a teasingly slow pace that makes sure you feel every vein and ridge of him drag along your walls.

With his hands coming back to rest on your hips, he pulls you onto his cock until his hips press against your arse, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘shit’ he mumbles doesn’t go unnoticed by you, a renewed wave of your arousal drenching his cock and the sac of his stones. 

If his impatience hasn’t been running thin before, it certainly does now, because the first gentle, sensual thrusts are quickly replaced by merciless pounding. You don’t mind it for you’ve been thoroughly soaked, and enjoy the feeling of his cock repeatedly brushing the spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry. 

Aemond brings a hand between your shoulders, applying a good bit of pressure to press your chest down and your face into the pillows. Your head turns to the side, but you’re not able to look at him.

His breathing is heavy, strained pants leaving him, and his hand trails back to grope your arse. 

“Fuck, what an obedient girl they’ve ordered to take care of my chambers–of me,” Aemond rambles behind you, bowing forwards to put a bit more of his weight on your small frame. “Taking me so well. Giving me exactly what I want.” 

The praise goes straight to your head, and you want to answer, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by quiet whimpers and whines that grow wanton as he splits you open with a hard, percussive thrust. Then another follows, and another, keening at the sweet sounds you make only for him. 

Not able to focus on anything else than the pressure building inside of your belly, you push your hips back against him, and he counters by pulling you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfways which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin to echo off the walls. 

He’s making you feel so good, so wanted, that you’re certain you would keep going even if someone is to barge into his chambers, interrupting you.

As his hand snakes beneath your body to make contact with your pearl, you’re overcome with the true knowledge of how experienced Aemond actually is. He strums your body like the most talented lutenist, bringing you closer towards your sweet release. 

“Gods, I–” you whine into the pillows. 

The taut string inside of you snaps, and the pleasure within you soares through your veins. White, hot pleasure clouds your vision, his arm around you the only thing keeping you up right now. 

“That’s it,” Aemond grunts, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, catching in your throat with little to no time to fill your lungs with air. 

And then, his hips stutter, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. He twitches and trembles so much that he’s forced to still his hips, and you take it as your cue to roll yours against him, helping him through his peak. 

The throbbing only stills once you’ve milked him for every drop of his seed and the last bit of the euphoric high subsides, making him come back to his senses. 

But there’s not much basking in the proximity for you, not when Aemond pulls out almost immediately after, climbing off the bed to get dressed again. The red dress is crudely thrown into your direction, silently making clear that it’s time for you to leave. 

It seems as though he’s embarrassed, because he has a hard time meeting your eyes, and doesn’t look at you when you get back in your clothes. But perhaps you’re just not catching the subtle glances he throws into your direction as your maid attire comes back to hug your curves. 

Tying the apron and fixing your hair, you reach for the pail. It’s then, with you bowing forwards, that you finally feel his seed trickling out of your cunt, and the sensation alone makes you shiver in an uncomfortable way. You certainly have to look for a quiet spot in the keep where you can clean yourself, since you’re not done working. 

You head for the door, but before you open it, his smooth voice catches your attention again. 

“You may leave now, but I expect you to come back and finish your task at the Hour of the Ghosts, for you have not cleaned the fireplace thoroughly enough.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

[asumofwords]

Aemond POV: Your return to the Red Keep

A/N: I saw that a few of you wanted an Aemond POV, and as I am a benevolent ruler, I thought I would give the people what they wanted. I wanted to do the the first couple of times he saw you after the years you were separated. This is all from Aemond’s point of view and from the time where you and your family all returned to the Red Keep.

This is a Dark!Aemond POV from the fic Smoke, Fire and Ash.

Enjoy !

TW: Aemond POV. Dark!Aemond. Murder, Incest, thoughts of violence, thoughts of sexual activities. 18+

Words: 4k

Character pairing: Dark!Aemond X Reader, HOTD characters. Dark!Aemond POV.

He swung his sword roughly at Ser Criston, who leant back to dodge the edge of the sharp blade, as he and Aemond moved in tandem in the training yard. Aemond was fast on his feet but knew Ser Cole to be just as quick. 

Each swing was met by a duck, or deflection by the chain of the flail Ser Cole swung at him, the loud clanging of the chain and whistle in the air as it moved towards him, guided him back. And soon Aemond found himself dancing in a circle as he waited to make the next move, to swing the blade back down onto the knight and make him yield. 

Ser Cole swung the striking head once more towards Aemond, and he dodged, before spinning to hold the tip of his blade against Ser Cole's neck, hitting the flail away. They both breathed deeply as they watched each other, and Ser Cole finally conceded. 

Applause rang out from those who had gathered to watch the two men train, and Aemond felt the prickling sensation of three sets of eyes upon his form.

Ser Cole dropped the flail to the ground heavily, “Well done, My Prince,” Ser Cole breathed, “You’ll win tourneys in no time.”

Aemond did not lower the blade, “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He spoke, before allowing his gaze to roam the space to where he felt eyes watching him. Lowering his sword, Aemond let his eye land on a pair of brown headed boys, and the silver hair of a girl.

Who is she?

“Nephews,” He called out, enjoying watching the two Strong boys stiffen as they were addressed, faces suddenly uncomfortable, “Have you come to train?” 

Jacaerys mouth opened and closed like a fish, as Lucerys looked up to the girl, no, woman, beside him. How she had grown. No longer the gangly limbed child, who’s hair could rarely be tamed, but now stood a woman of the court. 

Her hair was braided neatly behind her head, as she wore a tight all black gown that hugged her curves. Grown, indeed. Her cheeks were dusted a light pink. He felt his lip twitch as he watched her, small excitement bubbling inside as he remembered fond memories of their youth together.

Was she nervous?

As he caught her gaze, she blinked, looking down and then back up at him, stoney faced and chin held higher. She looked down to Lucerys, whispering to him before moving the two Strong boys away with her, back into the Keep. 

All those fond memories came crashing down, and the bitter rage in which Aemond had tried in vain to keep in order, bubbled up inside of him. There she was, the Princess who he had been so close to, his niece who he had shared so many memories with, so many secrets, once again choosing her brothers over him. 

He could remember vividly, sitting in that room, as the Maester stitched his eye shut, feeling the sharp pain of the needle as it threaded through. No milk of the poppy was given to him. He was too young, it was too dangerous. And so instead he tried to seek comfort in someone he always had.

You.

And what had you done? 

Stuck by Lucerys, checking his face for injury, and standing firmly alongside your mother, watching him as he was berated in front of all, by his father. That was when the love shared between the both of you died.

He would do well to remind himself of that.

Aemond could not believe how much she had changed. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched them walk away, the Princess throwing a curious look over her shoulder to glance at him one more time. 

He supposed that he had grown too. His cheeks no longer held the plumpness of young adolescence, and his face had grown sharp and angled. Even the way he held himself was different.

He had changed, and so had she.

You were all in the Iron Throne room, listening to Vaemond Velaryon put forward a motion to be heir of Driftmark, questioning the four of you and your legitimacy, voice loudly ringing into the court.

Aemond would remember it for the rest of his days. 

You stood, back straight, head tall, hair braided tightly up, with none flowing down. A black and red gown hugging your figure with an off the shoulder look, similar to your mother as you stood beside her, mouth turned down in the corners. 

Such rage, Aemond noted.

He watched with glee as Vaemond argued with your mother, watching Jacaerys shake his head and mutter under his breath whilst his assaulter, Lucerys looked nervous. You had pushed Lucerys beside you, using your body as a shield to keep him out of Vaemond’s line of sight.

Still protecting him.

Aemond felt that bitterness curl through him as he watched. 

“Her children... are bastards!”  Vaemond yelled into the court, and yet despite it all, Aemond could not keep his eye off of you. As soon as the words left the Velaryon’s lips, he watched as your face calmed. 

It was eerie, Aemond thought. 

Your hand had moved the slightest of bits towards your side, and Aemond watched as you swayed forward, as though ready to pounce. There was no blush on your cheeks, no sneer on your lips, just a fire burning in your eyes as you watched your Velaryon uncle. 

“And she…is…a whore.” The man sneered.

“I, shall have your tongue for that.” Aemond’s father called out to the court, standing roughly as he unsheathed the blade from his side. 

Aemond would not give the old man a second glance, he knew that his father would do nothing, as he had done nothing for years. And would do nothing as he was too weak from sickness, and too faint of heart.

Movement caught Aemond’s eye, as he watched Vaemond Velaryon’s corpse fall loudly to the ground, the sound of a blade and the loud thud echoing through the chambers. 

If Aemond could laugh, he would. But it would not be proper of him. 

“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon purred, looking down at his handiwork.

Aemond flicked his sight away from the corpse and up at you. You had not jumped, nor looked away from the body on the floor. No. Instead you glared at it with rage, before suddenly your lips pulled into a small smile. 

No-one else in the court would have witnessed it, too busy looking at the body of the man slain in front of them. Your lips looked as though they were fighting to hide the sheer joy and pleasure you got from watching him be killed. A small line of blood was flecked across your cheek, but you did not notice, or if you had, you did not wipe it away.

Such a beautiful smile. 

And then suddenly your eyes were on him. And Aemond felt the air be sucked out of the room. You watched him in delight, no longer hiding your smile as you watched him. Such a smug and proud look upon your face. A threat some would say. 

The sight made his cock twitch. 

There she is.

Aemond felt awe as he watched Daemon move back, wiping his sword on his robes before he came to stand beside you. You took your gaze from your uncle, and looked up at your mothers husband, smiling proudly. 

He watched as Daemon ran a finger along your cheek to wipe the Velaryon blood away lovingly, and Aemond felt a pang of jealousy. 

Aemond noted that Vaemond was wrong when he said that they wouldn’t know what Velaryon blood looked like, because now the whole court did.

Aemond had been running late for his family feast, something that he had never done before. He prided himself in upholding his duty and being the son that Aegon should have been.

In truth, Aemond had gone straight to his chambers after the events at court, and had pulled roughly at his cock at the thought of you. He wished to touch you, to hold you, to claim you. He wanted to mark you so that everyone knew that you were his. He wanted to watch you swell with his babe.

He had never thought of you this way before and it maddened him. He found his release in his hand three times that day, picturing you on your knees before him, pleasuring him with your soft lips, or him thrusting deep into your cunt. 

You had bewitched him.

He had brushed his hair more roughly than he should have, the frustration rolling through him as he prepared to walk down to the feast. And although he had brought himself to climax three times already, he still was not satisfied. He told himself as he walked to the Dining Hall to ignore you, to breathe, to not get caught in the trap of a bastard. 

But he was already trapped.

When he entered the room, he noticed all were praying before the meal, his mother Alicent giving him a stern yet disappointing look. It made his heart sting to disappoint her. And this sting, he blamed immediately upon you.

As he walked to the table he let himself gaze at you. 

You wore quite the scandalous dress, as though you were purposefully teasing him. No. He was sure you were doing it on purpose. To get a rise out of him. To tempt him into your space.

The neckline was plunging and he could not help but let his eyes linger upon the breasts you had developed. They looked so soft, and Aemond wanted nothing more than to run his tongue over them softly, or bite them roughly.

He could not decide which one he liked the thought of better.

Aemond asked his mother for forgiveness as he sat at his seat, at the opposite end of the table facing you. He held your gaze firm, and when he saw the light blush crawl over your cheeks, he let himself smirk in victory. 

Perhaps he affected you the same way you did him.

He watched you carefully that evening, eye roaming your figure wondering if you had been spoiled yet by some man, or woman. He wondered why you had not been betrothed yet, surely a woman of your age should have been promised to some Lord by now.

And then he could not help but think perhaps the Gods were on his side for once, and the reason that you were not engaged yet, meant that you would be his. 

Aemond found that he had no hunger that evening, except for a hunger for you. He could not bring himself to eat, nor could he bring himself to take his eye away from you. He still could not believe how much you had grown. 

Your lips were fuller now, and had the softest curve to them, than you did when you were young, and the longer he looked, the more he found it difficult to look away. He wondered if you hated him. The way you caught his gaze and sneered, made him assume so. 

How could she hate me? He thought. 

What had he done to deserve this? She was the one who abandoned him. She was the one who chose her bastard brother over him. She was the one who let him take his eye, and did not care for his pain after. 

He felt that anger prickle in the back of his head as he watched her. 

He watched his niece dance, and laugh with his sister. He watched them break each other's cold masks and for one second, he thought he was looking back in time, from when they had all been children. Back to when Helaena and Y/n had been inseparable. 

Or so he had thought.

He found that as he watched them dance and enjoy each other's company, he could no longer sneer. He could no longer hold such disdain and anger. It gave him a lick of hope. A disgusting, fickle piece of hope that perhaps one day, he could have her, and she would want it.

But then Jacaerys took Helaena to dance, and suddenly he felt that anger redirected.

How dare the dirty bastard touch her like that. How dare he make her smile. How dare his disgusting Strong hands touch Helaena so gently, hold her as though he knew her intimately.

He didn’t.

His nephew could never know just how beautiful Helaena was, just how beautiful she could be. 

No one deserved her. 

Not even Aemond himself.

And as he found himself scowling at his nephew he heard the soft, yet sharp call of your voice, turning his attention back to you, hackles on his back up and ready to fight from your tone. 

You were mocking him.

“Prince Aemond, were you riding Vhagar this evening? I thought I saw her soaring up into the sky. When you didn’t arrive on time, I worried that a storm had come and taken you.” She inquired, fake concern lacing her venomous tongue.

You little bitch.

Aemond had to school himself, and so he reached out to hold his goblet, taking a sip of the spiced wine to give him time to think before reacting. He had been reacting to her all day, and found that if he did it again, he would have to take her, right there and then, before their family to show them who she truly belonged to.

“I was merely enjoying the night sky, dear niece.” 

Lie. He was thinking of your soft thighs, and sweet lips and warm-

“It's not everyday you have the world's largest dragon, and I make a habit of reminding myself of that.”

And Gods, he could not lie that when your next words spilled from your lips, and the cruel smile you gave him, he had not really listened to your words. He had not even given thought to your attempt to goad him into a fight. Because he was ready, and he had been all too ready since the day you came back. 

Since the day he saw you in the training yard. 

Aemond had been ready to lash out at you for what you had done to him. For abandoning him. For choosing your bastard brothers and whore mother over him. For ruining what could have been. For what you had made him feel. For how weak he had become.

He was almost as bad as Aegon, and that was what made it so much worse. 

He had planned to leave it, he had planned to not give in. To show who was superior, to show the grace of a true Targaryen, not a bastard of a disgraced whore Princess, who would never sit upon the throne. He clenched his teeth so hard in his mouth, that all he could do was hum in response.

But then the Gods were cruel, and fate was even crueler, and he watched in horror as a roasted pig was placed before him. He knew it was coming, he knew the cards that were about to be dealt, and he felt the slightest itch of his scar as his lone eye looked upon a stark reminder of his youth.

He listened as Lucerys snorted, just like the pig at his expense, and it all came flooding back.

The taunting, the mocking, the cruelty, his eye.

All of it. 

But losing his eye did not hurt nearly as much as watching you abandon him for them.

“Is that not your first dragon, uncle Aemond? What had you named it again? The Pink Dread?” You teased, smirking at him and Aemond heard as the others giggled from the table, even Aegon. 

Aegon was the worst of them all. 

And despite everything he had done for his brother, the years of protecting him, the years of coddling him and allowing him to be the disgusting man that he was, it still wasn’t good enough. Aegon still called Aemond a twat, and mocked him. Made a mockery of their position as Targaryen Princes. Forcing him to a Pleasure house at ten-and-three, telling him it was ‘time to get it wet’.

But he hadn’t wanted to.

And there it was. 

That anger that he tried so desperately to push deep within him. That anger his mother had tried to school out of him, the anger that only Helaena seemed to soothe with her kind words and comfort. She was the only one in the Keep who did not treat him like a monster. She was the only one he had left.

Fuck it.

Aemond slammed his hand on the table, feeling the wood sting his palm as he stood to his full height, holding out his goblet to her, watching her shit eating grin slowly fall from her face.

“Final tribute.” He began, directing that anger carefully into his next words. 

He watched as she stiffened, eyes flicking about the table, gauging the other's reactions.

“To the health of my nephew's, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise,” He paused, watching her as she began to anticipate the next words, “Hm… Strong."

Watching her face turn to frown at him, to scowl at him, to burst with such hatred, made his blood rush through his body and into his cock.

And so he continued. 

What a rush.

How good it felt to hurt her the way she had hurt him. To make her feel just as lowly as she had made him feel. How her brothers had made him feel for years. 

He heard his mother say his name but he ignored it. He would deal with the repercussions later, though he doubted he would. She had never stopped him before, and in fact was brazen with discussing the illegitimacy of the Strong boys, so why start now. 

“And to my darling niece, some cast doubts about her strength, but I can see that she is just as Strong as her brothers.”

She was simmering with rage by then and all he could think of was how glorious it would be to put her in her place. To bend her to his will, to snuff out that fire inside of her.

"Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys, and their Strong sister." Aemond purred, watching her clench her entire body, hands in fists so tight, her knuckles turned white.

Aemond heard the irritating growl of his nephew Jace, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond could not help but smile. This would be little challenge. Though Jace had grown, Aemond was still older and bigger, and doubted the younger boy trained as hard as he did with the sword.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Aemond felt the dull ache on his cheek, his head whipping to the side as Jacaerys laid his fist into his face. His hand still held his goblet, and he noted to himself with great pride, that he had not spilt a drop of wine on the floor.

Turning back, Aemond used little effort to shove his nephew to the floor, watching in his periphery as Lucerys tried in vain to help, as Aegon slammed him into the table by the scruff of his neck.

Down boy.

And then you did something that had not shocked him in the slightest. You grasped the fork from the table, calling out to him with a voice that was laced with venom.

“Say that again. Say that again I dare you!” 

Seeing that tiny fork in your hand made him smile even more. He doubted you even trained yourself, and his size and strength could certainly overpower you.

And how he could not wait to bend you over the table and f-

“No. I want to hear what my uncle has to say.” She heaved a breath, “Speak Aemond, so that we may hear your treasonous lies again.”

My little dragon. Such fire.

He felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he watched you heave angry breaths, eyes wide as you clutched the pathetic fork. So proud in fact, that he found himself grinning. 

He had only seen this side of you a handful of times as a child.

Defending Helaena when Aegon would question her intelligence or sanity.

Defending Lucerys and Jacaerys when he and Aegon would call them bastards together, or taunt them once their mother Alicent had told them of the threat of Rhaenyra ascending the throne and her bastard children.

Even defending him.

It made his lips pull wider.

It was not often that Aemond grinned. Sure he smirked, and occasionally smiled, but rarely did he show his teeth. Those sharp incisors that he would have no issue using to bite down on the soft flesh of your thighs, or the stiffened bud of your nipple.

As soon as he bared his teeth to the room, you were moving and he watched in awe as you charged straight for him, much like his mother had done to Rhaenyra all those years ago. 

It was uncanny, the wildness in your eyes. Such devotion.

Such love.

And then you were before him, breasts pushing against the confines of your dress as you heaved angrily, eyes dancing across his face, demanding he answer you.

Commanding him to answer.

He felt the prongs of the fork underneath his neck and could not help but feel himself begin to harden under the tight confines of his pants.

You were so close to him, the closest you had been since you were children. He could see the purple of your eyes, and the blush on your cheeks from the wine and your anger. He could see the small freckles you had on your face, and smell the oils on your skin.

You smelt sweet, earthy, musky. It was addictive, it was arousing. It was everything he had hoped and dreamed of that day, cock in hand. It took all of his strength to not dip his head down and capture your lips with his. To taste the spiced wine that would surely be on your tongue. To drink down your essence and be full of it.

He wanted to be full of you, to taste you. To lick at your weeping cunt as you cried beneath him, begging him. More, more, please Aemond, please uncle, more. He wanted to drink your release as it leaked from you, as he brought you to climax, time and time again.

“Say. That. Again.” The little dragon spat.

If he did not preoccupy his lips with something, he would kiss you. He could not help it. You were magnetic. And enigma. A force to be reckoned with. The Gods had taken their time with you.

And so he lifted the goblet to his lips to sip, but your small hand swiped it away, causing the wine and goblet to spill onto the ground. 

As soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt an electric jolt. It had been so long since you had touched him.

Touch me again.

And then Daemon was behind you, whispering in your ear and Aemond watched as your strength wavered, as contemplation flickered across your face. As all the emotions flashed quickly and disappeared as he continued to urge you to stand down. 

How had his uncle tamed you so well?

How had this man made you so pliable? Aemond found himself more and more jealous of the relationship the two of you had. And the more he looked at you both, so close together, as you had grown into your face, the more he recognised certain features. 

Certain mannerisms. 

And then his uncle was staring him down, as he crowded his niece in front of him, whispering so lowly, that no-one else but the three of you would hear.

“Issa ñuha tala.” (She is my daughter.)

And then it all made sense.

That fire, that rogue air about you.

The way you held no fear around the Prince, the way you did not flinch, and leant into his touch. The way Daemon doted on you more than any of his other children.

You were his. 

You were not a Strong bastard.

You were fire. 

And that made Aemond more determined than ever to have you.

And he would have you.

No matter the cost.

Argh so here it is, a lil blurb of Aemond's POV from 'Smoke, Fire and Ash'. I thought it would be best to show you the beginning of his descent into pure obsession with the reader. Sure there had been a possessiveness from the start as children, but it had been innocent, until the reader came back to the Keep fully grown. The pair truly force each others hand, neither one knowing when to stop and only making things worse. It's beautiful :')

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @marihoneywk @snh96 @sanzu-s

[classygreydove]

kkob/obkk fic recs

5 kkob fics that are criminally underrated - obv we all love rocks fall; scene end, Kamui Blues, and New Recruit, (if you haven't read those, I highly recommend them) but these works deserve some appreciation too!

kakaobi fluff series by Eye_like_trauma - 6k, ONGOING

G, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito. Just a lot of fluff, crushes, and pining.

[dove's notes: Every single on of these one-shots is just precious. And also makes me laugh so hard. Peak content for this ship.]

2. Hey, Wouldn't It Be Mortifying If We Both Survived This? by Eye_like_trauma - 4k, COMPLETE

T, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Kakashi & Minato & Rin & Obito. Kannabi fix-it, love confessions, feelings realization, first kiss, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

Obito can’t hear anything beyond the cave crumbling around them, thousands of tons of rock cascading down and crushing everything it can. Can’t see beyond the dust in the air, the vibrations of the world around him. Couldn’t, anyway, because he can barely keep his eyes open. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into Kakashi’s hair. He knows Kakashi won’t hear him. Wouldn’t, even if he were conscious. That’s okay; the words are as much for him as they’re for Kakashi. He presses himself closer, focuses on the warmth of Kakashi as the world fades in and out, as every bit of remaining light is snuffed and he can feel debris falling on every side of them, huge and heavy and deadly, if they’re hit. He can’t feel Kakashi’s heart beat past the world falling in on itself, but he tells himself it’s there, tells himself that Kakashi’s not dead.

[dove's notes: literally my favorite confession fic. i laughed, cried a little, and felt many fuzzy feelings. bb tsundere kakashi is adorable.]

3. The Things We Found in the Ashes of Our World by shefrommo - 40k, ONGOING

M, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Sukea/Tobi, strangers to friends to enemies, identity porn

Ironically enough, Kakashi didn't start having treasonous thoughts until after he'd already committed treason. __ Or, during a mission gone wrong, Kakashi discovers Obito's alive. He never comes back from that mission. Five years later, Team Seven stumbles across a pair of Akatsuki members--both of whom are working under false identities, both of whom were declared dead years ago.

[dove's notes: Incomplete, but so so good. Tobi and Sukea (and their headspaces) are both very well-written, as is the relationship chemistry. The identity shenanigans are great.]

4. Quiet Revolutions by Anjelle - 68K, ONGOING

T, No Archive Warnings Apply. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Sakumo & Kakashi, Sakumo & Obito. Canon div, dogteeth!kk, Hidden Cloud Village worldbuilding, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, anbu!obito, enemies to friends to lovers

Tensions are running high between Kumo and Konoha. Between the targeting of the Hyuga clan for their Byakugan and an unknown ANBU running interference on missions, their tentative alliance is strained and war is just one slip-up away. Not wanting any part in this, Obito is dragged into it anyway when he's given a mission to find out who instigated the attack. Instead, he gets more than he bargained for when a certain Kumo-nin lies in wait on the other side of Kamui. OR: Due to extenuating circumstances, Kakashi grows up in Kumo and decides that this strange, masked ANBU skulking around his village would make for a fun distraction from his boredom.

[dove's notes: I really enjoyed the dynamics here. obito is bamf but also an idiot. kakashi is bamf but also an idiot. so canon dynamic, pretty much. also identity intrigue, worldbuilding, this fic is full of good stuff.]

5. Truth and what it takes (and what it gives) - 11K, COMPLETE

M, Graphic Depictions of Violence. Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, TW for mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, Hurt/Comfort, Blood & Gore

"Kakashi's pupils are wide and fixed, like those of dead animals. The Uchiha has never seen him with that expression before. Obito wonders if he’s dreaming it, then he notices the metallic edges around his frame. The sink. A mirror. He’s looking through Kakashi’s eyes."

[dove's notes: very good relationship study of obkk during kakashi's anbu era, and the writing style is riveting. Dark, so not for fluff fans.]

[illicitlimerence-writes]

the 1 | c. leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x ex!reader word count: 4k words (how the hell did that happen?) request: yes, by anon: “hi, can i request a story with charles and reader based on driver’s license by olivia rodrigo? maybe high school sweethearts that broke up because they couldn’t handle long distance (for charles ascending career).  fluffy ending with them maybe getting back together years later and him being proud because reader is actually a really nice driver” prompt: character a and character b broke up, but now they meet at a christmas party. from this prompt list. not my prompts, credits to the person who created it!warnings: language, flashbacks, a ton of references to taylor swift and olivia rodrigo. THE AGES AND YEARS MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE BUT I TRIED MY BEST lol a/n: day 6! i really didn’t plan this to be so long. what can i say… i have no self control. REMINDER THAT MY REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, EVEN IF IT’S FOR THE SPECIAL. pls, i don’t want to close my askbox but if i keep getting i’ll have to turn it off.

my masterlist / 25 days of christmas masterlist

there was a time when sneaking around was fun, exciting. when their worlds revolved only around each other and the only worry in their minds was keeping their relationship a secret. 

their friend group was a close knit one, they knew each other since they were kids and had grown up together, and when they’d reached the age of first boyfriends, girlfriends, and other partners, they’d all made a pact to never date someone from the group. 

the fact that it was forbidden only made things more interesting for them. 

what fools they’d been, hoping for a forever at such a young age, thinking their love would be eternal and nothing could ever come between them.

they thought they were in the clear, for so long their friends were unaware of the relationship between the two of them, they would reach an age where they would never care that they’d been hiding the truth for so many years. 

six years together was enough to know they’d never feel a love like theirs.

but he was a passionate person, and whilst she loved when that passion was directed to her, on other occasions it felt as if she were the second option. the other thing to occupy his mind when he got tired of racing.

teenage daydreams turned into nightmares. their young age meant they felt everything. and everything was intense and fiery and red. 

how ironic it was, that the color that had best described their secret relationship turned into a color that would chase him around wherever he went. that right when his career seemed to go the up, when his future looked gold, his personal life had hit an all time low, when the scarlet fire that burned between them had turned into ashes. 

she always knew he was destined for greatness. and he was so determined and focused and so in love with racing that it was only natural, only obvious that he’d climb his way to the top teams of his sport in a short time. his talent was one that she’d neverseen in anyone, and he loved showing it off, not in a braggy way, but he knew what he was capable of, and he wasn’t afraid to show it, he saw no reason to hide it. 

age 18.

“slow down!” she yelled as she laughed, holding onto the side of the car door. all the windows were down, as was the top, they were finally putting to good use charles’ convertible car.

“don’t listen to her, charles, speed up!” one of their friends, nate, added from the back of the car. the five of them were celebrating charles’ birthday, he was the first in their group to turn 18 and he’d just gotten his driver’s license, finally free to drive around wherever he wanted.

charles laughed, speeding a little before settling for a constant speed that wasn’t too fast or too slow. 

“it’s a great thing your parents gave you a car, now we have a personal chauffeur,” she said, throwing a teasing smile his way. they were seating in the front, with their three friends in the back, but somehow it felt as if they were the only ones there.

“no, none of that. you have to learn how to drive, too, otherwise what are you going to do when i’m gone?”

“go with you, duh,” she rolled her eyes.

“hey, that is true, because at least we all know how to drive, we’re ready. but you don’t… why don’t you?” another one of their friends, elise, asked.

“i don’t know,” she shrugged, “i’ve never had the need to. and to be honest, i don’t know how good of a driver i’ll be if i ever sit behind the wheel.” she admitted.

“yeah, we’ve all seen you play mario kart, you always seem to find the wall.” charles laughed, making her hit his shoulder with a fist.

“shut up. keep that up and i won’t learn how to drive just to spite you.” 

they laughed, enjoying the moment of freedom, just the five of them, five friends since birth, friends til death. five friends, two lovers.

-

it had been years since the five of them were all back home for the holidays, sometimes either only one of them was gone, or they were all away, but after three years, they were all back home at the same time. and that was something to be celebrated. they’d all seen each other throughout the years, but never the five of them at once.

charles arrived first, the christmas dinner was taking place at elise’s apartment, she’d just moved into her new place, so this worked both as a reunion and a housewarming. he’d decided to walk there, since it was on the same street as his building. he took the elevator and knocked on the door, he heard shuffling of feet approach and wrapped his fingers a little tighter around the neck of the wine bottle he’d bought.

“hey, charles, i wasn’t expecting anyone to be punctual,” elise laughed, moving aside to let him in.

“i’m the first one here?” he asked, raising the bottle, “this is for you, by the way. congrats on the new place,” he smiled.

“thank you! welcome, make yourself at home, but do take your shoes off because that white rug is new,” she smiled, walking to the kitchen, “and yeah, but nate called like two minutres ago, he and marie are on their way.”

“oh, and…” he didn’t finish, and it was finally hitting him that he’d be seeing her again.

“(y/n) is going to be a bit late, she had to go to the museum in nice so she’s probably going to be stuck in a little bit of traffic,”

“she’s- she didn’t take the train?” he asked.

“no, she drove there.”

“she drives?” he asked, sounding completely surprised by that. she was always so apprehensive whenever that topic arose in conversation.

“yeah! you didn’t know? she’s… you remember how we always used to joke around with her always crashing once she learned how to drive?” charles nodded, prompting her to continue,  “she actually aced her driving test, both the technical and the written tests.”

“oh, i… i didn’t know that,”

“what happened with you two? you used to be inseperable. like, yeah, all five of us were close, but it was always charles and (y/n), and then us.”

“i- i’m not sure. i guess… distance and responsibilities was just a lot for our friendship.”

“well maybe you can rekindle that friendship now. it’ll do you both good.”

“yeah,” charles said, and right then the doorbell rang.

he felt like he needed some peace and quiet to think, but with his two friends arriving just then, that seemed impossible to get. 

if he was honest, he hadn’t given himself much time to think about her. at first, of course, she was the only thing in his mind, they’d spent six years together, and he couldn’t believe how it was all slipping from his fingers so easily.

age 21.

she sighed as she heard the automatic voicemail message, she had been trying to call charles for the past five minutes and all she was met with was his pre-recorded message.

“charles, you better pick up this damn phone. i can’t believe you, how could you miss this? i asked you time and time again, even moved this three times for you. and where are you? not here. i- i don’t know if i can keep doing this. you always promise that i’m your priority, but that’s just not true. if you don’t want to be with me then just say it, i’m a big girl and i can handle it. but i don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve to be someone’s second choice. and i know that your career is important, trust me i know that better than anyone. all i asked of you was one night, one night for you to actually be there for me. you know what? forget it, don’t even bother coming. not to the museum, or to my apartment. and don’t worry about me, i’ll find my way home. i don’t need you to drive me around anymore.”

she hung up, staring out to the city of nice. it was the opening of a new exhibit in the museum of modern and contemporary art, an exhibit that she’d been a big part of, probably her proudest achievement, considering she was still a student in university. everyone was there for her. her parents, friends, classmates and workers from the museum. well, almost everyone. 

charles hadn’t replied since earlier that morning. he didn’t wish her good luck, or even acknowledged the opening of the exhibit. he just said ‘see you tonight’. and that was it. he was in italy, had been for the past week. ever since the announcement that he was making the switch from sauber to ferrari she’d been seeing him even less than when he started racing in f1. she understood, of course, that there were certain responsibilities that came when being a ferrari driver. she knew that, she was his biggest supporter, but she wished that he was as passionate about her achievements as she was of his. or even acknowledge them and congratulate her. 

many times she’d told herself that she was being selfish, of course things were going to change once charles made it to the big leagues, but things were changing too fast. he spent more time away from home than with her, and when he was home he was practicing on his simulator, or preparing for an interview, a ferrari event. 

this was the last straw. it was a long time coming, and him not showing up, not even bothering to text back, this was enough.

she walked back inside, but stumbled into a waiter passing by, causing him to drop his tray on top of her. her dress now sported a wine-colored stain right in the middle. it was a dress charles had gifted her on one of their anniversaries. it was poetic, how the dress was now ruined, as was their relationship. she ran to the coat room, wrapping her black coat around her. she wasn’t going to let anything else ruin this night.

the next morning, she signed up for driving lessons.

two weeks later, she was getting perfect marks on both tests.

she once said she wouldn’t learn to drive just to spite him, but this was better. to show him that she didn’t need him anymore. 

-

the four friends were having a nice time, drinking wine and eating chips and other snacks as dinner was cooking. 

“elise, i swear, next time we’re hanging out at my place because finding a parking spot is impossible around here,” a new voice said, walking in through the front door. 

there she was.

wearing a tan, long coat, a briefcase-style bag hanging from her shoulder, all black turtleneck sweater, leggings and boots on. makeup done to perfection, a deep shade of red on her lips. 

“hello everyone,” she smiled, tossing her bag on the floor and walking to the dining area. “what did i miss?” she asked, and everyone started filling her in on their previous conversation topics.

she hadn’t even glanced at him. not once.

charles didn’t even know if she knew he was coming, if he was there at all. 

-

it wasn’t until later, when everyone’s cheeks were flushed from the wine, when the leftover food was growing cold in the forgotten plates, and they were all sitting around the living room, sharing stories and memories of years’ past, that they talked to each other.

“... and the museum is doing a really cool charity event in late january, so that’s where all of our focus is right now,” she finished catching everyone up to speed about her job in the museum. ever since college that place had become her home. “you’re all invited, of course, we need all the help we can get.”

“when is it?” charles asked, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was impressed by everything she was handling in the museum, she did a little bit of everything, but those little bits eventually turned into big, great things. he was impressed, however, not surprised. he always knew she could do it, she’d fallen in love with art in her teenage years, the first time they visited a contemporary museum. they’d gone together, of course, and charles couldn’t forget the way her eyes widened, the way she clearly understood what the artist wanted to say, it was love at first sight. 

“the 21st,” she turned to him. charles had expected a reaction from her, but she looked at him like he was just her friend. 

“we’ll be there,” nate said. 

“you’re not busy, superstar?” marie joked, looking at charles.

“i don’t think so. and if i am i’ll just move whatever to a different day.”

“you don’t have to do that,” she said, and this time charles caught something. her voice sounded a little harsher.

“i want to, we haven’t seen each other in so long, and you’ve done a lot for me, it’s only fair that i return the favor,” he smiled, wanting to get something more out of her, he got nothing, only a nod.

-

age 19.

“come on, you’ve been, quite possibly, the best person i ever could’ve asked for. it’s only fair i return the favor.” charles said, keeping his hand over her eyes as he led her to the surprise he’d prepared for her.

“you know i don’t need anything,” she chuckled, and he could feel her smile, the apples of her cheeks rising.

“well, this is more something for me, but it’s going to be good for you, eventually,”

“what do you mean?” she asked, still up for whatever he was planning. he removed his hand from her eyes. “what-”

“it’s your very own private driving lesson,” charles explained, making her laugh.

“charles, i don’t need to learn how to drive,”

“of course you do! you have to at least know the basics,”

“gas, brake, turn to the right, turn to the left, lights… i think i got it.”

“come on,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, “why don’t you want to learn?”

“i don’t know. i guess… i enjoy having you to drive me around, i like singing in the car with you, with the wind blowing in my hair, or just sitting in silence and watching the landscapes outside. i like doing that with you. plus… i’m afraid of having control of a car, because what if i lose control? what if the brakes fail, or someone crashes into me… it’s a lot to think about all the time. i think i’m just not made for driving.”

“well, lucky for you i was made for driving, and i like having you as my co-pilot, there’s no one else i’d rather have by my side.”

-

“it’s gifts time!” nate said loudly. “i’ll start,” he declared, standing up and picking a bag off the floor. “for you,” he started, handing a white envelope to (y/n), “and you,” he said, giving charles a small box, “and you,” he gave elise a wrapped gift that resembled a mug in shape, “and finally, you,” he said, giving marie a thin, long box.

they all opened theirs, marie got a hand-made friendship bracelet. elise got a new mug, charles got a pair of boxers with lightning mcqueen all over them, and (y/n) got a ticket to an exhibit in a parisian museum.

elise was next, then marie. as marie sat down, after handing everyone their gifts, charles pulled out his phone, sending a few pdf files to their groupchat.

“merry christmas, guys.” he said as all their phones rang. they all opened the files, each named after one of them, they were confirmations to a hotel booking, as well as a scanned picture of what would be their vip passes for the italian grand prix in monza.

“charles!”

“no way!”

“italia, mio home, here i come,” nate said, pinching his fingers together.

she gave him a small smile, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she stood up.

“well, now i wish i hadn’t been last, nothing can top that off,” she said, “but i hope you all like these. merry christmas, i hope we get to spend many more years as friends, and more evenings like this.” she said, handing them all their gifts and sitting down to watch their expressions. she loved giving gifts. 

nate received a new gaming headset, eloise got a tea set, marie got a sweater, and charles got a replica of an f1 car, he inspected it closely.

“it’s made out of carrara marble,” she explained. 

“wow, it’s… beautiful, thank you.”

“you’re welcome, i’ve… nevermind,” she said, charles was about to ask her what she wanted to say but was interrupted with nate announcing he was leaving. marie left with him, and not long after she was saying her goodbyes too.

“i guess that’s my cue to leave, too.”

“i didn’t see your car,” she said, she would’ve remembered seeing his car parked somewhere.

“i walked here, i didn’t see the point in driving,”

“huh,” she said, grabbing her bag and hanging it from her shoulder. charles frowned as she walked to elise, hugging her. “well, i’ll give you a lift if you want.”

yes, yes, yes, please. yes. go with her.

everything inside of him lit up at her offer, part of him couldn’t believe she was even offering in the first place. he said goodbye to elise quickly, rushing after her.

“wait up,” he said, jogging to catch up. 

they didn’t speak as the elevator went down, she could feel his eyes on her, shifting away to try and be subtle. as they exited the building he had to follow her, he didn’t even know what car she drove. 

“you’re shitting me,” he said, looking at the silver logo in front of the car.

“what? not all of us can afford a ferrari,” she said, “what? you can’t be seen inside a mercedes?” she smirked. out of instinct, charles walked to the driver’s side, but stopped in his tracks as she unlocked the door and watched him standing there. “i know this is usually your side, but you’re a passenger for these next minutes,” 

charles was left speechless as he walked to the passenger side, it felt so foreign. especially when she was the one behind the wheel. he closed the door as he got in, and waited for her to turn on the car. he turned to her when she didn’t.

“seatbelt,” she reminded him.

charles couldn’t stop the small chuckle that left his lips.

“you’re a really responsible driver,” he said.

“of course i am. no one knows what might happen.”

“i- i have to say, it’s really weird seeing you like this,”

“i know. but… turns out i’m a damn great driver. it helps me relax, and it’s… thrilling, to work in sync with the right machine to get from point a to point b…”

“now you get what i feel with my cars.”

“i always got that,” she clarified. “i always knew how important driving is to you. it just hurt to know that it was more important than me.”

“it wasn’t- it-”

“oh, please,” she chuckled humorlessly, turning on the car, she checked the mirrors before leaving the parked space. “i’ve made my peace with that a long time ago, it’s okay to admit it. i’m but hurt. not anymore.”

“but it wasn’t i-”

“listen, i don’t… i don’t want to discuss this, racing was your number one priority and that’s completely fine, i get it. it’s normal to get so caught up in it that you forget about everything else. i’m sure i used to do that too, with the museum and all,”

“you did, but not like i did. and i… i’m sorry, for… making you feel like that.”

“like i said, i made my peace with that long ago, i don’t need an apology.”

“well, i still feel like i owe you one.”

“it’s fine, you don’t have to feel guilty. we were young, dumb, still feeling like we were teenagers, pretending to even know what future was like. we were each other’s first love, it’s normal to still have feelings.”

“do you?”

“what?”

“have feelings? for me?”

“i feel a lot of things, charles, and six years, plus so many more as friends, are not easy to forget. it would’ve been nice, you know.”

“what?”

“if you would’ve been the one. it’s a story just straight from a movie. do you think-” she cut herself off.

“what?” charles asked, and he remembered the other thought she’d stopped herself from saying out loud back at elise’s.

“do you think that… if one thing had been different… everything would be different? today? now?”

charles stayed quiet, thinking about every little thing he would’ve done differently. 

“maybe. yeah.”

“yeah,” she repeated.

she’d been driving around in circles, they’d reached charles’ building about five minutes ago, but she hadn’t stopped driving. she kept doing the same four turns over and over again. 

“what were you going to say… when you gave me the car?” he asked.

“oh, that. it’s… nothing, really. just… that i’ve had that for a long time.”

“since we…”

“it was going to be your birthday present.”

“and you never threw that away.”

“it’s made from the same material as ‘david’, i wasn’t just going to throw that away. or give it to someone who wouldn’t cherish it.”

“well… thank you. and congratulations on being a great driver, though… i don’t think the cameras will agree after seeing you pass here for the seventh time,” he said as she was making a right turn. 

“thanks. and i guess… i have to thank you, too. if we… if we’d never broken up i… i never would’ve become me.”

“that… hurt,” he admitted. “but i get it. i should also thank you. you… did so much for me, gave up so much that i… i guess i took you for granted. and it only took having you away from me to really know how much you did for me without me even noticing. so… thank you. and i like this new you. you seem… happy.”

“i am. but still… i can’t shake the feeling that i’m missing something.”

“what?”

“you. even though you made me grow up, i still feel like i need to have my teenage side, and… there’s so much i want to do, but new me is responsible, she’s proper, she’s professional. and sometimes, i get tired of all of it. you always made me feel like a kid, in the best way possible, you made me feel like everything was possible, that it’s okay to let loose and have an adventurous side. i need that, i miss that.”

“well, i’m staying here all month. and i’m more than happy to help you rediscover your wild side.”

“don’t say it like that,” she laughed.

“no, no, i didn’t mean it like that, but-” he chuckled, “i guess that offer stands, too.”

“not happening. not now, at least.”

“so there’s a chance?”

“i don’t know. we’ll have to see.”

“i know. here’s adventure number one: drive to the harbor.”

“the- why?” she asked, driving there, anyway.

“we’re about to take a midnight stroll,” he explained.

“okay, but…  why the harbor?”

“it’s not your typical stroll, we’re not the ones doing the walking.”

“then?”

“have you ever seen ‘sedici’?” he asked.

“what’s that?”

“my yacht.”

“a midnight boat ride?” she asked, a smile on her face.

“what do you say?”

“you better be a damn good captain as i am a driver,”

“you’d be surprised.”

“i’m ready to be surprised.”

[randombtsprincessa]

Backseat of my Rover

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4k

Genre: Smut

Rating: Mature (18+)

Summary: You are trapped in an uncomfortable sitting position. Can Namjoon help make it better?

Playlist: banks - meteorite

Content Advisory - Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Crack, Comedy, Lap Sex, Fingerfucking, Public Sex, Accidental Voyeurism

A/N:  It's BEEN SO LONG! This is one of my Nano works and I am slowly getting back into writing! Gif by yours truly, it sucks I K

The stadium location rang with screaming ARMYs, piercing the ears of the people working without earpieces or the ones who remained backstage. You were one of them, standing just meters from the blackout drapes that hid the beloved idols once their jobs were done. Once these drapes fell, so did the men, wheezing to get oxygen into their lungs after having given it their all.

Your hands covered your ears, providing meager protection against the uproar outside. The end of the encore saw that blessed curtain falling for a few moments, letting the boys get into some warmer clothing before they made a reappearance. Towels soaking up sweat, water bottles clutched in one hand and a microphone in another, they beamed at their galaxy of lovers, cameras pointing to catch every single facet of a glance.

You wondered yet again how they managed to keep that smile going when they knew that the moment they stepped foot outside, the media would rip into those precise smiles for anything to smear them with. It was madness. But it was a madness that they worked hard for - and perhaps, in some deep, dark crevice of their soul - they even felt benefited by it. It certainly seemed to pay off every time they graced the threshold of a dignitary hoping to harness the power of a vast multitude.

Tearing your eyes from the hypnotic wave of swaying people, you turned to look at the leader of BTS.

Kim Namjoon commanded the attention of the people in the room the moment he decided to raise the mic to his mouth, taking a few puffs of breath before shouting for the fandom.

The response was immediate, renewed zeal coloring the resounding yells.

“What a night, really!” He finally began, waving a hand to his grinning members. “I am, as usual, speechless with the support that you guys always shower us with. You’d think someday I’d get used to it, right?” He aimed a wink at one of the nearest fan cameras, essentially making the woman blush and shy away. “Ah, but no, it is better every single time and it’s more every single time.”

Your hands had migrated to your mouth now, covering a sheepish smile as you blatantly tuned him out. While Kim Namjoon was in no way predictable, you had to admit that you found it - extensively - difficult to focus when he…well, when he looked like that.

Namjoon’s ash blond hair stuck up every which way where he had hastily rubbed at it. The band around his head was long gone - the stray strands that fell over his forehead doing more for his disheveled look than the carefully styled grunge do could ever hope to achieve.

You sighed into your hands, lowering them till they now clasped neatly at your front, looking the picture of a doting listener. No one was really paying any attention to you, the stage managers, directors and personnel were too busy eyeing the occupants of the stage with hawk-like precision.

BTS was no amateur, of course, but it was their job. You knew they were very good and dedicated to what they did, but you still had to put up an act just on the off chance someone was bored or distracted and caught you with a dopey look on your face.

While it wouldn’t make a difference - you would never live down the shame of it.

Besides the fact that you happened to be one of the closest friends BTS had, outside of each other, you had been enjoying certain ‘privileges’ as soon as Hybe - then Big Hit - had vetted and checked the OK next to your name.

Merch at a much lower rate discounts at the brands they worked for and tickets to any events you wanted to attend were just scratching the surface and you did not want people to think that you were getting off scot-free for things people paid through the nose for.

You did, but still…

For all you knew, there were mutters about your existence already, with you being over their homes or studios as much as you did. You would still try and make sure they knew you weren’t…being untoward with them.

You weren’t, because over everything, they were your friends, very good friends and you valued them for what they meant to you and the world at large.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t ogle. You just did so covertly.

Plus when your job had started back up, you had even less free time to be over as freely as you had once. You now attended only when you could.

And, somehow, you felt much better about it.

It certainly put a bar over any pesky feelings that had no business being there.

Eyeing Namjoon on the stage, you sighed again.

With the end of the speeches and end moment, the curtains fell again, sweeping the boys into a dark embrace where they could be normal again, just seven men with mighty personas that ruled the world to say the most.

Jimin was the first to reach the backstage, hands shivering as he reached for the piles of water bottles. He nearly tore the cap of one, pouring water into a throat that had sang, shouted, screamed and was probably painfully hoarse.

You watched him from a respectful distance even as Hoseok joined him, the same actions exhibiting just how in need of elements they were. Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon remained on the stage front, no doubt deep in discussion of the concert to find out any chinks that would be addressed in their meetings later on. By the time the two youngest members joined the rest of their members; Jimin had looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror.

“____!” He cried out in surprise, eyes crinkling immediately into a beaming grin.

The call for your name drew attention from the rest of the six boys, similar yells of happy shock ringing out before Taehyung had carefully wrapped you in a bear hug. “You never told us you were coming!” He huffed.

“Yeah, I didn’t know until the last minute that I was.” You laughed, down on your feet again. You presented the small bag of candy that you had brought with you. “I got this for you all as a thank you and ‘I’m very proud’ present.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook was the first to grab it out of your hands. “You got all the good ones, this is the best.” He proceeded to tear into one of his favorite chocolate bars.

“Yah, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi and Jin said at the same time.

The Maknae paused, one cheek ballooning around his mouthful. “Wha`?”

“You just performed a very demanding set. You need water and something light.” Namjoon said calmly.

Jungkook looked down at the bar. “This is light.”

“And healthy,” Hoseok clapped the youngest on the back.

“Guys, five minutes - and then we’re out.” One of their managers poked their head into the conversation, speaking quickly and receding just as fast. Sometimes you marveled at how quick they all were.

“Right,” Namjoon nodded at the man before looking at you. “____ will come with us. We’ll drop you on the way.”

You shook your head when the rest of them agreed. “No, no, I can take a cab. You guys are all tired and need rest. I couldn’t possibly -”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to let you go off alone into the night, ____.” One of their female managers came up. “We can always take you home once we drop the boys. It’s fine. Just come along.”

In the end, you quietly followed the seven to the parking lot where their SUV waited. As usual, they had to divide, a part of them going with a few managers while the rest with other staff members.

The managers were already in, cramped with equipment.

Jin entered first, followed by Yoongi, Hoseok and Taehyung. Namjoon stepped into the vehicle, grunting at the tight fit.

“That’s that.” The woman who had told you to come with said, shutting the door after Joon. She turned to Jimin, “The Rover will take the rest of you.” She said, just as the door of the SUV opened again.

“Hey, if they’re getting a separate car, I should stay with them. It’s a bit of a squeeze here anyway and you can take the others home. They need the rest.”

The woman chewed her lips, considering his request before sighing. She was probably too tired for this as well. “Fine, you won’t have to wait long. I told Sungwon to come as soon as you all came out.” She said, climbing into the place Namjoon had vacated.

The SUV waited till Sungwon came with the Rover, Jimin and Jungkook quickly filing in. You glanced into the car to see the back full of metal boxes, clearly bearing more equipment. That left…

“Ah shit.” Namjoon cursed when he looked in as well. He looked over where the SUV exited, the red tail lights blinking mockingly at them now. “Sungwon-nim, why are the boxes in this car? I thought they keep this for emergencies like these.”

“What to do, Namjoon-ssi; they had all these boxes lying about and Ara told me to pack up what I could. I didn’t think you would need the car today, forgive me.”

Namjoon was quick to dismiss the man’s apology, smiling reassuringly. Then he heaved his own sigh and turned to me.

“Jimin can sit on my lap.” Jungkook piped in suddenly, making the both of you look at him.

“Fuck you, you should be sitting on my lap.” Jimin said immediately.

“I’m way bigger than you.”

“I’m older, you brat!”

“I’ll just squeeze in the back, really, its fine.” You squeaked.

“Nonsense. If anyone should be sitting in the back, it should be one of us.”

“Should I sit in the back and one of you drives?” Sungwon added in, looking amused. That effectively stopped the bickering.

Namjoon thought a moment before muttering a ‘fuck it.’ He clambered into the empty seat. “____, you’ll have to sit on my lap. We can adjust till we get home.”

There was silence.

“Huh?” You said, trying not to look horrified.

“It’s not a big deal. Just sit till we get there.”

“Your legs are already sore from all the dancing you did today.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not sitting on you.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “You’re not that heavy. And I’m not that weak.”

“Yeah, ____,” Jimin grinned at you. “Hyung’s been working out in case something like this happens.”

“Do you want to sit in the back, Jimin-ah?” Namjoon asked.

“____ sit on his lap, please.”

You purse your lips, looking from Jimin to Namjoon in his stubborn glory. You heaved another sigh. You were losing count of those today. “Fine.”

Namjoon had not been lying; you discovered when you proceeded to sit on him. His thighs bulged and shifted under you, muscles moving as he adjusted himself. You kept one hand on the window’s edge, keeping most of your weight off him.

“____,” He admonished when he realized what you were doing. He placed his hands on your shoulder, pressing down till you were actually sitting on his lap.

“This is a long drive, you know. I won’t let you make yourself uncomfortable for all of it.”

“Joon, be reasonable. Just let me sit in the back.”

“No. Stop being ridiculous. Just sit quietly and it’ll be over soon. You can even sleep if you want to.”

True enough, if you leaned back, you could rest your head on his shoulder but as it was, you were already nervous and on edge. So you sat ramrod straight and looked out the front, feeling Namjoon turn his head to stare out the window as they passed the now empty stadium.

The silence of the car soon became comfortable, lulling the worn out occupants of the car into sleep. Jungkook had his head leaning back on the headrest, earphones in while Jimin had curled up already in his seat, shoes off and head cradled in his arms against the side. Small snores now echoed from his side.

You wanted to look back to see if Namjoon was asleep too, to see if you could lift yourself up from him without him realizing. While it was very…kind of the man to offer up his possibly aching legs for you to flop on, you had to admit it felt cruel to do so. Not to mention…weird. You wouldn’t lie and say that you had never found lust in your heart when they wore those ridiculous costumes that (if twitter was anything to go by) made many people gnash their teeth to avoid screaming. You admitted that you stared at your friends and found them hot. But you had always kept it objectively fair.

This though…

You turned your head as best as you could; only managing to see the side of his head. You huffed, trying to move to the front so you could turn properly. Only, you were inhibited by the angle you sat in and the motion of the car. You squiggled, trying to find the best way to look at his face when Namjoon’s hands moved again. This time, they didn’t land on your shoulders. They wrapped along your waist.

“____, what are you trying to do?”

His voice was low, husky in your ear and you had to fight back the shiver it brought.

“Um, I was just checking to see if you were awake.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, not really wanting to admit that you were about to get off him. You’d sit on the floor of the car if it came to that. “I’m sorry I woke you.” You whispered instead.

“Oh, you woke me alright.” His hands were still on your waist, warm and snug, keeping you still on him when you felt it.

Oh…oh dear…

“Um, Joon?” You hedged, freezing on him when you realized that what you were feeling wasn’t actually his thigh muscles after all.

“Yes ____?”

“I think you…um, I think that you…”

“Yes? I am what?”

You refused to say it. You would not say it so you fell silent. It seemed that even Namjoon wouldn’t help you along with it.

“Turned on? Aroused?” He murmured finally when you never spoke again.

“Joon, just go back to sleep.” The…thing was much more noticeable now and this had to be the most awkward position you’d ever been in your life. You wouldn’t lie and say you’d never accidentally brushed up with their ‘bits’ ever. You were friends, it happened. But this…with his voice in your ear and his hot hands on your body…

Suffice it to say, you couldn’t wait to get home.

Namjoon ignored you. “I’m hard.” Gone was the murmur, his voice harsher against you. “And you keep squirming on top of me - that’s not helping.”

“Do you want me to get up?” You asked, careful to keep your voice down.

“No. You’re so warm and soft on me, like a blanket, why would I let you get up?” He chuckled in your ear and your neck prickled at the proximity.

This wasn’t right…

“Namjoon, you shouldn’t…” You trailed off when his hands moved, one going around to place a large palm on your front, holding you to him and the other rubbing down your leg. The slinky material of your skirt was cold in the car’s air conditioning, a startling contrast to the heat of his palm.

“Hmm?”

The skirt rose up as he drew his palm back. Your hands clutched at the window edge, trying to find some leverage to pull away from him. His hand was now under the material, hand flat against the side of your thigh. You gasped, wildly looking around at the car.

Jimin was still asleep, snores now very obvious. Jungkook still had his ear phones in but his head drooped to indicate, he too must have dozed off. You looked at the driver. Sungwon had the radio on, humming along and the seat was too high for him to notice anything behind him.

“Am I doing something you don’t want me to?”

His actions ceased immediately at his words, and in that moment you took stock of what was actually happening.

Kim Namjoon had his hands on you with one very close to the apex of your thigh. Namjoon, the man you’d felt flutters of nothing and everything for, was trying to hook up with you. Stepping away from the slippery slope that that led to, were you even equipped to handle what he could dish out?

In that moment, you were forced to pick between a jumpy but eager heart and body and the cold logical presumption of your brain that disdained the idea of you being good enough to date a BTS member. Not when they could have literally anyone they wanted.

“Joon, please,” You begged. You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Was it to keep him going? Was it to end this madness and push you both back to a place where you would always wonder of that pesky ‘what if?’

“Do you want me, ____?” Was his next question and obviously, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

“Yes,” You whispered, hating the way your whisper cracked on such a small but crucial word.

Even as you saw the line being drawn in the sand of your friendship with them, Namjoon took a moment to gauge your acceptance.

His fingers ran slow circles over your skin, warming your flesh in a way that had you melt further into your stupid decision. But well, you’d decided…and now you couldn’t just not go through with it, could you?

You leaned back into him, finding some solid comfort against his chest. The hand that held you to him tightened while the one under your skirt now pushed towards your center. You kept your eyes to the front as Namjoon maneuvered your body, sinking you further into him and angling you just so his hands landed on your core with the skirt covering his actions if anyone did turn their eyes on you.

“Are you sure, ____?” He asked.

“Please, Joon,” You whispered again and then his hands were inside your underwear, tips of his fingers caressing the mound. “Wait, what about you?”

“Shh, this is about you right now.” He muttered against your shoulder, breath hot. “Just work with me.”

You weren’t sure what to say. A part of you was thrilled to have him be doing this, but you didn’t want to seem as you were…taking advantage of his situation. Any other word of protest that you might have uttered died when his finger found your clit, having pushed your legs to spread over his own.

You covered your mouth when he applied pressure, considering your now lewd posture on top of the leader of BTS. And it might be hidden, but it was pretty damn obvious what was happening.

You let out a quiet grunt at the first circle of his rough fingers around the button. “Quiet, ____,” Why had you never realized how much you liked hearing your name from him? “We don’t want everyone to hear us, do we?” That question sounded too open-ended to be a real admonishment.

You bit your lips, trying to float with the way Namjoon worked you. He maintained a painfully slow pace, rubbing into your clit before alternating to pinch your lower lips closed over the nub. Your skin tingled, sensitive from the attention you were getting.

“Joon,” You turned your head to whisper to only him, hoping, praying he would have some pity. It was unbearable, sitting in a cold car with a hot hand over your most vulnerable spot, keeping you on edge.

“You want more?”

He took your squirming as a yes, hand pushing further into the panties to dip into your wetness. Tapping the wet flesh, he tracked the fluid upwards, painting the skin with your arousal for better lubrication.

“I think we can do better, can’t we?” He asked, sounding amused before his middle finger delved towards your hole.

Your muscles contracted at his proximity, Namjoon tutting once as his other hand moved as well. It fumbled under your shirt, finding its way in to cup a covered breast. “You have no idea how much I want to see you, ____. This will just have to do for now. I want you to relax, just breathe ok.”

And that was the thing about Namjoon.

It would be the strangest of things but he would be able to reassure and comfort you to such a degree that you would do anything. And so, you took a deep breath, settling against him and relaxing your body. Slowly, very carefully, you felt his digit enter you, curling some distance in.

He had to cough to cover the sound the both of you let out, his finger still in you, and your walls pulsating around him. He yanked his hand out of your shirt, grasping your neck to turn your ear to him.

“Fuck, ____, I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

You stared at him as best as you could, eyes falling to his mouth as you licked your lips in preparation. He followed the movement, grinning. “Only, let’s not, I won’t be able to control myself if I kiss you right now.” He opened his mouth as he pushed his finger completely into you, the knuckles brushing against your thighs.

He pumped you twice with one finger, gently sliding in another when he felt you relax more. Keeping your head turned towards the side where you breathed in his scent, he glanced over your shoulder, the motion of his hand visible through the fabric of the skirt.

Maybe it was you, but the wet sounds that emanated from his actions soon echoed loudly around you. Sungwon had long since stopped humming, the radio now a distant croon in the background. Jimin snorted a few times, the both of you freezing when he did but soon turned and continued to sleep. God, when would you get there already? You didn’t think you could take any more.

Namjoon had found your sweet spot a few minutes in and was unabashedly exploiting it, brushing against it to get your hackles up and then missing it entirely to rile you up. Your hands were clutching the handle, the other now in his hair.

Head buried in your neck, Namjoon panted hotly, muttering sweet nonsense to you that you could barely hear over the pounding of your blood. If you could get away with it, you’d have trashed, begged him to let you fall over the edge already. You were so close, it hurt. Your eyes fluttered close, a moan bubbling in your chest.

“Shit, ____.” Namjoon growled and your eyes flew wide open, seeing things in HD suddenly.

You were about to fall, you were toeing the line and then…

Your eyes met Jungkook’s.

His earphones were still plugged in, mouth agape as he stared at you in the mirror attached to the shotgun. The mirror must have reflected every damn thing that had happened and you had no clue how long Jungkook had been watching.

Namjoon hadn’t caught his Maknae watching, he only felt your walls tighten on him and redoubled his efforts to make you come.

And you did.

Watching Jungkook’s eyes trail down, most likely to where he could see…the activities, you climaxed.

Your core gripped Namjoon’s helping hand passionately, your juices slicking his fingers while the man pressed silent kisses to the side of your head to ease you along with it.

You slumped back against him in the aftershocks, eyes warily seeking the passenger in the front.

Jungkook’s eyes had returned to stare straight into your eyes. Gone was the wide-eyed stupefaction, in its place all you could see brewing was an alarming intensity.

Oh dear, what had you gotten into?

[vendetta-if]

4K Followers Celebration - Public Side Story Released 🎉

As voted by you guys, to celebrate the blog hitting 4K Followers milestone, I'll be releasing another side story to the public 🥳

The story that you guys chose is the one telling about the Vodka incident that Ash and MC talked about during the party! It's written in Ash's POV and it's more than 6K words long, so I separated it in two different posts.

I hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to leave comments and send asks about it 🥰 And, if you guys are interested in supporting me, please consider checking out my Patreon or Ko-Fi page 💖

Without further ado, here are the links to the story!

Vodka Misadventure [Part 1] | [Part 2]

And, if you guys haven't, feel free to check out the linked post below to read other publicly released side stories!

Public Side Stories List

[bruh-anator3000]

To Skrill or Not to Skrill

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A/n:... drag...nn... OKAY look i KNOW i should finish all my Viktor wips, esp The Lab Inspector's Daughter one BUT... um, well, skrunkly priorities have changed. My skrunkly, babygirl, the blorbo, the boi: the most insane viking in the Archieplego. Dagur the Deranged. He hath eaten the Viktor worms and started writhing on my brain himself. The madlad.

I WILL WRITE FOR VIKTOR AGAIN!! DON'T WORRY!! But Dagur wants to be written for first. For now.

Summary: Dagur didn't just... leave you, right? You led him and the Hunters to the exact spot your calculations had said the beast would be. The further you got into the cave, however, the less the others followed. Leaving you completely alone. Well, besides the dragon.

Pairing: Dagur x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: 'Trapped' in an ice cave, Hypothermia!! Near death experience? Dragons, Stupid Ryker, insert Micheal Scott's 'you've been di-frib-u-lated!,' Derangedness duh, Dagur refers to himself as 'Daddy' and the deadly dragon as 'baby,' accidental Hiccup/Dragon Riders hate (but for good reason in the story i swear), cringe stuttering, possible part 2 👀? (We all know how good I am at that)

MOST IMPORTANTLY: I haven't written for Dagur before so if he seems OOC, that's on me. Please let me know how I can make Dagur seem more like Dagur, i would love some advice on it.

Okay, that should be it! I hope you enjoy <3

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"He didn't just abandon me," Your shallow breaths turned to frost in front of your face as you continuously bashed the hilt of your sword against the thinning ice. As much as you wanted to believe your words, he did ignore his father when he went missing and simply took control instead.

"I mean, I'm valuable!" You tried to convince yourself as the ice finally gave in with a sharp crack. Your hilt judded through the hole you made, numb fingers nearly dropping your blade. You couldn't feel the lower part of your body, shivering violently as you awkwardly scuffled your sword on the other side of the ice. Making the weapon parallel to the wall, you began to smash the ice from the other side, trying to pull the sword back towards you.

"I found you, after all." You looked up through your lashes, which were slowly weighing down by snow and ice. The dark purple and grey of the Skrill looked down upon you. His breath fogging the wall of ice separating you two.

He watched you, eyes narrowed but curious. From what you could see, most of his limbs were slowly breaking free of the ice he had been banished to. Wings twitching and claws curling. You hit the icy wall once more. You could feel your fingers lock up around the rod of your sword. The joints in your arms stiffening with the cold. As you yanked your arm back once more, the ice broke. Leaving you to fall on your butt.

Laying on the cold stone of rock-hard ice, you sighed. Your breath turning to ice in front of you. Maybe you should've stayed with the Dragon Riders. With another frozen sigh, you knew that would've led to this exact same situation. Well, not exactly the same.

Hiccup left you to boil and burn in a cavern deep inside an active volcano. Dagur left you to freeze up and become an artifact for the next generation to find. You weren't sure what was worse.

However, Dagur had saved you from combusting into a pile of flame and ash. Maybe Hiccup will turn the tide, and find you, trying to free the Skrill he set into ice. For Dagur.

No, he would probably let you freeze over, too.

You tried to pull yourself up to your feet. You only managed to sit up and rest against the wall. Your bones rattled against each other, you could bite your own tongue off with how hard your teeth clattered. Huddling into yourself, you prayed to Odin someone would find you before you froze to death.

Looking over your arms as you held your knees close, you saw the Skrill ram the horn on his nose against the wall he was sealed behind. You shut your eyes, breathing out once more as you felt ice build around your lungs.

...

Dagur stood before the cave, torch high in his hold as he waited. Eyes narrowed, he held the flame to the dark entrance.

"Where's your little friend, Dagur?" Ryker saddled up beside the Berserker with a dark chuckle. "Think the Dragon Riders finally came back for them?"

Dagur scowled. "They wouldn't do that." He stated simply. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He saved you, after all. You wouldn't just turn on him like that... right?

"Then why are my men back but not them?" Ryker watched the viking from the corner of his eye. Dagur was simply too easy to rile up. And he was waiting for the moment he slipped up, so Viggo would finally see how utterly useless he was to their mission.

"Why can't your men find my Skrilly but they can?" Dagur shot back. You had told him the only information you knew about his Skrill was the fact Hiccup had sealed it away into an iceberg. With that, you had managed to pinpoint the beast's exact location. Which none of Ryker's men seemed to even comprehend.

Ryker let out a hard huff. "You have another hour, then we leave," He leaned in close, breath rotting. "With your friend, or not."

Dagur only glared back, eyes burning in the larger viking's skull. How he wanted to bash Ryker's head open. For more than one reason, but the top contender was how he spoke of you. A Dragon Rider turned hunter wasn't a very trustworthy transformation but Dagur liked you.

The vengeance written on your face when he found you, betrayed by his brother. It reminded him of the rage he felt daily for how Hiccup had thrown him into jail for three long years. You said you were a dragon rider and his first instinct was to grab your dragon and run. But you had no dragon, only a shattered sword and the outlines of welts beginning to bubble up from the heat on your skin.

When he asked if you wanted rescuing, throwing on his best smile and pose, you laid back down and accepted your fate. That's when he knew he'd like you. So stubborn, you'd rather melt than let a devilishly handsome Berserker save you. A sense of humor he enjoyed poking at until it turned into slight aggravation.

Now, he was aggravated. The torch felt so... throwable in his clenching fist. It wasn't you... it's just that you weren't here. He needed you here, wanted you standing besides him with his Skrill in tow.

Glancing back, he watched Ryker and his lousy men riffle around. Some were walking circles around the boats. Others shoved each other around, acting like there was nothing wrong. Like this was all a game to them. Ryker may be able to dispose of his men like day old fish, but Dagur wouldn't do that - not to you, at least.

He could throw Savage overboard any day. Throw him as far as he wanted, deep into the vast blue of the ocean. He would laugh, watching him scramble back on board. But he wouldn't throw you over the deck. He's considered it, he won't lie, but he could only ever bring himself to grab the back of your shirt, threateningly.

You'd just laugh. Everytime he would grumble and yank you around by the sleeve or tunic, you would laugh. It was cute. And it was infectious, too. Whatever he was angry at, Dagur would have to let it go and laugh with you.

But now, you weren't here. He wasn't able to laugh his boiling anger off. You were still somewhere in the icy caves. And Ryker wasn't going to be any help. Like always, it looked like Dagur was going to have to do this himself.

He really hoped his Skrill was in there, or else you'd be making him look like a fool. He also really hoped you were still alive. But he also really didn't want to look like a fool.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ryker's grating voice called out, making Dagur's whole body twitch with annoyance. By the Norns, he hated that man's voice, and endless proding!

"Getting my Skrill back!" He shouted over his shoulder. If it weren't for the iron grip he had on his torch, Dagur would've sent it straight through the Dragon Hunter's head, hearing Ryker laugh at him. If only the Skrill could come barreling out of the cavern just then. Like Hiccup and his stupid Night Fury always seemed to do.

The ice cave was just as expected - long, dark, and very cold. Barely five minutes into his search, Dagur started shaking like a fish out of water. Violently trembling from the cold. He debated on turning back. Let go of this Skrill dream entirely, that perhaps it was an unhealthy obsession he developed and would benefit him in letting it go.

The thought made him laugh. Loudly and sporadically, his hysteria bounced off the endless tunnel walls. He giggled to himself when he heard his laugh come back to him. Sounded just as insane as he remembered.

Another sound followed the dying echoes of his laugh. One that sent a full body shiver through the Deranged. That same howl, like a screech of home. A dragon's. His dragon.

Bursting into a full on sprint, Dagur ran down the cave, guffawing with excitement. He's dreamt of this day for years, the situation of reuniting with his dearest Skrill playing over in his head like a bard who only knew how to play one song. He would soon use his beloved beast to destroy little Hiccup in a blast of pure lightning. Another drool-worthy ideal that he never stopped wishing for.

Dagur turned the last twist of the tunnel before the beast of royal purple and toned grey became visible. Wide mouth filled with rows of sharp teeth bared before him. The metallic spiky crown the dragon wore was even more daunting in the unusual lighting of fire reflected against frozen water. A sight so enthralling, Dagur's mind went blank.

Mind flooded with excitement, Dagur broke out into a large smile and simply gawked. The cold didn't exist in this moment as he stared at his precious baby. So giddy that he raised both his hands up with a loud, concerning cry and spun in a circle.

"That's right!" He hollered to no one in particular. "Dagur and Skrilly, reunited once more! Ohohoho!" He laughed with his entire body, moving wildly in his joy.

The ripple of dark scales had Dagur turning back around. The Skrill curled into itself as a bright white hue began to glow from his mouth. Drawing his sword, he held it pointed to the beast.

"It's alright, baby." He tried shushing the Skrill, cooing in his gravelly voice. "Daddy Dagur's here for you."

The Skrill had better ideas. He shot a bolt of lightning barely a foot away from Dagur.

He was about to shout. Ready to lose his temper that his own darling would try to hurt him, but that sharp green gaze caught on something beneath those steely purple legs. A figure lumped under the dragon. It seemed like sweet Skrilly was protecting this nearly dead thing.

As another blast of lightning began to charge in the dragon's mouth, Dagur dropped his stance for a moment. His eyes fell to a sword that was laying far from the other two. The same sword he often sparred with. Grabbed along with his own, to hand to his partner in battle. The same sword he's had to help rewrap over 10 times because, for whatever reason, you couldn't keep the yak leather tight around the hilt.

Your sword.

Wait a second. That's you?

He tried to get a better look but the Skrill opened his mouth even wider, ready to blast again. Thank Odin he was a Berserker. Directing Skrills was in his blood.

Dagur waved his sword back and forth until the Skrill could only focus on it. Making sure those slitted pupils were trained on his blade, he lowered the sword and threw it across the ice. Away from you. Unfortunately, the beast stayed put, but his eyes were trained on the sword Dagur had to sacrifice. Skrill's are painfully loyal to those who treat them well. And saving them from an icy prison would be a perfect reason why the dragon refused to move.

Dagur made a mental note to yell at you for gaining his Skrilly's trust before him. After he saved you, of course.

"Come on, baby, work with me here." Dagur tried to reason as he lowered himself closer to the ground. "They're with me. And you like them, right? So you'll like me, too."

The fire-lightning sparked back up in his mouth the second Dagur tried to take another step. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of another way to get to you. They both looked at the torch he held.

Dagur wasn't about to burn the Skrill but he desperately needed to get to you. You had been in here for hours. How long have you been unconscious for? The next place he might see you is in Valhalla. He really didn't want to risk death in order to see you again.

Waving his torch around like he'd done his sword, Dagur began to walk around his Skrill. Every time the dragon tried to lunge forward, he would jump right back at him. The fire discouraging the Skrill just enough to push him away from you. Only the strong and unbelievably gorgeous wing of him hovered above you. Dagur could work with that.

"Hey, wakey wakey!" Dagur dropped to his knees beside you, his free hand reaching for your wrist. His hands always felt so rough compared to your skin. It made him feel... embarrassed that his hold could grate on yours.

As he ran his hand down your arm, panic started seeping in. You were as cold as the floor beneath the two of you. Your fingers were beginning to turn blue. He couldn't see you breathing, not when you were so curled in on yourself.

"Hey," He set his torch on the ground. He didn't care if it was burning out, he needed you alive. "Stay with me." His voice started to raise in tone as he softly grabbed your shoulders. Rolling you on your back, you moved far too loosely. He could tell you no longer had control of your limbs.

Eyes growing wide, Dagur cupped your face with one of his hands. The apple of your cheeks - where pretty freckles, often paired with a slight red the sun always burned onto your skin - was tinting blue. And so was your precious nose. That wasn't good.

Oh Thor, this wasn't good.

Dagur pressed his ear to your chest, silently begging for a breath. He could settle for a heartbeat, a faint one, even! He just needed to know you were still alive!

His search was interrupted when he was scooped into the air. He scrambled to grab you, holding you close to his chest as he started to raise and slide backwards. Letting out an uneasy laugh, his back hit a rod that winded him.

Keeping his arms tight around your freezing torso, Dagur looked down. Sitting on purple scales against dark spikes, he realized all too late what was happening.

"Easy, dragon!" He pleaded with a yelp. The Skrill roared and stood on his hind legs. He scrambled to seat you in front of him, awkwardly sliding behind your limp self and reaching around to grab the crown of the dragon. His left hand barely gripped onto a spike when the Skrill took off with a gut-deep growl.

Dagur's screams came out like his laughs, sporadic and changing in tone. And frantic. Very- extremely frantic. The light blue colors of ice blurred past him, cold wind whipping through his red hair. Cold quickly shifted into warmer air. Ice no longer surrounding him, turning into the sand of the beach outside.

He could barely make out the shouts of the hunters over his own. His next sight was crashing face first into sand. Tumbling further until he hit one of the ship posts. Taking at least one other man down with him.

"What in Thor's name-?" Ryker ran out from his ship. He was ready to shout and yell at the morons he was given to work with for being so idiotic. His loud voice died deep in his throat when his eyes landed on the beast. He was certain Dagur had gone insane, far more insane than normal when he trusted an ex Dragon Rider to lead him to the rarest dragon besides the Night Fury.

Purple and grey scales glimmered in the sun. Sharp teeth nearly chomping one of his hunters in half for getting too close. Metallic spikes running down the dragon's back. Ryker gawked with a dropped jaw.

"It's the Skrill!" One of the hunters called out. "Chain him!" Some screamed. "Cage him!" Yelled another. But Dagur beat them all.

"No one touches MY Skrill!" He bellowed, running back over to 'his skrill.'

Instead of throwing the nets over the dragon, Ryker watched with a scowl as Dagur skidded to a stop in front of the beast. His eyebrows shot up with surprise as the Berserker pulled you off the Skrill's back. Maybe having a Dragon Rider on the team wasn't such a bad idea.

Or maybe it was, since you flopped over into Dagur's hold like a ragdoll. You didn't ride that dragon! You were simply stuck on its back.

"Come on, please." Dagur set you on the sand gently, keeping your head steady. The words stumbled past his lips before he could reign in his emotions. "I need you." His voice was barely a whisper but it still cracked with pain. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't.

His hand rested on your chest, still desperate to find a sign of life. Yet again, the Skrill had a better idea and knocked Dagur backwards. Falling on his butt, Dagur wanted to kick the beast in the snout. He was trying to make sure you were alive! What did the dragon think it was doing?!

The sun blacked out as clouds began to accumulate above the docks. The back of the Skrill began to arch, the metal rods on his back starting to vibrate. Bright and blinding, sparking lightning burned in his mouth.

Dagur watched in horror as the Skrill roared. His eyes nearly shot out of his head when the Skrill let his head drop onto your chest. Sending a Thor's worthy amount of electricity right through your body.

Static cracked the air, loud enough to leave everyone's ears ringing. As soon as they appeared, the dark storm clouds dispersed and the Skrill stepped back. Bursts of lightning still danced on the beast, weaving between the tall stakes of metal on his back. He watched you, eyes narrowed, and the tip of his nose brushing up your legs.

A scream of pure rage began to bubble in Dagur's throat. His beast, his Skrill, had just killed you!? Sending a bolt through you and probably charing your body inside and out?! Like yak on a stick!?

The sand crunched in between his fists, arms twitching with restrained anger. His two favorite things combined, resulting in one of them dead. He was going to wear that Skrill's skull as a helmet!

The silent building tension between the hunters, Dagur, and the dragon was interrupted by a violent choke.

You sat up abruptly, gasping and choking on nothing. Your arms locked around your knees, still shivering from the ice you once laid on. Whether you were deep in shock, too literally shocked, or far too cold, you failed to realize that you were out of the cave.

It took Dagur three seconds before he was bolting to your side. He was trying to be gentle, but his desperation seemed to make his movements too rigid. You saw him from the corner of your eye, and in a blind panic, smacked the ever loving Odin out of him.

A gasp went around the surronding hunters as Dagur stood back, still facing the way you hit him with his cheek beginning redden. You blinked a couple of times before letting out a relieved cry and jumped up to hug him.

"By Thor, I thou- thought you ha- ad left m- me!" Your words were skewered by your clattering teeth. He felt far warmer in your hold than you remembered. Not that you were complaining, you simply dug yourself into him even further.

Dagur stood still for a few more moments, emerald eyes glaring at you through the corners. It was then you realized what you had just done. You let your hold on him slip as you stared up at him, trembling from the cold - and new-found fear.

Two steps back was all you made it before Dagur's thick arms caught around you. Pulling you into his chest, he squeezed you tight enough to practically crush you. With this confirmation, you wrapped your own arms around him and sighed shakily.

"I wouldn't have left you." His breath tickled your ear, beard scratching against your cheek as he spoke low enough so only you could hear. He pulled back, and set you in front of him with a firm grip on your shoulders. "Let's get you into warmer clothes, especially out of that armour." He declared with a flick to your bracers.

You glanced down at your outfit. Your arms seemed to only grow colder if you held them around your chestplate. Nodding, you fell into his side. He wrapped an arm over your shoulders and helped you move towards the boats.

A sharp poke hit you in the back, followed by a low growl. Turning around, you saw the beast you had been chasing all week.

"Is th- that the Sk- skrill?" Your eyes went wide as you stared back at the dragon. Dagur nodded.

"He likes you," He pinched your ear lightly, making you pull away slightly. He always loved your little reactions. "You were supposed to just free it, not bond with it." The red head stuck his lower lip out in a pout.

"I fr- reed it-z?" Your tongue stiffened on the last syllable, making it sound like a buzz. He laughed and patted your back, urging you to keep walking.

"Yup. He flew you out here." You looked around with new eyes, the earlier shock beginning to fade.

"We're outside?"

"ENOUGH-" You flinched at Dagur's outburst. He held his other hand out, and took a breath. "Enough questions. Just- back to the boat."

You nodded and accepted his unofficial apology by continuing to lean into him. He was so muscular, it felt like you were walking alongside a tree. A very intimidating, genuine, and passionate tree log. Dagur was far more handsome than a log, too.

Your hazy gaze stared up at him from under his arm. If he could tell you were staring, he didn't show it. He wore his usual smug smirk, a gentle squeeze around you, but nothing more.

"The Skrill comes with us." Dagur held out his hand to the oncoming hunters. They slowed to a stop, green axes and chains in their lowered hands. Sharing a confused look, they turned to Ryker, who finally got off from his post on his ship.

"What makes you think that, exactly?" Ryker asked, eyes falling behind you to the beast.

Dagur hemmed and hawed as he removed his arm from you, guiding you to rest on the Skrill for support. The dragon purred, rough and deep, as you rested your hand on his neck.

"Oh I don't know," Dagur tapped his chin, his other hand counting something on his fingers. "Maybe because, well," He chuckled. "I FOUND IT?!" He shouted in Ryker's face, green eyes bugging out of his head. His nostrils flaring in his face.

Ryker stared down at him with a bored brow. Dagur glared right back, breathing heavily. With a roll of his eyes, Ryker backed up with a raised hand. His men backed off as well.

Dagur turned back to you, nodding to the large boat. He hit Ryker's shoulder as you three passed. The Skrill bared his teeth at the lead Dragon Hunter, sensing the discomfort he was causing. Growl vibrating his throat as you patted the dragon, a gentle reminder that you were fine.

You followed Dagur to the ship with small steps. Your tremors made it hard to stay upright, and the Skrill could only help you so much. Dagur threw his head back with a sigh when he noticed the distance between you two.

He trotted back and pulled you into his side once again, keeping an arm around your shoulders. The Skrill walked along your other side, offering more support, if you needed it. Together, they helped you to the ship and into Dagur's quarters.

[hell-much]

My Stories

You can find my stories under the Pseud MsCFH on AO3. Below a full listing, including an Angst Scale for each story.

MULTI-CHAPTERED STORIES

Risen From The Ashes Canon-Divergence / Rating E / 477k words

The ultimate Margaery-survived story. It has it all really. Intrigue, war against the dead, slow-burn, smut, gut-wrenching angst, family fluff and much, much more.

Angst Factor: 7/10 (in specific chapters more a 24/10 but the length of it waters it down)

.

you always smile (but in your eyes your sorrow shows) Modern AU / Rating M / 18k words

There was only one bed. I'll let you figure out the rest yourself. Also part of Winter Writing Prompts series but deserved a own spot in the multi-chapters due to length and complexity.

Angst Factor: 7/10

.

More Than Friends Modern AU / Rating T / 128k words

The Friends AU -written together with the wonderful @cerseiwondered (princessofthorns on AO3) that turned out a good deal angstier than we originally thought it would be.

Angst Factor: 6/10

.

Once In A Lifetime Modern AU / Rating E / 184k words

A Bridges of Madison County AU that plays in the 1970s Westeros and my personal favourite among the mulit-chapters.

Angst Factor: 7/10

.

Insidious Intent Modern AU / Rating E / WIP (211k words to date)

The prompt fill that reelly got out of hand. We have charming murderess Sansa, pushy journalist Margaery and my first attempt at fictional journalism.

Angst Factor: 7/10

...

SERIES

Corporate AU Modern AU / Different Ratings /  183k words

The story of Margaery and Sansa, their ambitious careers in the corporate word, and their all-consuming love for each other. Full disclosure: This series starts out as a collection of smutty one-shots and about halfway through will rip out your heart and piece it back together.

Fun fact about this one. It is now set in chronological order on AO3, but my writing it was anything but that. Original order if you want to torture yourself with some ambigituities is the following:

Kind Regards / Get Together / Rainy Days / Old Acquaintances / A Vision In White / A Year Ago Today / Meet The Starks / Hope This Finds You Well / Postscript / Recreational Holiday

Angst Factor: 5/10 (Again: A good deal higher in specific parts but the smutty PWP parts water it down.)

.

Covid AU Modern AU / Rating M / 40k words

Going from fluffy one shot in the first part to majorly angsty medical drama in the second part.

An Appropriate Distance / Here With Me

Angst Factor: 6/10

.

Parent Trap AU Modern AU / Different Ratings / 37k words

The story of a blended family falling apart, finding their way back together and expanding. Mostly very fluffy family fluff.

My Love, My Life / I've Been Waiting For You

Angst Factor: 3/10

.

Winter Writing Prompts Modern AU / Different Ratings / 52k words

A collection of winter-themed one-shot prompt fills.

"Your car slid into a snowbank and I’m the mechanic that comes to tow you." / "We just had a one-night-stand but a massive storm hit so now we’re snowed in, hello awkward."

"I’m having a snowball fight with my friend in the park and I hit you instead."

"the b&b we’re staying at asked if we wouldn’t mind sharing a room since we know each other and this snow storm has brought in some unexpected guests … one bed … three nights"

"You jokingly suggest we send out holiday cards together as friends so we do, and now everyone is congratulating us for finally getting together."

"You knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have."

"I get your name during Secret Santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend, so...sorry about all the sex toys."

"Sansa tells Margaery's child Santa isn't real and then has to make amends before Christmas."

Angst Factor: 2/10

...

ONE SHOTS

Over The Edge Modern AU / Rating M / 4k words

PWP. My first Sansaery attempt at smut.

Angst Factor: 1/10

.

we make your dreams come true Modern AU / Rating E / 11k words

PWP. Snarky Olenna, hot flight attendant Sansa, and Margaery about to join the mile high club.

Angst Factor: 1/10

.

Satisfaction Modern AU / Rating E / 9k words

This was supposed to be PWP but ended up with more of a backstory than some of my other multi-chapters. Weak spot for this one because of the sheer messiness of it.

Angst Factor: 8/10

...

FICLETS ON TUMBLR

Winter Hat Canon-Divergence / Rating G / 343 words

That winter outfit from the Tudors and Sansa has comments.

Angst Factor: 1/10

[simmetrycal]

ash x gn!reader *ೃ༄

synopsis:

ash takes you to hang out to rekindle your friendship.

word count: 4k

MINORS DNI or i’ll push your mother off a cliff

tags and cw: gender neutral reader, smut, fluff, oral m!receiving, mutual pining, aftercare

authors note: guys i KNOW.

✧˚ · .

you’ve known ash for quite some time now. since sharing a class way back when in college, you were friends in fact. though, ash has many friends now and it proved difficult over the years to pin him down for a hangout.

still, he invites you to each and every one of his parties. and you’ve attended almost all.

though, when one time you didn’t, he actually noticed. a text came through on your phone the next day reading, “missed you last night! pop out next time?”

you maybe wished he asked about why you missed it, hoping to tell him about the way your car couldn’t start at all and he’d be concerned, even bring you something to cheer you up.

but he never did. you simply responded with “you know i’ll be there!”. he hearted the message but didn’t say anything else.

god, why is it so hard to talk to him?

you sit in a cafe booth on your break, twirling around a straw with your thumb and index, taking sips of your drink every so often. you ponder texting him again, simply for fun or to ask him to hang out.

you two used to hang out so much but nowadays he has his big boy job and you rarely see him, unless at those parties.

which get wild sometimes, by the way. he really knows how to make the aura in the room burn with intensity. it could be the music, though. or the bright color-changing lights, or a combination of both.

but no, it wasn’t either of those, it was him.

when he comes down from those stairs the party actually starts. people’s energies rise and never fall. they rip him away in every direction. he’s unable to stay in one place for long, getting pulled around by person after person.

he seems to love it though. i mean, who wouldn’t? it’s the attention and adoration from everyone in the room.

and there you were, being another one of those oglers. appreciating him for everything he is. how much he helps people, cares for them, is there for them.

you want to ask him to hang out but hesitate hitting send on your phone, slumping down and staring at the ceiling, unsure of what to do.

would he even want to hang out? what would the two of you do? would he reject you?

wait.. reject?

it’s not like you have a crush on him.. right?

not like you care if he’s busy or if he’s hanging out with other people. of course not.

so why do you feel a pang in your chest hoping for a text back after you say “link up?”

normally you would never use that phrase but it’s something you picked up for his vocabulary. so perhaps it’d strike his interest. you did that a lot actually— copy his lingo. it was too catchy not to.

minutes turn into hours and hours turn into nearly the whole day. you were brushing your teeth at midnight after marathoning your favorite movie series with your friend before he texted back.

the phone buzzed on the counter as you gargled, startling you. you spat and looked at it, not daring to flip it upwards. anxiously waiting for your nerves to die down.

you told yourself to except the worst. that he doesn’t want to hang out with you alone. or that he’s busy. he can’t make it.

“i’d love to! can i scoop you in 20?”

twenty minutes?! that’s so short notice. and.. oh my gosh?! he wants to hang out!

you fought a big smile that was threatening to take over your face. instead you push it down and blush, heading to your closet rather quickly.

twenty minutes is fine. anything’s fine.. if it’s for him.

as you dressed you thought about how you were going to steal that phrase: “scoop”, but your friend piped up from the living room.

“where are you going?” they ask, getting up to come down the hall. they turn the corner as you pull up a pair of pants with your nice top not yet on. “oh! you’re half naked, okay!” they laugh and turn around with the speed of light.

you clear your throat, embarrassed to say what you’re about to. “um, you know how i have been waiting for a text back from ash?”

“did he?! is that what you’re getting ready for? but it’s night?!” they finish. earlier you told your friend all about how you’ve been eager to see him lately.

“i.. kind of don’t care that it’s night.” you say sheepishly, with your shirt now and walking past them back to the bathroom.

“is this a D appointment?” they ask, leaning against the door frame. your jaw drops.

“no! i don’t feel that way for him! he’s simply my friend.” you state, examining yourself closely in the mirror.

“right.”

“what?”

“i can see it all over you. you’re excited to see him and you lowkey want action. am i right or am i right?”

did you want action?…. i mean, you wouldn’t necessarily be opposed if the opportunity arose— no. what were you thinking? this is lewd!

“hello?” your friend waved their hand in the direction of your face. “earth to y/n.”

“i don’t want action with him. like i said, he’s my friend.”

“mkay.. keep telling yourself that.” they laugh and walk off, knowing deep down you both are thinking the same thing. “i’m sleeping in the middle until you get back. starfish style because no one can tell me otherwise.” they climb onto your queen size bed.

-

ash picks you up in the parking lot of your apartment building. his audi is parked in a handicapped spot because it’s closest.

“you can’t park there you know,” you say as you get in the car.

he laughs and puts it in reverse once you sit and buckle in. “and who’s around to stop me?” he says, putting his hand on your seat to glance out his back window. the sight of that was attractive to say that least, but you ignore the feeling.

you look around and sure enough there’s almost no cars in the lot. huh.

“how are you, y/n? i haven’t seen you in a hot minute!” he says, looking at the road.

“i’m doing good! how about yourself?”

as he talks, you find yourself zoning out, just staring at him. all of him.

he smells good, the cologne graced air hangs in the atmosphere of the car. he’s wearing a snug black shirt and a watch, and his hair is wet from a shower. you can’t stop staring.

he might’ve noticed but he said nothing, though, you swore you caught a small grin on him.

“anyhow,” he finishes, “too much office drama for me in my opinion.”

“i thought you enjoyed that sort of thing.”

he chuckles. “you know what… actually yeah, i do sorta like it. but! not when it’s revolving around me— i like to observe.” he says as he comes to a red light.

“i completely get that.” you reply, still looking at him.

because of the light he turns to face you, taking a long look at you. “i haven’t seen you in so long. like this i mean.” the light turns green.

“i don’t understand.”

“like.. just the two of us, like we used to do.”

“i know! i missed it, and um..” you bite the inside of your cheek. “i’m really glad you said yes— i almost expected you to be too busy.”

“i’m never too busy.”

“really?”

“well.. maybe sometimes but, most of the time, just shoot me a text.” he says, patting you on the leg. it does something to you that you force yourself to push down. “i’m always down to see you.”

after some time in the car filled with chatting he parks and you blink, somehow you didn’t even notice that he drove you both all the way to the ice rink.

you shake your head. “ice skating?”

“what?” he looks at you full on, then glances down at your seatbelt, unbuckling it for you. “can’t skate?”

you purse your lips and fight another cheeky smile. fuck, why does he make you just want to grin from ear to ear when nothing is even going on?

“i’m just bad at it! i always fall.” you say to him as you both get out and walk towards the building.

“i’ll hold your hand, you won’t fall!”

you did fall. a lot.

as the two of you skated, ash messed around way too much- holding your hand sometimes and others just letting you figure it out on your own.

sometimes he’d even let go to chat with the many people there. of course he knew at least someone on the rink. typical ash.

it was actually odd how many people were there on a monday night. perhaps hockey practice.

when he let go you always wobbled, grabbing onto his arm or his shoulder to balance yourself.

he tried teaching you, and for the most part, you started to get it. though, you were jealous of how well he wandered over the ice effortlessly. his movements were perfect, like he’d been doing this for years and years.

all you had to do was ask though, why he was so good at it, and he’d tell you. apparently you had no idea he played hockey in high school after he swore you told you before.

“i was a goalie though, a fat goalie,” he laughed as he helped you skate, holding your hands as he skated backwards with ease.

the two of you were there for quite some time, just talking the night away. it felt so much easier than you thought it’d be. it was like you both picked up right where you left off, not caring about all the time that went by since you were close in college. he was still the same man. sweet and attentive, only focused on you.

a big part of you thought he would be distracted, maybe taking calls or texts, or simply not interested- but that were never the case.

you honestly loved it. you had his full, undivided attention, always.

the arena was cold and he didn’t seem to be affected by it. but you, on the other hand, were. shivering in your day to day clothes more and more after each time you hit the ice.

at some point, you hit the ground a bit too rough and scraped your palm. the pain was almost nonexistent because of how cold your hands were, but ash still rushed to your side.

he accidentally sprayed up ice chips and snow from his skates when he slid to a stop by you, leaning down and brushing it all off.

some “hehe’s” and “sorry’s” left his lips, but you were too busy paying attention to how he helped you up gracefully.

he sat you down on a bench in the lobby and removed your skates. no more ice for tonight.

you felt more comfortable without the tightly laced boots, but the feeling earlier of him putting them between his legs to tighten them for you was honestly better. perhaps you’d have to come back here with him sometime just so he can do that for you again.

he even put your own shoes back on for you, seeing as your hands were too cold. his were a bit red too but not like yours. perhaps he could help—

before you knew it he was taking both of your hands in his up to his cheeks.

his face was so so soft. like.. what does he do to moisturize because, damn. they were warm too, heating up your hands. he smiled that contagious, goofy grin he always did.

it made you want to.. nevermind.

he looked at you for a long moment, and you couldn’t break the eye contact- it was captivating.

“your eyes are annoyingly blue,” you mention without thinking. he did a stupid face to mimic that one hannah montana meme and it made you burst out laughing.

“i get that so often you don’t even know,” he says as he helps up. it was weird being on skates and now with your feet flat on the ground, the transition felt wobbly.

ash took you to his car and turned the heat up for you, even reaching under his seat to pull out a first aid kit.

your face was pink as he held the still-wrapped bandaid between his teeth, watching him clean the scrape with an alcohol wipe. he then opened the bandaid and placed it right over your wound. patting it for good measure.

“good? or should i kiss it better?” he says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

you think for a moment, trying to play off your attraction to him as a joke. “kiss it better? maybe? just to make sure.”

he nods and takes your hand up to his mouth and kisses it, maintaining eye contact with you.

you try to pull away after out of hesitation but his grip is unrelenting. “better?”

the blush on your cheeks must be so obvious by now, so you look away and nods when he lets go.

“hey..” he says, turning your chin to look at him. this surprised you, making you blush even more. “i had a good time tonight.”

“yeah?” you try to sound confident but your voice is barely a whisper.

“yeah. i wanted to come and skate tonight anyway.. and i wanted to see you.”

there was a pause before he spoke again.

“why weren’t you at the last party? i like seeing you at those.”

so he is asking after all..

“my car wouldn’t start, but trust me i wanted to come.”

“you should’ve called me! i would’ve totally came to pick you up. i mean, that’s what friends are for, right?”

friends. yes.

“right. i’ll call you if it happens next time.”

“good. because i need you at those parties you know.” he says and leans back into his seat, looking at nothing out the window.

you cock your head. “you do?”

“yeah, duh. who else am i supposed to look at?”

you scoff-laugh. me? “i dunno, maybe the bajillion other people there.” you don’t even get crazy at his parties nor do you spend more than maybe 10 minutes with him there every time.

“y/n.” he says, taking your hand. “remember the first party you came to?”

“the one where you fell down the stairs?”

he laughs, remembering it. “yeah, but do you wanna know why i did that?”

“why..?”

“because i quite literally tripped when i saw you.”

“oh shut up..” you roll your eyes and smile, feeling good about yourself.

“i was so happy to see you y/n. i just feel.. comfortable around you- excited around you.”

“yeah, right..”

“don’t believe me?”

“um..” you think about it for a moment. “not really, ash. i mean, look at yourself. look at all the people around you all the time.”

“i’ve hardly known most of them for as long as ive known you.” he says quietly.

you sat there. and he sat there. neither of you looked away, neither of you said anything else.

the only movement was him glancing down at your lips, then back at your eyes. in that very moment you decided that it was okay to have a little crush on him. to want him like this.

it all came flowing in. you wanted him a lot, actually— this whole time you’ve wanted him. for years. you want him to kiss you and you want to kiss him.

and you want more than that. you want his mouth on other parts of your body. your mouth everywhere on his.

so you go for it.

you take initiative. and you know that ash will reciprocate because you truly do know him better than you think. he does lean into the kiss you two share.

a kiss isn’t the right way to describe it though, it’s almost like ash is drinking water for the first time in his whole life. fervently trying to get more from you, grabbing your jaw with one hand and your thigh with another.

his passion is almost overwhelming, but perhaps he’s thinking the same about you with the way you’re matching his needy energy.

the kiss is vigorous and pushy, both of you needing more, getting hotter, wetter, teeth clashing here and there. perhaps even a noise or two escapes his lips.

your position is a bit awkward and he feels this too, breaking away from the kiss to put his seat all the way back. once he does he practically pulls you on top of him, begging for you.

you connect your mouths once more, feeling the vibration of his small moan against your lips. he lets you continue down his neck so he can catch his breath, his hands roaming all along your backside. this arouses you to your core, feeling the wetness and impatience you have down there.

he grips your ass unashamedly, pulling you down on him to feel the hard tent in his black pants. it makes him shut his eyes, letting out a breathy groan.

he seems to want this so badly, need it almost. so you decide to sink lower, trailing your hands across his hard chest, down the ridges of his abs, and delicately lift up part of his shirt. your fingers gracefully trace his v-line, and he simply can’t take it anymore.

ash takes your hands and guides them to his waistband himself- not caring about coming off as needy or even rude about it.

this was usually attractive. normally you liked men who’d ask for permission to do anything with you or offer to repay you.

you’re sure ash is that type of guy generally but right now he isn’t and somehow.. you find it insatiably hot.

most likely because it proves to you that he needs this, he wants it so bad.

and he tells you that.

“y/n.. just.. fuck,” well, tries to tell you it seems.

you know what he means though, so you don’t waste any more time in tugging down the waistband of his pants and his perfectly tight boxers.

“mm,” he huffs, feeling the air hit his exposed, erect cock.

suddenly you feel too hot— maybe it’s the heat coming out of the ac right behind you or it’s the tension of you with your lips parted on top of ash and his deprived, pink, dripping cock.

you lean down to kiss the tip, still looking at him. his eyebrows are turned upward— looking nearly pathetic and his eyes beg for you. but you watch as he squeezes them shut when you take the base of it in your hand.

he’s acting like he’s never gotten a blowjob or handjob in his life, but it could be due to he fact that he’s an incredibly sensitive guy- in all the ways possible.

or maybe, just maybe, it’s you who’s making him this desperate.

“fuck,” he lets out when you lick a stripe up the shaft, your tongue leaving plenty of saliva behind, so much so that it drips down to his balls. when you come to the top you take the whole thing in your mouth to ash’s surprise, making him buck his hips up.

you take more until you can’t and begin sucking up and down, feeling ash’s hand come to your hair and to the armrest of his seat. he grips both for stability, almost too overwhelmed by his painfully hard cock that’s just bucking it’s way up into your mouth.

a few more strokes from you and he’s already trying to conceal whimpers, his breath and body shuddering.

he brushes your hair out of your face with his hand and makes eye contact with you. you see how absolutely adorable he looks above you, biting his bottom lip just slightly. you go back down and he groans.

“i..” he whines. “i just need to tell you, fuck,”

you keep going, making him fight for the words, but you’re still listening to what he has to say.

“i come quick and like, ahh, a lot..” he pants.

you hum in response, pleased. you give him a reassuring glance, basically letting him know: “it’s okay if you cum all over my face, i don’t mind. i’m actually yearning for it”

you both hadn’t even noticed the glass had gone completely foggy, and ash’s hand was leaving messy prints all over his driver side window.

you also didn’t expect a full whimper and whine leave him lips when he pulled you off his cock by your hair. your hand still working up and down it, knowing he was just about to cum.

and when he did it was spectacular.

you watch it come out of his perfect pink tip and you watch his face, his body, everything. his abdomen practically convulsing. the scene was so, so lewd.

and he wasnt kidding about being a total mess, you believe it even got on the steering wheel.

you wanted nothing more than to keep going, to lap up his cum and overstimulate him but you held back.. perhaps another time.

you truly hope there will be another time— for he didn’t even get to show you what he’ll do for you.

you stroke him through his orgasm, seeing how sleepy he was immediately becoming. it was honestly so cute.

“there’s wipes in the glovebox,” he mutters. the whisper was barely even audible and you weren’t even sure you heard anything, but you reached over and opened the glovebox anyway.

there were wipes and he tried taking them from you, wanting to clean himself up without your assistance- just to be a gentleman.

but you knew he was so happy and so grateful when you offered to do it for him. you took one out and cleaned all around his still twitching cock. you cleaned his thighs and his stomach and your own face and hands.

you took another wipe for the steering wheel and the door and his clothes but those didn’t seem like they were going to get clean unless he actually threw them in the wash.

to your astonishment, ash put his arms around you and hugged you down to his chest after you put the wipes away and pulled up his pants. his kissed your forehead and you noticed the tiniest tear roll down his soft cheek.

you wiped it away and he blinked his eyes open at you, half-lidded. they were full of adoration.

he then kissed you but this time.. it felt like the actual first kiss. earlier it was good but this- it was pure and sweet and slow.

it was genuine.

not that the other ones weren’t genuine but this was different level.

you know some people who refuse to kiss after you’ve given head— them thinking of it being gross to have your lips indirectly contact your own junk but ash didn’t seem to mind at all.

you really liked that.

and you could absolutely tell when he’s not so tired he will repay you by eating you out or possibly even fucking you when the two of you get the chance.

“would you like to go get ice cream?” he asks, looking at you kindly.

༉‧₊˚.

p.s you’re welcome dylan.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

top!ashton x bottom!luke Masterlist

and I’ll always let you (ao3) - mercutionotromeo E, 3k

Summary: Overhead, the speaker tells them it’s ten minutes to showtime. Luke freezes and gives Ashton a questioning look, but Ash just fits his mouth over the head of his cock again.

“Mm-mm. Not done with you.”

Luke cries out at the feeling of Ash’s tongue on him and grabs the edge of the makeup table to steady himself, his rings clinking against the smooth surface. Ash pulls off of him and looks up at the wrecked expression on Luke’s face. He has him right where he wants him.

better than anything you’ve tried (ao3) - mercutionotromeo E, 2k

Summary: “Good puppy. Want you to shake that pretty ass for me. Show me what I’m missing, hm? Show off for me.”

Ash bites his lip as he thinks about gripping Luke’s hips, about leaving nail marks on his ass, about slapping one of his soft thighs just to hear him squeak.

“Perfect. My perfect, pretty puppy. You want to touch yourself, puppy? Would that feel good?”

Court Five (ao3) - takemymoneycth E, 21k

Summary: A story in which a young college tennis player maybe likes his new coach a little too much.

Drumstick (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance E, 3k

Summary: When Michael left Luke tied to the bed, it was Ashton who came to the rescue. The conversation they had, turned into proving how good of a drummer Ashton was and in the end, Luke always got what he wanted.

Everything i didn’t say but i should (ao3) - RinasWonderland M, 4k

Summary: Luke is in Love with Ashton, Ashton is in Love with Luke. Neither of them knows, until one hot night.

First Time for Everything (ao3) - orphan_account N/R, 3k

Summary: The first time they decided to go all the way, Luke had felt his skin go red as Ashton had quickly pushed him inside of his own bedroom. They had just gotten back from their seventh date together, at a park near Luke’s house.

Height (ao3) - iCheeseYou (EHkook) M, 12k

Summary: “I may be shorter than you, but I most certainly do not bottom.”

Hot Dog With Mayonnaise (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance E, 3k

Summary: Ashton had taken it up to him to annoy his band mates after they called him annoying and he was quite successful because he could tell he had gotten on their nerves. When Calum, Luke and Michael were deciding to put an end to that madness, Luke voluntarily proposed to handle the situation, in his own personal ways.

In the Next Room (ao3) - valiantnerd (arareads) E, 28k

Summary: Ashton moves into an apartment with walls made of little more than cardboard and foreign playlists, develops a gigantic crush on Luke, and takes a hot second realizing what's right in front of him.

Is This a Game You're Playing? (ao3) - boomercal E, 2k

Summary: Luke thinks three rainchecks is two too many and decides a little flirting couldn't hurt anyone. Ashton decides differently.

i want to be loved by you (ao3) - lucasshem N/R, 4k

Summary: ashton always gets what he wants, and currently, he wants luke.

Let’s Be Alone Together (ao3) - antisocialhood E, 3k

Summary: He was the cliché, pampered blonde with a charming smile, bright blue eyes and long limbs that liked to wear panties and purple nail polish.

Life-Size Luke (ao3) - plushyluke E, 15k

Summary: ashton is a sex store employee when the new adult, collector dolls hit the shelves. he’s had enough of these “lukey dolls,” when one night everything changes, and his life becomes lukalicious.

“Looks Like Superbloom Merch” (ao3) - plushyluke luke/ashton E, 2k

Summary: Luke steals Ashton’s Superbloom t-shirt. Ashton fucks him in it.

New Romantics (ao3) - Honeyedlashton E, 7k

Summary: A Lashton story where a stressed out Ashton finds a real date on Grindr. And when he meets Luke the two proceed to live the night to the fullest...

ride 'em cowboy! (ao3) - Anonymous E, 2k

Summary: The only thing Luke hated about teaching was field trips. But after meeting a hot cowboy on a field trip to a farm, and later running into said hot cowboy again, he just might have a new appreciation for them.

scars on my body (yeah i love the pain) (ao3) - orphan_account N/R, 4k

Summary: :+: Ashton comes home from work with stress in his veins, and he can remember Luke telling him that he could be of use during this time, so he does what any sex-deprived man would, fucks the living daylight of him. :+:

Shots (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance E, 4k

Summary: Luke always loved teasing Ashton and that was what he had in mind but what he did not know was that Ashton was going to turn the situation around. The drummer had already planned on a little something and was only waiting for the right time to execute his plan. In the end, Luke got more shots than he had expected. It started with shots and ended with shots.

Snow in Love (ao3) - plushyluke E, 7k

Summary: “in that cold instant, ashton put his hands back on the steering wheel. watching him back out of the parking space was torment. luke felt like there was a beast inside of him, clawing and desperate to be set free. aching to get ashton alone. to spend a second with him uninterrupted.”

or ashton takes the 5sos boys on a snowy vacation, and luke is disappointed that it wasn’t an opportunity to hook up.

Stay here with me, I won’t tell a soul (ao3) - DefinitelyNotErin_x M, 4k

Summary: An angry confrontation between Ashton and Luke leads to more than either of them bargained for.

[snootlestheangel]

I've seen like maybe two posts about this so I've decided to do my own take on it

Who the COD guys and gals would main/play in Overwatch

Price: he plays a decent amount of tank. It makes him want to kill himself or one of the boys, so he hardly ever plays for very long. But when he does, he's honestly a decent tank. He plays mostly Sigma, Winston, and Zarya. He's a great team player, and uses his abilities to help his team. On the rare occasion he plays damage, he's playing Bastion and Soldier 76.

Ghost: Ghost is actually a support player. He's an Ana player, but will dabble in Illari, Bap, and Zenyatta. When he's playing Ana, he's hitting sleep darts that make people accuse him of cheating. He's hitting every nade, whether to save an ally or hit an enemy with the no heal, he's hitting everything. His nano boosts are always phenomenal, and he's got nice looking stats. He will sometimes chill and play a lot of Reaper just for the meme (they both have skull masks and the sergeants definitely started the comparison)

Gaz: Damage player usually. Plays a lot of Ashe, Hanzo, and Tracer, but mostly plays Genji. And he dominates on Genji. His blade combined with Ghost's nano almost always ends in a 3k minimum, but usually 4k. Also has what he considers an "embarrassing" number of hours on Mercy.

Soap: Junkrat connoisseur. He's hitting shots with his grenades that shock everyone. He's killing his counters almost every fight. He's in the enemy backline causing mayhem (as every Junk main should), he's bouncing his tires off walls and off of rooftops in insane ways. He's just an arsonistic menace to society and I love it. He'll also play a little bit of Mei and Torbjorn. Will only play Lucio on support and Reinhardt only on tank.

Laswell: Also plays support usually. Lots of Kiriko and Brig, but a bit of Lifeweaver as well. She's also a good D.VA player and can carry her own on Orisa. Plays a lot of Ramattra even though she's not very good: she just loves the "Suffer as I have" thing he's got going on.

Nik: The player the Overwatch community hates. His profile makes people want to throw up because all he plays are the broken heroes that piss people off. Knows damn well what he's doing and loves it. He has an ungodly amount of hours on Mauga, Roadhog, Doomfist, and Wrecking Ball (Ball has never been truly broken but everyone hates playing against and with a Ball player, and his hours on Doomfist are from the Strong-fist era where Doom was utterly broken and dominating lobbies.) He plays so much Sombra it's abhorrent. He's got golden nails on Moira.

And that's my take

If anyone wants more Snootles Overwatch content, I have some stuff on my side blog @snootlesow

[drarryspecificrecs]

HP Pride Secret Santa 2022 : Masterlist of DRARRY fics

@magicaltrans || official masterpost (N/A) || AO3 || ∑ = 16 works The Mod(s) : @achillesangst + Banner © : @digthewriter's Festive - The Pride Edition

1. All The Time In The World by @basicallyahedgehog [M, 7k]

Since he hit puberty, Harry has been using glamours to make his body look how he feels. But when the Horcrux inside him dies, taking his body's ability to accept magic with it, he is left back at the starting line. /// Or, after the war Harry figures out who he wants to be with the help of his family, the world's best best-friend, and a surprising person from his past.

2. ash, fire, ash by @corvuscrowned [G, 900]

Malfoy tosses the butt of their cigarette into the flames. “They’ll know it’s you doing it eventually.” “Good,” Harry says. “Then maybe it’ll make them remember my name.”

3. day after tomorrow by grow_as_we_go [T, 4k]

Harry meets a familiar face while he’s at work, will it be just a one night stand or something more?

4. the deer, the desert and the 630724th universe by @piarelei [T, 3k]

In every lived universe (and some where life never struck), Draco is with Harry. Nothing changes about that in the 630724th universe.

5. Let Me Count the Ways by @thebooktopus [E, 3k]

Intimacy comes in many forms. Draco wants to explore them all with Harry.

6. Snapshot by @vitaminpops [M, 6k]

Various glimpses into Draco's and Harry's lives. Take a shot every time a camera is mentioned.

7. the sweetness of you by @blue--dreaming [G, 300]

In which spoiled surprises can still be sweet.

8. To Have and To Hold by @toxik-angel [T, 10k]

the most bisexual wedding of the century! you get a bi! you get a bi! everyone gets a bi!

9. turn the landscape into a blur by @beyondtheclose [T, 3k]

The first summer after, when everything was hazy and he was being dragged to testify at so many trials that he began questioning how he even knew so many people, Harry bought a car. He comes to learn how much easier it is to tell someone your secrets when it’s dark, and the necessity to keep your eyes glued on the road ahead outweighs any obligation of eye contact.

10. World's Worst Hangover by @stargazing-enby [M, 4k]

Harry and Draco get drunk-married in Vegas. The following morning, when they wake up naked and hungover in the same bed, Draco thinks everything is over. Luckily, Harry won't let him run away and pretend this never happened.

---

✔ other fests in 2022 ✔ fests in other years

[raindingrandom]

Crazy Frog Trivia #2

Most Crazy Frog music videos have a censored version that digitally removes the character's privates. The censored Axel F video in particular had an additional altered ending that removed the explosion and mushroom cloud in the city.

Before the homing missile Crazy Frog is riding hits Evil Boss's surveillance van, the scene cuts to the music video's opening shot of the city. When Crazy Frog appears to deliver the final "Bem bem" of the song, he's still covered in ash from the explosion in the original Director's Cut.

This altered ending would be used for the official YouTube upload of the censored Axel F music video until November 2022, where it was updated with an 4k upscale that restored the explosion and mushroom cloud.

[sourkive]

012 : MUSIC TO FUCK BOYS TO.

Starring: Jade Lim.

Featuring: Song Taejun, Kim Seungsoo.

Summary: The tower falls.

Word Count: 4k.

CW: Smut, investigation into sexual harassment, cheating, threats.

“Jade,” Seobin had said. “Do you promise you’re being honest with me?”

The country had fallen deep into the grasp of summer. Jade had grown up in sunshine, so a little bit of heat should be a cakewalk, but he supposes he’s acclimatized to south korea quite nicely by the sheen of sweat across his forehead, sticking strands of his bangs to his forehead as he messily pushes them out of the way. The large, mint green tinted sunglasses perched upon his nose do little to protect him from the sun, not least by the way he peers over their frames, but they’re fashionable and green, so he’ll wear them. 

They’re the only thing he’s wearing. 

He lays back on the expensive, pointlessly luxury sun-lounger, one hand behind his head, and looks down at Song Taejun between his legs. 

The good thing about Taejun’s too big house in his stuffy gated community was that it was miles until he stumbled upon a neighbor. Jade had taken a liking to summertime in Taejun’s expansive garden. he liked to have Taejun make him pitchers of cocktails as he sunbathed naked. He liked floating around in the pool and playing The Velvet Rope over the speakers as he tried not to ash his cigarettes on the inflatables. In the evenings, he liked to sit outside in his underwear and one of Taejun’s t-shirts, looking at the vogue runway app on his phone or scrolling seven months down Daichi’s instagram. Jade found himself thriving as he basked in the sun of his boyfriend’s gross decadence.

Taejun had joked that Jade liked his garden more than he liked him in the summer. Jade had responded ‘in the summer?’ and didn’t really know if he was kidding or not. 

They’d been annoying each other more than they’d been getting along, lately. Jade remembers the beginning, when they’d walk around Seoul and hold hands under the security of nighttime. He once thought that Taejun was a knight in shining armour, finally a man who loved him truly and wholly and had come to sweep him off of his feet to a lifetime by the pool. 

Jade had been with Taejun now long enough to see the bulk sum of his flaws. But he loved him. Even when Taejun was driving him up the wall, when he was getting jealous of men Jade barely even knew, when his mean streak cut out whenever Jade started being difficult, Jade loved Taejun - Jade loved Taejun even when he was twenty minutes into bragging about his stupid fucking sports car. Jade had always loved cars, been easily seduced by men with nice ones, even, but song Taejun had taken that interest and trampled it deep into the soil. 

But Jade had still listened to the story of some smooth turn Taejun had made around some road, or something, with an attentive spark in his eyes and he’d nodded at all the right moments, because he’s loyal. He’d sat for twenty three minutes, naked in the sun (save for his sunglasses,) still glistening with oil, and listened to Taejun talk about his fucking car and spare nary a glance at him in the process. It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned his day off. 

Jade had always been too pretty to bother with subtlety, so as soon as he scored a lull in the conversation, he’d simply said; “You should suck me off.” 

Jade loved Taejun and, when they were on each other's wavelength, he loved sex with him too. He was objectively the best Jade had ever had. Maybe it’s a natural talent or maybe it’s pure experience. Either way, Taejun, who Jade really did think was probably the most handsome man he’d ever seen in real life, looked one hundred percent hotter with his lips wrapped around Jade’s cock. 

Jade’s stomach twitches as Taejun slowly takes him in. He'd spent at least a minute lapping at Jade’s head, or dipping down to graze his tongue across Jade’s balls. Jade was beyond hard at this point, and he let out a low moan as his cock hit the back of Taejun’s throat, his lips tightening firmly around his width. 

Jade watches him as he hollows his cheeks, spluttering a little as he pushes Jade down still, until he is deep in his throat. Taejun’s eyes flutter up to meet Jade’s with a purposeful gleam in them, and Jade can take a hint, so his hands wrap in Taejun’s hair and grip onto him tightly as he begins to thrust his hips. 

Taejun chokes, his throat making filthy, wet noises each time Jade thrusts up into it. Jade knows that he’s pushing Taejun’s limits, but a fiery determination burns in Taejun’s eyes and he’s yet to hit Jade’s thigh, which is their signal to stop. 

Jade’s hands ball into fists, tugging Taejun’s hair harshly as he holds him steady in place. the angle is a little awkward, Taejun half-off the bottom of the lounger and Jade’s legs open at either side of it, but he can use the leeway of his feet on the ground to angle his hips, fucking deep into Taejun’s throat. Taejun gags around him, and his hand is only halfway to Jade’s thigh when Jade lets up, letting go of his hair and letting himself pull off to catch a breath. 

A thick chain of saliva comes with him, though, connected from the tip of Jade’s cock to Taejun’s bottom lip. It breaks as he pulls away, dripping down his chin, but Taejun doesn’t pull away for long. he opens his mouth, tongue spreading out as he tilts his head to the side and licks messily down Jade’s length, kissing loosely back up and taking his head back between his lips.

Jade groans again, leaning back and allowing his eyes to flutter closed as Taejun works him, bobbing his head and fucking him in and out of his throat. He moves quickly and intensely, and Jade is starting to feel his abdomen tightening when Taejun finally pulls off again with a slick pop. 

Jade peers down at him and he grins wickedly, pulling himself up onto the lounge properly to straddle Jade, leaning down to take him in a searing kiss. Jade kisses back eagerly, wrapping an arm along the span of his toned back to pull him closer. Taejun ruts his hips downward, and Jade shivers as he feels the weight of Taejun’s hard cock pushing against him through his swimming trunks. 

“Wanna go upstairs?” Taejun asks. Jade shakes his head. “No?”

“No.” Jade grins. 

He takes him once more in a kiss, his hand reaching down, pushing under the waistband of Taejun’s trunks and gripping one of his plump ass cheeks tightly. 

“I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

“Do you want to have kids?” Taejun asks. They’re sitting out by the pool still, but the sun has set. Jade kicks his feet slowly in the water, liking the resistance against his movements. 

It was a good day. They’d fucked a lot and then Taejun had made a caesar salad. They had been good. They hadn’t upset each other. It was the type of day that Jade stuck around for.

“Like, right now?” Jade asks. “I think it’s too late, they’re already leaking out of you.” 

Taejun snorts, knocking his shoulder against Jade’s. “I'm being serious.” 

Jade twists his mouth up. “I don't know,” he says. “I think so, but I'd be scared. I don't know how to be a dad, I never had one.”

“You'd be fine.” says Taejun. he looks up at the sky, but Jade just stares at him. “You had a mom. I don't think it’s that different.”

“I guess.” Jade sighs. He wouldn’t know. Sometimes he wonders what parts of him went missing in the lack of a father, but he has nothing to compare his life to. It had been levied against him, in the past, in cruel remarks; ‘maybe if there was a male presence in your life you wouldn’t be such a fucking fairy.’ Jade doesn’t tend to pay that any mind. He likes being a fucking fairy. 

“Do you want to get married?”

He hates when Taejun plays hypotheticals with him, because ultimately, he knows it’s only going to come true for one of them. He looks at the lump of Taejun’s Adam’s apple, the smooth but firm curve of his chest, his big arms. The big ears that endear him so much to Jade, the shaggy bangs falling below his brows and always getting into his big puppy dog eyes. Jade looks at him and his entire chest swells in fondness and pain because he loves him so much and in the rare, fleeting moments in which he’s honest with himself, he knows that this man is going to break him into a thousand pieces and move on. 

It’s all so painfully, embarrassingly obvious. Jade is just a quarter-life crisis and Taejun likes him because he’s young, hot, stupid and slutty. He'll expire in Taejun’s eyes by the time he’s twenty five, and then Taejun will find someone his own age. Someone respectable and sophisticated, who’s greatest accomplishment isn’t nailing a jump split on television. He’ll find someone worthy of the title husband. That's who he’ll have kids with, that’s who he’ll sell his stupid mansion and his baseball toys for and move to the suburbs with. Taejun is going to have a perfect life, one day, and he’s going to look back on these years, perhaps with a little guilt, and he’ll remember how good it felt to be fucked on his sun-lounger but he won’t quite be able to picture Jade’s face anymore. 

“I hope I get the right to.” Jade deflects. He watches the water ripple against his ankle, leaning his head on Taejun’s shoulder. 

“Positive thinking.” Taejun counters. “This is a future where you can. Do you want to marry me?” 

Jade is quiet for a second. and then he laughs, pulling his legs from the water and standing up. “This is the part where I sing ‘Somewhere That’s Green,’ right?”

Too much sarcasm drips from his tongue and he winces at himself as he kicks his feet back into his slides and makes his way over to the wooden table on which he’d left his cigarettes. He hears Taejun twist, and he keeps his back to him as he battles with his lighter to conjure enough of a spark to catch. 

“Well, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” 

“You’re not gonna marry me.” Jade says, finally lighting his cigarette. He takes a deep draw, finally turning to look at Taejun on his exhale and meeting a pair of sad, confused eyes. “You really imagine a future with me?”

“Of course I do.”

“And at our wedding,” Jade says, taking another draw of his cigarette. “Do I get to invite any guests, or will I still be keeping it all secret from my friends?” 

There's a long silence, and then Taejun says, “you can be really immature sometimes, Jade.” 

“Well,” Jade shrugs. “I'm seven years younger than you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean… ninety-nine minus ninety-two-”

“No, what do you actually mean, Jade?” 

Jade places his cigarette between his lips, never breaking eye contact with Taejun as he sucks in, something inside him bubbling to a boil. He doesn’t get angry, though, because unlike Taejun, he can control his anger. He speaks as casual as if he’s noting the weather. “I think you’re using me to feel good about yourself, because you’re going to be thirty next year and you have to enlist in a couple of months, and I'm twenty-two and not a citizen.” 

Taejun looks hurt. “Why would you think that?” 

Jade leans his hips against the table. He doesn’t know why he looks down, but he sees the Nike logo on his slides and he blurts it out before he can stop himself. 

“Did you fuck Tetsuo, hyung?” 

The silence probably only lasts a few seconds, but they drag on for hours. Taejun’s face looks offended, but Jade can see the guilt in his eyes and it tells him everything he needs to know. 

“What?” Taejun finally spits out. 

Jade tries to keep it together, tries to stop his hand from shaking as he flicks the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. “You picked me up, like, two months ago and I walked past him. He'd obviously just had sex and he was wearing your Nike hoodie.” 

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“You fucked Tetsuo.” Jade says, in a factual tone. He betrays no emotion. “Fucked him, dropped him off at our building. Told me to come out. Let us pass each other. Picked me up. And then took me home and fucked me too. Right?” 

Taejun looks like a cornered animal, his big, pretty eyes begging for mercy, but Jade stares him down. When he realises that Taejun isn’t going to speak, he keeps going.

“I think the most insulting part of all of this is that, after all the time you’ve spent with me, you still fucking think I’m stupid.” 

It’s late enough now for the crickets to start their chorus. They don’t change their tone but the longer Taejun sits there, awkwardly twisted around, feet still dangling over the edge of the pool, Jade swears that they reach a crescendo. 

“I'm sorry.” Taejun says, eventually.

And the confirmation is the final bullet. Jade physically feels his heart break, splintering down to the ends of every last vein in his body. He chokes out a gasp, stubbing out his cigarette and roughly swallowing down the lump that immediately forms in his throat. It doesn’t stop his eyes from flooding, though. 

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“No, tell me why.”

Taejun takes a deep breath. “I guess… because I could.”

Jade clasps a hand over his mouth as a sob pulls itself past his facade and rattles his body. A tear falls through his fringe of lashes, twinkling down his cheek and burning a path. “Oh,” is all he can bring himself to say. 

“Jade-” Taejun says, but Jade just splays his hand out, shaking his head. He just drags his feet back into the house, pulling his jade-coloured glasses off of his forehead and back over his eyes. 

“Hey, Jade!” Ikumi greeted him at the studio break room, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Jade had been sitting at the table for about fifteen minutes just to get out of the room; away from Harin in work mode and Minwoo’s perfectionism reaching drill sergeant status. “Has Seobin spoken to you guys yet?” 

“No?” That had gotten Jade’s attention. “What about?” 

Ikumi turned to lean in the corner of the counter, tucking her pink hair behind her ear. “It was odd.” she’d said. “He took us into his office one by one and asked us about, like, if any of the staff or producers have been inappropriate with us or if we’ve ever been made to feel unsafe or harassed at Valentine.” 

“Really?” Jade asked, feeling his mouth go dry. 

“He’ll probably get you guys in soon. Ahin said he’s already questioned Tarot. apparently Tetsuo cried.”

Another unexpected good thing about Taejun’s weird, stupid, Willy Wonka mansion is that it’s full of baseball paraphernalia. 

With each step, Jade feels his rationale falling away. He's gripped by a weird sort of numbness. He doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about any of it. Doesn’t care about consequences, doesn’t care about whatever retribution may come his way, karmic or personal. And he certainly doesn’t care about Taejun’s feelings. Fuck Taejun. Fuck Taejun. The crickets were Jazmine Sullivan’s heralding violins, now. There was no saving Song Taejun.

It doesn’t take a minute to find a baseball bat. There's one hanging on the wall in the dining room. Jade pulls it from its display and grips the base tightly in his hand. It’s signed; though Jade has no idea who by, he thinks it probably adds a level of salt to the wound. It drags behind him, scraping against the expensive hardwood floors and he moves, past the kitchen and out into the foyer; to the front of the house. 

Jade doesn’t know anything about sports. He doesn’t know how to hold a baseball bat, doesn’t know anything about hand placement or proper form. But he must be doing something right, because as he swings the bat from overhead, both hands wrapped tightly around its base, it dents the hood of Taejun’s precious fucking car perfectly. 

The alarm shrieks, and so he only gets a few more strikes in before the front door wrenches open behind him. He hears footsteps rushing down the drive, and he deals a blow to the windshield. The bat bounces off of the reinforced glass and he stumbles. Taejun makes use of the misstep and grips him by the arm, yanking him away from the car. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” He screams. “you fucking psychopath!” 

Jade tears himself from his grasp, putting enough space between them to point at him with the end of the bat. Tears stream from his eyes, and his entire body is shaking with adrenaline and anger and maybe panic. 

He knows that he must look insane, but he really doesn’t care. He's a monster of Taejun’s own making. 

“It was ‘cause of you.” He says, in blank comprehension. Taejun just seethes at him. “The investigation. It’s ‘cause of you.” 

“I know this must be uncomfortable.” Seobin had said, looking at Jade with a kindly expression that didn’t suit his normally stoic demeanor. “But you have to tell me if any misconduct has taken place.” 

Jade had been anxious all day, but when it came time to sit down and be questioned by Seobin, he couldn’t help but be gripped by anger. Jade could take care of himself. He wasn’t a victim. 

“I haven't noticed anything.”

“We received a really serious report last week.” Seobin had said. Jade had just looked at him in response, prompting him to continue with a frustrated little shake of his head. “Before we proceed, we need to know the true severity of the situation. I need to find out if this was an isolated incident. has any of the staff, be that management or producers, coaches, teachers- have any of them ever tried to initiate sexual contact with you?” 

Taejun had driven Jade out somewhere secluded and fucked him three days after he’d signed his contract. 

“No.” Jade had said.

“Have any of the staff ever tried to initiate an intimate or otherwise unprofessional relationship with you?”

Taejun had sat behind him in the bath, slowly massaging the conditioner into his hair, and said ‘you’re mine, right?’ before Jade had even debuted. 

“No.” Jade had said. 

“Has anyone at Valentine ever spoken to you in an inappropriate manner, even as a joke, that made you feel uncomfortable or unsafe?” 

Taejun had called him stupid, called him a slut, a whore, vapid, accused him of gold digging, accused him of fucking someone at the company to get casted, called him worthless, mocked him for agreeing to sleep with him so quickly, called him ugly, needled him about every pound gained or lost, told him that he was untalented, nothing but a pretty face, that he had nothing of value to say and the only reason god had given him a mouth was because his ability to suck a cock was his only redeeming quality. 

“No.” Jade had said. 

“Jade,” Seobin had said. “Do you promise you’re being honest with me?”

Jade had agreed to be Taejun’s because he meant it. He’d chosen to be in this relationship, and that meant taking the down with the up. he loves Taejun. (He loves Taejun, he loves Taejun.)

“Yes.” Jade had said. 

“Jade.” There’s a panic in Taejun’s eyes. “I don’t- You’re not-“ 

“What did you do?” Jade asks. 

“I didn’t-“ 

Jade bends his arm, making as if he’s going to swing the bat at Taejun. It’s an empty threat, but Taejun flinches and backs away from him. It makes Jade feel powerful, fills his brain with a weird drunken thump of masculinity. “What the fuck did you do!?” 

“I didn't mean to scare him!” Taejun yells. His eyes well with tears. “I just tried to kiss him-“

“Kiss who!?”

“Junjie!” Taejun shouts. His hand tears through his hair. “I thought he was- I only tried to kiss him but he fell over when he pulled away and he hurt himself-“

“You’re telling me that the reason my friend’s arm is in a cast right now is because he was trying to get away from you!?” 

Taejun keeps babbling, keeps making up excuses for himself but the blood pounding in Jade’s head is way too loud for him to hear. All he can register is the incessant yelping of the car alarm and his own pounding pulse. He's not trying to listen, regardless. The only thing he can think about is Junjie. 

Junjie with his twig limbs and his waist the width of a normal person’s neck; Junjie who Taejun completely towers over in stature. He thinks about how much bigger Taejun is than Junjie, he thinks about Junjie falling so hard he fractured a bone in his desperation to get away. He thinks about the man he loves scaring someone like that. 

And he thinks of the dark look in Taejun’s eye that night in the club, he thinks about the bruises he’d left on Jade’s hips. He thinks about the stranger who had greeted him with an innuendo, and Taejun’s dirty snicker, and the thousands of pictures of his faceless, naked body on Taejun’s phone. For some reason, he thinks about the nice upperclassman who’d comforted him through a panic attack in the bathroom at his first high school party, only to spread the rumor that Jade had tried to suck his dick and doom him to a lifetime of precedent reputation.

It takes every last drop of effort in his body not to swing the bat at Taejun’s head and keep swinging until he was nothing but unidentifiable mush.

He twists around, bringing the bat down against Taejun’s wing mirror and knocking it from the car in one fell swoop. Taejun lets out a yelp as if Jade has struck him himself, and when Jade turns to look at him, he doesn’t see a man. He sees a pathetic, vague impression of a person, trying his hardest to be a stereotype of a celebrity at the expense of at least three young men with actual fame, actual talent and actual futures. 

Jade tosses the bat on the ground. 

“Don’t talk to me ever again.” He says, setting off down the driveway, in nothing but his swimming trunks and his sunglasses. 

Taejun is too prideful to follow and beg Jade to stay. He's too proud to report the damages on his car, even. 

And Jade pities him for that. 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. 

“Hey, hyung,” he says. “I'm really sorry, but could you come get me?”

“Why were you at Taejun’s?” Seungsoo asks. Jade feels guilty, sitting in his car. He’d tried not to use Seungsoo like a personal chaperone the way that Minwoo did, but the only other person he knew who could drive was Hayana, and he definitely wasn’t close enough with her to ask her to drive to the edge of the city in the middle of the night to pick him up at Taejun’s gate. He’d given him his hoodie and left him alone for the duration of the drive, but Jade had known he would question him as soon as they pulled up outside of the dorm. 

He’d prepared for it, but it doesn’t stop his heart from missing a couple of beats as he finally gives his answer. 

“I came to have sex with him.” Jade says. Seungsoo blinks, turning to look at him with a shocked expression. Jade shrugs.

“What? Jade-”

“I’ve had sex with him, like, a thousand times. We did it the first time right after I joined the company. We’ve been dating.” 

A silence swells in the car, and Seungsoo buries his face in his hands, elbows resting on the steering wheel. “You boys are going to be the fucking death of me.” He says. 

“Don’t worry. I just dumped him.”

Seungsoo sighs, looking up from his hands at Jade. The look on his face is beyond exhaustion. “Jade,” he says. “Taejun is close to losing his job right now. He-”

“I know.” Jade says. “Junjie and Tetsuo. I know.” 

Seungsoo pauses, before pushing himself back up again, head thumping against the back of the headrest. 

“I'd like to tell Seobin.” Jade says. 

“Are you sure?” Seungsoo asks, eying him warily. Jade squirms under his gaze. Seungsoo was a great comfort to the other boys, but Jade had joined the company too old to see him as a weird father figure like they do. 

“I wanted to date him. I really had strong feelings for him, and I consented to everything we did sexually.” Jade plays with the idea of confessing to the way Taejun had grabbed him and hurt him. He even had Cairo as witness to that. But he can't. He can’t be looked at like that, can’t give them the opportunity to turn it all into something he’s not and force him to accept hard truths that he’s not even ready to process yet. “So, I don’t have anything super serious to report. But he still broke his contract, right?”

“He did.” Seungsoo says. 

“So I'll tell Seobin. If it means Junjie never has to come face to face with him again, I'll tell Seobin everything.” 

“I can pick you up tomorrow morning, then.” Seungsoo offers. “And take you to the building.” 

“Will you come into Seobin’s office with me?” 

“Of course I will.” 

Jade thanks Seungsoo, and automatically reaches for his pocket for his cigarettes, only to realize that he’d left them at Taejun’s. He feels it crack at him, but he holds it together long enough to drag himself up to the third floor, quietly sneak through the dorm to the bathroom, and peel himself from his clothes. 

It’s when the shower starts that he crumbles, loses grasp on all of his pieces and letting them clatter like shrapnel as he falls apart. He sits in the bottom of the tub, head tucked between his knees as the shower batters against his back, and he’s overcome by heaving sobs, tears and snot streaming down his face. He’d never cried like this before, but there’s no dignity to be had anymore, and so he lets himself choke up embarrassing noises and lets his face twist in emotional agony, he can look ugly here, where there’s nobody to see and no record of proof. 

Because it hits him, suddenly, that he’d have been presented an inescapable narrative if not for his one sided oath of secrecy regarding his and Taejun’s affair. His friends, the ones he’d love nothing more than to seek comfort in, had no idea that he’d ever been with Taejun, and he resolves to make sure that they never find out. He won’t play a broken doll for anyone. And after what Taejun has done, he knows they’ll make assumptions and he knows they won’t believe him no matter how much he insists everything was fine until it wasn’t. 

But he’ll give himself the night to mourn. Mourn the astroturf lawn and picket fence he was never going to get. Mourn the delusion of it all. It was a nice daydream. That’s all it had ever been. 

A thousand blind eyes turned, and a beautiful, perfect daydream.