#guys i wrote a fanfiction

[flwrstqr]

⊹ ⁺ ˳ ENHYPEN AND HOW THEY SHOW THAT THEY WANT A KISS FROM YOU

엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ! r ・ 1OOO fluff established relationship cw ・kisses, petnames (՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated and encouraged! ── click

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung pouts, eyes locked on you as you scroll through your phone. “baby, don’t you think i deserve a kiss?” he asks, voice soft and teasing. you glance at him, raising a brow. “you just had one, hee.” “that was hours ago,” he exaggerates, leaning closer until his lips are almost brushing your cheek. “i’m practically starving here, angel.” you try to hold back a smile, but his persistence makes it difficult. “fine, one kiss,” you sigh, pretending to give in. he grins instantly, closing his eyes and puckering his lips, but just as he leans in, you dodge, kissing his cheek instead. he groans, grabbing your wrist gently. “that’s cheating!” he whines, pulling you back into him. “you know what i meant, pretty.” you laugh, finally giving in and pressing your lips to his, feeling him smile against you. “that’s better,” he murmurs, satisfied.

rest of the members below !!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile as you pass by. “you’re not forgetting something, are you, love?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly. you pause, giving him a curious look. “forgetting what?” he taps his lips, eyes flickering to yours with that familiar playful glint. “you know… the usual before you leave,” he says, acting nonchalant but clearly fishing for a kiss. you smirk, playing along. “oh, you mean this?” you lean in, but just before your lips meet his, you pull back and kiss his forehead instead. jay chuckles, catching your hand before you can walk away. “really, sweetheart? you’re gonna do me like that?” he teases, pulling you closer. you laugh, but this time, you give in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “better?” you whisper. “much better,” he mumbles, still grinning.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake’s sitting on the couch, eyes flicking from his phone to you as you walk by. “baby,” he calls, voice soft but insistent. you hum in response, not looking up from your task. “you’re missing something,” he says, a little smirk tugging at his lips. you glance at him, confused. “what are you talking about?” jake pats the spot next to him. “come here and i’ll show you.” you roll your eyes but walk over, and the second you’re close enough, he tilts his head, pointing at his lips. “right here, princess.” you cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. “do you always need a kiss to survive or something?” he laughs, tugging you gently down beside him. “yeah, kinda. but only from you.” with a sigh, you lean in, about to kiss him, but pull back last second just to tease. jake groans. “you’re evil,” he mutters, before grabbing you and kissing you himself.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

sunghoon leans back dramatically on the couch, sighing loud enough for you to hear from the other side of the room. “ugh, my lips are sooo dry…” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smirk. you ignore him at first, pretending to be busy. “if only,” he says, voice louder now, “i had a sweet kiss to fix it…” you roll your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “seriously?” you call out, amused by his obvious attempt. “what?” he shrugs innocently, leaning back even more, hand over his forehead like he’s in distress. “it’s a real problem, baby. a kiss would definitely help.” you shake your head, walking over to him. “you’re so dramatic.” his grin widens as you get closer. “only for you, angel,” he says, and before you can pull away, he tugs you down, capturing your lips in a kiss. “see? problem solved.”

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 (김선우)

he glances at you with that playful glint in his eyes, lips curled into a soft smile. "hey," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "you know... i've been thinking." his fingers lightly trace the back of your hand, sending shivers down your spine. "what's on your mind, babe?" you ask, heart racing. he chuckles, leaning in just a little, eyes flicking to your lips. "maybe... i could get a kiss from my favorite person?" he teases, his voice soft but filled with warmth. you blush, biting your lip, and he laughs, tilting his head slightly. "come on, cutie. don’t make me wait," he murmurs, leaning even closer, his breath mingling with yours. you can’t resist, closing the gap between you two as his lips meet yours, soft and sweet, like he’d been waiting forever for it.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 (양정원)

you and jungwon are sitting close. he’s been extra soft today, letting his knee stay against yours, his hand brushing yours every now and then. "you cold?" he asks again, placing his hoodie over your shoulders before you can even answer, the scent of him wrapping around you. you catch him looking at your lips when you talk, and when he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers linger, making your heart race. "you’re acting weird today," you say, teasing him, but he just grins softly, eyes sparkling. "am i?" he murmurs, leaning a little closer. your heart skips, realizing what he's been hinting at all along. "maybe you just want something," you say, eyes meeting his. he chuckles, lips brushing yours as he whispers, "maybe i do." and before you know it, he’s closing the distance, finally getting the kiss he’d been asking for all night.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 (西村力)

you’re sitting with riki, as he scrolls through his phone, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, close enough to brush your shoulder. he glances at you every now and then, a smirk playing on his lips. “you’re really quiet today,” you tease, nudging him with your elbow. he just shrugs, looking at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “no, just thinking,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lips for a second. before you can say anything else, he leans in, closing the distance between you two without a word, his lips meeting yours in a soft, quick kiss. it’s so sudden, so him—no asking, no warning. when he pulls back, he smirks, eyes locking with yours. “figured you’d get the hint,” he says, leaning back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

[xanvasofxords]

“Huh what?”

Natsu tilts his head in confusion. She’s furrowing her brows in a cutesy way. The dragon slayer feels something in his stomach flutter because of it. It doesn’t bother him anymore though, for this has happened way too many times before.

Hands on her hips, Lucy asks, “Do you ever think before speaking?”

Natsu rolls his eyes with a shrug. He didn’t say anything wrong, in fact he corrected the guy by pointing out how genes work. Their kids will either have pink hair like him or blonde hair like Lucy. He thought she’d be happy knowing he’s more intelligent than some salon-guy.

“What did I say wrong?” He crosses his arms and leans into her space. Lucy’s face heats up from the close proximity.

The celestial mage was actually very surprised when her idiot of a partner started talking about genetics. But that really isn’t the issue. It’s just moments like this give her false hope. That maybe he feels something for her, maybe he does see her as more than a friend. But she knows he’s not on the same page.

Natsu loves her too much but it’s the same way he loves any other member of the guild. And honestly, she’s happy just being his closest friend for the rest of her life. Their friendship is the most important thing and she won’t ruin it for the sake of her feelings.

She just doesn’t want him to make things harder for her. She’s trying so hard to move on and it hurts when she constantly has to remind herself that he doesn’t feel the same. She doesn’t want him to talk about their future kids knowing it will never happen, no matter how much she wants it to.

“Earth to Lucy?” Natsu waves a hand before her, “What’re ya thinking about?”

Lucy sighs and looks up at him again. “Nothing. Leave it, Natsu.”

And he doesn’t, instead pulls her closer to him and kisses her forehead. Lucy relaxes into his chest, almost forgets about the mental storm from a moment ago. She knows he’s trying to comfort her as always. It means nothing...

“I didn’t know your favorite color changed from pink to blue.”

“What?”

“It’s okay. We can just adopt a little one with blue hair, if that’s what you want.”

[doodlewizardry]

Have you ever wanted to find your old Ao3 comments? Easily keep track of which (and how many) fics you've commented on? Rediscover a fic that you left a time capsule of a gushing essay on?

Well, you can! And it's simple! (* Note: it only works for comments written after you turn this on.)

Go to your Preferences:

There's a checkbox labelled "Turn off copies of your own comments". This is selected by default. If you deselect it (and save your preferences) then you receive an email for every comment you leave.

But I don't want to get my inbox flooded by Ao3!

Understandable! Luckily, most email clients allow you to set up rules for incoming mail depending on their sender and contents. For instance (using Gmail), I've made it so that these emails skip the inbox, are marked as read, and moved to a label I call my "Comment Collection".

The result? A complete, organised and fully-searchable repository of any comments you leave from this point onwards! Search by fic name, author, date, that one sentence you vividly remember leaving!

I've set up other rules, too, like starring emails that are replies to my comments - I'm always excited to receive them!

I love this system, and I think it's motivated me to leave more comments. I hope that others find it useful too. Happy commenting!

Original preferences trick from this Reddit thread. Tagging @justleaveacommentfest, which motivated me to write this post!

[tonberry-yoda]

A Nice Girl - Zuko

Pairing - Zuko x f!reader

Warnings - none!!

Word Count - 3,211

Notes - I have been pumping out these really long fics lately lmaoooo. i dont mean to i just simply get carried away. i need to stop before i get a block tho lmao. AND IM ALMOST AT 400 FOLLOWERS OMG!!! im like so excited about it tbh. maybe ill open my request when we get there. thank you all and i hope you're all well. stay hydrated!!

You yawned and stretched, the silk from your nightgown tickling you. That had to have been the best sleep you have gotten these past couple of weeks. As the oldest in the “gaang” at 17 years old, you had to act as the mother of the group and felt this awful need to protect everyone all the time, thus granting you several sleepless nights.

Sure, Ba Sing Se didn't feel like home and it didn't feel 100% safe either, but you got to sleep in a comfy bed and wear some really nice clothes. You had to admit that it was nice to be working with the Avatar sometimes.

You pushed your tangled hair out of your face and looked into the full length mirror next to your bed. Yeah, you definitely slept well, that was no question. You could tell by the rat’s nest created on your head and the sleep lines across your arms and face. You definitely needed to wash up before you started your day.

You got out of bed, stretching as the sun kissed your warm cheeks. You were going to make the best out of today. Lots of planning, but lots of downtime too, so that was nice.

As you finally walked out of your room, you were welcomed to cackling laughter from Sokka, his finger pointed at you.

“Ha, ha,” you said sarcastically, Katara handing you a brush. “Very funny, Sokka.”

“Not just funny,” he said through laughter. “It’s hilarious, y/n! You look so stupid!!!”

You rolled your eyes, hiding a smile, and tamed the rat’s nest on your head, looking a little more yourself.

Aang walked in the house holding a bowl of snacks with a smile on his face. “Oh, good morning, y/n! You sure slept in this morning!”

“Slept in?” You tilted your head. “What time is it?”

Katara took the brush from you and set it down on a nearby drawer. “Almost 10 am.”

“What?!” You were shocked. You were usually the first one up always and if not, you never slept past 8.

Katara giggled. “Listen, y/n. I think it's great that you finally got some sleep. We never really see you rest well, so none of us had the heart to wake you up.”

You beamed. “You guys are the best. Well,” you stretched. “I'm gonna get washed up so I don't look like a sleepy monster all day.” Something about Ba Sing Se gave you the creeps, but at the same time, it was nice to be back in a place where you could bathe in warm water and not fear Zuko coming after you. It's not like you had anything against the Fire Nation prince… it's more like… he was an inconvenience to you and the rest of the gaang. Since you and Zuko were about the same age, you understood him. Well, kinda. You escaped the Fire Nation when you were younger, disagreeing with all of their ideals and overall how they treated the world. You did see the prince as Fire Nation scum, but at the same time, you saw him as a kid, just like you. He was banished for god knows what and he just wanted to go home. You didn't hate Zuko. Not one bit. You understood that he may just be in some sort of hidden pain. But you had to admit that it was kinda nice to not have him around to bother you.

You got out of the shower refreshed and ready for the day. It was nice to have a day off, so you were probably going to get some tea and write in your journal about how the past couple of weeks have been. You figured it would be nice to log everything that has ever happened on this little journey just in case you all wanted a refresher in the next twenty years or so. You slipped on some Earth Nation attire and smiled at yourself in the mirror as you braided your hair. Today is going to be a good day, you thought. Nothing better than tea and some late breakfast.

“I'm going out for the day,” you said, placing your bag on your shoulder. “Stay out of trouble today, got it?”

You looked at Aang and he laughed. “I will, I will! Have a nice day, okay, y/n? You deserve it.”

“You’re all too kind to me. Thank you.”

“And let me know if you find Appa!”

“I will, don't worry.”

You smiled and walked out of the house, smelling the fresh Earth Nation air. Luckily, the walls didn't cover the fresh air, so you could still get the almost afternoon breath.

You spent the beginning of the day walking around shops, buying some supplies and new clothes for yourself and the others. The markets were busy, but it was nice to get some of the things you needed without Aang begging for some stupid trinket that you always ended up buying him because you thought it was cool too. That was always your impulse, stupid things that Aang showed you. Those could be the death of you.

As you finally finished your browsing journey, you overheard a conversation while looking over a map.

“I swear their tea has gotten better.”

“Really? I dunno.”

“I'm serious. It has to be the best tea shop in Ba Sing Se.”

“Fine, we can go try it later.”

You turned to the two men a little embarrassed that you were eavesdropping. “S-Sorry, but I was kinda listening to your conversation… uh… where’s that tea shop you were talking about? I've been trying to find a nice place to get some tea all morning.”

The man hyping up the shop smiled at you. “Don't worry about eavesdropping, kiddo. It's right here.” He pointed to the map you were looking at and you were satisfied that it wasn't too far from where you currently were.

You thanked the man and began your journey to the shop. It was a little closer to afternoon and you could feel your stomach rumbling, so you just decided to skip right to lunch.

You walked into the tea shop and saw people smiling and laughing together, the heavenly scent of tea filling your senses. You were quickly seated at a lone booth and given a menu. Everything looked so good, you could swear that you were about to drool just thinking about food.

You decided to order something that the waitress recommended and as she walked away, you flipped through your journal, going over everything that you and the gaang had been through. You quietly laughed to yourself as you passed a page that said: note to self - slap Zuko’s bald head at least once. Imagine the sound that would make.

It’s definitely been a long trip of both laughter and struggle, and honestly, you were really happy. You don't remember the last time you had laughed so hard before you met Aang and the others. It was nice. Really nice.

“Here’s your tea. Is there anything else you need?” Your tea was set in front of you along with your lunch and you tilted your head at the familiar voice that wasn't your waitress from earlier. It was on the tip of your tongue.

“I think I'm alright, thank-” You looked up and the smile you had suddenly dropped. No way. “Zu-”

Before you could say his full name, Zuko covered your mouth and quickly let go, hoping no one saw or heard any of that. “P-Please don't.”

“But you’re-”

“I know,” Zuko’s voice was low. “Just… can we talk… in the back?”

You looked around the restaurant at all of the other people and back at Zuko. He looked so different. Barely recognizable. His face didn't look so pissed off and he had a short head of hair now that looked healthy. The only reason you recognized him was the scar, but honestly, if he covered it up somehow, you wouldn't have a clue that he was the prince of the Fire Nation.

You nodded and stood up, collecting your things. You followed Zuko to the back, almost a little scared. You had no means of defending yourself. You were a non bender, so if he wanted to pick a fight, you were screwed. You didn't even have a simple weapon on you. Maybe you were getting too cozy.

Zuko brushed off a small table and pulled out a chair for you, which you sat in with slight hesitation.

“How did you get into Ba Sing Se?” You didn't mean to sound so defensive. Well, you did, but you weren't expecting to. Especially not on such a good day like this.

“It's… a long story.”

“Why are you here?”

“Listen… It’s not for the Avatar.”

“Huh? Is that so?” You crossed your arms and looked him dead in the eye. “Then explain to me how you always end up where we just so happen to be. That’s suspicious, isn't it?”

“I-”

“If you hurt Aang, I swear to-”

“I don't care about Aang right now!”

The whole room went quiet. You had never heard Zuko say Aang’s name before, let alone not care about what the Avatar is doing.

“Then why…”

“I have my own stuff to deal with. It's none of your business, okay? I do have a life outside of the Avatar, you know.”

You nodded and looked down at your tea. “I'm… assuming your uncle made this?” You giggled softly.

“Yeah. He did.” Zuko’s voice was small and way less frustrated.

“So that’s why this tea shop has hype all of a sudden.” You wondered aloud, your eyes wandering to the ceiling.

Zuko cleared his throat and shuffled in his spot. “So… uh… what now?”

“Promise not to hurt Aang and I won't say a word about you being here. I believe that you have your own stuff to deal with, so prove it to me.”

“I promise.”

Your eyes locked with his and you smiled, shocking Zuko a bit. You smiled at him, the guy that’s been trying to hurt you and your friends this whole time. The guy who would’ve done anything for the Avatar to be in his hands.

“You probably hate me, don't you?” Zuko spat out, rubbing the back of his neck.

You tilted your head. “Hate’s a strong word, don't you think?”

Zuko looked at you, appalled. “I mean, I would understand if you did.”

“It's been a long road for you, hasn't it, Zuko?”

He nodded at you and you pointed to the other side of the table, just realizing that he was standing that entire time. “Let’s share some tea.”

“I-I don't know if that’s a good idea.” Zuko took a step back.

“Ah, I see,” you stood up, scooting your chair back in. “You’re a busy man with a job now.”

He just nodded at you.

“Well, I'll let you get to it then, but I expect to see you at 6 tonight ready to hang out, okay?”

“Wh-What?! Won't your friends notice that you’re gone?”

You just smiled, collecting your things. “Zuko, I do have a life outside of the Avatar, you know.”

Zuko’s face went bright red as you walked out of the room with a smirk on your face. It was actually kinda cute to see Zuko not being some evil kid with his heart set on hurting anyone.

“You’re leaving?” Sokka whined, watching you grab your bag.

“Yes Sokka,” you said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I'm leaving. I just want to go get dinner out by myself tonight. Maybe go for a nice walk.”

“Aww man,” Sokka pouted, crossing his arms. “Who’s gonna make dinner now?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile creeping on your lips. “Sokka, I left some money on the table. You guys should go out and get something to eat tonight.”

“Why aren't you coming with us?” Sokka tilted his head, counting the money on the table.

“I just want to go out by myself tonight, that’s all.”

“So you’re just gonna have a lonely dinner all by yourself?” Sokka questioned, looking skeptical.

“Yes!”

“She’s lying.” Everyone turned to Toph and your face went bright red. You forgot she could tell if you were lying or not, and it definitely didn't help that you were outside on the concrete so Toph could really feel right through you.

Sokka turned back to you quickly. “You’re going to dinner with someone?”

“Fine, yes, I am, so what?”

“Who is it?”

You rolled your eyes, already late. “Just somebody.”

“Is it a boy?” Sokka gave you a mocking look and you pushed his face away.

“Fine, whatever! It's a boy! So what?! Now let me leave before I'm late. Have a nice dinner everyone.” You waved at the group and ran to the tea shop, hoping that Zuko didn't leave yet.

The bell rang as you opened the shop door. “Sorry, we’re not serving tea anymore, we’re closing at the moment,” a familiar voice said. Iroh peeked his head out, surprised to see you. “y/n?”

You smiled, “hi Iroh.”

“How are you?” Iroh set down the broom he was holding and pulled you into a soft embrace. You never told the others, but you spent quite a bit of time talking to Zuko’s uncle when you got the chance. He was a wise man and kind as well. Maybe that's why you understood Zuko so well, you had someone to give you some insight on the boy.

“I'm good, Iroh. How are you?”

“Oh I'm fine,” he beamed at you, pulling away from the hug. “I'm getting to live my lifelong dream of making tea for the people of Ba Sing Se, so that feels pretty nice.”

“Well, you are the best at making tea, Iroh.”

“Oh, stop. You’re so full of flattery, y/n.” Iroh blushed with a smile. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

“Is your nephew here?”

“You’re looking for Zuko?” Iroh cocked an eyebrow at you and you chuckled, surprised that you were even here.

“I am.”

Iroh gave you a skeptical look, but honestly didn't care much. He thought it was nice that someone wanted to visit Zuko. “He is here. Let me go grab him. Would you like some tea in the meantime?”

“Tea sounds great,” you admitted, sitting at a table.

As you got comfortable, Zuko ran into the room, completely surprised. “You’re here?”

You laughed. “Of course I am! I said I’d be here at 6 didn't I?”

“I thought you were bluffing.”

“Well now you know I'm serious. Wanna hang out?”

Zuko gave you a side eye and thought for a moment. “I think I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what might that be?” Iroh entered the room, placing two teacups and a kettle on your table. You thanked Iroh as he left with a smile.

“You’re trying to get info out of me. About the Fire Nation… aren't you?”

You shook your head. “You’re so defensive all the time, Zuko.”

“Can you blame me?” Zuko shut all of the blinds in the shop and sat across from you, taking a sip of tea.

“I guess not.”

“I'm surprised you’re not a little more on edge.”

“Why’s that?” You took a sip of tea as well, humming at how delightful it tasted.

“I'm a firebender. You don't bend right? I could literally take you down at any moment. And it doesn't seem like you have any weapons either.”

“I trust that you won't do anything. Your uncle would probably be pissed about the mess to be honest.”

For the first time in all of your time knowing Zuko, you heard him laugh. He laughed so hard that he snorted a bit, which made him laugh harder. Because of all of his laughter, he made you laugh too, sending you both into a laughing fit. It felt good. You haven't laughed this hard since you first met Sokka, all covered in Appa’s snot.

Zuko literally had tears in his eyes by the time he stopped laughing. Seeing him happy made you feel… good. Really good. It was almost a relief. It made Zuko more human. You didn't know if you could even remotely call him your enemy anymore.

You two ended up talking all night, Iroh occasionally bringing more tea or just little treats every now and then. You literally couldn't stop talking to Zuko. To hear about what it was like to grow up in the Fire Nation as a prince was interesting. To hear what Ozai was really like in person sent chills down your spine. To hear where that scar on his face came from almost brought you to tears. Zuko didn't even know why he told you all of this, but he could say one thing. It felt nice. It felt this giant weight on his chest had been lifted.

After a few hours, you looked at the clock in the shop and frowned. “Bad news, Zuko. I gotta go.”

“Already?” He turned to face the clock and pouted his bottom lip. “Alright then.”

You stood up and collected your things. “Thanks for the tea, Iroh!” You shouted, which was responded with a big smile and a thumbs up from Iroh.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime,” you said, opening the door of the shop. “I'll be back.”

“You will?” You turned to Zuko, who almost looked excited that you said that.

“Of course I will. Goodnight guys.”

“Wait,” Zuko ran up to you, holding the door open. “Let me walk you home, it’s late.”

“Zuko, I don't know if that’s a good idea.”

Zuko frowned, but you were probably right. If Aang spotted him for even a second, both of you would be done for. “R-Right. Well… thanks.”

“For what?”

“Hanging out. That was fun.”

You smiled. “That was fun. Thank you for not killing me, Zuko.”

“Anytime.” He giggled, immediately taken aback when you pulled him in for a hug after dropping everything.

He was so… warm. I mean, duh. He was a firebender. But even so, his hug felt so genuine, so nice, and you didn't want to leave. “Goodnight, Zuko,” you said as you pulled away from the hug.

“Goodnight, y/n.” This time, he shocked you by pulling you in for another hug and pulling away only to pull you in again, but this time, your lips were inches apart.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was in a whisper, his warm breath dusting over your lips.

You just nodded and closed your eyes as his soft lips brushed against yours. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck pulling him closer. He smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.

When you pulled away from the kiss, both of you said a quick goodbye, your cheeks dusted pink.

Zuko quickly walked back into the tea shop to help Iroh close and put his back on the door.

“I'm glad you found a nice girl, Zuko.” Zuko jumped hearing his uncle’s voice, his face turning a dark shade of crimson.

Though if he was being honest, he was glad he found a nice girl too.

~~~~~

atla masterlist --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

TAG LIST: @ede1faecam

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Hi, how you doing, luv? I saw your requests were open so here I am!

I told this idea to a friend and we liked it so much I needed to see it written, and I love how you write Arthur!

I don't usually request/like low honor Arthur but hear me out! Low honor Arthur with a female reader and he's user her as his alibi whenever he goes on a killing spree. But she happily applies, smiling at the officers when she gets questioned like "it ain't him officer. how do I know that, you say? he was with me the whole time🤭" while Arthur quietly cleans the blood splatters off his guns

Samy!! Here it is!! I really hope you'll like it😭 Also, hell yes, what an ask! Loved writing it. Makes me want to write more Low!Honor. And ngggh the best compliment ever telling me you love how I write him I can't

˖✧ Pretty lies

✦ Pairing: Low!Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader  ✦ Warnings/Tags: Blood (obviously), guns, cursing, canon era speech, ending is suggestive. Therefore, MDNI, please! ✦ Words: 1,8k ✦ a/n: Okay so, this is my first attempt ever at a Low Honnor Arthur. I guess I just made him bolder, extra cocky+extra flirty? Hope it’ll fit! ALSO, as always, English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if anything sounds weird. Please if you notice any mistakes, reach up to me! ✦Credits. First pic is from Reddeadcomfort on Pinterest, gun pic from Pinterest too. Second one from my playthrough; blood stains and dividers by me.

Arthur’s violence wasn’t a secret to anyone. Not to anybody in camp, not to you, certainly not to himself. 

Not even to numerous people at this point, considering the large number of poor fellas who had the bad luck to cross him and ended up beaten to a pulp, covered in bruises, head in a drinking trough, riddled with bullets, or even worse.

But you loved him, no matter what. You knew about his flaws. Knew about his brutal, crude side. But around you, this heated aura was turning into something else entirely. And you liked it.

So, when a panting Arthur had rushed to you on the porch of Strawberry’s hotel, blood covering his entire self, face and hair included, blue eyes shining sapphires in a tide of rubies, you weren’t that surprised. You were even less when he asked you to be his alibi for whatever the Hell he just did, as he had taken the habit of doing lately. Lying for Arthur’s crimes could have looked like an immoral thing to do, but as a member of the gang too, you clearly weren’t a saint either.

And you really were enjoying this little game.

The subtle grin Arthur had every time you would lie in front of the police for him, asserting with absolute conviction you had been together all day. The rosy tone his cheeks, ears and neck were displaying when you felt bolder and added some details in your alibis. Details about fake, steamy nights or afternoons you were supposed to have shared, swearing to the Lord you had the unholiest of times together. Oh, the look he was giving you. Knowing, amused, dreamy and so, so proud and debauched. Lustful, even.

You were sure he was enjoying it too.

“Alright, I’ll cover for you again. But at least go take a bath, I can’t do miracles.” You ordered him, a devilish smile on your face. 

“Thank you, sugar.” Arthur quickly answered, his voice just a low, breathless mumbling, barely letting you distinguish his words.

He quickly entered the hotel and you heard the receptionist gasp from where you were. You chuckled to yourself, imagining his outraged face rapidly losing all its composure under Arthur’s hard gaze piercing through the layer of blood, ordering him to prepare a bath as gently as if he was doing a hold-up.

Poor man must have liquefied on the spot.

You leaned against the patio’s fence and breathed in the fresh late afternoon air of Strawberry, alpenglow golden and rosy on top of the mountains, a peaceful scenery under your eyes. Contrasting with the horror and brutality Arthur must have left in his trail.

He was quick to join you again, looking fresh and neat as if he were a completely normal gentleman. His messy hair and dirty beard long gone, a nice black shirt, shiny boots, and a scout jacket on, probably to match Strawberry people's clothes. 

The only things that hadn't benefited from a change were his eternal Gambler hat and his holster and revolvers, both still painted with blood stains, a red and morbid Appaloosa coat on shiny metal.

“Policemen won’t be too long to arrive. ‘Hid my face but they chased me down all the way from Flatneck Station.” He informed you, voice calmer and shoulders less tensed.

“What the Hell were you doing there?”

“Robbin’ a train.” He replied with a cocky grin, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“More like slaughterin’ a train, uh?”

“Smart mouth.” He retorted, amused by your remark. “Too many of ‘em bastards had irritated me.”

“And how much did you get exactly?”

“Seven hundred.” His smirk widened as he patted his satchel, which was probably full of stolen money.

“Damn, Arthur! All by yourself? You never cease to impress me.”

His eyes wrinkled in a genuine smile, a rare sight. He didn’t add anything, silence enveloping both of you, as often in his company. But you knew he had loved your praise. 

Arthur casually sat on one of the chairs behind you, legs open to be more comfortable, and took his guns out of his holster, as relaxed as if he had sat to draw in his journal.

He knew the Law had absolutely no proof against him, and that you were charming enough to lead them up the garden path as easily as if they were children. 

As he had planned, two terribly worn-out lawmen arrived, clothes soiled and face tired. It looked like they didn’t have the time to take a good bath contrary to your companion, probably interrogating the whole town before arriving here. One of them, the shorter of the two, climbed up the wooden stair treads and spoke.

“Sir, Missus. We’re searching for a dangerous criminal. He has been described by several witnesses as a tall man with broad shoulders, brown hair, blue eyes, and a black leathered hat…” His words slowed down and turned into a whisper at the end of his sentence, lost in the air, as his gaze landed on Arthur. His eyes narrowed realizing he matched the description perfectly.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, officer, we haven’t seen anyone like this…” You said with your most angelic smile, your body turning politely from the fence to face the policeman.

You were now standing right next to Arthur who didn’t look bothered at all. 

All the contrary, he had given a simple salute by nodding his head to the man, the tip of his hat shaking nonchalantly in his direction, and had begun cleaning his guns, blood visible like porcelain dipped in a vibrant red paint.

The officer frowned, clearly not convinced.

“You, where were you-

“Him? He was with me all day officer."

He does not believe you. Yet. You took his arched eyebrow as a personal invitation to give him a good show:

"To tell you the truth, we’re on our honeymoon here, so we took the time to enjoy our day together…”

While speaking, you put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, to emphasize your words, to look convincing. But you would have lied to yourself telling you weren’t appreciating this, fingers caressing his muscles through the thick jacket, traveling innocently to his neck where you brushed the base of his hair, just underneath his hat, pampering him as if he was a cat.

And Arthur? He had the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen on his face. He loved it, the pure audacity of it all, your teasing touch on the back of his head, his own hands busy with his guns, oil and piece of fabric wiping the fresh remnants from his killing spree of a few hours ago, in the most carefree way possible, all of it under the Law’s nose.

A rush of adrenaline spread through him, tingling and warming his body. He tried to fight his own blood from gathering more and more between his legs, but after all, looking all giddy would just make it all more convincing, right?

“But this man really looks like…” The policeman tried to object, before being cut by you once again.

“Officer, I assure you we was here all day…” You asserted, honeyed voice soft to the ears, eyes as innocent as a dove.

“Oh, except for this morning though, we was out. We tried this really special spot, you know? The one in the mountains, where you can bathe in these hot springs… We had a good time there, didn’t we, honey?” You fibbed with perfection, adding even more details to your tapestry of lies.

The hand you had on Arthur slowly pushed his head against your chest, his face ending up cheek against your cleavage. His devilish smirk almost cracked from widening, and the tip of his ears got all red and hot. You could feel it against your skin, both of you relishing in your juvenile, corny lovers play.

Inside, he felt like he was on top of the World right now.

“Yes baby, ‘t was definitely a good time…” Arthur agreed, playful eyes adverting from his revolvers to look at yours from down there, his slightly crooked teeth visible through his gigantic grin.

“A-arlight, I erm…” The lawman coughed, visibly uncomfortable because of your behavior and finally convinced by your pretty little speech. “I’ll leave you to… To "it" then. Good evening Sir, Ma’am.”

He walked back to his colleague who had smoked a cigarette while waiting for him. Arthur and you kept on playing your naive role until both of them were far enough, the last echo of their conversation sounding exceedingly comical into your ears:

“Shit, we lost this asshole…”

 “Told you this couldn’t be him. Who would be stupid enough to strut around right next to the sheriff’s office?”

Yeah, who would be, uh?

You giggled a bit, eyes still locked on the stupid man in question. He hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, a low chuckle shaking his chest, joining yours.

“This was a close one. You’re getting more and more reckless…” You warned him gently, hand still wrapped around his head.

“But you, on the other hand, are a brilliant actor, darlin’.” He added, his deep voice showing a hint of amusement and mischief. “And you're getting bolder too. A honeymoon, really?”

“The damn bastard wouldn't let it go…” You shrugged with an innocent smile.

It looks like he was comfortable like this because he wasn’t making any effort to pull away from your soft flesh. All the contrary, a sneaky arm curled up around your waist, pushing you onto his lap, his guns and the piece of fabric ending up on top of your thighs.

“Ya know, alibis are fun an’ all but… Maybe we could have a good time for real, sometimes.” He whispered in your ear, big hands handling you gently, one resting on your legs, the other holding your back.

“Yeah? You tired of lying, Arthur?”

“Am tired of doin’ nothin’ while havin’ the most gorgeous woman in town pretendin’ to be my wife…” His thumb slowly strokes your thighs while answering in a low, passionate tone.

This wasn’t just pretty lies anymore. His voice wasn’t joking, it was filled with desire; his hands warm and demanding on your body.

“Mmh… I see… Maybe we could actually book a room here for the night then…” You answered in the same quiet register, betraying your own needs.

One of your hands grabbed his guns, the other the blackened piece of fabric damped with oil, and you finished cleaning up his revolvers for him, fingers delicate and attentive.

His eyes are locked on your hands and their movement, completely hypnotized by them, his ears turning entirely red, this sanguine color spreading less and less subtly on his face and chest too.

You can't help but notice the hardness growing between his legs, pressing under your body. 

And he can't wait for the moment when this won’t be the barrel of his gun you'd be holding and caressing between your hands…

“Sounds pretty good to me, “Missus Morgan”.”

[paperultra]

eye to eye.

Pairing: OPLA!Monkey D. Luffy x Reader Word Count: 781 words Warnings: None

He’s been staring for five minutes now.

Five minutes and thirty-three seconds, to be exact. Twenty-seven more seconds and it’ll be six minutes, and you don’t know if you can handle six minutes of him looking at you; everyone on this ship has fallen prey to those big brown eyes, and you are certainly no exception – how many times have you scraped off the last portion of your meal onto his plate, or let him trail after you and chatter away while you did inventory, or sat on the figurehead with him despite your fear of heights because of those eyes? The answer is more than once, and you know you’d do it again in a heartbeat as you finally look up from your newspaper.

“You need anything, Luffy?”

“Nope,” he says.

He continues to stare at you, that achingly wide, sunny grin on his face. You blink. He does too.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“... Well,” you say slowly, more befuddled as the seconds tick by – surely, it’s now been over six minutes – “do you want something?”

(There is always a ninety-two percent chance that Luffy wants something, concrete or not. Seventy percent of the time it is concrete, and the thing he wants is food.)

Luffy shakes his head. He props his elbows onto his knees and rests his chin in his hands, and you swear you see his eyes sparkle underneath the tattered brim of his straw hat.

“I just like looking at your face,” he chirps.

The force of those few words is enough to stop your heart in your chest. It stutters in place, then starts again, jumping with glee.

“H-Huh?”

“I like looking at your face,” he repeats as if you didn’t hear it the first time.

You lick your lips, grappling for something to say in response to such a strange answer. “It’s … it’s not much to look at,” you finally say, curling up out of habit. “There’re better faces out there.”

“But I want to look at yours.” Luffy jabs a finger towards you. You shrink back a bit, cheeks beginning to warm. “And there’s lots to look at, like your nose and eyes and stuff.”

You wonder if you should take that as a compliment. But Luffy doesn't do compliments; he only does the truth, and maybe that makes what he’s said infinitely more valuable.

"Thanks for noticing," you reply, awkward but fond. He nods happily, and you find yourself adding, "I like looking at your face too."

It's not a lie, nor an attempt to return the favor. You do like looking at Luffy's face. You like the wild, coal-black curls framing it, the perpetually goofy smile, the scar, the eyes that turn into dark honey in the sunlight. The eyes that look back at you and promise freedom and joy and everything good the world has to offer.

"You do?" He sounds very pleased and scoots closer. "That's great! We can look at each other."

"Won't that get boring after a while?"

"If it does, we can go and eat something."

You snort, face now very hot as you move to sit cross-legged. "You're funny, Luffy."

And so you look at Luffy, and Luffy looks at you, knees touching and the room still with a few rare seconds of contemplative silence. A few seconds, because that is all you can take before you dissolve into giggles, half flustered and half entertained. (This is how you often are around him nowadays.)

It isn't long before Luffy joins you, and the two of you end up lying on the floor, cackling until you're out of breath.

"Ahhh! That was fun," Luffy gasps once he can speak coherently again. "Now let's get something to eat!"

"You're bored already?" you ask in between gulps of air.

"No, but I'm hungry." With a grunt, he rolls back and catapults himself onto his feet, then picks you up and sets you down to stand before tugging on your arm. "Let's ask Sanji to make us a snack."

You nod, and soon enough, the floor of the Going Merry thrums with the sound of two scruffy pairs of shoes running over it, laughter bouncing off the walls as Luffy's hand grips yours. It's the same way he holds your heart, tightly but kindly. You squeeze back.

Three words balance on the tip of your tongue. You swallow them.

One day, you think. One day, he will look at you like he did today, and you will tell him how much a person like him means to a person like you.

But right now, you're going to ask Sanji to make you and Luffy something to eat.

[my-castles-crumbling]

"You don't get to tell me about sad."

~ Taylor Swift (Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?) (Nonromantic)Pairing: Black Brothers Angst- Rating: T

"C'mon, Reggie! Merlin, it killed me to leave! You know that!" Sirius cried, tears streaming down his face.

But Regulus couldn't even look at him. Couldn't find an ounce of pity in his bones for the brother who'd abandoned him. Couldn't even keep a straight face.

He laughed derisively, a manic grin on his face. "Killed you?"

After a beat, he looked up, face contorting with rage, slamming a fist on the table. "Sirius, you got to leave! Forgive me if I don't feel bad for you for being able to spend your summers with the Potters and their manor and their bloody perfect life! Meanwhile, I-" he cut himself off, thinking of those years without Sirius. The stifling summers filled with anguish and pain and loneliness.

"You don't get to tell me about your pain," Regulus nearly growled, advancing on his brother, who looked almost scared. "Not when you chose to walk away from mine."

Then he stood there, chest heaving, staring at his brother and begging him in his head:

Apologize. Please. Come back to me. Save me. I don't want this.

But Sirius, nothing if not consistent, just nodded and turned wordlessly. Leaving again.

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Dylan O'Brien x Reader (Female) Synopsis: Traveling. Any annoying but necessary part of any actors job for the non-traveling party. But the welcome homes? They are oh so fucking sweet. Tags: it's filth with some cute plot, shower sex, kisses, more banter than is reasonable in polite society Rating: Explicit (obviously) Author’s Note: Y'all listen. I know. Okay. It's been a while, and to be honest? I started this in fucking January, but hey. It's here now, right? We're all chill? No one's upset? Good. LOVE YOU!

He’d been away for days, but it felt like weeks. Your feed has been covered in photos of him. The algorithms have you pretty much figured out. You’d been keeping up with his interviews, watching clips of his adorably awkward award acceptance speech. It wasn’t a surprise award, but it didn’t matter that he was prepared for it. He was incapable of being acknowledged for his achievements without turning into the equivalent of a turtle hiding in its shell. You’d have reached out to hold his hand and ground him if you could, but you’d been here. Alone. Missing him. But all that was soon to change.

He was on his way home. Annoyingly, his flight had been delayed, but as you stared up at the JFK arrivals board and it read: ‘Arrived’, you couldn’t help the bubbling up of excitement and giddy nervousness. It seemed like Tony was picking up on it as well because he stood against your leg, pawing at your thigh until you picked him up. He’d been missing his dad and had taken more comfort in your presence since he’d left. 

Your ears perked when the announcement that the baggage from his flight was about to begin its rounds through the baggage claim area. Your phone vibrated in the thigh pocket of your leggings. You gave Tony a quick squeeze before setting him back on the floor and taking your phone out. You smiled at the preview of the text you’d just received before you swiped to see the rest. 

‘Your fine ass better be waiting for me down there.’ 

You smirked before typing out a teasing reply. 

‘Got stuck in traffic a few times but I’m here. I hate Newark btw.’ 

You watched the dots appear and couldn’t help the audible laugh that escaped when you read his next message. 

‘Newark!?’ 

You interrupted him with a quick ‘I’m joking!!!’ before you could see what he was typing next. Then after a brief pause, the dots reappeared before his reprimand. 

‘You know you’re this close to the find-out stage of fuckin around?’ 

‘Oh? What if that’s exactly what I want?’ 

‘👀’

‘Not that I want to rush through the fuckin around part 😏’  

“I’ll be taking my sweet fucking time…don’t worry.”

You startled at his audible reply and your eyes shot up from your phone and met his as Tony pulled at the leash in your hand to reach him. He looked a bit tired but happy. His smile was wide across his stubbled face, quirking up at the corner when you smiled back. 

“Hey buddy!” he said, handing you his pillow before bending down to scoop Tony up into his arms. “I missed you!” he swooned in the adorable baby voice he reserved for his furry son. “Did you miss me too?” He rubbed Tony’s head and then his tummy. “Such a good boy!” 

You smiled at the two of them, pulling Tony’s leash from your wrist and handing it to Dylan. Tony would be stuck to him like glue now. 

“Hey, baby,” he said softly before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips. One just long enough to make you the tiniest bit dizzy and eager for more. 

You blinked away distracting thoughts. “Do you have much luggage?” 

Dylan shook his head. “Just this,” he said pointing at his backpack, “and one bag on the turnstiles.” 

“Should be over there, they just announced it,” you said, taking a few steps toward the baggage claim area.

“Nice!” he said, hiking Tony up onto his shoulder a bit before he followed after you. 

His bag passed in front of him and he hefted it off the belt and popped out the handle and you took it from him so he could focus on the excited ball of fur in his arms. You set his pillow on it and wheeled it behind you toward the cab that was waiting out front. As much as you hated early morning airport runs, you were glad his 4 AM delayed arrival made the whole airport experience a lot smoother. Fewer people. Less traffic. You’d been able to get in and out without so much as a sideways glance from anyone else. 

“Hey you,” he said as he slumped in the seat next to you, Tony taking up the little bit of space between you. 

“Hey,” you said, smiling back at him. 

It was just after 5 AM and you’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Originally, he was supposed to have gotten in at midnight and had been scheduled to arrive at Newark, but his flight had been canceled. When he called you to let you know, you were already getting ready to catch the Uber you’d called to take you to the airport. You had a habit of being too punctual. But that also meant that you had a hard time settling and only managed a short nap before you got up to head to JFK. You were a bit tired, but feeling his warmth next to you for the first time in a while was enough of a comfort to fight off the droop of your sleepy eyes. You wanted to see his smile, the upturned tip of his nose, the lopsided smile he sported as he pet Tony. Sleep could wait. 

The drive back to the loft was rather uneventful. Traffic was light, you weren’t sure you’d ever made it the Carey Tunnel faster than you just had. When you hopped out of the car, Dylan gathered his bags from the back of the car and you headed up to the apartment. Home. It was always a comfortable place, but it was warmer when he was in it.

“Smells nice in here…” he said with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as his shoulders sagged in relaxation. “I missed it.” 

“And I missed you.” You stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist and he quickly pulled you to his chest, looping his arms over your shoulders and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“You did, huh?” he chuckled, the heat of his exhaled breath warming your skin. 

“Mhm…” you hummed, laying your cheek against his chest. The loft was dimly lit by a single lamp near the sofa in the living room and the streetlights that filtered in through the large windows. It added to the comfort you felt in his arms. 

“I missed you more,” he whispered.

“Impossible.” 

He sighed out a long breath, holding you tight to his chest before he pulled back, his hands clasped around your waist, eyes locked to yours. The warm, honey-brown hue of them sent a shiver down your spine, of course, it didn’t help that he’d begun to work his hands under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips pressing just a little more firmly into the bare skin covering your ribs when he leaned down to kiss you. 

His lips were insistent, the kiss at the airport clearly not satiating the need that had built during your time apart. It was a comforting reminder that his infatuation with you must be at least somewhat comparable to your own. 

You moaned when his lips wandered along your jaw and latched to your throat just below your ear. Not to be outdone and wanting a little audible thrill of your own, you were satisfied at the deep groan that emanated from the back of his throat when one of your roaming hands slipped down between your bodies to graze across the front of his thigh until it was cupping him through his sweatpants. 

“Definitely missed that,” he breathed out across your collarbone before pushing your hair back and sliding the collar of your shirt aside to access more of your skin. 

You laughed softly before it morphed into a half-whispered moan of his name when his teeth grazed along the sensitive skin above your breast. “Fuck…” you breathed, squeezing your hand around him eliciting an appreciative grumble from him that you felt vibrate the aching bit wet skin he’d been sucking on your chest. 

When you released your grip to slip your hand behind the waistband of his sweats, he grabbed your wrist. “Not yet…” he chuckled when he pulled back to see you scowling at him. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at you, brushing an errant hair back from the place where it hung in your eyes, “I’m gonna make you scream…” 

You swallowed thickly. 

“I’d just rather not reek like a man who’s known only seat 23A for 10 hours when I do it.” 

You chuckled softly. “Well…” you smiled back before reaching both hands around behind him, “then you better get this,” you squeezed his ass, “fine thing in the shower then.” You gave him a gentle spank. 

He laughed and pressed a kiss into your hair. “Thirsty little monster,” he said, running his hand down your arm. “Join me?” he said, pleading gaze meeting yours. 

You nodded and he took your hand, lacing your fingers together and leading you through the apartment toward the bathroom. The gentle squeeze of his hand in yours sent a satisfying ripple of warmth through your body. Just as you’d made it through the door to the bathroom, you tugged on his hand and swung his body to pin him against the counter of the vanity. 

He let out a soft huff at the gentle impact and smiled down at you as you grabbed at the hem of his shirt and yanked it roughly up over his body. His bare chest heaved as your eyes roved over him, your hands following your gaze across his pecs, through the soft hair, down his abs, settling on the waistband of his sweats before you began to crouch in front of him as you slid them down his thighs to pool at his feet. 

You looked at him from between his thighs and watched as his brown eyes turned near-black, crouching there longer than was necessary to achieve the task, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Fucking tease…” he muttered under his breath before he hauled you up in front of him and stripped your top off, tossing it across the room before he latched onto your throat and bit down. 

While you writhed in his arms, his hands warmed up your back until his fingers worked open the clasp of your bra. He slipped his fingers under the straps and slid them free of your shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor. 

“Mmm…” he mused, looking down at your chest before he leaned forward and captured your lower lip between his teeth and pulled it back slightly before releasing it to kiss down the column of your throat. He cupped you breast and brought his lips to the peak and flattened his tongue in a wide sweep before sealing his lips to suck your nipple until it was taut and pebbled.

“Dylan…” you groaned, your hands tangling into his hair.

He held you against his body and swapped your positions until your lower back was pressed against the vanity. He nipped at your chest before he finally pulled back and lifted you to sit on the counter in front of him. He quickly unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them from you, throwing them into a heap with the rest of your discarded clothing. Then he slotted himself between your thighs. “Shower’s right there…” he titled his head in its direction, “and yet here we are…” he smiled, his fingertips trailing down from your arms, along your ribs and waist until they teased at the elastic of the last piece of clothing you were left wearing.  

“Here we are…” you repeated, looking down your body at his hand as it slipped into your underwear. You fell forward into his chest when you felt his teasing, barely there touch where you were now aching to feel it. Your sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed.

He leaned in and grinned against the skin of your throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tendon running the length of it. “Something wrong?” he teased, still not touching you the way you wished he would. 

“Please…” you whispered. 

The little amused noise he made only frustrated you more, because Instead of giving in to your need, he hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear and stepped back from you to slide them free from your legs. He twirled them around his long index finger before letting them slip out of his hands to the floor. His eyes roamed over you, exposed to him now, perched on the counter. “Fucking perfect…” he breathed, giving his head a slight shake.

You flushed under his attentive gaze, your own eyes catching on the obvious sign of his own interest tenting the front of his boxer briefs. “Talkin’ about yourself?” you finally managed. 

He smiled and shook his head. 

“You should be…” you sighed, “but you could stand to be just a bit more naked…” you pointed to his underwear. 

He laughed. “Fair,” he said before turning around to turn on the shower. He looked back at you, smirking as he hooked his thumbs in the band of his boxers. When he slid them down his thighs the need you felt for him was almost unbearable. He held out a hand to help you down. “Time to get you wet,” he said with a smirk. 

“Too late.” 

His brows shot up his forehead. “Fuck… me…” he muttered

You stepped past him, your hands gliding over his naked torso, and into the shower. “That’s the plan.” 

He followed after and closed the door, the glass quickly began to fog with the steam as you stood under the spray of the faucet. Even though you knew the water was hot, it almost felt cool on your heated skin. Dylan watched you as you ran your hands over your body before he reached out, gripping your hips. He shoved you back against the wall and his lips crashed into yours. 

You reached up clasped around his neck, your hands tangling into the wet strands of his hair, deepening the kiss and tasting the faint hint of mint on his tongue. His teeth grazed over your bottom lip, pulling it taut before he kissed along your jawline. 

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath against your throat.

“Soap’s over there,” you sighed, jutting your chin to the shelf in the corner. 

“Right… showering…” his teasing mouth paused and he pulled back from you. “You’re so fucking distracting…” he groaned, his grip on your hips shifting to your ass before he squeezed it in both of his palms. 

You grinned and wet your lower lip with your tongue. 

“Not helping.”

You laughed before you pushed him away enough to grab the body wash from the shelf and squeeze it onto his loofa. “Lemme help then,” you said, gesturing for him to turn around in front of you, the water now striking him in the chest. 

He didn’t protest, and quickly spun around as you took a small step closer, so your wet body was pressed briefly against him before you began to scrub his shoulders and upper back. 

“Mmm…” he hummed, rolling his neck. 

You tickled him enough to raise his arms so you could wash them both thoroughly. You smiled watching him noticeably relax his shoulders. You washed down his back, sliding the loofa down to the dips in his low back and over his perfect ass. 

“Taking your time back there…” he chuckled. 

“Stop having such a nice ass and maybe I’d make quicker work of it.” 

He shook a bit with a contained laugh. “Noted.” 

You finally relented, taking one last look at his soapy cheeks before you reached around to scrub his chest and stomach, not spending too much time before reaching down and squeezing the loofa at his belly button and letting the soap begin to run down his body. Your free hand followed after it until it was teasing at the coarse hair, brushing just where you knew he was dying for you to touch him. 

“Relentless fucking tease–” 

You cut off his complaint by wrapping your hand around his sudsy length and pumping him just once. “You were saying?” you breathed against his back before you kissed his shoulder blade before you pumped him again. 

He groaned, his head falling forward. “I’ll shut up… just don’t fucking stop.” 

You beamed with pride. It wasn’t like he never begged, but it was far less common than your own pleadings that more frequently bounced off the walls of this room. You rewarded its rarity by picking up the pace with your hand, pinning him against you with the other hand pressing against the front of his thigh, the loofa long forgotten at his feet. 

He stuttered forward, one hand coming up to hold his weight against the tiled wall the other grasping gently at your wrist, not stopping you, but guiding your hand. “Fuck,” he cursed, the last consonant of it coming out shuddered and low.

You were growing more and more impatient with each second. The ache between your thighs was forcing you to squeeze them together for some kind of relief. You moaned in frustration, your pace faltering. 

Dylan squeezed your wrist and stilled your hand. “Someone sounds needy…” he whispered, pulling your hand free of him and swapping your positions. He pressed you back against the wall and grabbed your body wash from the shelf, squeezing some into his palm. 

You watched him warm his hands together, lathering the gel into foamy suds in those gorgeous fucking hands that you knew he was about to touch you with. 

He smirked at the audible sound of you swallowing before he cupped one of your breasts, his other hand snaking around you, his fingers teasing the dimples of your lower back. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his nose nudging your chin up enough for him to run his tongue up the length of your throat before he kissed you. 

Your heart hammered in your chest, your skin pebbled with goosebumps, your body sang under his touch. You’d missed him. God, how you’d missed him. It should be against the Geneva Convention for him to be away from you this long. Torture, pure and simple. But this? This was as close as you could imagine to what it might feel like to be moments from dying of thirst in a vast desert only to stumble into the cool waters of an oasis.

He slid his hand down your body and, without a hint of teasing or pretense, rubbed your clit with the pads of two fingers. 

“Holy. Sh–!” you cussed, only getting half of it out before it devolved into a strangled moan. 

Dylan nudged at your chin as your head lolled in pleasure, his lips skimming across your skin, breathing out praise as he continued to swirl his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you writhing against him. “Missed the way you sound…” he nipped your neck, “the way you feel…” he groped at your chest again with his free hand, “the way you taste…” he kissed you again, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. 

His talented fingers had you approaching the edge, that warm feeling building up inside you, that pressure that made you feel like you were electrified. “Dyl… please…” you softly begged when he gave you a moment to finally breathe. 

His lips slipped from yours, your noses touching, both of you panting in the same air. Then you whined when you felt his fingers disappear from you. He stepped back into the stream of water and pulled you with him, kissing you everywhere his lips could reach as the hot spray of the shower rinsed you both clean of suds. 

You looped your arms around his neck and he gripped the backs of your thighs, hauling you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. 

His eyes were wide with the same wonder he somehow still held for you even though he’d had you so many times there was no way to keep count. It made you feel warm and wanted. Desired and beautiful.  

“Could stay in this shower for the rest of my fucking life…” he said as he pinned your back to the wall and bucked up against you, slickening himself in the folds of your body, driving the head of his cock into your already sensitive clit. 

Your eyes rolled back at the contact, your hips rocking forward to meet the roll of his. “We’ll… we’ll get all pruney….” you finally breathed out. 

He laughed against your throat before he kissed, nipped, and sucked what you knew would be an impressive little bruise into your skin. “So be it,” he said, and then he shifted his hips, met your gaze, and slid into you to the hilt. 

The stretch, the fullness, it was almost as shocking now as the first time you’d felt him buried inside you. It was perfection, blissfully indecent perfection. You moaned his name, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as he began to set a punishing pace, driving up into you hard, rutting his body against yours enough to stimulate you in just the right places, inside and out. 

“Shit!” you swore, letting your head fall back against the tiled wall. 

He fucked into you over and over as you felt yourself edging closer to the brink. You felt your thighs begin to shudder as his pace grew more erratic an unpredictable. 

“So fucking tight…” he groaned before he kissed the valley between your collarbones. 

The strangled need in his voice, the feel of his breath against your skin–all of it coupled with the delicious way the end of his length was pressing into that perfect spot inside you that made you feel like you were losing touch with reality–you were ready. “Fuck, Dyl–” 

He raised one hand to press on your chin enough to force your gaze back to his, the pad of his thumb dragging across your lower lip. 

You moaned and flicked at it with the tip of your tongue. “I’m so close… please!” you begged.

He drove his thumb between your lips and when you sucked it into your mouth, he slipped the hand on your thigh between your legs to rub his finger over your clit just when he drove a final thrust against your g-spot. 

You’d had your fair share of fantastic orgasms at this man’s hands, literally, but this one was up there standing proudly on the podium collecting its medal. It was a rush of pent-up need and desire that washed over you like a crashing tidal wave. Every single cell in your body felt like it was vibrating with pleasure. Your muscles clamped down on him as you felt him join you in his own release. The feel of him spilling into you, the sound of your name falling from his slack lips, making it all so much more intense. It was perfection. Pure and simple. Absolute. Unadulterated. Bliss.

Your chest heaved against his, both of you softly laughing between kisses before you felt him slip free of your body. His hands warmed up your arms before they cupped either side of your neck. 

“I love you so fucking much.” 

You smiled at him, leaning in to run your nose along his throat until your lips were at his ear. “I love you too.” 

He sighed and his lips found yours, but he held back from the kiss long enough to speak. “Hell of a welcome home.” 

[vaperarmand]

i love you beautiful horny game

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500 warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!) author’s note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it’s a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts: the first one explains Aemond’s feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

Part 1. How could you be so blind. Aegon knows he’s supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile.

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by. 

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine. “My legs gave out, I’m afraid!” 

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eyed prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I’m in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn’t be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you’d bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn’t be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.” 

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it’s the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.” 

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —” 

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say. “Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten-and-three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I’d appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa’s vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn’t a thing you weren’t good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one’s worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren’t in harm’s way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should’ve been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn’t realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn’t meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn’t a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy.

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they’ve got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn’t stand a chance.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you. 

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“You cannot be serious. You have so much talent and —”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension. 

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I’ve come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don’t stand here and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then, “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you are suddenly standing too close. 

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem a bit bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?” 

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it’s a whole new experience when he’s the one being portrayed. He almost doesn’t recognize himself — you didn’t miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He is at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It’s a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he’s deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must’ve been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There is so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don’t marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must’ve misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears. 

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn’t so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won’t, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it’s only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[sydneighsays]

More quick Jee doodles 🎉

[knifeforkspooncup]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Additional Tags: Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Angry at God (Good Omens), Scared Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Mutual Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Song: Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want (The Smiths), Romantic Fluff Summary:

A soft footstep falters close behind him, signalling he’s not alone. Aziraphale.

Crowley knows he should pull himself together, turn to the angel with an expectant smirk, inviting him to start their next round of banter on the merits of modern music.

Let himself be carried into the afternoon on a river of wine and good conversation, muffling the anger and longing under his friend’s expert guidance. Follow Aziraphale’s cautious lead like he’d promised to 18 years ago, you go too fast for me, Crowley.

It was enough most days. It had to be.

But Crowley can smell the lavender and mint notes in his cologne, can picture his hands grasping the wine bottle at the neck, the soft way his waistcoat wrinkles when he sits. He’s not sure it’s enough today.

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

It's 1985 and Crowley is settling into what promises to be another afternoon of excessive drinking and banter at the bookshop. Both he and Aziraphale are tenderly getting back to a shaky semblance of normal after a century and a half of renewed terror and revelations about their relationship. But it's a fragile existence.

And they want more.

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

Oh hey look! It’s my first fic!

Thank you to my amazing beta reader and DM debauchery gremlin @aspiring-pansy​. I probably wouldn’t have finished this without your hype.

I hope y’all enjoy this little emotional rollercoaster!

(Also none of you music kids come for me about the music notes ok, I don’t know anything about anything about music notation)

(Also also shamelessly tagging anyone and everyone who said they wanted my ao3/wanted to read this fic last week - NO PRESSURE TO READ)

[abrandnewshadow]

my husband wanted to cheer me up so he out of nowhere wrote me this insanely era accurate bullets yaoi and i'm sobbing

(takes place as they're leaving hellfest 06/22/2003)

"It was a surprisingly pleasant July day as the van rattled its way west bound on I-90. The mountains to the south were barely a hill from this distance, the rolling farmland whistled by through the barely cracked window. The air-conditioning would be on had it still worked, but the breeze would have to suffice. Suddenly the vehicle jolted to the side with a loud whack as the tire briefly left the road over a pothole before quickly slapping rugged pavement once more.

“What was that?” mumbled a voice from the back. The curtain drawn shut to block out the light. They had barely slept in three days. 

“Just a pothole, this road out of Syracuse really sucks. Go back to sleep”

The voice mumbled some more before falling silent. 

“I might like him better when he’s asleep,” Gerard said to Ray. He flicked his cigarette one last time before dropping it and rolling up the window.

“I should probably get some sle-” he was quickly cut off as Frank roared from behind the curtain.

“Seriously? You hit me in the face with that stupid cigarette!”

Gerard hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one enjoying the breeze. 

“That isn’t the only thing I’d like to hit you in the face with” Gerard groveled quietly to himself. It was exhilarating to speak it out loud, even if no one else could hear him. 

“Sorry little guy, go back to bed,” he said.

Hellfest had been an intense three day fiasco. The crowd had been overwhelming, the lights and sounds felt like a blur. It was through all this chaos and turmoil that he had one thing keeping him planted firmly on the ground. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, and certainly not to the others yet, Frank had become his rock. His punk. His own personal brand of crack. Frank may not have known it yet, but Gerard intended to find out if his feelings were more than his own.

He couldn’t help but hear Geoff’s lyrics in his head, “we’re betting on our own lives, making up for all the time we lost in this house of cards.” Feeling unsettled by the thought of the time he missed, the time he hadn’t spent with Frank. He was getting ahead of himself, this was all just a fantasy. He needed a distraction.

“That Thursday sure knows how to get the crowd going, don’t they?” he tried to break the silence.

“They really have some punk moves,” Mikey piped up, sensing things felt strange."

[petruchio]

ordinary world - 2k

Ten years after the war, Katniss and Peeta get invited to Gale's wedding in Two.

[ofthemorningstars]

Delicate Work

TerzOmega ~ Smut below the cut 1.8k words A continuation of an idea explored in Water's Edge

Ao3 Version

Terzo and Omega try something new. ---

Omega had been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

Of course, he didn’t know he was waiting for it. He didn’t expect it to happen at all. Yet here he was, about to embark on a new adventure, after all these years, with the only being he wanted to take along for the ride. He couldn’t believe it’d taken more than two decades to find an answer that had been literally staring him in the face every day.

He certainly felt more than a little silly, standing there in his human form, completely naked save for his mask, but he needed its glamour magic tonight. He couldn’t do what he had in mind with his claws. No, this was far too delicate work for those.

If Terzo felt similarly silly, if he were uncomfortable at all, he didn’t show it. He, too, was completely bare, spread out on the bed of tonight’s hotel room, his calves dangling off the side. His face and chest were flushed. His arms were up above his head, the perfect frame for the dreamy smile on his face. He was visibly excited, already rock hard and throbbing with anticipation. The sight made Omega’s heart skip a beat. “Mio caro,” Terzo spoke softly, reaching out a hand to Omega. Omega took it in his own now smaller, much more human hand, the back of which Terzo smoothed over with his thumb. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t hide the slight tremor. “It’s alright. I want this. I promise.” 

Omega desperately wished he could kiss him. Instead, he reluctantly pulled away after a moment to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand. He coated the fingers of one hand with a generous amount, but then hesitated, looking down at Terzo for reassurance. Terzo’s smile was warm as he nodded, spreading his legs. Taking a breath and trying not to have an out of body experience as he watched those strange, alien hands doing something so intimate to his mate, he reached out. His slicked fingers found their target, carefully slipping inside Terzo, starting with just one digit. Terzo’s eyes fluttered as Omega entered him, groaning softly. Slowly, almost shyly, Omega began to move, sliding in and out. He could hear his breath echoing harshly inside the mask. Oh, but if there was a heaven, surely this was it. Terzo felt even better than he’d imagined.

Taking great care, Omega added a second finger. Terzo gasped, nearly causing Omega to withdraw out of fear that he’d hurt him, but Terzo caught his hand. He guided Omega into fingering him, flushing deeper, breathing hard through his nose. Omega was aching, obscenely turned on by just how excited Terzo was, by how excited he had been from the very beginning of this entire process. Terzo had said yes practically before Omega could even finish explaining the idea the night before; Terzo’s face had turned such a lovely shade of pink at just the thought of it. His teasing on stage had been exceptionally unbearable that night, and Omega kept catching Terzo staring at him, those big eyes twinkling with mischief. More than a couple of the other ghouls had picked up on the tension, had snickered as Omega passed by. If Omega didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn that Terzo wanted this even more than he did. 

Omega began curling his fingers, eliciting a long moan from Terzo, his back arching. Omega shivered. Terzo began to move his hips in time with Omega’s motions, making soft sounds that grew a little louder with each sweep. Omega knelt on the bed next to him, cock dripping onto the sheets. He wished he could kiss every inch of skin on display, could lick up the precum that was pooling on Terzo’s stomach. The mask was feeling increasingly heavy and oppressive, but oh, Terzo felt so good under his fingers. So tight, so warm, so responsive. This was an experience he thought was barred to him, and he wanted to savor every second. Terzo reached out and grabbed the side of Omega’s mask, forcing him to meet his gaze, his eyes glazed over with a feverish lust. He held it until Omega gave a particularly forceful thrust, causing Terzo to close his eyes, raising his own hand to his mouth and biting his finger against a whine as he squirmed. 

“Omega,” Terzo panted, eyes pleading. Omega could feel the heat coming off of him; Terzo was going to cum soon. Omega wanted to bury his cock in Terzo in place of his fingers, but he was too mesmerized by the sounds Terzo was making to stop. Wanting to hear more, he grabbed Terzo with his free hand and began to stroke. Terzo’s hips nearly arched off the bed at the added sensation as he cried out. He was so close. Omega picked up his pace, beginning to sweat, waiting for Terzo to shatter. And then came the absolute last sound he wanted to hear at a time like this: a knock at the door. They both froze. “Just– Just a minute!” Terzo attempted to shout with a hoarse voice, forcing himself off of the bed and onto shaky, unstable legs as Omega pulled away reluctantly. Terzo looked around frantically for his robe as Omega hid in the bathroom, heart racing and ready to attack if necessary. Dammit! Who the hell would come barging in at 1 in the morning?! On a Wednesday, no less! What if a crazed fan had followed them back to their hotel room? What if one of the other idiots had gotten hurt? Worst yet, what if the ministry had finally caught up to them? Omega felt nauseous. “Oh, what the hell!” Terzo whispered, voice filled with anger and confusion. Cautiously, Omega peeked around the corner. There was no one else standing in the open doorway, but there was a white envelope sitting on the floor in the hallway. Terzo quickly looked around and picked it up, shutting the door behind him as softly as he could. They huddled around the envelope together. Inside, they found only two things: one of the Ghost-project branded condoms from their tour, and a note that read, “Have fun you two, remember to wrap it before you tap it!” followed by a crudely drawn winky-face and two hearts. At the bottom were all of the ghouls’ signatures, save for Omega’s. Omega felt his face heat up, his normally even temper threatening to break, but before he could open his mouth, he heard Terzo begin to swear like he’d never heard before, in English, Italian, Latin, and something else that he bafflingly couldn’t identify. He stood slack-jawed, the wind taken out of his sails as Terzo spat enough vitriol for the both of them and then some. His back was turned to Omega, glaring at the paper still clutched tightly in his hands as though it held some secret. Omega finally took his mask off, dropping it to the floor with a thud.

“And that is another thing! Even if it were any of their business, why would those idiots think that we need this?!” Terzo spun around and waved the condom around in the air, eyes wild. “We have been together for ages, and it’s not as though I can get pregna–” Omega cut off Terzo’s ranting, pulling him forward by his robe, their lips meeting in a crushing kiss. Terzo froze for half a second, dropping the condom, before kissing back furiously. Not wasting any time, Omega stripped Terzo in what felt like one smooth motion. Terzo backed Omega to the edge of the bed before pushing him down onto it. Omega pulled Terzo down with him. 

Straddling Omega’s hips, Terzo broke away from Omega’s mouth to suck at his neck, leaving possessive marks in his wake before biting at Omega’s earlobe. Heat speared through Omega. Clearly, he mused, Terzo was just as horny as before, only now also frustrated and aggressive at being denied release over a stupid prank. He saw with a thrill that Terzo was already hard again. It wasn’t what he had pictured for their evening, but with the things Terzo was doing to him with his mouth… Satanas, he’d take it. As Terzo was licking and biting his way down Omega’s chest, he reached up with a now-clawed hand to leave marks of his own down Terzo’s back. It was nice having his own body back, even if tonight would have been earth-shattering, were they not so rudely interrupted. 

As though reading his mind, Terzo growled against Omega’s skin, “We’re doing that again,” staring Omega down before taking him in hand and roughly stroking him. Omega whimpered.

Terzo briefly dismounted him to reach the lube that had managed to roll to the floor at some point during the night. Bottle in hand, he hurriedly prepared Omega, moving like he was on a mission. Climbing back on top, Terzo lined himself up before sinking down on Omega’s thick cock, throwing his head back and letting out a shuddering sigh of relief. Omega groaned and involuntarily bucked his hips in overstimulation. Terzo took a moment before he began to move, and then he was riding Omega mercilessly, bouncing and grinding, moaning loudly. His hands roamed over Omega’s body as though he didn’t want to leave a single inch within his reach unexplored. Terzo was making such intense eye contact that Omega almost wanted to look away, but he was hypnotized. Terzo finally broke the spell by leaning forward to catch Omega’s nipple with his mouth. Omega shivered, quickly taking over thrusting, desperate for friction. Omega was reaching his limit, but he refused to allow himself release until Terzo was satisfied. Gently he encouraged Terzo to sit upright enough that he could slide a hand between them. Breathing heavily and trying to hold on, he took Terzo in hand, jerking him off while thrusting harder. Omega could see Terzo was quickly unraveling, he just needed one more push…

With one last powerful buck of Omega’s hips, Terzo came across Omega’s chest with a sob. Omega tumbled off the edge right behind him, his hands clutching at the sheets, claws tearing the fabric. Terzo pulled himself off of Omega while he still had the strength before collapsing in a heap beside him, Omega’s cum trickling out of him. Omega gathered him up in his arms. They lay there together for a long while, catching their breath.

Omega was the first to speak, audibly winded. “I take it you liked it, then?” Terzo lifted his head weakly, eyes full of exhaustion but overflowing with adoration. He threaded his fingers together with Omega’s. “Si, amore mio. Very much.” Omega’s face lit up. He stole a kiss before sheepishly asking, “Does that mean we can do it again?” “Si.” Terzo had that twinkle in his eye that made Omega’s stomach do backflips. “I want you inside of me, mio caro,” he purred, kissing Omega’s fingers, never breaking eye contact. Omega’s heart skipped several beats. “But tonight, we rest. I have several ghouls to kill in the morning.” Omega laughed in surprise, having completely forgotten about the note in his ecstasy. “I’ll help you bury the bodies.”

[inevitablestars]

ever since

Regulus moves to New York to the home he inherited from his parents to start fresh. Six months in he takes cover from the rain and meets James. Their lives couldn't be more different, but that's the fun of it, sharing it with each other.

chapter one out now