#winter prompt fic

[rriavian]

may I propose for December Prompts "starry night" for Morpheus x Lucienne or "hot chocolate" for Morpheus and baby Orpheus? :)

A small foot stomped. 

“No sleep!”

“Orpheus.” Dream said, unimpressed at even such a bold declaration of war, unmoved by even such defiant vehemence. “It is time for bed.”

This was not accepted as an adequate reason for Dream’s interruption of Essential Activities—the four hours Orpheus had spent playing his new favourite song on the lute—so opposed was his son to it that his announcement was immediately rejected by no less than five head shakes. The response made it clear that not only was Dream’s reasoning inadequate, but that it was actually an insane suggestion bordering on the ludicrous.

His sons small face had become one of determination, fixed in a set expression of horrified disgust. “No.”

Time for a wildcard.

“Then you do not want hot chocolate?”

This seemed to stump Orpheus quite completely.

The offer of hot chocolate proved to be a most compelling rebuttal, one his son had not anticipated, the proposal revealing an unexpected vulnerability in an otherwise flawless defence. Attrition was slow though, capitulation still not guaranteed, small fingers fiddling with the hem of a raven patterned pyjama top as this new contender was assessed. The frown turned thoughtful rather than angry, tension softening as Orpheus paused to consider this new argument for what it was worth, evidently taking the time to review every possible angle.

The silence stretched.

In terms of a game face it was quite impressive; Orpheus gave no sign as to which way he’d fall, and yet this silence at least confirmed a bribe was not yet off the table.

After a minute or so he blinked but otherwise remained impassive. The dark eyes—so like Calliope’s, so beloved—quietly considering, remaining so even when a deep breath was taken. Perhaps to steady the impulsive actions encouraged by a rush of anticipation, though who could be sure?, because when it came the question was merely curious.

“Hot chocolate?”

“Yes.” Dream confirmed the offer, set the scene for what could be attained, allowed a small pause and then continued in a tone soft and the slightest bit sly. “It is good for encouraging drowsiness after all. Though if you do not want—“

An excited interruption.

Orpheus had skipped closer. He’d wandered within touching distance—a dangerous prospect when he’d so recently felt at risk of being scooped up and delivered to his room—grabbing Dream’s hand and blurting out his question. “May I have some?”

Dream smiled. “Will you go to bed?”

It was important to name one’s price before agreeing a trade.

There was still a gamble in mentioning the apparently dreaded topic that was 'bedtime', but Dream believed he’d weighted those odds far enough in his favour to be safe. There was a caveat in this bribe after all, an exchange to be made, an agreement to be reached. It was polite to make the terms certain even as success was already within his grasp; Orpheus only tightening his grip on Dream’s hand in response, for all he was taking his time to answer he was also now tugging him towards the kitchen.

A decision had clearly been made. Orpheus seemed unwilling to risk the loss of hot chocolate even if there was a sacrifice to make in return. “Can I take it to bed?”

Still negotiating though. 

Dream pretended to think about it while allowing himself to be led. “You may.”

“Can I have a story too?”

Further requests? 

This deal certainly required a lot of sweetening. Dream’s smile only widened.

“Always.”

[ailendolin]

Happy 800!

Ho-Tan, Vex/Ho-Tan; Touch, Candle

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy your prompt fic (and that you don't mind that I included the Youngers so prominently)! I had a lot of fun writing it and finding ways for our beloved Yonderland residents to confuse some Christmas traditions from Debbie's world ;)

Explanations for the Youngers' names can be found in this post.

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

The Surprise [AO3]

Ho-Tan knew it was no secret that Debbie’s world fascinated her. She had, after all, written the best-selling tome Birmingham and Beyond – Customs and Traditions from the Chosen One’s World. Debbie had been kind enough to allow her to visit several times so she could conduct her research there which, Ho-Tan was proud to say, had actually included a trip to the local library. She could have spent hours there, lost among the books – and gladly would have if Debbie hadn’t reminded her that time flowed differently in Yonderland and she’d be gone for days if they didn’t leave as planned. The thought of her Youngers and Vex worrying themselves sick about her had ultimately been enough to convince Ho-Tan to pack up her notes and hurry on home.

Continue reading

[lostalioth]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥

→ premise: if bucky was a pill then you were an addict and you wanna show him just addicted you are.

→ pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, cock piercing [jacobs ladder piercing], cock worship, nicknames [sweets, little one], oral [m receiving], small face fucking

→ a/n: kinktober 07

Now to say you were obsessed would be an understatement, you were addicted, captivated by your boyfriend Bucky Barnes. He didn't really understand why, often telling you he didn't deserve all the affection and attention you gave him. Therefore you were determined to show him your level of devotion as well as show him just how infatuated you were with him.

“Just lay back baby and let me worship you” you started explaining to Bucky in a soft tone as an attempt to calm his nerves. Lightly you push at his chest so that he backs up, his calf’s hitting the edge of the couch causing him to tumble back. He feels his whole body fill with heat at the look on your face as he falls back onto the couch. Your pupils blown, eyes lidded and glazed over in sheer lust, tugging your lip between your teeth, almost stifling a small moan at the sight of him. He leans back putting his hands out on the plush cushions, on instinct his thighs widen in a man spread. The new position giving your eyes perfect access to rake over his body, taking in the hard lines of his muscles that peaked through his tight Henley. As you soak in his state, his body responds, hips bucking up as his cock grows hard, his jeans and boxers becoming uncomfortable.

His nerves set afire once again as you sensually and slowly sink to your knees in front of him, your hands landing on his knees and traveling up his thighs to run over his bulge. “Sweets you know you dont have to do this” his cheeks flush in embarrassment as your tongue darts out to swipe over your top lip, you were practically salivating. Now Bucky wasn't the type of man to say no to a blow job obviously but he didn't feel deserving of being ‘worshiped’ as you called it.

“James Buchanan Barnes, shut up and let me appreciate my sexy ass boyfriend and his pretty cock, please?” Your voice comes out sassy and authoritative until the last word practically morphs into a plea. Your fingers are already working at undoing his belt buckle and the button to his jeans. He was growing more and more desperate for your mouth the longer the teasing went on.

“Mhmm yeah can definitely do that for ya’ little one” he rambled out, frantically nodding as his breathing grew heavier. You smile up at him in gratitude, your hands pulling his leather belt out of the loops and peeling his jeans down his legs. He lifts his hips up to aid you, his bulge finally feeling relief from its confines when you strip him of his boxers right after. His cock bouncing free and lightly hitting his toned stomach, a sigh falls from his lips as you take in the sight of it, making his stomach tighten and flip. He wasn't used to being admired in this way, the feeling unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His tip reddened and begging for attention as it leaks precum, your mouth watering as your eyes catch when the light hits his frenum piercings. 8 of them in total, one for every inch line the underside of his shaft making up his jacobs ladder piercing. To make it easier on you, taking all of him during your first time together he had you count each piercing as you felt them push inside you.

While you're lost in that memory, your eyes are still appreciating and committing the sight of his cock to memory as if you haven't seen it a hundred times by now. Bucky lifts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, hunching his body over to lean down and press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Prolonging the intimate moment with you on your knees, he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb under your eye in a loving manner. You hum into the kiss, your body melting at his touch before you pull away, him returning to his previous position.

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth, dragging down his shaft hitting each piercing as it goes. He sucks in a breath, hands gripping onto the edge of the couch cushions to refrain from just jumping to the end with him fucking up into your hot mouth.

“Fuck sweets” he hissed out when you kiss and kitten lick at his balls before licking back up the side of his cock. You grip the base of him while licking at his tip causing his cock to twitch in your hand before you sink your mouth down on him. “Shit~ just like that little one, oh god” he groans out as his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Bucky knew there was no chance of him making it to heaven when he passed but he knew if he did there was no way it’d feel half as good as this.

He softly moans out when you hollow out your cheeks and suck, your tongue running on the underside of his tip. Bucky lifts up his shirt giving your hands better access to rub along and roam his body. Nails starching at his v-line as you sink your mouth further down on him, taking his cock to the base in your throat, counting each barbell in your head. bucky can feel his balls tighten as they sit full of cum, he was already getting close. “S’good sweets, fuck” he breathed out as he rests his hand on the back of your head. He felt heavy as he sat in your mouth, his piercings cold on your tongue.

“Mhm~ please little one, can i fuck your mouth?” He begs, normally he wouldn't ask but he didnt know how much longer you wanted to extend your worship of his cock but he didn't think he’d last much longer. You hum around him in response as a ‘yes’ bracing yourself by grabbing onto his thick thighs. “Thank you, thank you oh fuck” a long string of curses leave his lips as his hips gradually start bucking up, thrusting his cock into your mouth, your spit spilling out and pooling at the base of his cock as your jaw goes slack to accommodate him fucking your thorat.

“Worship me whenever you want little one, this cocks all yours anyway sweets.” He groaned out, his hips flattering in rhythm as the knot in his stomach was about to snap. It would take a while before Bucky felt deserving of your adoration and worship but if this was one of the ways you planned to show it, he could get used to it.

→ a/n: this wasnt proofread and it was rushed as always, its also being posted later than i wanted lmao kinktober is low-key starting to drain me but fuck it. It’s been giving me issues with this post showing up in tags too so im annoyed with it lol.

[scribendis]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

Aemond Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, dry humping, p in v sex, semi-public sex, newlyweds being horny, little bit of profanity, breeding kink if you squint really, really hard Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~3,500

Summary: Upon returning to camp from a hunt in the Kingswood, Aemond looks for a way to keep his wife warm on a bitterly cold night.

A/N: Serendipitously conceptualized ages ago but written (very late!) for the first week of the @hotd-bigbang winter word prompts challenge - Fire | Furs | Forest

Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link

The setting sun cast long shadows across the small city of tents that made up the hunting camp in the Kingswood. While the men had spent the day combing the forest for boars, stags, and other game, the women had occupied the main tent. They gorged themselves on cakes and other sweets, all the while indulging in gossip that ranged from the salacious to the downright treasonous. 

And, much to the chagrin of the new wife of Prince Aemond Targaryen, they pestered her endlessly about the burgeoning love life of her and her husband. She quickly learned that, to be a woman in the king’s court meant sharing every last, excruciating detail of one’s “wifely duties” so that the others could compare them with their own. So that they could all know whose husbands fucked them the best and complain about their own lackluster experiences. 

They questioned her until she was beet-red in the face and one of the older women finally called for an end to her torment. Still, it would taste a lie for her to say that all their titillating conversation about lovemaking had not made her ache desperately for her husband. 

But by the time that night finally claimed the sprawling camp, the men had still not returned from the hunt. It signaled to the waiting wives that their husbands would come back without their prize, frustrated and exhausted - and that they would later fall into their beds reeking of wine. 

The call of horns and the distant sound of barking hounds was their cue to don their furs and exit the tent to greet the arriving men. The prince’s wife was glad for the fur-lined cloak that her husband had procured for her for just such an occasion as this. She was even more grateful for the garment as she exited the tent only to be met with the sting of the cold night air on her cheek. The women elected to wait for their husbands by the bonfire that raged in the middle of the camp, its light their only source of warmth as frost began to settle on the Kingswood. 

It was easy for her to spot her husband among the group of riders, his long silver hair unmistakable in the light of the rising moon. Whatever otherworldly quality his Valyrian features gave him seemed amplified tonight - and it made the sight of him astride a horse even more odd to her. Were her husband any other lord of the realm, his approach on horseback would not have seemed out of place. But Targaryens were no horse riders. Still, Aemond effortlessly commanded the steed beneath him, his mastery reminiscent of the way he would handle a dragon.

As the crowd of riders began to disperse, her eyes remained fixed on her husband. Amid the thundering of horses’ hooves and the raucous laughter of the noble lords, Aemond's attention, too, was solely focused on her. The intensity of his gaze only intensified her excitement, eliciting a gentle flutter in her belly.

With grace and ease, Aemond slipped off of the horse’s back. A waiting servant took his leather riding gloves from him, but Aemond could very well have let them fall to the dirt for as little attention as he paid to anyone but her. 

Aemond was always loath to indulge in any public affection, aside from the occasional hand at the small of his wife’s back or a brief touch upon her cheek. Even now that he was reunited with her after such a long day apart, his restraint came in the form of a soft kiss brushed against her temple and nothing more. But the way that his arm wrapped around her and his hand dared to wander much lower than her waist - and the way his eye held hers so intently - told her just how much he had missed her. How much he needed her.

Given Aemond’s usually stoic demeanor, she had never thought that he would be needy, but he had proven to be just that in the few weeks since they had been wed. They had already made love in the depths of the palace library more times than she could count, and discovered countless other hidden places throughout the Keep where his hands had found their way up her skirts and his lips had left marks on her neck. Some mornings, he would forego training altogether to stay in bed with her with his face between her legs or his cock buried inside her. 

And he had not heard a single complaint from her yet. 

“Ābrazȳrys, your skin is cold to the touch,” Aemond commented, a hint of concern lacing his soft voice. His lips lingered at her temple for a moment longer before he withdrew, taking one of her hands in his. “As are your fingers.” (wife)

She smiled. His own hand was as warm as ever. “I am no dragon like you, dear husband. The cold night air chills me to the bone.”

“And the furs I gave you do not suffice?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She shook her head. “Nor the bonfire.” 

Aemond hummed, his displeasure at such an assurance quite clear. He brought her fingers to his lips, blowing warm air on them before kissing them. “Come, jorrāeliarza. I have another idea for how we might offer you some warmth on such a cold night.” (beloved)

Still with an arm drawn around her, he swiftly guided her around the bonfire and, to her surprise, past the royal tent where food, wine, and music awaited them. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly at the entrance to the tent, from which poured an inviting golden light, but Aemond seemed determined on his path. 

“Aemond, are we… not going inside?” 

A smirk tugged at his lips, and she noticed a mischievous twinkle in his eye as they passed a flickering torch. “I thought I would spare you any further conversation with the ladies of the court.”

“And I thank you for that, dear husband,” she said with a laugh, her words falling from her lips in fleeting clouds of mist that looked like she was breathing smoke. “But I do not think–”

Aemond stopped them in their tracks and turned to her, staying any further words by sweeping in to press his lips firmly against hers. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.)

Once freed from his bruising kiss, she stood, dazed, for a moment before any further thoughts could come to her - something that her husband had certainly noticed given the grin that spread across his lips. She pushed him away playfully with a little scoff and an over-exaggerated look of annoyance that drew a rare chuckle from him.

“I am not one of your Targaryen dragons,” she protested, drawing her furs tighter around herself. “Those… dragon commands won’t work on me.”

Aemond leaned in to meet her at eye level, offering an arm to her that she took. “But it did work, did it not?”

She was still none the wiser about their destination as her husband quickly guided them beyond the boundaries of the camp and toward the treeline. The leaves had taken on stunning hues of red, orange, and yellow, a sight that she had marveled at from within the wheelhouse on their way into the Kingswood that morning. But in the cover of night, that beauty was lost to the pitch-black darkness. Not even the light of the moon could permeate the thick canopy of trees, leaving the forest an endless void. 

She did not fear the darkness, only the occasional sound of a twig snapping or the call of some unknown creature. As husband and wife disappeared from the sight of the camp, she found herself clutching onto him more tightly. 

“Aemond, where are we going?” she whispered as though speaking at full volume would topple one of the mighty trees. 

“Patience, jorrāeliarza.”

“What if there are wolves out here, Aemond–”

“There are no predators in the Kingswood. And, if there were,” Aemond turned to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, “do you think that I would let them harm even a single hair on your head?” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before releasing her. “Do not worry. We can stop here.”

She glanced around, seeing the pleasant glow of the camp in the near distance and nothing but darkness everywhere else. “Here?” 

“I thought, perhaps, you would want to be a bit further from camp…” he purred. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see him lean in. One of his hands reached up to pull her furs aside and his lips found her neck, warm and soft as they began to kiss her skin. She felt his hum vibrate against her pulse point, where her heartbeat fluttered wildly. “Given how loud you can be, dōna ābrazȳrys.”

A gasp left her and her head tilted away from his lips, begging silently for more. Tomorrow would call for yet another dress with a high neckline, she thought. 

“I’ve… I’ve not heard that one before…” He regularly called her all manner of names in High Valyrian. She often found him muttering to himself in his ancestral tongue. One night, he had even spoken it in his sleep. She knew a small handful of words, but only those few. “What does that mean?”

“Sweet wife,” Aemond breathed against her neck, leaving a bit of warmth behind before his lips captured hers once again. “You taste sweet tonight, too.”

“It must be the… the wine, I think,” she gasped. “Or the lemon cakes…” 

But the growing hunger inside him was not for the sweetness of cakes or Arbor gold. 

He kissed her more deeply this time, lips coaxing hers apart to taste her tongue for himself. His hands fell to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh to draw her body against his. And, in doing so, he finally offered her the warmth he had previously promised her - one that not even the hottest bonfire could provide. 

As his fingers began to deftly ruck up her skirts, she felt her skin prickle. At the same time, an entirely different kind of heat began to spread through her until it found its familiar place between her legs. Moaning softly into their continued kiss, she dropped her hands to the closure of his trousers, where his obvious arousal strained against the dark fabric. 

“Gods, Aemond, you're so hard and I've barely touched you," she breathed against his lips. “Did you miss me?” But she knew the answer, and how pleasing it was to know just how badly she had been missed that day. 

His only reply was a grunt that rose in his throat as his hands slipped beneath her smallclothes and all but tore them from her. Despite the rough, calloused spots on his palms and fingers, his warm touch was a balm against the cold night air. In a swift, almost aggressive motion, he lifted her by her arse so that she had no choice but to envelop his hips with her legs. It taunted her, the feeling of his hard cock pressing against her wet entrance. His trousers were a tedious, unwanted barrier between them. 

Their passionate embrace only became more heated as Aemond pinned her to the trunk of one of the trees and his body pressed firmly against hers. She squirmed, inadvertently causing friction between her clit and his still-clothed hardness that was too delicious to keep a moan from stuttering past her lips. 

“It would seem that you missed me as well, jorrāeliarza,” he rasped with a playful smirk. Teasingly, he rolled his hips against hers to coax another one of those sweet sounds from her. “Come on. Take what you need.”

She needed no further convincing, as great as the ache between her legs had grown. Her grip on the collar of his longcoat tightened and she took over, rocking her hips against his at a slow, but steady, pace. Each gasp and moan that left her lips billowed from them in a smoke-like mist, until she tucked her head into the crook of her husband’s neck and the sounds became muffled against his throat. He smelled of horse and sweat and, if she searched for it, the soap he had used the night before. But he tasted divine as her lips began to pepper open-mouthed kisses against his skin.

Judging by the trembling breaths that she felt against her hair, this teasing was just as pleasurable for her husband as it was for her. His own grip on her arse tightened, as though he was fighting to hold on. Knowing him, he wanted only the satisfaction of spilling himself inside her. 

But his own torture would not go on for much longer, as her rutting against him was quickly bringing her to the brink of release. Her pace quickened, desperate as she was to reach it. Finally, the pleasure inside her began to unfurl and its warmth spread through her. From head to toe, it enveloped her completely as though she had been submerged into a hot bath.   

It was exactly as Aemond had promised. In the grips of her climax, the frigid air mattered little, if at all.

Gasping for breath as she came down again, she pressed her lips to his and he received her kiss greedily. No doubt he was desperate for his own release after watching her come apart - and how could she refuse him?

“You know,” she began as her hands fell to his trousers once again. Only, this time, her fingers made quick work of the closures. “Earlier, all the women wanted to know how good you are in bed.”

Their gazes locked and, even in the darkness of the forest, she could see the almost animalistic desire in his one good eye. But as desperate as he was to be inside her, he seemed almost equally as intrigued by her words. She freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and took it into her hand. Her simple act of stroking him once was enough to draw a low groan out of him.

“Fucking gossips,” Aemond replied huskily. His lips drew close to hers but did not quite meet them. “Do I wish to know what you told them?”

She grinned. Her fingers guided his cock to her slick entrance but stopped there momentarily. “I told them–” Her words were cut off by a moan as he buried himself inside her quickly and without warning. “Oh, fuck…”

“Oh, fuck?” Aemond repeated teasingly, raising a brow. “Am I so bad at it, jorrāeliarza?” The smug look of satisfaction on his face belied any attempts at fooling her into thinking that he believed that to be her true confession earlier that day. 

Too impatient, he began to move his hips against hers - and she met each of his slow, steady thrusts with movements of her own. Misty air surrounded them amid their shared panting, both of them relishing in the sensation of becoming one again after such a long day apart.

She allowed her head to fall back against the tree, where strands of her hair began to tangle in its rough bark. But she hardly noticed or cared at all, especially as her husband’s lips reclaimed her neck and his hot breaths swept along the contours of her jaw. 

“Ābrazȳrys.”

She became so lost in the carnal pleasure of his cock sliding in and out of her that Aemond’s voice barely reached her. It did not help at all that his pace began to quicken as the heat between them grew to a simmer. The cry of pleasure that left her mingled with the sounds of the forest, joining the nighttime symphony of hooting owls and the rustling of the crisp underbrush.

“What did you tell them?” Aemond pressed. His own composure was starting to fail him and his words came out strained. 

A breathy laugh left her. He always purported to care little about what the members of his father’s court thought of him. But, evidently, that sentiment did not extend to his wife and her opinions. 

She placed a hand on his cheek to pull his lips to hers, kissing him deeply as pleasure began to coil inside her anew. “I told them,” she panted, her eyes opening to meet his, “that my husband is not the one riding the largest dragon in the world.”

Whatever Aemond had expected her to say, it clearly was not that. For a moment, his hips stilled and he looked as stunned as the ladies had been when she had uttered those same words that morning. One of them had even spilled a full cup of wine down her pale blue dress as she stared at her like some startled animal. 

“My, my…” he purred.

But his look of shock fell away just as quickly. Replacing it was a ferocity that she had never seen from him before. A hunger that her words had awakened inside him which only she could satiate. There were no more soft words of love, or the usual names he called her while making love to her. His fingers dug almost painfully into her hips and he resumed his movements against her. 

Aemond quickly built up a brutal pace, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Any thoughts or complaints about how bitterly cold it was outside had been long forgotten, drunk as she was on the intensity of the pleasure he was fucking into her her. Even her moans began to leave her in choked gasps and broken mewls that, if anyone in the hunting camp heard her, would have sounded no different than the calls of some creature of the forest.

She could feel it, the straining of her muscles and the tightening of her insides. The tremble that overtook her as she hurtled toward the edge along with him. She felt like a handkerchief being squeezed of water, and he would not stop his tightening of her until he had wrung her of every last drop.  

Her eyes fluttering, she leaned in to capture Aemond’s lips in a kiss that he did not reciprocate in his own carnal pursuit of release. “Aemond…” “Mm-mm,” he chided, his tone gruffer and far lower than she had ever heard it. “I want to see you.” 

One of his hands released its grip on her arse and moved to the nape of her neck to hold her firmly and ensure she could not look away. As he watched her, he groaned deeply in his own fight to hold on until he could get precisely what he wanted. 

And it only took three simple words from him to finish her at last.

“Cum for me.” 

Like a dam breaking, all the building pleasure that had been twisting inside her released. Coaxed by the continued pounding of his hips against hers, it spread into every extremity as her body shuddered and her cries of ecstasy filled the dense, frosty air. The fluttering of her walls around him soon spelled the end for him, too. With a few more ragged thrusts, he found his release inside her.

His eye squeezed shut. His lips, kiss-swollen, parted. And then, a certain look of peace overtook him.  

Although still lost in her own haze of pleasure, she watched him closely - and she decided that he had never looked more beautiful. 

They remained in their loving embrace, neither one wanting to pull away from the other just yet. Her, with her legs still encircling his hips, and him, with one hand holding her up and the other at her neck. Aemond pressed his forehead to hers and his thumb began to caress her cheek tenderly.

She hadn’t spoken of these moments to the women of the court that day. About how her husband could fuck her within an inch of her life and, immediately thereafter, treat her with such affection and softness. With such devotion in each caress of his fingers and every soft word he uttered.

Their breathing soon began to slow once again and the world around them finally came back into view. Smiling, she brushed the tip of her nose against his before kissing him so deeply that he hummed in surprise. But he reciprocated earnestly, slowly setting her back down on the ground but never quite letting her go.

“We should return to the camp,” Aemond said as he re-adjusted her furs on her shoulders. “I would not have you catch your death out here in the cold, jorrāeliarza.”

A sweet grin spread across her lips, but something wicked glistened in her eyes. “Oh, but my husband has already given me all the warmth I require.”

[justaz]

BIG fan of two sides of the same coin running incredibly hot and the other running incredibly cold.

people who brush hands with merlin wincing bc holy fuck that was like touching ice and merlin just smiles and wanders off. he’s like a cat, he likes to lounge in the sun and soak up the heat. he’s always been a huge fan of summer bc it was the time when the sun was out the most and there were rarely storms or clouds to block out the heat. he like farming with him mom bc of this bc he got to spend time with her while being in the sun. he never tanned tho. for some reason. he always remained as pale as the snow.

the knights are training during a hot summer day and merlin is cleaning a blade so he’s taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves so they don’t get dirty. gwaine wanders over to grab and drink and makes conversation with merlin and nudges his arm and pauses before placing his hands on his arm. he looks up at merlin who is staring at him in confusion. gwaine asks if he’s feeling alright and merlin’s like ?? yeah?? and gwaine just keeps touching him bc fuck its hot out today and merlin is freezing cold to the touch despite sotting in the sun and it’s offering him a bit of relief. arthur ofc barks and gwaine to get back to training and he forces himself to leave. he does make a note to cuddle up to merlin when it gets too hot bc merlin can definitely make him feel better.

no one really touches arthur as he’s the crown prince and all his servants did their best to not touch him directly and if they did it was really quick and professional. gaius always had a hard time figuring when arthur would get a fever bc he always ran hot so it always felt like he had a fever. arthur loved winter bc the snow and cool temperature. his nursemaids and servants would insist on bundling him up but often times arthur would just tear it off when he was outside, he never froze or got sick from it either.

when arthur takes the knights out on an expedition during winter and they’re all bundled up and shivering while arthur is just enjoying the cool air. merlin is shivering the most tho despite being wrapped in about fifty layers of fabric so arthur sheds his cape and hands it to merlin who wraps it around himself with a slight gasp and comment about how its so warm. the knights start a bidding war about who gets to sleep next to arthur when they stop to rest. it doesn’t matter who won. they all just piled on/around arthur and steal his warmth. merlin resides in the middle though bc he’s the coldest so arthur was willing to offer all his warmth to him while the rest stole it.

after they get married, merthur cuddle all night. merlin is freezing and arthur is burning so merlin cools arthur down while arthur warms merlin up. it’s an equal exchange. they’re also touching all the time no matter the temperature. if its summer and most people think its too hot to so much as be looked at? arthur has an arm up merlin’s tunic and wrapped around his waist cooling down while merlin is stealing him warmth. in winter, merlin is the koala and is stealing arthur’s warmth which he doesn’t mind bc merlin’s touch just reminds him of his favorite season.

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

Last time for a would you rather before the prompts begin!

[starlight-archer]

Here we go! The official prompt list for Catwinter! (shout out to the catwin discord for brainstorming prompts with me again)

Each week of December has a theme so you can do all prompts, pick and choose or combine them however you like!

Remember to use the tag #catwinter when you post any art/fics etc that you create! There will be a collection added to AO3 closer to the start date, (titled CATWINTER 2024) too for you to add your fics to if you post there!

[hypewinter]

Has anyone ever down a dpxdc story set in the Battinson universe? I'm genuinely asking because the thought won't leave me alone and it's absolutely hilarious.

Just the thought of Bruce "I don't like people" Wayne interacting with Danny "people don't like me" Fenton is sending me. Give me these two feeding off of each other's negative energy while Alfred and a newly adopted Dick are shaking their heads off to the side. Now they have to take care of two moody teenagers, fantastic.

Heck, let's throw in the Nasty Burger incident for some angst. Danny is going through a whole tornado of emotions and Bruce in all of his awkward glory is speed reading as many books about grief that he can get his hands on. How is Danny more complicated to deal with than Dick? He thought dealing with Dick was the most complicated things could get.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Other Half

Winter Prompts Masterlist | Winter Prompts List

Part Two | Masterlist

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Prompts: Sales/ Sparkling/ Opposites Attract

“Customer.” 

You glance over toward a man looking in a display case as your manager nods them toward you. You puff softly before slapping a customer-service-ready smile onto your face. You’ve been avoiding really working for the last hour; you’ve been able to hide, shuffling things around in the stockroom before your manager had insisted that you return to the floor. You’re working on commission, though—you need the sales, especially with Christmas just around the corner. You still have a couple of last-minute gifts to get. 

You walk over to the man peering into a sparkling display case, stopping just beside him. 

“Is there something I can help you find today?” You ask. 

“Yes,” The man raises his hand, tapping on the top of the case. “I’d like to see that tie clip, the uh…The silver one with the scroll work.”

There's something familiar about his voice, but you don't read too much into it. You round the counter, drawing a small key ring from your pocket. 

“The sterling silver? An excellent choice. It’s one of a kind,” You commend as you lift the small display out of the case and onto the counter. “And we have a special sale on these this week.” 

The man chuckles, offering, “I’m not particularly worried about it being on sale.” 

Cocky much? 

You glance at the man, then freeze, eyes widening. There’s no way that the goddamn Prince of Gotham is on your counter right now. Luckily for you, he’s focused on the tie clips. Maybe he knows you’re staring and is just ignoring it. Maybe he’s just so used to the sensation that he simply doesn’t register it anymore. 

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to refocus as he reaches out, hand hovering over the tie clip. 

“May I?” He asks. 

“Of course,” You nod. You don’t expect him to run with it—the guy’s got more money than god. He slides his coat off of where it’s slung over his arm, setting it down on the counter and taking up the tie clip. You rest your hands steadily on the counter, watching his face as he eyes the clip. His eyes narrow a touch as he sweeps his thumb over the scroll work.

“May I ask who you’re purchasing this for?” You ask. 

“My butler.” 

Your brows raise a touch. You’d imagine that Bruce Wayne would be the type to give someone a store credit, and to tell them to buy something they like. 

“What’s his style?” You ask, though it feels like the wrong question—and by the way Wayne’s eyes flicker to you, you realize that it sort of is. 

“I suppose he’d describe it as understated. I call it boring.” He looks back down at the tie clip. “I was hoping to get him something to mix it up a little bit.” 

You smile a little. 

“Well, if you like that tie clip, we have matching cuff links to pair with them.” 

“I’d like to see those.” 

“Of course.” You crouch down again, drawing up the display with cuff links and setting it on the counter beside the tie clips. He sets the tie clip down, leaning over and narrowing his eyes slightly to look at the cuff links. After a moment, to your great surprise, he plants his elbow on the counter and rests his chin on his hand. You can’t help but smile. He looks like an indecisive little boy.

“What does your butler like?” You ask. 

“...Mopping,” He answers after a moment, “And berating me.” 

You laugh a little, unable to help it. “Something tells me he only really likes one of those.” 

Wayne’s gaze flickers to yours, and you’re surprised to see him smiling, himself. It makes your smile widen before you arch a brow. “So?” 

“Come to think of it, he likes gardening,” Wayne adds, straightening up. 

“Perhaps a new set of gardening gloves?” You offer.  “Or a trug?” 

“What’s a trug?” 

“It’s like a long sort of shallow basket for carrying back flowers and produce and tools.” 

“...They sell those here?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “The gardening section is on the fifth floor.” 

“Okay,” He nods, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Wrap up the tie clip and the cuff links, and then let’s go.” 

You blink at him in surprise before you glance back toward where your manager is watching you closely. 

“Ah—I’m not sure I can go with you to another floor,” You laugh nervously as you take up gift boxes for the tie clip and cuff links. “But I’ll be happy to call down and ask for a a sales associate that could help you.” 

Wayne frowns a touch, gaze sweeping you before he looks around. “Where’s your manager?” 

Oh—No. Are you going to get in trouble for following the fricking rules? Is he going to change his mind about the tie clip and the cuff links? The two items alone would net you a commission of almost $500. But you force a placid expression onto your face before raising your hand, signaling for your manager to come over. A dark expression crosses her face, and it turns your stomach. 

“Yes, sir,” She chirps, coming to the counter and stopping beside Wayne, “How can I—” She goes silent as she realizes who he is. Her jaw drops a touch at the sight of him before she stutters, “How can I—I—Yes, sir?” 

Wayne’s smile shifts to something that you haven’t seen at the counter—a press-ready, plasticized grin. 

“Your associate has been incredibly helpful.” 

“I trained her myself,” Your manager grins. You can’t help but roll your eyes. She certainly did not—you’ve been here for a year longer than she has. 

“Well, you’ve done a marvelous job,” Wayne insists. “In fact, I’ve found her assistance so invaluable that I was hoping you could spare her for a little while.” 

“Spare…?” The manager repeats, eyes darting between you, Wayne, and the gift boxes on the counter. 

“Mr. Wayne is interested in a few items in the gardening department,” You clarify. 

“Her sense of style and function are just…” Wayne trails off, lips curling teasingly as he shoots you a sneaky, cheeky wink, “Just what I need.” 

You don’t even care if he’s exaggerating for the sake of your manager; the flattery still makes your face go hot, and that wink—you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

“I suppose we could manage without her for a little while—But not too long. She’s such a valuable asset to the department,” Your manager coos. Well. That’s news to you—especially considering how much you slacked off that morning. 

“If you could have these rung up,” Wayne reaches out, tapping at the top of the gift boxes, “And hold them for me here.” 

“Of course. They were the…” Your manager glances toward you expectantly. 

“The sterling silver scroll work tie clip, and the matching cuff links,” You relay. 

“What beautiful choices! You have such a sense of taste, Mr. Wayne,” You manager turns a bright eye toward him again. You have to bite your tongue to keep from scoffing aloud. You’ve never seen her fawn over anyone like this. Mr. Wayne just smiles and gives a nod, taking up his coat from the counter as you tuck the two displays back into the counter, locking them up. 

“Shall we?” Wayne asks, nodding toward the elevator. 

“Of course,” You nod.

“Take your time!” Your manager adds brightly. 

“Thank you,” Wayne rests his hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before turning away. The two of you walk over to the elevator, and you clasp your hands in front of yourself as you wait. Wayne gestures for you to step on first, then follows, watching you jab the button for the fifth floor. It’s quiet between you for a moment before Wayne says,

“Is she always that bad?” 

You can’t help but burst into giggles, raising your hand and covering your mouth. 

“I think you brought something new out in her,” You tease. You lead the way off of the elevator as you reach the fifth floor. “Do you have any other people that you need to shop for?” 

“What other people?” Wayne repeats. Your stomach swoops with panic. You know what happened to his parents—everyone does. 

“A girlfriend, perhaps?” You clarify. 

“Ah,” He nods in understanding before shaking his head. “No.” The two of you go quiet for a moment before he asks, “Have you gotten all of your shopping done?” 

“Not all of it,” You sigh. 

“What do you still need?” 

“Something for my roommate—and uh, probably something for her parents. We’re going to hers for Christmas.” 

“What about your family?” 

“They live in Metropolis.” 

“Are you from there?” 

“No, no, I’m from Gotham. They moved there last year.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s just more affordable.” It feels like something stupid to say to a billionaire, but it’s the truth—and considering his comment on your manager’s countenance, you think he’s pretty good at seeing through falsity. But he just nods a little bit, looking forward. 

“Here,” You gesture toward the display of gardening gloves, tucking your hands behind yourself. Wayne hums, taking a step closer and peering at the selection with the same interest that he looked at the tie clips and cuff links. 

“Are there any that stick out to you?” You ask, looking around. 

“He has a scarf similar to…Those,” He points to a check-patterned pair by you. You let out an interested hum, nodding and taking them up. 

“They’re cute,” You turn them over, eyeing the fingertips, “And they’ve got little pads so that you can text while you’re wearing them.” 

“I’m not sure Alfred would worry about that,” Wayne smiles, “Though I’ll be sure to mention it to him.” 

You smile a little before nodding to the display. “All set here?” 

“Mm, let’s make it two pair…You choose one.” 

You consider, looking down at the gloves in your hand. If he’s getting one patterned pair…Maybe a plain pair? You look around, drawing your lip between your teeth as you consider. Then you reach out, snagging a pair of forest green gloves. Wayne reaches out, taking them from you. 

“He’ll like these,” He says softly. You smile, relieved. 

“Now,” Wayne adds, looking around. He seems to be squinting and pouting for emphasis. “On to the…shrug?” 

“Trug,” You correct, “But I think you know that, Mr. Wayne.” 

He catches your eye, his brows twitching in surprise. Then he smiles warmly, giving a small nod of concession, muttering, “Touché.” 

“They’re this way,” You nod around the corner. 

It doesn’t take the two of you long to choose what he considers a suitable trug—a light grained wood base with mahogany handles and silver fastenings. You expect to leave it there—to lead Wayne to the counter, to thank him for his business, and to go back to work. Instead, Wayne tells the clerk that he’ll be back for the gloves and trug, and then turns to you. 

“Walk me to the elevator?” He asks. 

“Of course.” 

You ignore your coworker’s stunned expression and turn, leading the way down the aisle. Maybe he wants to go back upstairs and get the cuff links and tie clip. But—

“What are you doing for lunch?” He asks. 

-- 

It feels like an illicit rush to get out of there—redirecting Wayne to the staff exit so that you wouldn’t be clocked by the security guard for leaving. He’d put his coat around your shoulders as the two of you had stepped into the Gotham chill. You hadn’t gone far—you’d insisted that you couldn’t. You’d wound up at a diner just a few blocks away from the store. 

You glance at Wayne now, and smile as you watch him look around the diner. 

“Why’d you ask me?” You ask after a moment. “Wanted to see how the other half eats?” 

He chuckles, leaning back in his seat a touch and meeting your eye again. “I’ll have you know that I ate at plenty of places like this when I went to Princeton. Besides, you said you wanted to come here.” 

“If I had asked to go somewhere else—” 

“We would’ve gone there instead.” 

“Even if it was some five-star something something?” 

“Especially if it was some five-star something something. I’m guessing the wine list here is a little lackluster.” 

You snort, looking down at your menu. 

“...Why did you ask?” You press nervously. He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you glance up at him from beneath your lashes. He’s watching you closely, eyes wandering your face. 

“Because you spoke to me like a person. Not like how your manager spoke to me, not like I’m ‘Bruce Wayne’.” 

The admission is surprising. You hesitate before you argue, “But you are Bruce Wayne.” 

He smiles softly. 

“I know that and you know that,” He leans in, folding his arms on the table. “But I like it better when neither of us act like it.” 

Part Two

Tag list: @amneris21 ; @elen-aranel ; @brandyllyn ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight

[haroldhearsawho]

Lewis would totally be the type to let his curiosity get the best of him and make himself hurt and jealous by asking Dick who else in Easy Company he’s ever been attracted to or found attractive and Dick would epically fail a test that Lewis himself didn’t even consciously realize he was giving him by answering sincerely but nonchalantly like “oh I’ve always thought Floyd Talbert was very handsome” never meaning it in a way like he wanted him or for it to hurt Nix or make him jealous but of course Nix would take it that way and never let it go and whenever they have a nasty fight it would always come up with Nix saying something like “Why don’t you just go and fuck Talbert then, huh?” And Dick would respond something like “YOU asked me who I found attractive!!! He’s objectively a good looking young man, that’s all! How did you want me to answer, what was I supposed to say?” And then Dick would bring up Colonel Dobie to even the playing field which would make Lewis go quiet and all the fight leave his body immediately- “Don’t think I don’t know about Colonel Dobie, Lew”

[rriavian]

Okay so I honestly don't remember if I sent you this already or not. My brain was very mushy near the end of nano, lol. But, for the december prompt list you reblogged:

Fuzzy socks, Hobrinthian. :)

You did so well to power through the curse of November! I also reblogged far too many prompt lists when I was supposed to be concentrating on Nano haha. This was a great prompt! I had a lot of fun with it (despite it not wanting to stay wholesome and cute) though this is still a new pairing for me so very much testing things out. It's still a little rough but please enjoy! <3

-

Hob must admit he’d been expecting this reaction.

One could almost say he’d been aiming for it—anticipating it, amused at the thought—had grinned while he’d wrapped the fuzzy socks in garish Christmas paper and tied a ribbon around the finished product. The socks were fairly soft, definitely warm, and, most importantly, ridiculously decorated with tiny toothbrushes and silly cartoon teeth.

The Corinthian wasn’t impressed. “What the fuck are they?”

Hob let an unhealthy dose of mockery slip into his tone when he replied.

“Socks.”

The Corinthian fell into outrage almost the same way Dream did, the difference perhaps in how here sophistication slipped a little more, his representation of affront sharpening feral rather than aloof. Hob might have been lucky enough to be allowed to examine the ocular teeth unbarred—it becoming increasingly rare that the Corinthian wore them around him at all—but whether those opaque glasses were on or not the eyes were always contemplating murder. Now it became the certainty of a threat rather than the tease of one. Golden lashes might be delicate but the Corinthian’s blink was far from benign, teeth snapping closed before he opened his eyes again, a bite to tear a chunk of flesh. Unmistakeably a glare.

The danger thrilled.

“They’re supposed to go on your feet.” Hob added.

The Corinthian smiled.

A sudden change for all it crept slow across his face; as if he’d seen footprints on a trail, read ahead and found spoilers, a secret entrusted to him just by Hob standing neutral in the Corinthian’s presence. It was as unavoidable as it was uncanny.

The truth of him was that any human left themselves unguarded when caught in the Corinthian's eyeline.

Hob watched as he set the socks down gently on the table, subtly stretching in a roll of muscled shoulders, what lay beneath the surface seeming to shiver free like shifting gears. Perhaps like flicking off the safety on an already loaded gun. A lean into the sensuality of motion, a perfect knowledge of what he looked like when he moved, the inhuman thing he was threaded intricately in flesh. Infused with a human shape to render a nightmare here, in the Waking World, to translate the Corinthian so perfectly to this place that had inspired his creation but would never be his home.

When he spoke the question was mild.

“You got me a Christmas present?”

“Yes.”

Oh, the danger was calibrated now, set to exactly the right sort of simmer, deliberate rather than an instinctive reaction. The Corinthian prowled closer, unhurried despite the growing loom of his threat, a trigger in that sinuous stride because Hob didn’t even realise he’d backed away until he found himself stumbling back against a wall.

He didn’t remember how he’d got there.

A moment of lost time; Hob couldn’t even say he’d been directed, knew the destination had been predicted nonetheless, knew it by the amused twist in the Corinthian’s deceptively charming smile. That was similar to what happened around Dream sometimes—when his friend let himself slip, when an implication of what he was decided it wanted to take a look out of his eyes—a fraction of a mask sliding to the side to reveal an scant inch of bare skin. It was a moment of instinct bypassing consciousness. Perhaps that was part of what a nightmare was, a peek behind the curtain, letting Hob see enough to know it, letting him recognise danger enough to act on it.

“Scared?” The Corinthian purred.

“A little,” Hob replied with a smile; no hesitation in the admittance, embracing the pounding heart, the quickened breath, fear responses so similar to another sort of reaction. For all terror served its own purpose it was still similar enough to tempt at crossing the wires a little.

Enough that Hob had long since been certain feeling afraid could feel so very good.

The Corinthian would know that too, far older, far more experienced—rare to come across that, to find what made Hob feel young, feel new—had been a monster for longer than even Hob could comprehend.

Had practised at it like a musician with their favourite score.

“Just a little?”

Hob smirked. “Well I—”

A soft little thud as a hand struck the wall next to his head, open palmed before curling into a loose fist, a sound that made Hob jump. He realised he was trapped before the flinch had even settled; really caged in now, the Corinthian smiling a rapidly sharpening smile, an answering instinct inside of Hob squirming with helpless fear and telling him to move. There was nowhere to go though. No where to run.

Oh how part of him wanted to run.

It was what was behind the curtain, wasn’t it? The Corinthian anchored fear in what looked like a man, no unknowable terror could ever be this stark, the truth that what lived alien in the darkness could step out wearing your own face. He unveiled the depth of an ocean, shone a light where human eyes alone could never hope to see, revealed how right it was to fear the dark by forcing you to understand what lived in it.

By making itself comprehendible it proved why you should be afraid.

“I didn’t get you a present yet.” The Corinthian mused; voice dipping low, smooth even in threat, even in innuendo, smooth because both could potentially be one in the same. “Let’s fix that hmm?”

Hob swallowed. “What do you have in mind?”

A hand crept to land heavy on his shoulder while the other remained languid beside his head. Hob tensed; relaxed as strong fingers flexed in a tease of superior strength before they groped upwards, found his throat, rested relaxed while a thumb teased at its hollow. The Corinthian knew how to handle a human, how much to push, how hard he could touch before one broke. That wasn’t always what he wanted. Now he hummed, thoughtful, the easy confidence of a predator deciding what to do with caught prey, a debate of whether what he’d caught would be better as a meal or entertainment.

It was honestly more than a little theatrical because Hob knew the Corinthian had already made up his mind.

He knew he could play as well as eat.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes.” The Corinthian replied at last, a soft drawl yet still an order, aware of what sort of game Hob had initiated. “Then we’ll see.”

Hob took a deep breath.

Then he grinned, unapologetically cheeky, taunting bold like a crooked finger beckoning for more, an invitation saying if you want me come and get me. Hob flicked his eyes to the table then back to the Corinthian, looked straight at those gleaming teeth and winked, half salacious, half cold.

“You should put the socks on first.”

[ladystarksneedle]

Cherries and Wine

A/N: For @hotd-bigbang

Prompt: December 18th - Hoarfrost | Hibernate | Holly

Wrote a little holiday drabble with a twist on the words. Happy holidays to everyone, hope you enjoy🌹

Word count: 200

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She feels his eye on her as she pops another one in her mouth swirling her tongue around the plump fruit before plucking its stem from her lips. Her throat feels unnaturally dry as she swallows, meeting his gaze unabashedly. He stares at her unblinking, fingers drumming against the wood, eye alight with an unspoken challenge. Their little game of back and forth has been going on since the start of the winter feast. The wreaths decorating the spread ahead of her mock her coquettish insolence as the crowd chatters oblivious to the wild thrumming of her heart. He angles his head towards her, swirling his chalice before taking a sip of the red, staining his lips with ardour, a gesture of recognition and chivalry to an onlooker but she knows it not to be so. She feels a thrill jolt down her spine as the ice in his gaze thaws and reignites into something more. As the toasts are made and the voices grow louder she can feel the familiar tingle of excitement spread through her, burning with his acknowledgement and with the hour of the bat approaching she knows she'll find a capricious cave to sate her appetite soon.

(A little moodboard song inspo)

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn

[bleedingcoffee42]

angry love confessions, "why are you so clueless?"

Perhaps the argument had started somewhere mid-air over Germany, as Nix helplessly watched his plane explode from the relative safety of his chute. At least he had a chance, at least he was out of the plane.

He asked himself what the hell he was doing here? And, to reinforce that question, he had been hustled away as soon as the battle was over when the word was trickling back that a large percentage of the newer C-46s had blown up. It was time to get rid of the observer from the 101st, which was fine by him.

Now he was back home. Barely listening to Dick as he uncomfortably kept to the edges of the room and asked questions that were more reminiscent of what he'd expect from his wife. 'Still drinking only the Vat, huh?'. 'You tell them what you always tell them?'. 'Did you hear me, you've been demoted?'. He stared off into the darkness, glass in hand and numb well before the Vat could really do a damned thing to make that happen. Anger was brewing, anger at everything. To feel again, he would fight. It was who he was. He was, after all, his father's son.

And true to his nature he was getting angry because Dick really thought he did all this for the stars on his jump wings? The rank? the glory? Finally, after just one more pitiful look too many, his eyes leveled at Dick and he hissed, "Why are you so clueless?"

Dick blinked. There was venom in that. "You think I don't understand what it's like losing men?"

Nix barked a laugh, downed the contents of his glass and flipped it over and slammed it down on the table as if it were a shot glass. "Jesus Christ, Dick, you think I do this job for the promotions, citations, medals and my resume?"

"No. I know you do it because you believe..."

"I do it for you. I stopped caring about God and country when your naive ginger ass showed up at OCS. I joined the paratroopers with you, for you, to serve you. And every step of the way I have done my job, and exceeded what was needed only to assist you. I name dropped the Nixon name to get tanks from Teddy Roosevelt Jr on Utah beach for you, for Christ sake. You want, I give. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but a lot of boys gave their lives today for something I didn't need to observe...and have my reservations about needing to be done at all. Mid-air, I realized if I wasn't by your side there wasn't really all that much I gave a shit about. Sorry for your loss, Mrs. Fill-in-the-blank Momma of a dead boy, at least it was me. At least it wasn't Dick Winters. At least he wasn't here."

Dick is left to stare back at those intense gray eyes he had stared into for years without knowing what was really looking back at him. "We all fight for the man next to us, Lew..."

"Oh for fucks sake, Richard!" Nix runs his hand through his hair and throws his head back against the chair. "I love you, you idiot. I love you more than life itself. And I do mean love you more than a brother, or a best friend, I fucking love you in the most intimate meaning of the word. You gave the word meaning, meaning I never knew."

Dick watches him, the tell-tale smirk of Lew's that says he's lit the fuse and is ready to self-destruct. That he's lashed out with truth as a last resort. That he's going to sit there and wallow in self-loathing, and use this moment to accelerate it. Despite being actually clueless all these years, Dick is quick to acknowledge his feelings and act on them. "I love you too, Lew."

[manchesterau]

For the phanfic prompts, could you do something with them just waking up and being all lovey dovey while sleepy? Just sweet morning kisses and cuddles and softness all around please? Thank you 🙏

thank you for the lovely prompt!

send fic prompts to keep phan high on the fandometrics pls

i hope you enjoy ❄️🌨️

When they went to bed last night the world was slowly being blanketed by a flurry of snow. The enthusiastic weatherman told everyone watching to hunker down, the snowstorm was only going to get worse over night and by tomorrow their little corner of the world will be at a standstill.

Dan wakes up in a tangled mess of a thick duvet and his husband snoring lightly on his chest.

It’s times like these he wishes they had opted out of floor to ceiling windows, they have black out curtains but they forgot to pull them down last night after stumbling into bed together.

He feels Phil stirring, his phone tells him it’s only half past ten in the morning. It’s Saturday and they have all the time in the world together, and Dan thinks he’d like to spend it in bed.

He cards a hand through Phil’s hair, it’s freshly dyed black and sticking up in several different places. The arm Phil has thrown around his waist tightens and he can feel him humming as Dan starts to message that one spot in his neck that’s become sore lately.

“Feels nice,” Phil murmurs. He rubs his cheek back and forth against Dan’s chest, burrowing deeper into him.

Dan huffs out a laugh, digging his fingers in deeper before moving his hands up and around till he’s messaging Phil’s temple. He went to bed last with a slight migraine and they feel asleep in complete darkness as to not make it worse.

“Can you deliveroo breakfast?” Phil says around a yawn.

“Phil, love, there’s been a freaky snowstorm all of London is shut down.” Dan says. He watches as Phil scrunches up his nose and slowly blinks his eyes open, looking over to their window before smiling up at Dan.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

They both giggle, Phil untangles himself from Dan’s arms and flops down beside him. He doesn’t reach for his glasses like he usually does, and he doesn’t stand to go use the bathroom. They both lie here, in the in between spaces of time where nothing matters and they get to just be.

Dan closes his eyes, the feeling of sleep starts to pull at him again but just before he lets it envelop him he feels Phil sit up.

“Dan,” he whispers, placing a kiss on his temple. He softly glides his lips down pass Dan’s nose, sliding slowly until he reaches his lips.

Dan opens his eyes and finds Phil hovering over him. He can hear the heating kick on, a low hum that pushes him further into sleep but he doesn’t close his eyes.

“Phil,” He whispers back. Their lips connect just as Phil’s name leaves his lips. They kiss softly despite the morning breath, and after all these years Dan is more than use to it.

They kiss lazily and without any real heat behind it because they can. Dan slings his arm around Phil’s waist, pulling him as close as he can. They hold onto each other, mouthing wherever they can reach.

If this were a different morning they would spend this time in bed unraveling each other with more than just their mouths. Dan would take Phil apart with his tongue and put him back together with his fingers. Not now though, right now Dan wants to cuddle and trade soft kisses before falling asleep again.

This morning is for stillness, for quick hour naps and soft conversations about nothing. They have all the time in the world.

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

Here are your hints!

This clone is a romantic man. He may not always show it, especially when his brothers are around, but he is a hidden softy for you. He loves planning dates, especially around the holidays. He wants to walk through the night, stargazing with a cup of hot cocoa in hand, before snuggling up under warm fluffy blankets and a Christmas movie, a plate of cookies beside you. He never admits he's getting tried, and that he will fall asleep first during the movie, he's to stubborn, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[solid-white]

What if the serum DOESN'T age super soldiers? So Steve just goes back in the past and 70+ years later he's sitting on the bench young as ever:

Sam: Steve? Is that you?

Bucky: You... didn't stay in the past?

Steve: Oh no, I did, but after 20 years I realised I was essentially immortal. Got bored real quick and pretty depressed when Peggy broke up with me because she didn't want to stay with someone who still looked young.