#opening to a longer fic

[heartsoremania]

Johnny is a greedy kisser

He’s like an untrained dog, humping your thigh while he slobbers and licks into your mouth. He’s so gross about it too, groaning and grunting into it, pinning you in place with those big paws of his.

He’s grabbing at your waist, fingers digging into your skin until you’re squirming under the pressure of it, that feverish intensity.

And he’ll whine and complain when you try to pull away for air. Like a needy puppy that’s too damn big for his own good.

He’ll let you take one breath, staring at you with those half-lidded eyes, glazed over in delirious voracity, and then he’s back on you. Biting at your bottom lip, cock throbbing when you whimper in protest—he likes when you put up a bit of a fight, likes cradling the back of your skull as if you’re not pushing at his stupidly burly chest and arms.

And he does it while he’s splitting you open on his cock too. He’s breathing into your mouth, drooling all over your lips, and sucking on your tongue as if he’s trying to suffocate you :( he loooooves making a mess of you

[myokk]

fast sketch of my one-shot with Ominis💓

legilimency

Word count: 1.700

Rating: M (language)

Ominis Gaunt is a lost case - lost to the whims of one very determined Gryffindor sitting at his side.

They sit in the back of the History of Magic classroom, the only two students not lulled to somnolence by their professor. He: trying his hardest to focus on Professor Binns’ droning (easier said than done). She: trying her hardest to distract Ominis while not being entirely sure of being successful or not (easier attempted than understood).

Professor Binns is completely insufferable, of course. Ominis wonders if the ghost is as blind as he is: Binns willfully ignores the fact that all of his students use his class as an excuse to get a nap in (maybe he simply doesn’t see them sleeping - only one of many reasons why Ominis has decided he could never be a professor), rambling on and on in the most boring way possible. As if he were trying to be as dull as possible (maybe he does it to avoid interacting with the students which…can’t be to blame). In a different life, Ominis could see himself quite liking the subject, but as things stand he despises it.

Especially now.

Ominis fervently wishes that he could fall asleep.

Then, he might avoid hearing her thoughts - they’re consuming him and he can’t ignore them as much as he would like to.

Normally, he loves this class - not the subject, obviously - but the class itself, for the sheer fact that it is the only time where he gets some peace and quiet. Everyone’s minds nice and quiet and shut off for the time being while they sleep. Although he has gotten used to ignoring the thoughts of everyone around him, their various voices mixing and mingling with each other into a dull thrum in the back of his mind, it is nice to have some quiet once in a while.

But right now, with everyone asleep except for the Gryffindor at his side, her thoughts are so loud it’s like she’s screaming at him.

So here he is, wishing he could fall asleep, leave the class, maybe turn off the infernal legilimency that has haunted him his whole life.

(His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

He is stuck listening to her.

It doesn’t help that she seems to have caught on to him - something he had managed to avoid until now. Nobody else, not even Sebastian or Anne, has ever suspected a thing. But, in all fairness, those two are extremely loud and say every single thought that passes through their minds out loud even when they should remain quiet, and nobody else has had the opportunity to spend enough time with Ominis to begin to suspect anything.

Until her.

He had to go and let that blasted girl worm her way into his life, not leaving him alone ever, always looking for excuses to talk and ask his opinion, and being so intelligent that he wanted to invite her to study with him and talk with him and…

Since it happened a few nights ago, he hasn’t stopped cursing himself for that stupid offhand comment he made. They had been studying in silence in the library together, by the history books where nobody else ever ventures (thank you, Professor Binns), and he could have sworn that she asked him if he was finally going to walk her back to her common room (he blames a lack of sleep and wishful thinking for this mishap). His traitorous face had flushed and he had jumped at the chance to escort her - maybe she would let him carry her bag, or… - only to feel his whole body go cold and his stomach drop when her response wasn’t what he’d expected.

A pause: then: a confused voice: ‘Ominis, I didn’t say anything.’

His Gryffindor wasn’t stupid like Gryffindors were normally wont to be. He knew her, and he knew that after his monumental mistake, the gears in her brain were turning and he was terrified that somehow she had figured it out.

(His Gryffindor?)

She had been unusually quiet around him since then, although he bitterly noticed that she was still acting normally with everyone else. Still finding every opportunity to punch Sebastian in the shoulder and laugh with Anne, still whispering with Natsai about Merlin knows what, still…

But she had been avoiding Ominis. He couldn’t stand it.

Well, avoiding him right until this stupid class, when she had to go and sit right next to him (ignoring the fact that she always sits next to him in History of Magic, that everyone already has and adheres to their unofficial seats), and he can’t ignore her.

She’s pretending to take studious notes, but he knows better. The scratching of her quill blending with the droning of Professor Binns’ voice but not drowning out her thoughts. They float above the other noises, her voice sweet and piercing. Ominis wonders vaguely what she’s actually writing, because he’s positive it isn’t notes.

Professor Binns looks so sexy right now with his medieval hat, talking about…whatever it is he’s passionate about. I wonder if he would let me talk to him after class without floating through me like he normally does…

Ominis is determined not to react. She’s obviously trying to bait him. But…what if she is attracted to Professor Binns? Is he an attractive man? At the thought, the fist that’s resting on top of his desk clenches, but he works to make sure his face remains impassive. Apart from a twitch of his lips, he thinks he’s been quite successful.

She: huffing and shifting in her chair, her robes rustling as she crosses her legs. He: keeping his head facing forward, steadfastly ignoring her.

She changes tactics.

Maybe she’s just as insufferable as the other Gryffindors, after all.

I wonder what Ominis would say if he knew I woke up moaning today after a dream about him -

He shifts slightly in his seat, hoping that she’s so busy taking notes (who’s he kidding) that she won’t notice his discomfort as his trousers tighten -

…the girls in my dorm have been bothering me nonstop about who I’ve been mooning over but I don’t want them to…

His hand is in such a tight fist it’s a wonder he’s not breaking any fingers as he tries to remain as still as possible, but his traitorous arousal is making her thoughts harder and harder to ignore. Had he ever been able to ignore her?

…his tongue was deep inside me as I screamed his name…

He feels his face heat up at the thought - where had she learned such vulgar language? - and his whole body stiffens. He’s sure that she can feel the tension and warmth radiating off of him in waves but that…she…his insane little lion keeps shouting at him in the silence of the classroom. She’s now stopped all pretense of taking notes and is sitting stock still.

…his cock deep inside of me as…wait…what else did I hear Garreth say to Leander that night?…um… She shifts uncomfortably, her knee grazing Ominis’s as she moves to squeeze her legs together. It’s all he can do to not groan and remain impassive. Oh god…I…what’s that feeling? This was just supposed to get back at him for probably - maybe - reading my thoughts and I’m officially insane because how would he even be able to do that?…his ears turning red from embarrassment are so adorable and I can’t stand this anymore and…

Ominis tries his hardest not to move his head in her direction. His jaw flexes. Maybe he can drown her out if he starts reciting potions ingredients, or if he focuses on what Professor Binns is saying, but even he knows its futile. He’s hanging on to her every word - thought? - and his head slowly turns in her direction as she keeps going.

…does he know how much I think about him? Oh god, what if he dreams of me the same way I…

He slams the open book in front of him shut, the loud noise causing Sebastian to jerk awake and babble incoherently for a moment before slumping back over his desk, drooling and snoring lightly. Nobody else in the class seems to notice except her of course. Blissfully, she has stopped talking - thinking - and he can finally -

It’s no use. He needs to get out of there. She has invaded his mind and…What if she starts up again with her filthy thoughts that are bleeding into his own and -

Did he hear me? I didn’t actually think…oh god, can he hear me now? What have I done?

Ominis very slowly brings his hand over to where he knows hers is. The quill falls out of her hand and he hears a sharp intake of breath at their contact. His fingers trace her knuckles and then he slowly trails them up her arm. His fingertips are so sensitive that he could swear that he feels every thread that he passes, her skin warm and alive underneath the fabric. Then to her neck, her throat bobs and he feels her erratic heartbeat. Finally, he reaches her face. She remains very, very still as his fingers brush over her features for the first time.

He has never touched someone like this before.

Her skin is like velvet, soft everywhere he touches. Now that he knows what it feels like he’s not sure he can go back to before. His fingers trace the curve of her eyebrows - he finds that her nose is straight before it flares up a tiny bit at the tip - his fingers ghost over her impossibly soft lips. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip as her tongue darts out to wet them. It’s impossibly intimate and the world has melted away and it’s just the two of them in that moment.

He leans forward.

“Ominis, I…” she whispers, stricken.

His hand moves to tuck some of her loose hair away from her face - does she always wear it like this? - and his lips brush against her ear. He inhales deeply, her sweet smell invading his senses. She shivers under his touch and he breathes, “I heard everything.”

[corviiids]

i get the lines blur but there IS a big difference between media which doesn't explicitly tell/show you precisely what happens in the end but does point pretty clearly down the intended road vs legitimate open endings where you're supposed to decide what happens completely on your own and multiple interpretations would be supported

[bluvlet]

Trolley Problem text posts part 3 (part 1, part 2)

[shouyuus]

roll the dice, hit rewind - open character

daughter of a casino mogul reader + orphan/street rat character who’s a hustler/street magician but grows up with reader after running into you in an alleyway. you sneak him back into your casino and he learns to count cards. as a teenager, you even manage to get him a job as one of the table dealers where he becomes one of the most popular attractions, with his dashing looks and heart-rending charm. his innate talent doesn’t go unnoticed, and one day, you wake up to find his casino uniform and a short letter of resignation, telling you that he’s had “an offer he can’t turn down”. you’re hurt, of course you are — you’d promised each other, it was you and him against the world. and yet here he was… leaving you behind.

years later, long after you’d drifted out of each other’s lives and you’d taken over the dark, dirty business that your parents had left behind, now a fearless ice queen of your parents empire, well-known for your deadly intellect and razor-sharp tongue, you meet him again — only, he’s now an fbi agent who specializes in lie detection/deep cover and has been assigned to bust the lucrative black market auction that your parents had been running for years and has just handed over to you.

as you both fall into this dangerous yet tantalizing game of cat and mouse, you both start to realize that neither of you are the naive children you remember each other to be anymore.

[johnslittlespoon]

8k words of fwb modern college au clegan getting it on at a halloween party for the wota server's halloween event? more likely than u think :)) (posting at the end of the month sry lol)

[lcdrarry]

📽 Grab your popcorn! 🍿 LCDrarry is back 🎞

"Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry, LCD) is an anonymous prompt-based fest, where authors and artists create pieces that are inspired by or based on a film, a theatre play, a TV series/show, a podcast, an audioplay/drama or an audiobook. The main pairing for all submissions is Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter ("Drarry"). Podfics are also very welcome! More information in the fest rules on AO3.

Find all of the important infos & links under the cut!

Fest Timeline

Prompting: January 10 to January 17

Claiming/Sign-ups: January 20 to March 15

Submissions due: April 15

Posting begins: May 1

Reveals: June 15

Important links

LCDrarry Prompts for Fic and Art <- browse the fic & art prompts!

LCDrarry Prompts for Podfics <- browse the podfic prompts!

LCDrarry Sign-up/Claiming Form <- OPEN TILL 15 MARCH

LCDrarry Rules and AO3 Collection

LCDrarry Fest Discord

Please share and signal boost! We’re so looking forward to all your ideas and creations! 

Your LCDrarry mods Tami @celilasart​ & Suzi @erin-riwen​

[babychosen]

amangela meetcute for your prompts

word count: 1025

After finishing a Moon Goon performance, Angela and a few of the group members stayed back in the audience and chatted with a few friends that came to support them. By the time they finished talking, it was nearly time for the next scheduled show to start, so she rushed backstage to gather her things and get the hell out of the theater.

Angela hated getting in the way of the next performers because she knew how cramped the dressing room at UCB could get in between shows. 

She scurried backstage and paused in the doorway of the dressing room, trying to recall where she left her jacket and bag. She scanned the room while she weaved around the new performers, casually exchanging greetings with a few familiar faces. Her eyes landed on the couch near the back of the room, and she saw the faintest shine of her leather jacket draped across the back of the couch.

Angela made a mental note to remind herself to wear her glasses more often because it took way too long, and way too much squinting just to find her belongings in the small room.

After Angela was done talking to a few performers in the room, someone sat down on the couch right in front of her jacket. She froze in her spot. Great, Angela thought. Now she had to go through the awkward confrontation of telling this person they were sitting on her jacket.

She looked a little harder, just to see if she recognized the person. Angela gulped after taking in their appearance; now she had to ask the most gorgeous stranger she’s ever seen to move so she could get her jacket.

Angela fidgeted in place and thought about it. Surely she didn’t need her jacket, right? She could just go home and then get it the next time she’s there… right? Her jacket had her car keys in it, and she sure as hell wasn’t taking the bus home from downtown Hollywood… so her options were very limited.

Like ripping off a band-aid, Angela crossed the room and stood in front of the woman. “Hey, so,” Angela started, pausing for a little too long.

“Hey! Angela, right?” The woman asked, a wide smile on her face. She gestured for Angela to take a seat beside her. “I’m Amanda.”

“Uh-” Angela cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s me. How’d you know?” Angela sat down, feeling herself being pulled in by Amanda.

“Dude, you’re practically famous around here. You’re like, UCB royalty,” Amanda scoffed, chuckling at Angela’s modesty.

Angela knew she had made a name for herself in the LA comedy scene, but it felt surreal hearing it from someone she was so immediately drawn to.

“I’m kinda new to LA, just moved here from Boston last year,” Amanda explained. Angela hadn’t asked about who this woman was, but she was definitely curious. “I’ve been trying my luck down here with auditions, but it’s a tough crowd.”

The same pull that brought her to sit down beside Amanda, led her to want to offer Amanda support. “If you ever need help with making connections, let me know. I know my way around these parts pretty well,” Angela offered genuinely.

Amanda raised her eyebrows and shyly smiled. “I-I wouldn’t mind being shown around.” 

Amanda looked Angela up and down, and Angela couldn’t tell if she was imagining it being suggestive or if it actually was suggestive—either way, she wasn’t mad about it.

They were taken out of their bubble when people started clearing out of the room, and it was obvious that their conversation had to come to an end.

“I’ll see you later?” Amanda questioned, standing up from the couch.

Angela nodded excitedly with a tight-lipped smile, and then watched Amanda walk away from her. Amanda paused in the doorway to turn around and wave goodbye to the woman still glued to the couch.

She stared at the door for longer than she needed to, going over the conversation in her head. Angela was flattered and awestruck, and she had butterflies in her stomach.

Finally, she stood up from the couch, grabbed her jacket and bag and made her way towards the stage exit door. Once outside in the cool night air, Amanda’s words dawned on her—see you later. Later… when? After the show? At another encounter determined by fate? The instructions were unclear and Angela’s critical thinking skills weren’t kicking in.

In her panic, she spent the next hour walking around the neighbourhood, stopping by an ice cream shop, and hanging out around the stage door, waiting for Amanda to be done with her show. 

Near the one hour mark she began pacing outside of the stage door. Just ask her. Ask for her number. It’s fucking easy, Angela thought to herself.

In a blur, the stage door bursted open and Amanda came storming out—or at least it felt like it all happened that dramatically to Angela.

“Yeah-uh, yeah. I'm still here. Yep. Sure am,” Angela stuttered, cutting herself off before she could make a complete fool of herself.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t think you would still be here,” Amanda beamed, shoving her hands into her jeans pockets and walking up to Angela. She looked even more stunning than she did an hour earlier, Angela noted.

“There’s a bar around the corner. You free?” Amanda raised an eyebrow and the corner of her lips curled up into a smile. Angela knew exactly which bar Amanda was referring to.

First she got out of having to ask Amanda to move so she could get her jacket, and now she just got out of having to ask for her number—and she’s going out for drinks with her? Yeah, okay, Angela wasn’t going to say no. She smirked and started taking steps backwards from Amanda in the direction of the bar.

“Shall we?” Angela asked confidently, waiting for Amanda to follow.

“We shall,” Amanda drawled, jokingly holding out her hand for Angela to take. Angela graciously took her hand and led Amanda towards the bar, beginning what she had a feeling was going to be an amazing night.

[miss--river]

Secrets Revealed (Part 3) rest under cut

[sagephilosophie]

Writing tip #1 :

Replace "perfect" with "enjoyable". If you can enjoy reading your own story, then you have achieved the primary purpose of the "perfect" story.

[frankiebirds]

LOOK AT THEM READING TOGETHER,,,i can hear them bickering already. jj constantly telling reid she wasnt done and him bitching before turning the page back. the reason theyre making the faces they are is because reid has read this page five times already and jj has told him a thousand times to wait until she says she's done before turning the page but he doesn't LISTEN!!!

[ladylynse]

I was gifted with yet more beautiful fanart for my Huntsclan!Jake AU fic Unbound (FFN/AO3). This one represents scenes from earlier in the fic, but the parallels and the imagery that our fantastic anonymous artist captured has had me staring at this for entirely too long. Repeatedly. Please admire it with me.

(If the artist ever consents to be known, I will update this post with their information.)

More from this artist here and here

[purplepeptobismol]

War is over…

[binbogummy]

Humans are —

An intermission of sorts?

This was originally going to be at the end of chapter 6 or the beginning of chapter 7 but I just decided I didn't like the way it flowed with either, so consider this a little tumblr exclusive intermission I didn't have the heart to scrap completely.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | * | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | *²|

Chapter 10|

~

As the night settled in, Aziraphale had excused himself downstairs again and Crowley finally returned, sipping something dark from a lowball glass and retaking what was practically his designated seat at this point.

You were currently curled beneath your blankets, still feeling comfortably heavy from dinner, which had been more soup, as an episode of some show Crowley had picked, but neither of you had really been paying attention to, droned in the background to fill the silence.

"Aaaaaand finished~" The demon announced, tossing the pencil down on the nightstand and handing the notepad back to you before reclaiming his glass.

It was a picture.

Of you.

Touché.

Or at least, it was you if you were a sickly orphan, wrapped in a blanket with big, watery eyes and an exaggerated frown. He had even sketched the tiny bell beside you, with a completely unnecessary little ding ding written above it for emphasis.

You scoffed, completely affronted.

"Nailed it, yeah?"

You quickly shook your head, making a dramatic X with your arms before hastily scribbling a message.

You mock me in my time of need?

Crowley barked out a laugh, lifting his glass in a mock cheers gesture. "Indeed I do."

Feeling spurred on by both the demon and the creeping boredom of being in bed all day, you narrowed your eyes and slowly, deliberately, reached for the bell on the nightstand.

His expression barely had time to shift before you gave it a single, sharp ring, making him snort so hard into his drink he nearly choked.

The sound of Aziraphale's hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase before you could even smirk in triumph. The door swung open, and the angel reappeared, his expression immediately shifting from mild surprise to full on maternal panic as he took in the sight of you, upright, bell in hand, looking completely not in distress.

"What is it? Is everything all right? What do you need?" His eyes scanned your face, flickering to Crowley briefly as if he might have caused you some great misfortune in the short time he’d been left alone with you.

Crowley managed to cool his expression into something mostly neutral, except for the barely suppressed twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You hesitated for only a moment before lifting a single finger and pointing at the demon.

Aziraphale’s expression darkened into something dangerously close to warning. "Crowley."

Crowley scoffed, tossing his head back dramatically. "Oh, come on!" He gestured toward you, feigning offense. "I haven't done a thing."

"That remains to be seen." The angel stated flatly.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, shaking your head as you waved a hand to dismiss whatever false accusations Crowley assumed you were making.

Just wanted to see if you'd actually come, you wrote out silently with an apologetic tilt of your head.

Aziraphale studied you for a moment before sighing, though his disapproving frown was softened by fond exasperation. "Well, I'm glad to see you've still got some spirit, at least." He picked up the ice pack you'd set aside earlier and pressed it to your forehead, attempting to ease you down. "But I do believe it's about time we all turn for the night, don't you?"

"Again with the early bedtime, Angel? Got her on a proper schedule now, do we?"

"She's still ill," Entirely unbothered, Aziraphale made sure the ice pack was resting securely on your forehead before pulling away. "Must I reiterate for you again the importance of rest above all else these cases?" He challenged lightly.

Crowley, of course, was entirely undeterred. " But consider this-" He leaned forward. "What if she stayed up just a biiiit longer?" He suggested, tapping the side of his temple as if this was a groundbreaking thought.

"And what exactly would that accomplish?" Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look.

"Morale," the demon declared. "You've got to factor in morale, Angel. Can't have the patient feeling too miserable, now can we? Might even set her back. Who knows?" He waved a hand vaguely. "Humans are sensitive like that, you know. Let her stay up a bit. Finish an episode or two~" Not that either of you had been watching whatever was playing in the first place.

Aziraphale sighed, turning his attention away from Crowley's nonsense and toward you, still laying snugly in bed.

"My dear," he cooed, leabing over you and smoothing the blankets down for good measure. "Are you feeling particularly miserable?" His tone was indulgent, but there was an underlying sincerity to it, as if he genuinely wanted to be sure you weren't actually upset with the idea.

You blinked up at him, pursing your lips in exaggerated thought and tilting your head slightly as if you were really considering it. You held the act for just a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to make him anticipate a dramatic answer, before shaking your head no.

Achy? Yes. Weak? For sure. Still feverish and congested? Absolutely. But miserable? Nah.

The angel gave you a soft, satisfied hum, looking entirely pleased with himself. "There, you see, Crowley? She's not miserable at all," he said smugly, smoothing a hand over the blanket once more as if sealing the argument with a final, gentle touch. "In fact, I'd say she's quite content. Aren't you, dear?"

You made a faint hum of disagreement.

Content in general? Yes. Content with another early bedtime? Not so much.

"Oh, hush now," he chided sweetly, "No need to pretend you aren't utterly worn out. The signs are all there. You've had another vigorous day of recovery. It's no wonder you're looking a bit droopy-eyed now."

Droopy-eyed?

You frowned lightly, not entirely pleased with the accurate assessment.

But it didn't matter. Aziraphale was already in full-on bedtime mode.

"Rest is just as important tonight as it was yesterday, if not more so," he continued, "And will continue to be just as important tomorrow. So I shan't hear any more complaints."

"Well if that's the case, I'm out of here," Crowley announced suddenly, standing up, stretching and rolling his shoulders. "You two enjoy this little routine you've got going on. I'll see you tomorrow."

Aziraphale gave a knowing hum as he tucked you in more officially. "Oh, I'm sure you will," he mused, casting Crowley a pointedly innocent look over his shoulder. "At this rate, I daresay it would be more surprising if we didn't see you tomorrow~"

The demon's eyes narrowed under this glasses, or at least, that's what you assumed must have happned as he stopped in the doorway to look back at Aziraphale after that comment.

To his credit, though, he seemed to know that acknowledging it beyond that would be backing himself into a corner. So instead he looked to you, giving you a lazy salute as he strolled out the door. "Try to make it to morning, yeah?"

With a surprisingly bright smile, and as much energy as you could muster, you saluted him back. Will do, boss.

Aziraphale huffed as he left, turning his attention back to you.

You gave him your most innocent look as you peered over the blankets, but he was having none of it.

"Come now," he coaxed gently, stepping closer to the bed. "I know you’re not entirely opposed to the idea. Whether you realize it or not, your body has worked quite hard today, battling that fever of yours. Let's do it a favor and give it the rest it needs to keep up the good work tomorrow, hmm?"

Truth be told you'd only been resisting the idea out of principle alone, but he made quite the compelling argument. So after squinting in thought for a moment, you gave a soft smile and a little nod.

Satisfied, Aziraphale dimmed the lights and turned toward the television, moving to switch it off. But before he could, you let out a small, involuntary sound of protest.

It wasn't dramatic, barely more than a little breathy hum, but it was enough to make him pause, glancing back at you with mild curiosity.

You blinked up at him, eyes a bit wide, before lifting a hand from beneath the blankets and giving the screen a small point.

"Oh?" he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Would you prefer to keep it on, my dear?"

You nodded quickly, lips pressing into a small, pleading frown.

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, his head tilting in that indulgent way of his, as if mulling it over. He should turn it off, really. You needed proper rest, and distractions weren't always conducive to that. But at the same time...

He glanced at you again.

You were already tucked in so snugly, barely peeking out over the top of the covers, eyes half-lidded but still content and hopeful in that way that made it far too difficult to say no.

"Very well," he conceded at last. "But only under the condition that you don't let it keep you up too long.

You nodded again eagerly, making a little crossing motion over your chest. Promise.

That seemed to convince him, and he adjusted the volume down to a soft, barely there hum before setting the remote within easy reach on your nightstand. "There. Now, you just rest. And, if you need anything, just ring, alright?" His eyes flickered briefly toward the little bell on the nightstand before returning to yours. "Though preferably not just for the sake of testing my response time."

The little giggle you let out seemed to have been exactly what he was aiming for because his expression softend with satisfaction as he finally stepped back, wishing you a quiet goodnight and leaving you be with a soft click of the door.

After that, the room fell into an easy stillness, save for the quiet murmur of the television. It was just enough noise to keep the space from feeling too empty, but soft enough to lull you into the heavy warmth of impending sleep.

You probably would have crashed pretty fast if the day hadn't left you feeling so utterly aware of everything around you right now.

Of the way your head throbbed against the pillow. Of the way your body ached with that deep, feverish exhaustion. Of the way the congestion pressed thick and heavy in your chest, making each inhale just a little too labored. You thought for a moment and then swallowed experimentally. Nope. That was still awful too.

But you weren't going to dwell on it.

Because if you let yourself focus too much on the bad, you'd start thinking about how good everything else was in comparison. About how thoroughly the good of the last two days had outweighed your discomfort in heaps.

And then you'd begin to think about how, if you weren’t sick right now, if you weren’t confined to this bed with a fever that had left you fatigued to you very core, then today, and yesterday, and the night before, would have looked a whole lot different.

You would have woken up in your hotel room. Would have gone about your day alone, trying as many restaurants as you could find or jumping from shop to shop.

You would have kept wandering around the city, with no real plan, sightseeing in a forcefully casual attempt to not impose on the two main reasons you'd even bothered coming back to London in the first place

And that would have been fine.

But it wouldn’t have been this.

~

[collegeboysam]

Summary:

After many years of self-destructive reflection, Aemond Targaryen has come to terms with the conclusion that he needs Lucerys Velaryon getting run through. Be by his sword or by his cock, he does not care. Both, perhaps, if he’s being honest with himself. So, when time comes for Lucerys—heir to Driftmark and second son of the Queen—to become betrothed following the old costume of political unions, all his suitors start to drop like flies. Aemond watches with amusement the chaos that the harm and disappearance of high-borns causes across the realm, all with a perfectly composed expression. Mostly. He knows it won’t take long before someone in the small council or his family finds out the entire thing’s his doing. Doesn’t matter. His dear nephew simply cannot belong to anyone else when he still has so much to repay to Aemond first. Flesh for flesh is what he wants. No, what he needs. More so after realizing Lucerys himself might be plagued by the same desperate hunger Aemond has been fighting for years. Can’t have any of it if the little fucker is getting married to someone else.

Fic on AO3

Pairing: Aemod Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon

Rating: Explicit

Main Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Aged-Up Characters, Hate to Love, Mutual Pining, Mutual Lusting, Slow Burn, Mutually Obsessed Body Worship/Sex.

[michelsens]

I need to write a Joalex ship manifesto… the issue is that it’d be SO long lmao