#prompt 23

[hetakinkmeme]

I would love to see Japan/America size difference. Maybe even with America having gained some weight, so the size difference is even more extreme. Japan has to do most of the work because of higher stamina + flexibility. Bonus points for America feeling emasculated.

.

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 23

This @jilytoberfest prompt was really cute to write :) Hope you enjoy!

October 23rd Prompt: Indulging in hobbies

James squinted in concentration as he slowly wriggled his left arm, trying to focus on both the doorknob and the wand tucked beneath his elbow.

There were easier ways to accomplish the task, of course — he could have charmed the coffee mugs or bowl of strawberries to float beside him, rather than carrying them all in his hands — but mastering these little tricks was just more fun. He grinned in satisfaction as the doorknob turned and the door opened smoothly over the backyard threshold.

He walked out into the garden behind their little cottage, where Lily was perched on a wicker chair with her legs criss-crossed. She peered intently at her easel. The strands of red that lingered in her silver hair caught the afternoon sunlight like flecks of gold in a riverbed.

Lily accepted the coffee from James without looking up, and ever-so-slowly, she raised her thinnest brush to add a dark purple outline around the edge of a painted geranium.

"It looks nice, love," said James, settling into his own chair beside her. Lily shot James his favorite glare. "What?" he asked innocently, trying to keep the smile from creeping onto his own face. "It does!"

"You know perfectly well that yours is better," she said grumpily. James shrugged, affecting a modest appraisal of his own easel, while Lily stuck out her tongue in a theatrical pout.

"You're too hard on yourself," James reassured her, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "The butterfly in the upper corner is very pretty."

She pointed at the nearest tree. "I was trying to paint that blue jay."

"...Oh."

Lily looked over at the offending bird in despair. It tweeted on obliviously. "I think the problem is these glasses," Lily said, pulling the new gold spectacles off of her face and wiping them off on her robes. "I don't know how you've been able to stand them all of these years. They never stay clean!"

James shrugged. "You get used to it."

They settled back into comfortable silence. James reached beneath his chair, picking up the spellbook for amateur artists that Elphias Doge had given him as a retirement gift a few months ago. Flipping to the relevant page, he scanned the instructions for a charm and gave his wand a quick flick toward his painting.

No matter how old he became, James felt he'd never lose the sense of wonder that came from succeeding at a new kind of magic. As the enchantment set in, the flower petals that he'd painted began to tremble in the light breeze — a gloopy honeybee settled on the edge of a spring rose — all of the subtle movements of the landscape, barely noticeable at first glance, ambled sweetly into life before him.

He barely noticed that Lily was watching, too, until she nestled her head into his shoulder. "That's beautiful, James," she said. He took her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss against the back of her fingers.

"Do you want to try?"

"I suppose so," Lily said. She took the book from James and read the page with concentration, before giving the same incantation a go. Just as when James had done it, the enchantment worked flawlessly: life crept gradually into Lily's painting like dawn breaking over a hillside.

"Lovely," he whispered in her ear. Bursts of red stained her freckled cheekbones.

The moment was interrupted by a flash of movement in the upper corner of Lily's painting. The ambiguously shaped blob of blue paint flapped its wings — once, twice, three times! — with awkward abandon before falling to earth, crashing pitifully into a rosebush. James snorted as it wiggled its little painted feet in frustration, just barely peeking out from within the flowerbed.

"...James?"

"Yes, love?"   

"I've changed my mind. Tomorrow, I think we should switch to sculpture."

[promptsbytaurie]

prompt #23: imagine your OTP!

(Person B is injured)

A: It’s honestly astonishing how stupid you can be.

B: I can barely hear you, but I heard the word astonishing so I’m just gonna say yes, yes I am.

[chocoblep]

#23: The Jeweler

Prompt: On Cloud Nine

Illian strolled through the Jeweled Crozier, heading for a shop that he liked to frequent whenever he was in Ishgard proper. It was a jeweler, and they dealt not only in cut stones and settings, but also raw gems for foci and other uses. Today he was on an errand; he’d been contacted by the shop’s owner, and he needed to stop in to take a look at a stone that had come into their possession. This one was important; he’d been asking for a blue opal of sufficient quality for a project that he was working on, and if this one was sufficient, he’d likely be able to make the sentinel earrings he’d been working on a reality. 

He’d heard of a ring that someone had developed that put a shield around a person that fit like a second skin. They employed blue opals, which was not surprising given that those stones were often used in protective spells to begin with, and he wanted to see if he could duplicate that effect with an earring. If he could, then M’rath would be much better protected, even without a bodyguard, though having one was usually very effective in preventing attacks from occurring in the first place. Still, when one dealt in money, one made enemies, and Illian was determined to keep his friend safe.

He walked into the shop, pausing with the door still open to tap some of the snow from the bottoms of his shoes before wiping them on the mat. His ears twitched as he caught snippets of the conversation that was happening between a couple and the shopkeep. Settling himself near the other end of the counter, he waited for his turn.

“I really had my heart set on the mythril,” the Elezen lady said, and looked at the man standing beside her. “Are you certain we couldn’t afford this pair?”

“Not if we’d still like to get them enchanted,” the man replied. Our budget wouldn’t cover both…”

“Perhaps if we waited on the enchantment?” she asked, her brown eyes hopeful.

“Ah, I was hoping we could do that before the ceremony, so that our oaths and the enchantment went hand in hand. But with the price that enchanter quoted us, we wouldn’t be able to afford both.”

The woman turned to look longingly at a set of wedding bands. Illian’s brow furrowed, and he slid closer along the counter. 

“Excuse me,” he said softly, and the trio turned to look at him. “I happen to be an enchanter as well. Perhaps I could give a second opinion?”

“Oh,” the shopkeep said, brightening. “Yes! Master Runetide is not just an enchanter, he is also an inventor, and very knowledgeable besides! He would be a good one to ask about enchantments.”

“Ah, you flatter me, Rinelle,” he said, waving off her compliment. “I simply overheard and couldn’t help but wonder if you were given a fair price. What kind of enchantments were you wanting, and what were you quoted?”

The man looked Illian up and down, and he was suddenly glad that he’d chosen one of his fancier jackets. Idly he wondered if his ears were poking out of his hair–he typically arranged it when he was in Ishgard to hide the pointed tips to avoid racists. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, because when he spoke, it wasn’t to tell Illian to buzz off. Instead, it was to inform him that they were looking for two simple enchantments–a resize enchant that was coded to its owner only, and a warming enchant for the cold weather. When he rattled off the price he’d been quoted, Illian arched his brows.

“I hate to inform you, but for two simple enchants such as those–even on two pieces instead of one–you are being swindled. Depending on the starting material, enchantments can be complicated, but mythril is highly conductive, and so the materials you would not need to use nearly as much in the way of spellcasting components to attach the enchantments. It’s part of why mythril is so expensive. Have you signed a contract with this other enchanter already for the work?”

“Ah, no,” the man replied. “We were going to do that today, after picking out the rings.”

“All right, then. I have a proposal for you.” Illian fixed them both with a smile and pulled out a business card, and then turned it over and pulled a self-inking quill from his pocket. Uncapping it, he beckoned it to life, and it scrawled out a series of numbers for different enchantment options. When he set it down on the counter, he capped the pen and stowed it again. “I will offer you a safety net. If you wish to stay with the enchanter you’ve met already, show this to them. With mythril rings specifically, you could easily enchant them with a resizing spell with a single keyed host or about this much,” he began, tapping his finger next to the first number. They all huddled around it. “If you wanted just a simple warming spell, tack on this much,” he said, tapping the second number, and then pointed his finger at the third. “But if you wanted a temperature regulation spell that would also keep you cool in warmer climes, tack on this much instead. That is how much I would charge you for this job, and that includes both rings. If they will not match my price, or at least give you something more fair…” He picked up the card, turned it over, and held it out to them. “Then I will do it for that quoted price.”

The pair stared at him, and then the man took the card. “That’s…. That’s a little over half the other’s price,” the man breathed, relief relaxing his shoulders a bit. “Thank you…” he squinted down at the card, and then smiled. “Illian Runetide. What a fortuitous name.” Then he turned to his wife-to-be. “I think, with this, we can get the mythril rings and the enchants.”

The squeal that left the woman before she brought her hands up to cover her mouth was one of pure delight, and she looked to Rinelle and then pointed to the pair of rings she’d been lamenting over before. “We’ll take those, then!”

Rinelle looked over to Illian gratefully before pulling the pair of rings out. “And if you are getting the resizing enchant put on them, then I could knock off the resizing fee that is typically included in the price.”

“Oh! Wonderful!” the man said, and then turned again to beam over at Illian. “Thank you, ser. We will contact you, most likely. You seem a much more trustworthy sort, and you have truly made both of us so very happy.” He held out his hand for a shake, which Illian took with a smile.

“I do not typically advertise my services, as I work directly for a man in the Shroud, but I do offer my services from time to time,” he replied. “I just couldn’t stand to see you pay more than you needed to on such simple things. Weddings are expensive enough.”

When the couple had left the shop, Rinelle ducked into her storage room and came out with a parcel, which she unwrapped on the counter to display about six blue opals. “I ended up with more than I thought I would, so you've got your pick this go ‘round,” she said, giving him a smile. “I know you said you only needed two, but pick four. I’ll give them to you for the same price.”

Illian looked up at Rinelle, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. “Really, now? Why, Rinelle, you’d better be careful, someone might get to thinking you’re sweet on me.”

The shopkeep scoffed, but her cheeks gained a bit of color. “Oh, come on, Illian, we both know I’m sweet on what good you do for business.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice to something almost sultry as he asked, “is that why you told me to come by at four bells? Because you knew I’d get you an upsell?”

Rinelle gasped, an almost affronted look on her face. “No, no! It wasn’t the upsell! It was because I know them, and I know that enchanter, and I was hoping I might be able to bring you both together to spare them from being overcharged.”

“And the upsell,” Illian said, waggling his blonde brows.

“Well, I’m not made of money, you know! Best get to picking before I change my mind, you miscreant!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a little salute, which only made her laugh. They chattered about his most recent innovations as he figured out which opals to take with him, and then headed for the door. When he twisted to wave at her on his way out, he was surprised to see that her entire face was red. Oh. Well, he wouldn’t comment on that.

This time.

[midcinmancave]

Story Prompt:  "We can fix this.  I know we can."

Story Title:  Anniversary

Summary:  A morning surprise and a gift. Complete Story Source on FB   

Fictober24 Submission #09 Fandom:  Midnight Cinderella Featuring:  Giles Christophe, The Princess Warnings:  None  Rating/Genre:  General Audience, Romance Writer:  Giles Christophe

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #23

Prompt: Coughing Fit

Fandom/OCs: Howl’s Moving Castle (Howl and Sophie)

Words: 980

Sicknario inspo: Getting kicked out of bed due to coughing from this post

Author’s comments/background: Yet another excellent prompt that just needed a little context and the right characters. This can either be the book or movie characters. I think it’s generic enough either way. Howl and Sophie were some of my first fictional “couple goals” and it gives me no end of pleasure to write silly domestic things for thim. As I proofread this, I realized I didn’t give Howl any dialogue though. I decided to leave it, especially since I think I matched the original author’s tone pretty well overall and didn’t want to ruin it. 

~~~***~~~

Howl had been sick for a week. In truth, that should be all the explanation that is necessary for those who know about Howl and Sophie and the moving castle, but this particular story was one Sophie would never forget. It began with Sophie, for her part, being heartily sick (no pun intended) of the wizard and his horrid cold. 

This cold of Howl’s had started with lots of sneezing, as his colds always did, because sneezing allowed him to act as dramatic and victimized as he liked while garnering plenty of sympathy in the meantime. Sophie was practiced at ignoring this part of his colds. Of course she made him soup and ensured he dressed warmly to ward off fever and kept him well supplied with the floppy white paper handkerchiefs he favored, but his dramatics didn't disturb her, and usually his sneezy colds were short-lived.

 Once in a while, though, these colds devolved, usually into miserable, achy, feverishness that compelled him to stay in bed for another week or more. This, too, Sophie could manage. Howl was an easy patient when he was actually sick, subdued and sleepy, though with no small amount of self-pity and attention seeking, and Sophie was overall happy to oblige, if for no other reason than to remind him that he wasn't dying and all would be well. 

In this memorable instance though, after a night spent by the seashore working on a delicate, powerful spell, Howl's sneezing became chesty, persistent coughing. Soon the cough was accompanied by a low-grade fever that came and went, leaving him restless and lethargic and shaky in turns. 

Howl wasn't robust at the best of times and tended toward the pale, slight side, so the frequent, wracking coughs drained him quickly. He walked around in a light-headed daze most of the day, but lying down only made him cough more unless he was propped up by an exact configuration of pillows that Sophie could never quite manage to replicate. He spent much of the day wandering around listlessly, clutching a mug of tea, the only thing that seemed to ease the spasms. 

Nighttime was the worst. Sophie usually loved sharing a bedroom with her whimsical, magical partner, but this cough had both of them at their wit's end. Once Howl was properly propped up, he fussed and moaned for a long time until he fell asleep, always either too hot or too cold (since his fever seemed to spike just as he was going to bed each night) and clearing his throat every moment. Finally he would fall asleep, and then Sophie could follow, but it seemed the moment she would shut her eyes, he would burst out into one of his nasty, hacking fits, waking them both so that they'd have to start the whole process over again. 

By the fourth night of this, Sophie had all but had it. When a coughing fit woke her yet again hardly an hour after she'd dropped off, Sophie sat up out of bed in a towering rage. "Why can't you just be quiet?! You're supposed to be this great wizard, yet you can't stop coughing for five minutes so I can sleep?! Go find some tea or tonic or a bag for your head for all I care, only be quiet and let me sleep!!"

Howl gave her a mournful, injured look. Without a word he slid out of bed (Was he wobbling from a fever or just playing it up?), pulled the coverlet off to trail it behind him, and made his sluggish way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. 

Sophie lay fuming for a few more minutes, but slowly her frustration began to leak away. With guilt she realized she'd been horribly unfair to Howl. He couldn't help being ghastly ill, even if he did play it up a bit. After a moment's pondering, she hopped up and quickly remade the bed with the soft blankets Howl favored, then scurried down the stairs after him. 

Howl was propped up in the chair beside the fire, the coverlet wrapped around him haphazardly. His eyes were closed but his mouth had a pinched look that told her he wasn't asleep. She moved to his side and caressed his cheek. His eyes flickered open to regard her warily. She was struck by how unwell he looked in the dancing firelight, pale and hollow-eyed, and she felt the heat of a fever under her hand. His chest and collar bones twitched with his silent, constant coughs. 

"Forgive me. I'm tired, but I can't imagine how you feel, since you're the one doing the coughing in the first place. Let's get you back to bed. You'll really catch your death if you try to sleep down here."

She grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him up, resting his arm across her shoulders. He let himself be led to bed silently, and she sensed his deep weariness (along with a good measure of pouting) as he half-sagged against her as they mounted the stairs. She tenderly helped him back into bed, propping him up and tucking him in with a pan of coals for his chills. 

Once he was settled and nearly asleep, she made her way back down the stairs, her own deep fatigue slowing her steps and making her clumsy. Shoving things aside willy-nilly, she revealed the cubby under the stairs where she'd slept for the first months she'd spent in Howl's castle, and her little bed with the straw mattress was just as she'd left it, no worse for wear other than the dust. She fell into its welcoming embrace as if it were made of the softest down. In the blessed silence, she was deeply asleep in moments as the crackling fire sang her a lullaby. 

[cmarani]

Clomdyworm day bingo card aka prompt 23 aka clomdyworm in cowboy au.

(Of course, cody can charm obi-wan in all aus.)

[fluentfridays]

Prompt #23

Which episode/chapter/series installment/etc. in a media of your choice is the most overrated or underrated?

[alicornze7]

get stupid sauced, idiots

This is, quite possibly, dumbest post I’ve ever made

one could even say the stupi-*gets shot*

Pretend zooble isn’t there, they’re here for completion’s sake

[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.”

[starppleb]

Amity Park lived through a horrible event. Young Danny Fenton died due to a horrendous accident.

That was a big hit for the city; nobody died in a long time from ghost-related events, but now the son of leading ecto-scientists may rest in peace after a ghost attack in which GIW was taking an active defensive role. (They messed with something they shouldn't have) 

GIW, aka Ghost Investigation Ward, is suspended from any activity while the Anti-Ecto law is being revisited. (Thanks to all of the complaints) 

Fentons released new studies. And one of them discovered that ecto-weapons could harm humans, especially Amity Parkers. (That’s what long exposure to ectoplasm can do) 

Anti-Ecto law was revisited and updated. (Much better) 

Ghost Boy, aka Phantom, didn’t reappear after the accident. 

Some say he’s too devastated after the death of Danny Fenton, while others say they saw him get hurt in the accident. (He isn’t around anymore) 

Ghosts attacked again. (But nobody came) 

Justice League will visit Amity Park after the last news and will provide help until everything is settled. (Where they were before) 

Such a tragedy for a hero society… 

[deuynndoodles]

[ID: A colored, digital two page comic featuring Danny and Jazz from Danny Phantom. Danny wears a baggy hoodie over a shirt and jeans. Jazz wears a v-neck sweater and shorts.

Fentonworks, after curfew: Danny reaches for the doorknob to his bedroom, breathing out and gripping his shoulder.

"Where were you?" says Jazz, hands on her hips, making Danny jump. "Look, I know that Mom and Dad don't really care, but I do. You can trust me." She looks sad. "What's going on with you?"

"None of your business, Jazz." He looks irritated. He reaches for the doorknob again, muttering, "Just lemme sleep."

"Wait!" is written in all caps. Jazz reaches out, pulling at the hood of his jacket. Danny turns and raises his arm out of his hoodie, revealing an ectoplasmic injury. "Fuck off!" he yells.

Jazz pulls her hand away, startling backwards. Then, she looks sad as she says, "Oh, Danny…"

Fade out. They now stand in the Fentonworks bathroom, with Danny sitting on the toilet and Jazz hovering over him, cleaning a wound on his left shoulder. He's now in a binder and the original ectoplasmic wound has been treated. She scolds him and he grins nervously, curling in on himself. End ID.]

happy holidays @torscrawls !

[harbingersecho]

WODtober 18 > Weapon of Choice The Predator types of Vampires

[chocoblep]

#23: Three Pieces

“I’m not really sure about this,” Kismet said, lavender eyes uneasy as he looked in the mirror and finished with his cufflink. “It’s been ages since I’ve been this put-together for something.”

“Wasn’t it you who recommended a date night on old Ring nights?” Anzhi asked, closing the cuff of his red lace-paneled top as he came to stand at Kismet’s shoulder. They looked at each other for a moment and smiled, each giving the other a once-over. They’d elected to go dressy, but not completely formal. Better to be somewhat over-or underdressed than wildly out of place, after all. Anzhi ran his hand over the buttons on Kismet’s vest, smoothing the garment. “You may need to get this tailored if you’re not going to fill it out again, Starlight.”

Kismet frowned. He’d lost a lot of weight; a good amount of his bulk was gone, replaced with a thinner, somewhat softer frame, and his vest was loose enough that Anzhi circled around behind him to attach cinch clips so he could adjust the fit of the vest at the waist. As Anzhi manipulated the elastic to give him the best silhouette, Kismet let his ears wilt back a bit.

“I didn’t mean to slip so hard,” he said quietly.

“Of course you didn’t,” Anzhi said, leaning in to press a kiss just behind Kismet’s jaw. “You weren’t expecting to feel the way you did, either. I’m just glad you’ve begun to eat a normal amount again.”

“Mmn.” He took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror again. As had been the case ever since he’d come to Eorzea, he had a hard time finding anything worthwhile in the face that stared back at him. It had gotten harder to work himself up to indifference from loathing when he saw his own face recently. Before he could struggle to find something to say to that comment, though, Shev darkened the doorway, causing both of them to turn their gazes toward him.

He was wearing a full three-piece suit that fit him like it was meant for his form, the dark gray fabric emphasizing the gold of his eyes and bringing out a subtle violet sheen to his brown hair. He hadn't done anything different to said hair, and the juxtaposition of the slightly messy strands and his buttoned-up attire somehow entirely fitting and managing to make him look more relaxed than rumpled.

“Holy shit,” they both said in unison, and the tall brunette smiled in response to Kismet and Anzhi’s exclamation.

“Tha’ good?”

“When did you have time to go get fitted for that!?” Anzhi asked, breaking off to go circle Shev and observe him from every angle. He laughed, holding still and letting Anzhi run his inspection.

“Last sennight I got in for m’final fittings,” Shev replied, and then smirked. “Picked it up yesterday. Wanted t’surprise ya both.”

“Well, you look phenomenal, Shev,” Kismet said, smiling. 

“I ain’t th’ only one lookin’ great tonight,” he said, stroking a hand over Anzhi’s hair before stepping up to smooth a hand over Kismet’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen ya dressed up in a while. Can’t wait t’show ya both off.” He looked between Kismet and Anzhi, and then arched his brows. “Y’both ready t’go?”

Kismet nodded. As they stepped out into the sunset, he was determined to focus on the two men he was spending his night with. If he couldn’t be good to himself, at least he could be good to them.

[midcinmancave]

Story Prompt:  "No, you won't understand, ever."

Summary:  Duke Howard considers – and then reconsiders. Complete Story Source

Fictober Submission #15 Fandom:  Midnight Cinderella Featuring:  Louis Howard, Sid Arnault, Giles Christophe, The Princess Warnings:  None Rating/Genre:  General Audience, Romance Writer:  KoW Writer Project

[serickswrites]

Anymore

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, hopelessness

"I can't do this anymore," Sidekick sobbed as they tried and failed to break free from the power suppression cuffs once more. "I can't watch Hero torture you to death!"

Villain stared at Sidekick, their hollow eyes filled with sorrow as they stared at Sidekick through a mask of blood. "They're not going to kill me, Sidekick."

"How can you say that? Of course they are! In case you haven't noticed, we're both in chains at their mercy. They've beaten us. They've won! And they're going to make you pay the price with your life."

Villain closed their eyes and sighed wearily. "They haven't won, Sidekick. I'm not going to argue with you. But they haven't won."

"You have a plan to get us out of here?"

Villain shook their head. "No."

"Then how can you be so certain they haven't won? Villain! This isn't funny!" Sidekick was consumed by their hopelessness. They were going to watch Hero torture Villain to death. They had already watched Hero wound Villain over and over again. They couldn't endure it any longer.

Villain gave a wan smile. "Because, I have a plan to get you out of here."

Sidekick swallowed. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"You won't have to...for long. Just long enough to get Right Hand and the rest of the team gathered and lead the assault on Base."

Sidekick shook their head. "I can't lead a team of anyone. I won't leave you behind, Villain."

"You can. And you will. How else are you going to rescue me?" Villain closed their eyes again. "Look, just promise me when the opportune moment arises, you'll take it. Without question. Without looking back. When I get you the opening to get out of here, Sidekick, you have to run. Run fast and run hard."

Sidekick's eyes pricked with tears once more. Villain was going to spare them from watching Villain die. From being there when Hero finally went to far. From being Hero's next play thing. "I will. But I will get you out of here. You just have to hold on until I get back, Villain."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat