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lincolndjarin · 1 year

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Best Kept Secret

chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 5.0k

summary : a look into din's point of view

warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy, masturbation

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

Absurd.

It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. But they promised monthly payments up front and he needed a new ship, and with what this gig pays, within the year he could buy a fleet. He could do this for a few years and be set for life.

So he catches a ship to Naboo.

And he meets with a rather obnoxious prince who loves the novelty of having a Mandalorian working for him. It’s a good thing the job’s seemingly so easy because Prince Harand is off putting enough to make him reconsider. It’s simple, act as a personal guard to his wife. In exchange he’ll receive more credits than he’ll know what to do with and a private place to reside in. All he has to do is keep her from harm and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.

“Is she prone to getting into trouble?” Din doesn’t try to hide the distaste in his voice at how high-and-mighty the man is acting.

“You expect me to know that?”

Pig.

After he accepts he’s given direct permission to disregard any of her orders that would prevent him from doing his job.

He declines the invitation to attend the wedding, to say he’s indifferent to the whole affair would be an understatement. He isn’t in any hurry to meet the woman who agreed to marry that. So Prince Harand gives him a note, he doesn’t bother reading it, he just tosses it on the vanity and he waits alone in what he is told are your chambers.

Weddings take a while.

So he can’t help but be curious, after all did his employer expect him to just stand in the same spot all day? So he snoops, he’s allowed to be nosy, it might help him do a better job if he can get a grasp on who you are. He spends the next two hours inspecting the room from top to bottom and much to his annoyance he learns nothing. There isn’t a single personal item here. All the clothes are seemingly unworn, there’s no clutter, nothing. If anything he feels like he knows even less about you. Shit, does he even know your name? Had the prince mentioned it? Maker, did the prince even know the name of the woman he was marrying? What a clown. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, she’s royalty and he’s the help, she probably won’t even address him. So he waits for several hours. He just stands there, eventually he considers just leaving and reporting for duty tomorrow but he can hear voices in the hall now so he stands up a bit straighter, then the door creaks open and Kodo drunkenly peers in before slamming it shut again.

Idiot.

Is that laughter?

He doesn’t get any time to wonder what that was about because a Twi’lek opens the door and then you walk in. And he’s frozen in place. Your eyes are on him and the room is suddenly dreadfully hot. It’s like you're under some sort of spell that pulls you towards him and he can’t breathe. Why would they put such garish makeup on such a beautiful face?

He should say something. He needs to say something. Introduce yourself you dimwit.

He opens his mouth but before he can utter a sound you touch him. It feels like his heart has stopped. He can see you speaking but he doesn’t hear a thing, captivated by the way your mouth moves when you talk, your tongue poking out slightly to wet your lips as you graze his chest plate with your fingertips.

It’s enough to make a man want to abandon his creed and take you right there.

This must be some kind of punishment for all of the terrible things he’s done. The gods are punishing him with this paragon of a woman that he is doomed to spend his days with but he can never have. The ringing in his ears finally clears up and he hears the first words he can actually get a grasp on that come through your perfect mouth.

“Is this some sort of weird fetish of his?”

Well. The ringing is back in his ears. He thinks he might just have to die in this position at this point cause it’s definitely too late to speak up, he waited too long, what the hell is the matter with him? He’s a fucking bounty hunter for gods sake, he’s fought beasts of all shapes and sizes and suddenly he’s been conquered by some woman he doesn’t even know?

Your small hand grabs the edge of the helmet and he’s finally able to snap out of it when you go to remove it. On instinct he manages to catch both your wrists in one hand.

“Don’t.” Thank the gods the modulator covers up the way his voice cracks. You’re scolding him, you’ve poked a finger into his chest plate but he’s having a hard time paying attention because he can’t seem to take his eyes off of the way your face flushes red, and then your neck, and then your chest.

How low does the crimson tint go?

For Makers sake snap out of it man, you’re one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy not a school boy with a crush.

You’re staring at the Twi’lek, scowling. He has to silence his helmet to hide the laughter that bursts out as you actually manage to get him to leave just by eyeballing him.

He manages to get through the conversation with you without tearing your clothes off, although there is a close call when you hike up your skirt to remove an anklet and like some sort of repressed Victorian woman, he sees just a glimpse of your ankle and can feel blood rushing south.

For god’s sake. At that point he just closes his eyes because this situation cannot get any worse, and then he can hear your dress hit the floor and he has never had to work so hard to keep his eyes shut.

“...I want to hear it from you.”

“My job is to make sure you are not harmed.” Can you hear the strain in his voice as he wills himself not to get hard? Gods he hopes not. He needs to get out of this situation fast, he’s getting ready to dismiss himself and find Kodo and tell him to take the money back, that he can’t do this but you say something that stops him dead in his tracks.

“Actually I’m good.”

He can’t stop the exasperation in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Can you not hear through the helmet? I’m good. I’ve already got an ensemble of people trailing me. I don’t need another.”

You can’t be serious.

“You’re dismissed.”

You are.

People don’t typically talk to him like that. They’re always too afraid. But you aren’t, you don’t seem to be frightened by him in the slightest. He was going to leave, he wanted to leave, but it’s been a long time since someone challenged him like this.

“You don’t have the authority to dismiss me.” He snaps back.

He likes arguing with you. He doesn’t get to argue with people. Who wants to argue with a Mandalorian? Most people don’t want to get shot by a trained killer.

You don’t appear to be most people.

He wants to rile you up, wants to see the fire in your eyes, he’d do just about anything to be the target of your anger.

So he teases you, until he leaves, making sure to get the last word in. He sets up a few imperceptible motion sensors just under your door knob so he can make sure he’s alerted if you decide to make a run for it.

And then he’s alone. So he goes to where he was told his lodging would be, it’s about a twenty minute walk but he doesn’t mind, it’s secluded, cozy. The cabin reminds him a bit of the crest, just big enough to be comfortable.

He takes a cold shower and tries not to think about his boss's wife.

✩

The next few weeks aren’t any easier.

You seemingly can’t stand him and he decides it’s for the best. You should hate him, he deserves it since your husband is paying him outrageous amounts of money to follow you around all day and fantasize about all the ways he could make you hate him a little less.

It’s hell.

Having to watch you day in and day out. Watch you wander around aimlessly, like a bird trapped in a cage. His least favorite days are when he has to attend dinners with you and your husband. The man is an ogre. And that’s why he can’t seem to leave. He thinks about it, often. Just packing up and catching the next ship off planet. But if he leaves, who's going to protect you from this creep? So he stays.

Eventually, he watches you less like it’s his job and more like it’s his religion.

Things only get worse when one night he wakes up with a start, sitting up in bed as he hears the beeping from his gauntlet that signifies your door being opened. It’s the middle of the night. What if somebody got in? There’s no way, you have a state of the art locking system that only he and a few staff can get into, unless they have a code. What if it was just your husband? Why does that make him don his armor faster? He has no right to barge in there if it’s simply your spouse coming in to fulfill his marital duty, yet he’s in a dead sprint towards the castle the moment he’s dressed. He had fallen asleep in his flight suit with his helmet on anyway, it didn’t take him long and when he gets to your room he’s tense the moment he sees that the door is closed. Ever so slightly adjusting the audio on his helmet he discerns that the room is empty so he switches his vision so he can trail you and sure enough a set of footprints is going off in the familiar direction of the library.

It was a relief. To know that no one had gotten in and you had simply left on your own accord but why would you be sneaking out to the library? You go to the library everyday, you should be sick of it. So he silently walks until he sees the faint light of a glowrod illuminating your face, a stack of books clutched in your arms. And he’s about to say something, you’re only a few feet ahead of him but when you turn you’re wearing such a thin nightgown, and the robe is hardly doing anything to cover you. Before he can react you’re rushing forward slamming into him.

And now he’s facing the worst torture yet.

Your robe fell off one of your shoulders as you dropped and now you’re sprawled out on the floor below him, your hair is down, messy from sleep, your slip of a nightgown riding up your thighs as you look up into the darkness at him. And then you fucking groaned. And all he can think about is how easy it would be to turn that fabric into confetti.

Help her up jackass.

He reaches down and of course you swat his hands away. You should hate him.

He helps you back to your room and the moment he knows you aren’t going to try anything he rushes back in the direction of the library. He knows you're fuming, the least he can do is go get your books. But then he’s picking them up and looking at the titles he can’t believe how warm it is in the castle suddenly. He’s used to the heat. Wearing this many layers you build up a tolerance.

But now he’s looking at the stack of smutty romance novels you’d wanted so badly you’d snuck out to get them and he’s sweating.

He makes it back to the cabin in half the time it usually takes him. He was in such a hurry he had completely forgotten about returning your books to you. He tosses them to the side and in an instant he’s practically throwing his armor to the ground, he only manages to get half of it off before he sprawls out on his bed, discarding his gloves haphazardly as he frees his cock from his trousers. His helmet bumping against the wall as he leans back and starts stroking himself, his palms are so clammy he doesn’t even bother spitting in his hand.

It’s shameful how close he already is just at the sight of you on the floor like that. His hips stutter upwards into his fist as he imagines you on top of him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, hair disheveled, wearing that pretty little negligee. Maker, your skin always looks so soft, you’d feel so much better than his calloused hands. Were you gonna read those dirty books and touch yourself with those delicate little fingers of yours?

It doesn’t take long after that before he reaches his hasty climax, cumming with a filthy groan of your name, shooting ropes up onto his stomach.

He definitely deserves to have you hate him.

He tries to not even look at you after that. Until one day when you’re in the library once again and it’s obvious to him that you’re pretending to read your book, your eyes dart up to glare at him every few seconds.

You’re looking at him like bounties look at him once they’ve been caught and are plotting to attempt an escape, purely out of habit he chides you.

“Don’t”

And that’s all it takes. He actually manages to talk to you. Of course it’s easier once he imagines you as a particularly unruly bounty, to snap back at you. If you were a real bounty he’d have a hard time turning you in.

You’d look nice in the cuffs.

Don’t. Keep it in your pants you moron.

He even offers to take you to the gardens, you deserve that at the very least, a few hours outside of this sweltering castle.

Then he takes you back to your quarters and you look at him with those heart eyes and he feels like he’s going to pass out when you so eagerly make him promise to show you the gardens.

It’s selfish. But he has to get in one last dig, he has to see that bloom of color on your skin one last time as he tells you that your book had been upside down.

It all becomes so manageable. For a moment he thinks that the two of you might be able to handle this little antagonistic relationship that you’re beginning to build. It would be nice, to have you keeping him in check, to have reminders that you dislike him.

But he had to go and ruin it all.

It all went wrong so fast it made his head spin.

It all started when you were in that damned dress. You’d been the most stunning woman he’d ever seen even in the campy, over the top makeup, and the flashy unattractive dresses. But now here you were in that yellow gown and it was like he was seeing you clearly for the first time. There weren’t any flashy accessories to distract him from your face. That flawless face.

So he was already a little off his game at that point.

And then he slipped up. He couldn’t help it, not when you were standing next to him, dressed like that. He called you little flower. That had been something just for him and like the blundering fool that he was in your presence he blurted it out without thinking. He could feel that familiar paralysis, he hated the effect you had on him. Thank the gods he had done it in Mando’a.

But you’re you so of course you don’t drop it. And then you make it worse because you touch him.

And then he makes things worse because he lashes out.

Then he thinks you’re hurt and he makes an ass of himself.

And lashes out again. He’s not even that mad about the droid comment he’s just overwhelmed, he’s never been this overwhelmed and this stupid fucking planet is so hot.

It keeps getting worse, he can’t shut the fuck up and finally you tell him to leave and he can’t because he wants to stay, he wants to stay and scream at you because he can’t stand how much he needs you it makes him physically ill how you haunt him day and night.

So he says no.

And the look on your face is enough to make him want to swear a new creed to make sure you never look so betrayed ever again.

After that you should hate him. He’s glad you hate him. He’s glad you’re giving him the silent treatment, he deserves much worse.

The first day all he can think about is apologizing. You sit in that little nook, back in your blue dresses, looking furious. He just doesn’t know what to say that won’t make this worse.

The second day all he can think about is how he could make it up to you. He’s got a couple of ideas of things that might wipe that frown off your face. He’s obviously not going to just abandon his creed but you definitely don’t make it easy, there’s a million different things that he wants to do to you that would be rather difficult if he can’t use his mouth.

He doesn’t make any real progress on day two either and later that night ends up with his face buried in his pillow, fucking his fist.

The third day he’s actually kind of pissed. If you two have something in common it’s how stubborn you can be and suddenly he’s mad at you, for no real reason, he supposes he’s just sick of feeling sorry.

And then there’s that dinner.

He wants to kill that ignorant, snooty, little man more than he’s ever wanted to kill a person. He wants to make it last, it’s been a long time since he’s killed something, he would enjoy killing Kodo.

But all that rage goes away when he catches a glimpse of your expression and it’s replaced with fear. He’s never seen you look so small and suddenly he’s terrified that you’ve lost that fire. He’ll go back and massacre Kodo right now if he truly did extinguish your flame.

So he breaks the silence. And asks if you're okay.

And he’s relieved when you ramble on, even though he wishes so desperately he could wipe your tears away. Of course you’d be harder than that to put out. His light is okay, and that's all that matters.

So he leaves you your book.

He had gotten bored and read one of them. The Smitten Paladin. It was racy but it’s what she had gone to get in the first place so why not. But that isn’t enough. Not after what you just went through, so he opens the cover and leaves his favorite color, green, written inside, it’s the least he can do.

✩

He goes into the next day with the intention of apologizing. Not entirely sure what for.

Sorry your husband is a scumbag. You should leave him for me.

Doesn’t exactly have a ring to it.

Before he can think of what to say you come out of your room and he’s thankful for the helmet because his jaw would be on the floor.

Maker, did you wear that just for him?

The green dress clings to the outline of your torso and it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Actually, he’s been punched in the gut plenty of times and this is worse because your hair is down and it’s all he can do to not tangle his fingers in it and drag you back into your room. What kind of game are you trying to play with him? Dressing in that color, making yourself irresistible, what the hell is your angle? He’s cautious and slow when he greets you. He remains on edge all the way to the library.

And then you take out the fucking book.

You can’t be serious.

This can’t be happening.

You can’t just do this.

You can’t just sit there in that dress. With your hair falling so exquisitely across your face, begging to be brushed behind your ear, reading porn directly in front of him.

If you’re trying to punish him it’s working. This is torture. If you used this method to interrogate him for information he would have folded immediately. He sits there for hours, sweating his ass off as you perch in that little nook of yours, it would be so easy for him to just bend you over it and lift up the skirt of that lovely little gown. Is that what you want? He’s getting dizzy. Why else would you do this and then read a fucking erotic novel in front of him? Is this some kind of test?

Then you look at him. It’s easy to forget since he’s always wearing a helmet that you don’t know when he’s staring right at you. You glance up at him through your eyelashes and you don’t look away. He’s so hard he’s pretty sure he’s about to burst through the front of his pants. What is your goal here? Your face is turning that delicious shade of red and you haven’t so much as looked at the pages in front of you for minutes at this point.

If this is some game of chicken he isn’t going to lose. No matter how badly he wants it, he won’t lay a hand on you unless you ask him for it. Did you just squeeze your thighs together?

For god's sake, ask for it. Ask for anything he’ll fucking do it.

He can’t take it anymore. So he speaks, teases you. It’s innocent enough.

Keep it innocent.

So you go back and forth and it’s safe. For a moment. He manages to adjust himself in the chair so it hopefully isn’t too obvious that he’s pitching a tent severe enough to camp under. And then he can’t stop himself from asking how the book is and before he knows it you’re asking if he had to take a vow of celibacy.

This isn’t okay.

And then you ask if he can take the armor off.

For Makers sake you’re married.

He needs to ask about something else. Anything else.

“The book, what’s it about?”

Yeah, let's talk about the porn again. Dumbass.

And then you say the words that make him want to just abandon his post and quit. Get as far away from this planet as possible.

“I wasn’t really stuck on anything… I suppose I was just trying to figure out how he fits it all in there?”

Fuck. Does she know? Is she trying to be coy?

You can’t know. He hadn’t seen your eyes dart between his legs. This can’t be happening, this is so bad. Kodo would have him killed for this. So he plays his last card, that he read the book. And thankfully it actually works, you’re so distracted by the fact that he read your book that he manages to get you out of the library and back to your chambers.

He can’t get back to his cabin fast enough.

Cold shower. Bed. That’s the order of events. Nothing else.

But he can’t get away from you. It’s worse when he sleeps because in his dreams you are so much less confusing.

In his dreams you join him in that cold shower and you warm him up in several different ways (and several different positions) and he can take off his helmet and look at you unfiltered. You're the leading lady of all of his dreams, since the day he met you he has never had a break from you.

That isn’t always a good thing because he wakes up from those dreams he has to go see the real you. The one that hates him. As you should.

✩

It was already a rough morning, there is nothing as humbling as waking up to find you’ve cum in your pants like some pent up teenager.

The morning only gets rougher when he goes to retrieve you and you aren’t there.

Fuck.

What’s the protocol for this sort of thing? He doesn’t even bother trying to figure that out because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s throwing doors open. This isn’t the time to panic, he needs to pull himself together.

And then he throws open the right door and you’re sitting there in the tub with your hand shoved between your legs, your head tilted back ever so slightly with your eyes shut tight. You’re his dream come to life and simultaneously his worst nightmare. He wants to look away. He needs to look away but he’s a goner the moment he sees your soapy chest.

This has to be a record breakingly bad morning.

And yet by some miracle he fixes it. Or rather, the garden fixes it. You couldn’t pay him to look away from your face. He wants you to look like this all the time, beaming, curious, truly happy. And he can’t help himself, he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s greedy and he wants to know more about you, wants to hear your voice. So he suggests the game and Maker, you play it.

Gods, he’s weak. Why do you make him so weak?

The moment you ask for a question if you win he knows what you’ll ask. He hadn’t planned on letting you win, but you looked so content, he could just tell you but he passes on the last question. He wants you to know what it means.

It’s selfish to ask for anything else, he shouldn’t be rewarded for this kind of behavior, but he does it anyway, and he asks for more. He asks for more days, just the two of you, and you say yes.

And when you ask what sarad'ika means he’s sure this is where he gets what he deserves, this is where you’ll spit in his face, call him a creep, and tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead you politely say good night to him.

This can’t be real. There’s just no way. But there you are, each morning, in your much simpler gowns that suit you so perfectly, and you ask him to read because you don’t want him to be bored and how could he possibly say no to you. You could ask him for the moons and he’d find a way to give them to you.

But it has to end eventually.

And it does on the fifth cycle as reality crashes in and he has to escort you to dinner with your husband.

She’s married.

✩

It keeps getting worse. He’s asked to leave. He can’t. He can’t just leave you in a room full of drunk men, especially these drunk men. Especially that drunk man. His mind is racing at light speed but he can’t think of a single argument for why he should stay.

And then you look at him with those pleading eyes and his heart starts pounding out of his chest.

Maybe he could take on six battle droids.

But he doesn’t, of course. Because what if you got caught in the crossfire. You hadn’t produced an heir, you were still expendable to Prince Harand. And he has to leave you alone with him.

It’s the longest two hours of his life.

He wants to tune it out, to turn off any exterior sound on the helmet but he can’t because what if something happened to you? So he listens to every word.

He’s never felt so small.

It’s a pitiful feeling. To go through your entire life being used to doing things a certain way to protect the ones you care for. And then when it comes down to the person that means the most to you you can’t do a thing.

For a man who has solved nearly all of his problems in life with a blaster, to suddenly be unable to do so? It’s pathetic.

They could punish her if I intervene.

They could kill her.

They could kill me.

Lock me up.

Who would protect her then?

Maker, he hasn’t felt this crushing sensation in his chest since he had to say goodbye to the kid. He can’t breathe.

He’s supposed to be the strong one.

Yet he has been conquered by a fucking door.

He doesn’t even realize you're out. Or that you’ve kicked him. Or that you’re suddenly sitting between his legs. He’s too far gone. It isn’t until he feels his helmet adjust that he snaps out of it.

Because you’re real. And you’re okay.

No thanks to him.

And he can’t stop the words that pour out of his mouth. Never in his life has he been reduced to this, afraid like this. You should be disgusted. That the Mandalorian sworn to protect you had been diminished to this. Just a man.

But you aren’t. You’re warm, and gentle, and soft, and real.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you.

So he stands. And he helps you up.

He needs you to hate him again. It’s the only thing that keeps him grounded.

So he escorts you to your chambers, and you turn to him and say those five damning words.

“Do you wanna come in?”

He’s weak. And he’s selfish. Don’t do this Mando.

But he isn’t a Mandalorian right now. He’s just a man.

With you he's just Din.

So he nods.

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#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

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ultralightpoe · 6 months

Text

Music To My Ears - Steve Rogers

Authors Note: A draft from July 2023 -Enjoy!

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 4880

Requests: OPEN

Description: In which you and Steve are connected through music.

Main Master List -

(Thank you for the gif @prettyboy-parker )

x Enjoy! x

Songbirds: When soulmates can hear each others music.

It had always been a bit of a sore wound for Steve growing up, the lack of music in his head. It concerned him and tore him up inside whenever the conversation was brought up, which it so often was.

His mother asked him about it everyday, excitement sparking in her eyes whenever Steve lied and said he heard a song. She would make sure to put it in the record player if they owned the vinyl, if not she would turn up the radio whenever it played. She always smiled and giggled at him, it gutted Steve to know he was lying to her.

The doctor always said that soulmates often try to communicate through music, and tried to work with him to recognize a message, but Steve did not need it since he knew the person didn’t exist.

He didn’t have a soulmate. The thought crushed him.

Bucky often joked about it when Steve finally came clean, saying that his soulmate was probably deaf and that Steve had to have one. This made him feel a little better and a new image emerged, maybe if they were deaf the only way they can listen to music was through him.

How could he deny his soulmate the taste of music?

So he listened to anything and everything he could.

He wore down vinyl after vinyl and when he wasn’t blaring the music he was humming it until he fell asleep.

He hummed to himself before he lost Bucky, he hummed to himself the day the ship he was flying crashed.

“If you’re real or you’re out there then I am so sorry for this.” He whispers, right as a loud crash sounds out and he is submerged within the depths of the water.

He would not be found for another 70 years, it would take 60 hours to dethaw him properly and stabilize his vitals. He would be asleep for another 6 days after that as doctors and nurses poured over his file over and over and over.

But that wasn’t the weirdest thing, no. The weirdest thing happened the day a nurse ran through the halls, her face red and splotchy as she summoned the doctor who followed closely. She tried explaining as much as she could as the doctor read through his file once more.

“This doesn’t make sense… it says he had a soulmate. He had confirmed it years ago.” The doctor mutters, reading the paragraph again.

“Tests were different then, right. They weren’t as advanced as ours.” The nurse tries, moving closer to the man unfrozen.

“I don’t get how this is possible….” The doctor mutters one more time as he blinks at the soldier.

Because Steve Rogers, still asleep from his time in the ice, was humming the tune to a song that had come out that very year.

(It’s 2012. I was imagining want u back by cher Lloyd but your music your choice birdies).

Growing up without any sound in your head while other kids were constantly bragging about theirs made you a bit angry growing up. The song time that your schools enforced, that you knew would never be sent to anyone else out there and made you grind your teeth in anger.

The tests you submitted to monthly, as everyone did, always just made it worse. When they put the metal sticks on your forehead, typing away at their computer as the sound waves to your brain showed up on the screen. They would play music on your end to make sure that it was working, your side always lighting up a light blue color flowers blooming and spreading across the screen. Well they looked like flowers but you knew they weren’t.

But when they turned off the music and did the ringing sound to try and signal your soulmate to answer back nothing came. Not a single thing came.

The screen always remained blank. Each. Time.

You learned to get used to it growing up, at some point the pain and anger ebbed into a phantom limb and you learned to move past. When your friends all found their mates you smiled and attended their weddings, always clapping when they danced to their first song that they found eachother with and sometimes if you were a little too into the drinks you let yourself imagine a life of your own. If you would have a deep song that you could slow dance to on your special night.

But when reality came crashing down it was right back to misery and you always hated the sickening feeling of realization so you tried to fight off those little daydreams. The ups were not worth the downs.

You listened to your own music, branched into hundreds of different genres and played the music so loud you could ignore the rest of the world.

But you were still subjected to the tests, every single month.

Like right now, with the metal readers strapped to your forehead as you sat back in the chair trying not to get agitated by the doctors pitying glance.

“It is good to see you again dear.” He smiles, sliding his stool over to his computer and typing something in. “I look forward to your fun jokes every month.”

“You mean my sarcastic wit that my mother says protects my feelings?” You bite out with a roll of your eyes, looking around the room.

“Ah. Yes. That.” He chuckles. “Alright, you know the process. We’re going to play some music on your end, to make sure the system is working. Then we’ll play the ringing at a frequency to try and rouse your soulmate into playing something back.”

“Just do it.” You snap, letting him press play on the music and turning to see the blue engulf the screen just as it always does. Then it stops and he plays a ringing, it makes your ears hurt as you close your eyes.

Even when he turns it off you can still hear them, like a fire alarm.

But once again. Nothing.

“Alright. Thank you for coming in today. It was wonderful to see you.” Your doctor smiles, and you leave once again feeling that dreaded disappointment.

But you don’t let it get to you, instead you head home and blast the loudest song you can when you make dinner in attempt to ignore the emptiness in your mind.

Maybe if you had kept the music down you might have heard the smallest humming in the back of your mind, an old tune answering the ringing.

A week after they first hear humming they decide they would do the updated soulmate test on the captain with dozens of people that were alive back then strapped to their own testing machines to see if any answered back.

“Alright. It’s all set up. Let’s take a step back and read the vitals.” Doctor Chen orders, making everyone step back as she heads to her computer. After typing a couple codes his brain waves fill the screen, and a moment later she starts playing music to make sure it works.

Blue clouds fill the screen, blossoming quickly at the sound before she shuts the music down, and then a second later ringing sounds and his brain waves crash in displeasure, sliding down and a black filling the screen as they watch slowly.

“Good reaction time for someone who had been frozen last week.” She murmurs which makes he nurse next to her laugh, but then after a moment it happens.

The screen that had gone blank at the silence blossoms with blues and greens as whoever is on the other end plays him something back, everyone staring slack jawed at the screen.

“Holy shit.” Someone murmurs.

“His soulmate is still alive.” Chen smiles, watching the screen.

It happened during work, while you were sorting through files needed for the next meeting, Stark tower empty in this section. It would fill up soon, officials and your bosses would file in within the next 30 minutes and you would be thrown into the chaos of the day.

So for now you were excited for the quiet of the building, breathing in as you set of the conference room with the correct lighting, water, pens and -

The music was so faint you almost didn’t hear it, like a staticky connection that was close to breaking at the slightest notch. You drop everything you had been holding and nearly fall to the ground on shaky knees. Your breath falling into ragged pants.

It takes a moment then it’s gone and you try to relax. It was just you. You’re tricking yourself.

And so you pick yourself up, shaky hands and shaky knees as you wipe the tears that had somehow began falling, moving to pick up your mess before the ringing began and you fall once more.

It’s the first time you had ever heard the ringing from their end and it hurt even more than you would have thought.

It travels down your spine as it traps itself in your head, ringing and ringing and ringing.

“Oh my god are you okay?” Someone calls, hands on your shoulders dragging your attention to the other assistant that worked alongside you.

“Ringing.” You gasp, hands clenched into fists as it finally stops, black spots filling your vision. “It’s so loud.”

“Yeah. It’s uncomfortable on the other end…. Have you never heard it before?” She laughs, moving to grab your phone, her face blanching when you shake your head. “Oh my god. You’ve never heard the ringing! That’s insane!”

You’re confused when she hands you the phone, giving her an incredulous look before she explains. “You have to play music back. The ringing is a call.”

“Right,” you nod, shaking as you grab your phone and pulling it close to pick a song, pressing anything random just to get it over with. You were too confused to process anything. You had never heard this, why now? How old was your soulmate? Oh my god was your soulmate super young? Were you a nasty cougar?

You were gonna vomit.

“I’m sorry, did you play Bee Gees back?” She laughs and you can’t stop a laugh from tearing from your own throat.

Good luck to whoever was on the other end of that.

It was a one off, something you couldn’t explain.

The doctors didn’t know how to explain it either, no one knew what to say about it.

They all gave you pitying glances and odd looks that just made you hate it so much more. You hated the fact that it happened in the first place.

A branch of hope on a dead tree, it didn’t belong there and you were desperate to tear it down.

So, as punishment for yourself, you stopped listening to music entirely. Your headphones stayed on your desk collecting dust and your office at work played no music at all. You refused it.

“Have you heard the new album?” Your friend calls out from her kitchen, you sat glumly on her couch clutching a glass of wine tightly in annoyance.

“No. You already know I’m not-“

“Listening to music blah blah blah.” She laughs, carrying in a tray of food. “That’s so silly. Come on. You love this band and what happened was weird. But it hasn’t happened since. You’ve heard no other music. Just give in and listen to something.”

“No. Stop pressuring me.” You snap back, shaking your head.

That night when you went to bed you grew more and more frustrated by the old music playing through your head, staticky and driving you nuts. After all this time you were finally going crazy.

You stressed about a soulmate so much that you couldn’t help it.

Steve couldn’t hear the music and it was killing him. He could barely register his own limbs, his body cold and numb, itching to move his fingers. He just wanted to hear the voice that started waking him up in the first place.

The wonderful, alluring voice, he was desperate for them to sing again. Hum. Anything.

Give me something. Anything. Please.

His fingers prick, the needle feeling passing through him as he tries his hardest to move them. Please please please please.

“His vitals are peaking. He might be waking up.” A voice whispers. “Let’s get the room ready.”

Please sing. Or hum. Or play something. Give me a reason to wake up. Please.

Before he knows it there is a radio playing on his side, a game by the sounds of it, and he can’t seem to open his eyes.

Then, louder than it normally was without the static sound, he hears the music in his mind. A soft violin sound, followed by a piano. It takes him a second to recognize the nutcracker, a smile breaking out as he did his best to open his eyes. For the person on the other end he would do this.

His soulmate. He would wake up for his soulmate.

“You can try to send messages.” Doctor Payne smiles, an actual excited smile for you. “Through the music. How long have you been hearing music now?”

“3 weeks.” You answer, nodding numbly. “And it’s like full now, if that makes sense. It’s not staticky. I can actually hear it now.”

“What have they been playing?”

“Old music. Really old music.” You smile. “I’m hoping to god it’s not a kid. The older music is a good sign right?”

You were back for your monthly visit, but this time you were excited.

“Okay. Do you recognize any of the songs?”

“Some. Not enough to get a message from it.”

“Okay. Let’s see.” He moves to type in the codes and your brain waves fill the screen. This time you chose the music, something old, and you get a little nervous.

“D-do we have to do the ringing? It’s louder on their end.” You mumble, body heating. “It hurts.”

“It was your first time experiencing it. That probably made it worse.”

“Yeah; but what about them? Won’t it hurt them as well?”

“Let’s see.” He smiles softly, the music stops. One breath, followed by another, and then the ringing starts and you close your eyes feeling a little guilty.

When it stops it’s silent, and you wait with shaky hands. And just when you think you’ve gone nuts and imagined it all, getting ready to bolt before Dr. Payne sends you to the loony bin.

But the sounds of the nutcracker start playing, and a wide smile spreads across your face.

The very song that you had played a while ago, the first song you listened to after your self inflicted punishment.

“I hear it.” You smile, and your doctor laughs.

“I can tell.” It’s then you look at the screen, seeing a mix of colors blooming along with the blue. Joy sparking in your chest at the new world.

He had rooms in the tower, and a tutor to try and teach him all the updated tech. But the furthest he could get was a flip phone, and that already confused him enough, but he has a radio that plays all the classics for him.

And he had whoever is on the other end of his mind, giving him enough music to listen to while he works out in the gym.

Right now, his wonderful soulmate, was playing something he didn’t recognize but didn’t mind. His blood thrumming as he fixed his leather jacket while trying to figure out his way through the halls.

“Dr. Chen!” He calls when he sees her, making the woman stare at him with wide eyes. “I was told you had done my soulmate testing? You were searching or something?”

He tried to maintain eye contact and be as respectful as he could, but all he could do was nod his head to the music and tap his hand as Dr. Chen smiles smugly at him.

“They playing music right now?” She asks, nodding her head for him to follow her as she makes her way through the halls. “What are they playing?”

“S-something about… living on a prayer?” He smiles, following her into her office as she turns back with a wave of recognition. “You know it?”

“Bon Jovi.” She nods, searching on her computer before turning to him. “The results from the nursing homes came back inconclusive. We tried reaching out to other clinics to see if anyone answered the call. They usually report it to their own doctors for a chance to narrow down the search so whoever you called definitely did not know what to do.”

A wave of guilt fills him at that, making him fidget a bit in his seat as the song changes to another upbeat song.

“Due to the progression of the music we do believe that you are connected to someone in their 20s to 30s.” A breath of relief falls from his lips that makes him feel even worse. He was just happy that his soulmate wasn’t waiting for him for 70 years. “The Taylor swift and Motley Crue mix clued us in on that one.”

“Who?”

“And the nickel back. There is no grandma out there listening to nickel back.” She laughs are her own joke, stopping short when she realizes he’s not laughing.

“Should I be listening to them? Who are they? Is it one person? Nickel?” He rushes out, feeling a little nervous. “Do you think they hate my old style music?”

“I have no idea on that one.” She laughs. “Take a breath. It will all be fine.”

He goes to ask another question before a ringing breaks his concentration, his eyes drifting to the phone on her desk. She rushes to pick it up, mumbling out a response before hanging up.

“They are sending someone down with some papers, but you can ask questions before she gets here.”

“That would be great. What is Nickelback?”

You had been playing music in your office all day, with no response from your soulmate unfortunately. That didn’t matter though, because you were still high and giddy at the fact that you had a soulmate.

But your little concert in your office was cut short when you were sent to hand off ‘top secret’ files to Dr. Chen. You found that everything in this place was top secret.

Right now everyone was freaking out over some science project that you had heard a couple whispers about. Something with ice and a man. Not much to figure out but it’s not like you cared.

You got this job by minding your own business.

And what did it matter anyways? You have a soulmate.

The halls to Stark tower were easy to navigate, and you still were so out of it that you got a little lost towards the end before you found her office, knocking lightly.

“Come in.” She answers and you swing the door, surprised to see a blonde haired man turning to you with big eyes.

The blue of them makes you stop short, a blush crossing your body as you blink before a wave of guilt crashes over you. You had a soulmate and you’re here ogling at this guy?

Come on.

“Sorry to interrupt. You requested these?” You look away, turning to her instead and passing over the files. “Have a good one.”

“Wait! Mr. Rogers here needs to go to the main levels but he might need help getting there. Think you can show him?”

“No problem.” You shrug, nodding at him without making eye contact and waiting for him to get up before leading the way.

Steve follows you through the halls after you introduce yourself, feeling a little guilty at the blush that crosses him when you look at him.

He had been so upset about not having a soulmate for the longest time, and now that he does he is getting flustered over the first beautiful gal he sees? Talk about shooting yourself in the foot.

“So you’re new here?” You ask after a moment of silence, pulling your badge out to get clearance for the elevator.

“Relatively.” He responds, trying not to make eye contact and keeping his voice short. He could not waste time flirting with everyone else when he had a soulmate out there.

“Right.” You mumble, obviously a little put off by the shortness in his tone as the elevator opens and you are both enveloped in with the weird music.

He wonders if his soulmate could hear it, feeling a little silly that they might think he was actually listening to this as you fiddle with your badge awkwardly.

After a moment he breaks the silence, pointing to the speaker. “You think your soulmate hears this music?”

Your eyes light up instantly, and you stand a little straighter. “Maybe. I hope they respond if they can. I love hearing their music back.”

“Me too.” He agrees, feeling something loosen in his chest at the mention of soulmates. “I can only hope they like my music too.”

“I’m sure they do. I’m always so desperate to hear them that I never really care about the music itself more of the fact that it’s playing.” You respond, nodding a bit when the elevator rings. “This is your stop,”

He thanks you, moving to leave quickly. But the further his steps make from you he still hears the elevator music playing, confusion lacing him as his soulmates humming begins to the same elevator tune.

He turns, down the hall, watching as the doors close with you humming inside. Recognition and sparks fly through him as he tries calling out, dashing to the door but it was too late and they were already closed. He tried to press the buttons but without an access badge it was useless.

And in his lame attempt of morality he completely missed your name.

Just his luck.

“You cannot be serious,” you laugh, rubbing your head in frustration as you try to sleep in a little longer. But it was no use, your soulmate was on a mission.

For the past 3 days over the weekend all that had been playing in your head was elevator music, over and over and over.

You assumed that whoever was on the other end took meal breaks because you got at least an hour each day of silence before they were back to it, the sound of it beginning to grate at your nerves. What had you done to deserve this abuse? This was truly incomprehensible.

Anger fills you as you launch from bed, stressed from the lack of sleep and snatch your headphones, digging through your playlist until you find the heaviest rock music you can. Two can play that game soulmate.

“Oh, good morning Mr. Rogers.” Dr. Chen smiles, her eyes bright with shock as she takes in his appearance. This reaction didn’t surprise him, it was the way everyone had been reacting as more and more people found out that Captain America was living in the building.

But this reaction from Dr. Chen was a bit odd considering she knew him by now. “I’m a bit shocked that you are up this early.”

“I usually spend time in the gym.” He rushes out, shrugging. “Can’t shake the military time- hey that person that dropped off the file the other day? Do you remember her- oh my.”

Before he can finish his sentence loud music blasts in his ears, making him cringe a bit. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?” She asks, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Yeah. Just my soulmate playing music I’ve never heard. But enough about that, that girl that came in with the files? You know her?”

“Yes! She’s worked here for awhile. Very nice. You liked her?”

“Well I think she’s my soulmate.” He blushes before launching into the tale.

She looks shocked and like she’s fighting off laughter when he stops. “You’ve been standing in the elevator all weekend? Listening to this music?”

“Yes?”

She laughs loudly before pulling him out of the elevator and walking him to her office. “I can guarantee you are about to have a very cranky soulmate.”

You were aggravated, thoroughly aggravated. At least the elevator music stopped but you had gotten no sleep.

So as you marched to your office just to see multiple messages requesting you to Chens office immediately and you groan loudly, snatching the headphones out of your ears.

Something had to have gone wrong with those files, and you were in no mood to get into trouble over it. Whatever stupid science project they had was beginning to grate on everyone and they were getting angry about it. You can pick up the tension easily.

Your pass allows access to the halls, spine tense as you make your way to her office, knocking lightly before it opens and you see her and the man from the other day standing awkwardly.

“Thank you for coming. It seems we’ve had a change of… situation.” She smiles before his hand shoots out to you and both of you jump back at the force of it.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m Steve.” He blushes, easing himself a bit and relaxing his hand for you to shake once more.

“Rogers…. Your name is Steve Rogers.” You laugh. “How many times do you get asked about Captain America?”

He blinks at you and Chen snorts.

“I actually kind of know a Steven Grant. I haven’t met him in person but he works at a museum that we contact a lot and he’s actually so sweet.” You hush before stopping when you realize they are both staring at you. “Off topic. What’d you call me down here for?”

“I think I’m your soulmate.” He blurts.

“And this is actually Captain America.”

Holy. Shit.

For lack of better words you scram.

After years of begging the universe for a soulmate when you finally come face to face with the possibility of meeting your soulmate, what more was there to do but run?

Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers thought he was your soulmate.

You had so many questions. You had no clue where to run, so you stop short and turn back quickly, dashing back down the hall to run back to the office and you somehow run into him chest to chest sending you sprawling back on the ground.

“Jesus! You brick wall!” You shriek, standing up quickly as he blinks at you with his own panicked look.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to run back!” He rushes out, hands shooting out grab your shoulders in an effort to stabilize you. “I… I have so many questions.”

“Me too.” You blink, a moment of silence passing before you both blurt out a question at the same time.

“What was with the elevator music?”

“What music were you blasting this morning?”

“Nope. No.” Steve calls from somewhere else in the house, pulling your attention to the stairs and waiting to hear him rush for you.

Three years of marriage and you were still finding music he hated, right now that ended up being Cardi B.

You hear his feet on the steps and wait patiently until he comes into the door with a scowl. “Why do you do this?”

His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration as he shuffles closer to turn off the radio, looking around the room in his normal attempt to make sure everything is all safe. Just as he always had, checking every window and exit as a precaution before coming up to you and wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up to kiss your lips.

“I liked that song.” You muffle against his lips, smiling cheekily which makes him sigh and pull back from the kiss.

“I could have gone my whole life without knowing what WAP was.” He groans, setting you down with a quick kiss on your forehead before moving to your computer to change the song. You watch closely, moving closer to his desk as he glares down at yours, typing slowly before he hums at his choice.

Even the smallest hum still sounds out in your mind, sending shivers down your spine before the sounds of cheesy elevator music sound out making you laugh.

“No! Please no!” You call, rolling your eyes as he dances closer until he gets to you and lifts you onto his desk so he can slot himself between your thighs.

“It was a great plan!”

“No it wasn’t!”

“I hoped you could recognize the music! I didn’t know your name and I had no access to the building!” He blushes. “I had to beg someone to let me onto the elevator every morning just to do it.”

“You know how long I heard people whispering about you before I actually met you.” You laugh, rubbing at his shoulders. “Now I love you, but if I have to hear one more track of elevator music I will burn this building down.”

He laughs, leaning to kiss you deeply before turning off the music and hauling you to your shared room.

After so many years of waiting for your soulmate it all ended up being with it in the end.

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #marvel smut #marvel fluff #marvel angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers

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tcfactory · 9 months

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So, I have a really silly Mobei-jun transmigrator idea.

OG Mobei gets into writing after his Qinghua dies and Bingge starts doing the endless harem collecting because he wants to get away from what is kinda turning into his personal hell and he doesn't even have a trusty retainer he can bully to let off some steam.

He doesn't plan on getting any of it published because he starts out really clumsy with his words at first and even he knows it. But after getting all his venting out in his early works he really just nails the kind of stories with AU fix-it vibes (even if he always very carefully writes different settings than their own world. Can't have Bingge think he is criticizing what the Junshang has done to the world) that a lot of people in PIDW crave as a form of escapism, actually. And it's a little bit fun to sneak around and get the publishing contract and the illustrations and everything done behind Bingge's back.

The harem is hooked. There are passionate fanclubs for his characters that change the friendships and alliances between the consorts. There are ship wars that escalate to actual murder attempts. Mobei-jun watches with growing dread as the women ignore Luo Binghe in favor of trying to find out who the mysterious author writing the books is. Nobody suspects him because in person he still doesn't talk, like, at all.

Except finally Bingge has enough and uses a relic to track down the mysterious author and ends up killing Mobei, because centuries of loyal service or not, he has stirred up the harem so bad that Bingge refuses to tolerate the distraction anymore. Mobei dies thinking that if it was to end like this anyway he really should have just written that wish-fulfillment fix-it story he always wanted.

So the former Mobei-jun transmigrates into Mo Yunbao, soon to be An Ding's head disciple, a little before Binghe comes to the sect. He doesn't have a digital System (at least at the start), he has an analogue interface: the System directly communicates with these strangely folded paper 'birds'.

It takes Mobei some time to realize that other people can technically see the papers the System sends, but only if he deliberately brings attention to them, they can't read any of the writing and then they forget about them right away. He eats a lot of paper trying to hide them before he realizes that he doesn't have to bother.

Since his complaint was essentially that "nobody was actually happy in PIDW, not even the protagonist" his task is simple: create the maximum number of happy endings without completely sidestepping the main storyline re: Binghe, abyss, the usual System restrictions. How hard could it be, right? He thinks he has a fair idea about all of these people, Luo Binghe just could not shut up about all his horrible childhood when he had a captive audience and Mobei has always been very good at listening.

Except Shang Qinghua is acting strange. Mobei dismisses it as maybe the peak lord being different with his disciples than he is with his king, even if there are other things that are not quite aligning as they should. He already knows how he's going to fix that storyline, he needs to focus on figuring out all the other things, so he just ignores Shang Qinghua.

Yeah, that goes exactly as well as you'd think. Imagine Airplane bro for a moment: he's trying to send his weird little (he's cute, like a feral kitten is cute) gremlin of a head disciple to harass Shen Qingqiu into turning in the bi-monthly financial report early so he can sneak out and report to his king, when the distracted A-Bao reminds him not to forget his fur coat this time. It's the middle of the summer! Even more shockingly a very neatly folded paper plane flies in out of nowhere and hits head disciple Mo on the head with a thwack before it falls on the peak lord's desk.

Qinghua surprises both of them by picking the paper plane up before the other can even reach for it. It's a warning for OOC violation, but no point deduction because there are only transmigrators in the room.

So both Mobei and Airplane tell their stories, they bond over their love of writing and how fucked it would be if everything someone wrote became someone else's reality (Mobei hopes that hasn't happened to any of his stories. He wrote some really dark stuff at the start of his writing career that he would never wish even on his worst enemy), somewhere along the way they bully the System into upgrading Mobei's interface to the digital one and they become allies in fixing the world one doomed relationship at a time.

It's not long into their cooperation when Mobei realizes that he really likes this version of Shang Qinghua, actually, but it would be really inappropriate for a head disciple to hook up with his shizun, so he settles for setting the other Mobei-jun up with Airplane. Airplane is a good, responsible creator deity, he deserves a happy end.

Besides, Mobei has a good life here, as a human. He has friends he can (affectionately) bully, he doesn't have to fear certain death (for a while at least), he teams up with Liu Mingyan and together they convince Shen Qingqiu to preside over a cross-peak literature and creative writing club that's an absolute blast and Liu Qingge is trying to poach him for Bai Zhan because the body of Mo Yunbao is really suited for physical cultivation. He would go too if it wasn't so much more convenient to stay on An Ding for the sake of their schemes, but maybe he can let the War God steal him away for some night-hunting dates every now and then.

They don't know yet what to do with Luo Binghe when he inevitably shows up at the sect, but he has some faith that between Airplane and him they can figure out something good.

#svsss #mobei-jun #shang qinghua #tc writes #I might eventually write this or might not #if anyone wants to take a crack at this idea: please be my guest #or if you want to steal any part of it #like the analogue interface for the System #I'm a little proud of that one

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bekkathyst · 7 months

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I know it might be kind of personal, and you might not be willing to share this online, but do you have a number that would get you out of the negatives where you'd be able to keep going?

I've been following you for years, probably longer than anyone else I've followed on here, and I'd hate to see you have to give this up.

Hello 🙏❤️

Thank you so much for the question and the concern, it means a lot.

I don’t mind answering this, but the answer is kind of long and complicated, so please bear with me.

Right now we’re about $3,000 behind on important bills and that’s my main concern.

But, the other problem is that we need to have a bare minimum income of 3.000€ every month here in order to appease the Austrian government when it comes to my husband’s residence permit.

But of course that is the actual profit we need to have, so the monthly sales from the business need to be much more than that. This is a big reason why I’m trying to create more ways to make some money that don’t require shipping or spending so much money on inventory that just sits in our house. Since the Austrian post raised their prices, it costs us 20€ to ship a small envelope, and 25€ to ship a small package. So you can see why this ended up causing so many issues for us… a package of $60 with free shipping would cost us 25€ to ship out and then we’d barely break even after the cost of the crystals and shipping/packing supplies.

So my hopes here are that after I get rid of the free shipping (and replace it with a reduced shipping instead, most likely $15), focus heavily on the open box option so people can build their orders up to make it worth the shipping price, and I can incorporate other ways of making money than just selling crystals, I’ll be able to get back on my feet. I do think it can work out, especially if the sales I have planned this month go well and people are okay with the changes.

Last year when the shipping prices drastically increased, I was so afraid of changing the free shipping offer because I thought everyone would be upset, but based off of all the recent feedback I’m so grateful that it seems like a lot of people are okay with it 😭🙏 I feel silly for not doing anything earlier, because it really is a big factor as to why we’re in such a bad spot now.

#ask

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somefanficrecomendations · 8 months

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January Monthly Roundup

BATFAMILY

Three’s a Crowd (But I’m Here if You Are) by JUBE514 (Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake/Conner Kent) 20k, Identity Reveal, Fluff Bernard pops the top off his water bottle, a roll of his wrist at the perfect angle and it comes right off, and pops the faucet in Tim’s very nice kitchen to cold. Tim presses a kiss to the back of Bernard’s neck before Tim moves to the fridge to get his own water. Bernard used to not drink as much water, but Tim drinks enough water for three people a day so Bernard naturally has followed- and now Bernard has no acne so he’s sort of mad about it actually. “The main character has two hands.” Bernard chimes easy and teasing. “Polygamy is the awnser here babe.” Tim peaks over the door of the fridge. “Oh? Is this you telling me something?” — Tim Drake, Bernard Dowd, and Kon-El have two hands each. They use them to hold onto each other.

My Evil Twin From Another Universe by FabulaRasa (Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne) 22k An interdimensional anomaly strands another version of Hal in this universe, and two Hal Jordans in one universe is several Hal Jordans too many.

this week in heroblr by UnidentifiedFroggy (multi) 22k, WIP, Social Media, okay im sorry y'all did SUPERBOY just say he's a tumblrina??? #SUPERBOY AS IN KON EL AS IN SUPERMANS CLONE #DIED IN THE CRISIS SUPERBOY #holy shit #superblr #heroblr - a viewpoint into tumblr as it might exist within my own exceedingly self-indulgent form of the dc universe, told through epistolary fashion in batfamily social media fic tradition. features heroes getting cancelled, takes of middling veracity, plenty of queerness both on heroblr and in the hero community, my self-indulgent ships, and something vaguely resembling plot and lore told obliquely through tumblr drama and outsider pov interpretations of superheroes

The Big Boss by Crowlows19 (gen) 4k, POV Outsider The story of Bruce Wayne and his family as told by his insane Wayne Enterprises calendar and the poor assistant that had to manage it all.

Batman for Dummies by Havendance (gen) 38k, No Man’s Land, Helena Bertinelli-centric In the aftermath of the quake that shook Gotham, Helena Bertinelli takes on the mantle of the Bat. (It isn’t like Batman’s using it.) If she’d known the cowl came with a certain moralizing little bird following her around — well, she probably still would’ve done it, but it would’ve been nice to know in advance. (Or: Tim and Helena team up 2: electric boogaloo. Now with more bats!)

Older Sibling Duty by Icestorm238 (gen) 2k, Batfam Names are important. The Bats tend to bypass their real names, however, in favour of increasingly dumb nicknames. The older sibling trio of Dick, Jason, and Cass are the primary instigators of this. After all, it is their duty.

AITAH For Tricking My Brother Into Drugging My Other Brother? by TaxiCabToSlowtown (gen) 1k, Social Media, Am I the Asshole? Okay, look, I know how that sounds, but hear me out. My (M, 19, "Fred") little brother (17, I’ll call him “Percy”) has problems. These problems stem a lot from the fact that his parents abandoned him for long periods of time as a kid and he didn’t have a proper upbringing. I should mention that Percy’s parents then are not the same as our parent(s) now. We’re both adopted, and I’m messed up too, I’ll admit it. Our Father (45, I’ll call him “Arthur”) had sort of turned his house into a home for kids with really traumatic families.

Welcome to the Family by ViiA01 (Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne) 67k, WIP, Batfam Bruce’s children want to meet the man that their father deemed worthy of a smile. So they do, in the only way they know how. By breaking into people's houses and lurking in dark places. Bruce just wants his children to stop stalking Earth’s Green Lantern, if only because they're ruining his plans. And Hal? Well, Hal is convinced that Bruce has concocted a plot to get around his ‘no killing’ rule, by having his children stalk him until his heart gives out from the stress.

A Series of Unfortunately Timed Coming Out's by Queerbutstillhere (multi), 7k, Coming Out The batfamily had this gift. This wonderful skill. They are such talented, brilliant, capable individuals. But they are absolutely horrendous at wisely timing coming out to their family members. These are their stories . Aka: "I love you all but could we stop coming out to each other during the middle of battles?"

Call to a Lonely Earth by Drag0nst0rm (gen), 7k, Angst, AU-17776 Fusion There are no children left in Gotham. Not until the multiverse spits one out right in front of Batman, at least.

buy the ticket, take the ride by Anonymous (gen), 13k, Vegas Tim had always figured that if he ever woke up in Vegas sans-memory, it would be when he was older than fourteen. But there were some things he couldn’t control, and apparently whatever had happened last night that he didn’t remember was one of them.

CROSSOVER

Keystone by Kalinjdra (gen), 26k, WIP, HPxDC Harry Potter double-checked his lists before sending off the letter to an unknown cousin. He hoped for maybe some money at least, he didn't expect to get a scary bodyguard brother instead. Jason Todd has never stopped searching for his real parents so when Tim offers solid information in exchange of taking care of some kid, he really doesn't have anything else to do but take it. No one really could have foretold what followed.

#batfam fic rec #Batman #fanfiction #batlantern #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #conner kent #kon-el #batfamily #damian wayne #harry potter fic rec #monthly roundup #complete #fic rec #wip

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fernsnailz · 13 days

Note

Hello!

I had a question related to your shop, I'm looking into my options on creating an online store (because I refuse to do Etsy if I can avoid it just because of their sheer fuckery when it comes to how they treat creators) and was wondering if you wouldn't mind giving some tips or relaying your experience creating a shop, I was looking into Shopify but their fees scare me frankly and my family is having significant issues with them so they're kinda on the shit list lol

Anyway, ty for your time!

sure! i feel the same way about avoiding etsy, i've sworn off ever using it for a number of different reasons lol. unfortunately the biggest benefits that etsy has (easy international shipping and a search function that makes your shop/items really easy for people to find) aren't things you can get from most other shop hosting services.

i run my shop through bigcartel, which is similar to shopify - it's also a monthly subscription if you want to sell more than five items, but i think it's cheaper than shopify ($15/month for their platinum plan). i think bigcartel is okay, but their prices have been increasing recently (and they're also doing wild shit like putting their new shipping label feature behind their most expensive plan??? literally just found this out while researching for this ask. damn)

you could also look into ko-fi's shop feature or storenvy, i think you can use either for free. i don't have much experience with either, but i know people who use both and have had good experiences with those services.

running an online shop is hard! my main advice is usually to start small so you can get the hang of things first. the hardest thing for me to figure out was shipping - currently i use a site called pirate ship to make my labels and i get most of my mailers through ecoenclose. best of luck to you!

#fernasks

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separatist-apologist · 15 days

Text

Burning Red

Summary: When Arina is brought with her father to Velaris, she sees an opportunity to escape the marriage she's desperate to avoid. She wants a smaller life- a simpler life.

One that doesn't involve a dragon.

For @erisweekofficial

Eris Vanserra wasn’t sure what to make of his current sleeping arrangements. For one, he was in pants, which felt…wrong. Even with the thin material, he kept tossing and turning as he tried to find a comfortable position before he finally gave up.

Eris glanced over at the sleeping form of his mate, curled on her side. She’d allowed him to sleep beside her so long as he wore pants and promised not to touch her. Eris had self-control…and he wanted to touch her. Badly.

Worse when she shifted in her sleep, rolling from one side to the other so her cheek was pressed against his bare shoulder? Was he allowed to touch her if she touched him first? Surely she wouldn’t begrudge him brushing her hair from her face?

She’d said not to touch her, and so Eris kept his hands folded on his stomach, resisting the urge. There would be time, he reminded himself. Instead, Eris let himself think about what had happened since he’d found her. He’d been so certain if he offered her the chance to leave him, she’d take it.

He, of course, would have simply invented a reason to be near her so he didn’t have to wholly let her go. Instead, Arina had chosen to remain and had allowed him into her bed when he would have vacated if she’d put her feet down.

She needed things. Clothing and food and jewels—things he was certain the human males had afforded her, even as they treated her like chattel. The things he needed would arrive before she woke, and though the people closest to him were curious as to why he’d hidden himself away in the mountains, they ultimately respected his choice to remain for the time being.

Dragons were, by nature, more solitary than social. The rise of cities had only begun after the great purge when they’d realized they needed a more centralized government and the ability to defend themselves. It couldn’t be every dragon for themself—by the time they’d realized what was happening, they’d already lost so many.

Windhaven was, truly, the blueprint the rest of them had followed, though far more militarized that Eris’s own home. He understood why they’d done it, but Eris cherished the softness of his own home. They’d come through far better than most—they were isolated, and humans had to travel by ship to reach them. It didn’t mean they hadn’t suffered heavy losses—just that they hadn’t lost everyone.

He’d been their prince long before the settlement of Alsfeld, their main—and only—city. The vast majority of his people still chose to live on their own, far from the business of the city. Especially those with mates, who didn’t trust Eris to keep them safe. But over the years, more ad more had come into Alfeld, creating a small economy and living more communally than they ever had.

He liked it. Eris liked the sounds of people out on the streets, the chatter, the laughter, the general business that often took over. More and more people from the countryside began trekking in monthly, exchanging goods for other things they needed. The humans, he supposed, had helped facilitate one good thing in their violence.

He wanted Arina to see it. To love it as much as he did. And more than that, he wanted his people to see their chances for mates weren’t gone—just changed. He’d set the example, though truthfully Eris didn’t see how he’d manage to get humans within his borders without there being another war.

The humans males were just as territorial as the dragons, but far more prone to violence. That had been the point of his visit to Rhysand—cooperation among territories, a lending of strength and a tenative plan for how they’d intermingle. It wasn’t going well in Velaris which made Eris wary.

Not mentioning that he’d, technically, stolen another males bride. He doubted her family was going to treat him kindly, regardless of what Arina ended up deciding. Eris was prepared to defend her, even if she rejected him. He wasn’t sending her back to those people.

Arina whimpered softly in her sleep, curling closer until her arm was draped over his chest. Eris went wholly still, breathing in the soft scent of citrus and vanilla. Exhaling softly, he willed his body not to react.

He was failing. His cock stirred to life, unconcerned with his own nobility. Taste her, taste her, taste—

He couldn’t get up without potentially waking her. Eris merely kept himself still until he, too, eventually fell asleep. His dreams were no better than his imagination, conjuring images of her body beneath his own, nails digging down his back until his skin gave way to scales.

He woke before her to another wet day. She was wrapped around him, thigh pressing against his throbbing erection. If she woke like that, she was going to kill him. Carefully, Eris extracted himself from her hold, rather pleased that her unconscious form didn’t seem so opposed to touching him.

She’d hand her hand on his belly the night before when they slept in the woods together. He’d assumed, at the time, that she’d simply been cold and scared but perhaps she simply liked being near him. Eris wasn’t convinced she hadn’t chosen his room because she liked the smell of him.

She felt the mate bond just as strongly as he did, she simply didn’t know what it was that drew her to him. She’d figure it out…and then she’d wear his scales and Eris…well. He’d figure it all out afterward.

Eris slipped into the bathroom, pants already kicked to the floor before he managed to lock it behind him. Taking his cock into his hand, Eris merely leaned against the cool wall, eyes focused on the ceiling overhead, though he saw none of it—only her face, her body, her smile. Her scent was lodged in his nose, and when his eyes fluttered shut, he could imagine her touching him in her waking life. Those same, soft hands sliding up and down his shaft, drawing pleasure he’d never experienced before.

His own hand was sufficient. Ignoring the way his muscles still ached, wounds still tender and bruised, Eris fucked his fist with a ferocity he’d never felt in his life. Instinct demanded he claim his mate—if she had been born in his culture and his home, she’d understand it. She’d let him, joining their souls the way fate had designed.

But she didn’t, and Eris was patient. He’d waited centuries—he could wait a little more. Especially if it meant she came to the decision on her own.

“Eris?”

He came without meaning to, body jerking as though someone holding his strings had abruptly cut them. He made a mess of his hands, and the floor, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Arina knocked softly on the door as he stared down at himself, heart pounding in the wake of his release.

“Yes?”

“I ah…need to use the bathroom?”

Right. “Give me a moment,” he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed as clarity stole over him. Her feet padded away from him, pulling open the door that led directly outdoors. Eris hastily cleaned himself up, splashing water over his flushed face. After a few deep breaths deflated him enough to put the hateful pants back on, haphazardly laced because his hands were still shaking, Eris met her in the room they now shared.

She was standing in the rain, face upturned, eyes closed. Eris’ heart raced at the sight, ignoring that her nightdress was just as wet as the rest of her. This was a dream, he told himself, and at any moment he was going to wake up and find he’d made it all up in his mind.

She wasn’t real.

Surely she was a figment of his ruined imagination, though Eris didn’t think his own fantasy would argue with him quite so much.

She turned, catching him staring and all at once her easy expression darkened ever so slightly. That was real, he reminded himself as he opened the door.

“You can’t keep me locked up in here,” she said, stomping in.

“I’m not trying to,” he replied, frustrated she kept placing her very human expectations on his very unhuman shoulders.

“I want to sleep outside,” she added, as if Eris didn’t spend his own time napping in a sunbeam, half covered in leaves.

“Okay.”

Her eyes narrowed, but Eris was merely at a loss. He was agreeing with her, and still she was irritated. What do you want me to say? It was as if she wanted him to tell her no so she could rage against him.

Eris wanted to make her happy.

She left him standing stupidly in the doorway, tossing her thick hair over her shoulder before vanishing behind the bathroom door. He merely watched her go, heart still thudding in his throat.

He felt as if he’d done something wrong.

ARINA:

Eris gave her a tour, shirtless as usual as he fidgeted with the laces on his pants. He’d done the same the night before, tossing and turning until she’d felt a little guilty making him wear them. Though she was supposed to be shedding all the trappings of her former life, his desire to be naked was still rather shocking to her.

Sleeping with a naked man seemed even more so. What would father think?

He’d be outraged. Furious to the point of violence, she suspected. Was he looking for her? Arina couldn’t stop the anxious thoughts once they began. He couldn’t reach her—didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing. For all he knew, she’d been ripped to pieces by wolves in the woods.

He wouldn’t let her go without said pieces. He’d want her body, either shredded in a bag of dead on a slab, but he’d hold on to that control until he couldn’t anymore. He’d come—she knew he would. Did Eris? Arina vowed she’d warn him, wondering if he’d give her a weapon.

Something.

She forgot to ask him when he left her to her own devices in the library. There were no servants floating around, no staff to help him. As far as she could tell, Eris was doing everything on his own. Case and point: while she was picking through his collection, Eris brought in a tray of meat and cheeses and demanded she eat.

He’d also been the one to bring in all those new dresses, brought to him by someone, though she hadn’t seen who. Would he wash his own laundry? Cook his own food? He was clearly nobility and yet he didn’t act like it.

Arina waited until he wandered back in, watching her with that carefully guarded expression he always wore. It was as if he expected her to start screaming at any moment. She supposed she had been rather unkind…he just made her nervous. She knew what he wanted from her, and Arina wasn’t certain she could give it to him.

“My father is looking for me,” she told him, smoothing out the skirt of her soft, yellow dress. The fabric was simple and light, form fitted and well made. She supposed some of them must wear clothes, at least on occasion.

“I’m sure he is,” Eris replied, stepping into the warm light of the library.

“He won’t rest until he has me back.”

Eris only shrugged, as if to say, let him try.

“I want a weapon.”

“For what purpose?”

“What if he finds me—” Arina began, but Eris scoffed, clearly offended.

“I’ll handle him.”

“What if you’re not here? What if you get injured? What if—”

“Do you know how to use a weapon?” he interrupted again, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No,” she mumbled, frustrated and angry.

“So you need to learn,” he murmured, eyes unfocused as he considered his next moves.

“You put the pointy in, right?”

Eris scowled, gaze pinning her in place. She liked him right then, she realized. She’d said that specifically to rile him up and was delighted it had worked. His eyes seemed dangerous, mouth pressed in a thin line. “You could injure yourself. You’re probably more likely to injure yourself than your attacker and then what?”

“I’ve solved all your problems?”

She took it too far. It wasn’t rage that shuttered over his expression, but grief. He banished it as quickly as she caught it, holding himself rigid in response. Arina felt guilty, though she didn’t apologize, either. It was odd, seeing a stranger care about her. Genuinely care.

“You’ll teach me?” she asked, afraid he’d changed his mind.

“I will,” he agreed in that careful, measured way of his. “On one condition.”

“Negotiating?” she questioned with just a hint of outrage. The corners of his lips tugged upward, as if he were trying not to betray how amused he was.

“No more pants in the bedroom.”

“Eris—”

“I won’t touch you,” he interrupted, holding up his hand to silence her. “But I’m not sleeping in them.”

“Maybe I’ll pick a different room,” she said, the thought filling her with dread. She didn’t want to be alone, not after waking in the night to find his face pressed in her hair and a strong arm draped across her waist. She’d felt safe—like he’d take care of her.

“Go ahead,” he challenged, a sly smirk sliding over that beautiful face of his.

“I will,” she lied, crossing her arms across her chest. “I don’t care about your room that much.”

Some of his quiet contemplation slicked away, and Arina found she kind of liked the smugness that radiated from him.

“You’ll be in my bed before the sun has fully set.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, taking a step forward. “I’d bet the clothes you’re wearing that you will.”

Dangerous. Arina’s breath caught, heart thudding in her chest. “I’m not betting you my clothes.”

His smile widened, as if to say, oh you will. “A kiss, then.”

“Fine,” she replied, certain she could outlast him if only to avoid kissing him. Even if her traitorous eyes slide to his mouth as her imagination wondered what it would feel like. She’d been kissed by Jack and she’d hated every single moment of it. Arina didn’t understand why men liked it so much—she’d found the entire thing uncomfortable and unpleasant.

Eris strolled off not long after that, leaving Arina to find a room she didn’t entirely hate. The problem was that she hated all of them. The windows were too small, the beds to lumpy, the rooms too clean. She missed the smell of Eris’ room, even when she settled on one so far from him that it would make it impossible to navigate in the dark.

He said nothing, of course. He simply handed her a night dress before closing the door behind him, undoubtedly shedding his pants the second she couldn’t see him. It was all frustrating and yet entirely of her own making. She could have rejected the bet entirely and found herself laying beside him, perfectly content, warm, and not alone.

Arina hated being alone.

Always had, which made it such an effective punishment. Arina would do nearly anything to avoid being locked away with no one to talk to, and her father knew it. Anytime she displeased him, she was forced to her quarters where servants would file in and out silently, but no one was allowed to acknowledge her until her father felt she’d been brought sufficiently in line.

Laying in that cold bed, Arina let herself reflect on the life she’d been living up until that moment. She’d never really thought much about it—her most pressing concern had been around getting out of what promised to be a horrible marriage. She was out, now. If she was caught and dragged back, Arina intended to lie and say she was with Eris intimately, if only to ensure there would be no new marriages.

But now, after a full day of doing whatever she liked without supervision, Arina was struck with how absurd life had been before. How controlled—down to the very minute. Sometimes down to her very thoughts themselves.

It was still raining, pattering softly on the roof. She felt silly, though also paralyzed. She didn’t want to go into his room, even though she didn’t want to sleep alone, either. It was too early to admit any kind of weakness, she rationalized.

Arina curled on her side, back to the door, and willed herself to sleep. It didn’t work. Wide awake, mind racing, and a touch too cold beneath her blankets, she let herself imagine what would happen when her father inevitably found her. Where was far enough, she wondered? That his ships couldn’t reach, that his soldiers couldn’t search? Had this whole endeavor been foolish? Childish? Plenty of women married men they didn’t like and they survived it. Why should she be any different?

Behind her, the door creaked open softly, followed by the sound of feet padding into the room. A moment later, the bed dipped and then she was being yanked against Eris’ warm chest with a grunt.

“Stubborn,” he muttered into her hair.

“You’re naked,” she whispered, noting he’d angled his hips so they weren’t pressed against her.

“As I promised to be,” was his infuriating response. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I know,” she whispered. And she did. If nothing else, he’d proven that he had no intention of harming her since they met. She twisted onto her back, peering up at him. “I’m scared.”

“So am I,” he admitted, which was strange. What did he have to be afraid of? Arina was certain that, if she had wings, she wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

“Tell me what happened,” she murmured, wanting to know the truth of things.

“I don’t know it all,” he admitted after a lengthy stretch of silence. “We’re hard to kill, but its not impossible. The humans who came, though…one of us told them. Showed them. Explained our weaknesses—our mates, our children. A mated dragon won’t act rationally when its his young standing before a blade. We were more isolated then, less centralized…by the time we realized, it was too late. So many died.”

“What happened after?”

“We hid ourselves,” Eris murmured, his lips still pressed to her scalp. “Protected those who were left. At first I thought we’d retaliate but then…we were happy. Life was quiet. It goes on.”

“I’d want revenge,” she admitted, looking up.

“I never did until I met you,” he murmured, his grip tightening ever so slightly around her body. “I thought I’d moved on.”

“You don’t have to wage war on my behalf,” she informed him before attempting to turn back to her side. Eris stopped her, free hands sliding over her cheek, fingers in her hair to keep her from pulling away.

“Wrong,” he whispered, nose nearly brushing her own. “You’re so very wrong.”

“Eris,” she replied, pressing her legs together as if that would somehow help the desire that had slithered through her. “You’re in my bed.”

“You wanted me here,” he replied. How he knew, Arina had no idea. Maybe she didn’t want to know. What she did know was that she could have pulled away. He loosened his grasp on her just enough that she could have easily extracted herself from his grasp. This was a question—he was asking.

She didn’t move.

“Say it,” he whispered, lips all but touching hers. “Say you wanted me.”

She swore she meant to deny it. Arina felt the defiant words bubble in her throat, which didn’t explain why she said, instead, “I wanted you.” His mouth came over hers so softly that for a moment, she was taken aback. Surely this wasn’t what kissing was. His eyes remained open, searching her expression to see if he’d make a mistake. Miscalculated somehow. Oh, but it felt good. It was a conversation, not a declaration, and Arina understood, right then, what he was offering her if she wanted it.

He wasn’t going to hurt her.

And nothing between them was supposed to. She hadn’t understood that until right then when he sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into the sensation. He kissed her again, and this time she followed his lead, closing her eyes and touching his arm tentatively. It wasn’t lost on her that he was naked and she was not, and that it would be easy to take things too far.

She didn’t know him.

She wasn’t making any decision based on arousal. That didn’t mean she couldn’t kiss him. She liked it, just like she’d been afraid she might. One kiss became two, became four, became so many that each slid one right into the other, teeth nipping her bottom lip as her nails dug roughly into his skin. Arina lost track of herself, succumbing to the pleasure of his touch.

He groaned when she parted her lips, allowing his tongue to sweep in. Arina hadn’t know anything could feel that good—it was eroding her good sense. His fingers tugged at her hair and the hand that had once been draped around her middle suddenly found itself pressed to her stomach, as if testing to see where he was allowed to touch her.

Arousal and panic warred before panic won out. She pulled back, breathless and dazed as Eris stared, nostrils flared.

“I can’t—”

“You tell me what’s allowed,” he interrupted hastily, as if he felt just as ruined as she did by the kiss. “Tell me what you want.”

“Nothing else,” she breathed as his mouth came back to hers. “Just this.”

“Only this,” he agreed, and the hand on her stomach was gone, allowing him to cup her face instead. The kissing had become frantic on both their end—she could feel whatever it was that he knew intrinsically, though, when his mouth was on hers. The desire, the need, the urge to have him regardless of the cost.

They were on dangerous ground. She knew if she kept this up, she’d let him have far more, and who knew what the consequences to it all was. He did, likely—Arina wanted all the facts.

That didn’t make it any easier to pull away from him. Eris looked wild, hardly like a man at all. There was something distinctly animal about him. She liked that, too.

“Lay with me,” she whispered, trying to calm her beating heart. Eris nodded, pulling her close to him. She’d intended to ask him her questions.

But with the sound of his heart thudding in her ears, Arina fell asleep before she had the chance.

—

“So it’s an actual city?” Arina questioned, kicking up a pile of leaves on the ground.

“An actual city,” Eris agreed, tilting his face toward a patch of sunlight.

The rain had cleared the day before, the sun warming the once wet ground until the leaves were crisp beneath his feet. She was barefoot, hair loose in a dress made of spun cotton and dyed a pretty orange. She wanted to be outside, which was perfectly fine for Eris, who hated being indoors all the time.

And she had questions. If he didn’t know her better, he’d have thought she was prying for information she shouldn’t have. Arina was merely curious about the world around her, sharing what she’d been told and unraveling the half-truths of her own education. Eris had never realized how restricted human females were—she had almost no math literacy, for example, which he found immensely frustrating. What if one of his people needed assistance and she was the only one available? His people wouldn’t understand why she couldn’t do certain things—there were no restrictions based along gendered lines in his home or in his culture.

How did he give her that education without making her feel inferior, he wondered? One way, he’d decided, was to simply answer every question she had, even when it came in the early morning hours after she’d woken from a dream. Eris wanted to snap and snarl, but instead he’d merely answered her question before fall back asleep, face half smothered in her hair.

He’d given her a dagger the day before and to her credit, she hadn’t immediately pressed it to his throat. He had allowed her to get the upper hand, straddling his waist as she pressed the sharp edge to his neck, unaware Eris’s self restraint was holding on by the thinnest of threads.

He had the taste of her burned in his mouth and Eris wanted more. He needed it. She was skittish, prone to running off if they got a little too comfortable. He didn’t dare touch her below her neck, but she did. Just that morning, she’d been teasing her fingers in the irritating waistband of his trousers, which he had to admit, he’d enjoyed. If that’s why humans wore pants, Eris would wear them until he died so long as she teased him like that.

“How long have you ruled it?”

Eris was dragged back to reality where he was outdoors with his mate, cock half hard, while she meandered barefoot through the woods.

“A long time,” he caged, unsure if she’d like knowing how old he actually was. Arina accepted that, running her fingers over the rough bark of a nearby tree.

“Can I be out here by myself?”

Eris knew she was about to say something that filled him with rage. Clenching his jaw tightly to ward off the urge to take to the skies and punish not just her father, but the very home she hailed from, Eris only nodded.

“You’re not afraid I’ll run away?”

“No,” he admitted, not bothering to add she’d be easy to track if she did.

“I wasn’t allowed outside without a chaperone before,” Arina informed him, thus proving him right. Eris couldn’t help himself.

“Why?” he asked, the worst exploding in a rush of air. She didn’t seem phased.

“I think because I enjoyed it. But father always said I wasn’t safe,” she mumbled, green eyes clouding with her own anger. “He thought if a man saw me alone, they might take too much.”

Thos eyes cut toward him. “I haven’t taken anything you haven’t offered,” Eris grumbled, unwilling for her father to be right. He hadn’t taken her because she was beautiful—he’d taken her because she was his mate.

And because they’d been moment from a very violent death.

“You don’t worry another male—”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Eris hissed, claws unsheating beneath his knuckles. “You’ll wear my scales—they’ll know I belong to you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Wear your scales? Like a pelt?”

Eris hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t need to say anything at all, truthfully. She knew, had seen other females mated to his kind. Her fingers traced her throat, eyes wide with understanding.

“Does it hurt?”

He didn’t know that, though he assumed it must not. “No.”

“How does it happen?”

Eris couldn’t take her eyes off him. He understood the process in theory—it only happened once, and only with mates. “We ah…”

She scoffed. “Of course that’s how it works.”

Did she want to know the whole thing? Eris followed after her with an earnestness he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. “I use my fangs, too.”

“Is that a euphemism? I hear talk, you know.”

“No,” he replied, opening his mouth wide so she could see. Arina crept closer, touching the tip of his sharpened canine with the tip of her finger.

“It looks like it hurts,” she said, her other hand pressed gently to his bare chest.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said solemnly.

“I’m starting to believe that,” she admitted, withdrawing her touch as though she needed it. Eris wished he was closer to another dragon with a human mate, if only so he could ask how much their humans felt of the bond writhing in his chest.

“Arina, I—”

Eris wasn’t able to finish his sentence. The wind had shifted, dragging with it a scent that was all too familiar. Sickeningly so. Eris threw out his arm for a moment, pushing Arina behind him as he craned his neck upward. A passing shadow flew overhead. It smelled like his father.

Eris hadn’t meant to shift. It was panic and fear that caused it, his mind only remembering his fragile, breakable mate when his spiked tail slammed to the ground. Arina screamed, though she kept close to him rather than running away.

Eris bent his neck, demanding silently that she get on his back. She did, scrambling upward with soft hands. They didn’t have to go far to find the interloper. Eris knew those gold colored scales didn’t come from the northern dragons, who favored scales in hues of red, blue, and green. Oranges and golds belonged to the warmer, western climates and this creature was no different. Gold was a rare color, and certainly not the color of his fathers scales. Like Eris, Beron had been an orange scaled dragon.

To get gold, you needed two gold scaled parents. His mother had been one, and Eris knew who the other had been, once upon a time. Before Beron had slaughtered the male.

As he thought over his family history, a small female scrambled between the two of them, hands thrown out.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” she breathed, as if it mattered. She was here, when she had no right to be, with a male who smelled like Eris’s father. That, alone, was enough to warrant the violent death he was planning.

“Elain?”

That was Arina’s voice. Eris snarled, but Arina wasn’t afraid of him. Sliding off his back, she met the brunette in the middle of the field just before the estate, arms hanging loose at her side. Where was her dagger? What was the point of a weapon if she wasn’t going to keep it on her.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Elain murmured. “Can you…can you tell him we’re not going to hurt you.”

“No,” Arina replied, glancing over at Eris. “How do I know that?”

Elain threw her hands up in the air. “Because we’re not. He’s mated,” she added, pointing to the gold scale ribboned around her tanned skin. Eris felt a bolt of jealousy at the sight. He couldn’t boast the same.

“Then why are you here? You followed us,” Arina accused. Eris shifted behind her, watching the gold dragon who stood behind his own mate, though without half as much animosity as Eris had. The male merely seemed curious, and Eris believed if he shifted into his regular form, the other male would, too.

“You left in the middle of the night before we could even talk with you,” Elain replied. “I think…I think they’re brothers.”Eris shifted without meaning, pants wrecked. He didn’t care. “My brothers are dead,” he insisted as the other male shifted.

Eris wanted to die at the sight of that face. Helions face, coupled with his mothers eyes and hair, stared back at him. His father had killed the king of the south seemingly abruptly—Eris had always wanted to believe it was a territory dispute. Beron wanted more than the islands and Helion was simply their closest neighbor.

But then he’d taken Eris’s brothers and mother and vanished, too. Eris had been spared, out in the woods when his father went on his rampage. By the time he returned, they were gone and Eris was the defacto king at the age of thirteen.

The humans had come for them a mere three years later.

“The humans killed them,” the male told him, stepping just behind his mate. The males hands fell on her shoulders and Eris realized, with a jolt, that she was pregnant. His knees shook at the future laid before him, proof that human females not only mated with them, but started whole families. All his rage evaporated, replaced with something a little shrewder. Let the mated female stay—maybe her happiness would rub off on Arina.

“And your mother?” Eris heard himself ask, holding himself so very still.

The male looked away.

“Was it humans?”

“He kept us at the edge of one of their settlements,” the male murmured, eyes glassy with remembrance. “Mother hid me when they came.”

She would, too. She’d have sacrificed herself for all of them. If he was the youngest, the most helpless, Eris knew she’d make sure he was safe somewhere, assuming she’d be able to come back for him later. Eris didn’t bother asking how he’d survived.

“You smell like her,” the male added, fingers tightening on his mates shoulders.

“Are you staying?” Arina asked with the same suspicion Eris felt.

“Lucien and I thought…” Elain bit her bottom lip. “It’s a long journey back.”

Lucien’s eyes slid to Arina before falling back on Eris’s face. “I’m not asking you for your things. Just…history.”

“Could we all maybe put on some clothes?” Arina asked, interrupting whatever Eris had been about to say. He still didn’t know—hadn’t figured out what he wanted, or needed, or even what he should do. Here was a male claiming to be his full-blooded brother when in truth, he was half at best. The better halves, likely, given there was no Beron corrupting him. This was his home, too, and the ruined, wrecked south should he want it. Eris didn’t know if there was anything worth salvaging, or people who still remained.

“Please,” Elain added with an exhale. Arina’s eyes brightened, which was enough to convince Eris they could stay.

“Fine,” he grumbled, noting his half brother looked just as annoyed. They exchanged a tentative glance as if to say, I hate pants, too, before following behind Arina and Elain. Eris wasn’t certain he’d made the right choice, or even a good choice. For all he knew, Lucien had come as an invader.

But Lucien would know, with some certainty, if his father had been the one to betray them. And more than anything, Eris needed the answer to that question. Had his father been so enraged his wife had a child outside of their marriage that he’d doomed every female? It was the sort of vindictive thing Beron would have delighted in.

If he couldn’t have a wife, no one could.

And Eris was the inheritor of that legacy.

#eris vanserra #i can fit so much plot in these bad boys (tragic)

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meimi-haneoka · 1 day

Text

༻✦༺ Welcome! ༻✦༺

Last update Sept. 24th, 2024

Hello and welcome to my main blog, my little home where I share my love for Cardcaptor Sakura and CLAMP works to the world! ✨

I'm Cinzia, she/her, Italian. Aged in a barrel of hyperfixations and daydreams. You might wonder, why this blog url if this is mainly a CCS blog? Well, when I opened this blog more than 10 years ago I was heavily focused on Kaitou Saint Tail, but when I started posting more and more about CCS, at some point I realized it was too late to change url or all the links to the posts I had shared around would become broken.

Regardless! I have closely followed the serialization of Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card ever since it began and my monthly commentary became something more when I realized the official English translation wasn't doing justice (to use an euphemism) to the original Japanese version. My friends and other fans in general were left confused and misguided by the countless translation mistakes (some to the point of changing the plot), so I started pointing them out in my monthly posts.

I also post other kind of stuff, like reports of CLAMP Spaces when they talk about CCS, or long time ago I posted summaries of interviews with the staff of the Clear Card anime. I plan to eventually translate those fully, considering my skills with Japanese language improved since then. But please remember that "English is not my first language" etc etc., so if some sentences sound weird, you already know why. Now that the manga is over, I post with irregular schedule some in-depth analysis and trivia about the story, examining one topic at a time. Despite being a CLAMP fan and loving other stories as well, I chose to focus on and dedicate myself to CCS in particular, due to time and limited mental resources. Thinking about following me? That's great, thank you! ✨ But if there's an idiom I love, it's "good fences make good neighbours", so please make sure to understand what kind of blog you're about to follow. I consider this my fandom home so additionally to those posts I mentioned above, I also unapologetically post about the ships I love. I love to analyze, I like to theorize. I don't disguise, I don't tiptoe.

I am a CCS fan born in SyaoSaku, and reborn with YunaAki, with currently a preference for the latter ones. If you're curious to know what my POV on this pairing is, you can get a very clear idea looking at my #yunaaki and #cosmos & crystals hashtags . If for any reason that's not ok with you, you're absolutely free to unfollow or even block me. In fact, I encourage you to do so. I'm here on this site to enjoy what I like, not to make anyone miserable. Unkind asks will be ignored; attempts to "lecture me" about what is acceptable and what not, what I can like and what not will probably be laughed at (I'm old for this stuff, it doesn't work with me). On the contrary, if you like YunaAki too, you'll be more than welcome here! Send me a message to share our headcanons! ✨

Now that we've cleared that up, here you can find the real reason why I wanted to make this new introductory pinned post: a convenient list with links to all my relevant posts, organized by category! I will update this list as I add new posts, so always check the date at the top for new additions! 👍

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card: commentary + translation differences

(started at chapter 41 because that's when I got access to ENG scans) Collected under the hashtag #translation differences . The first posts might be a bit overzealous, as I was getting the hang of it. TBA: I have a bigger project for this in the works, an easier way to browse through all the relevant translation differences, divided by chapters and volumes, starting by chapter 1 (even marked by severity).

41 || 42 || 43 || 44 || 45 || 46 || 47 || 48 || 49 || 50 || 51 || 52 || 53 || 54 || 55 || 56 || 57 || 58 || 59 || 60 || 61 || 62 || 63 || 64 || 65 || 66 || 67 || 68 || 69 || 70 || 71 || 72 || 73 || 74 || 75 || 76 || 77 || 78 || 79 || 80 || Epilogue || Short stories 01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 ||

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Trivia series

All about Clear Card, from the most mundane trivia to the deepest thematics presented in it. Collected under the hashtag #clear card trivia .

Clear Card Trivia 1 ~ Literary and musical references/mentions in Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card

Clear Card Trivia 2 ~ Alice in Clockland and its meaning inside Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card

Clear Card Trivia 3 ~ Sakura's journey of growth and self-understanding throughout Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card

Clear Card Trivia 4 ~ The most ancient Magicians of Europe, the Magic Association and their role in Clear Card

Clear Card Trivia 5 ~ Real life models of buildings featured in Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card 🆕

English translations of short stories and Drama CDs

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card BD vol. 8 one shot

Card Captor Sakura Clear Card Arc - Drama CD part 1

Card Captor Sakura Clear Card Arc - Drama CD part 2

Clear Card manga volume 10 Special Edition bonus - Mini Book

Sakura & Syaoran parallels in CCS and TRC

Discontinued, even though I know there are more. Who knows, maybe one day I'll continue it! Collected under the hashtag #syaosaku parallels .

1 ~Hands~ || 2 ~Pinky Promises~ || 3 ~Hugs~ || 4 ~”Tell me”~ || 5 ~Desperate hug~ || 6 ~Scream and shout~

CLAMP Space reports

Reports and in some cases translation of entire chunks of conversation from CLAMP Spaces on Twitter.

July 30th, 2021 || September 5th, 2021 || March 27th, 2022 || April 4th, 2022 || August 7th, 2022 || October 24th, 2022 || November 8th, 2022 || December 28th, 2022 || January 4th, 2023 || May 5th, 2023 || January 8th, 2024 || April 1st, 2024 ||

Interviews with the Clear Card anime staff and cast

Highlights and recaps of the interviews released during the period of broadcasting of the Clear Card anime. If you want to know what kind of feelings and ideas Clear Card was made with, as well as the origin of the 25th anniversary project (which turned into Clear Card), check these out. I plan to translate these entirely, so this list is only temporary, waiting for the complete interviews.

Interview with CCS Clear Card producer Chiyo Kawazoe in Animage 12/2017

Morio Asaka x Sakura Tange interview in Newtype 05/2018

Highlights of Morio Asaka’s interview in the Starter Book

Interview with Yukana (Meiling’s VA) in Animage 06/2018

Interview with Sakura Tange and Motoko Kumai in Animage 07/2018

Interview with Sho Saito (Nakayoshi editor) and Nozomi Matsuura (CCS copyrights manager) in Animedia 07/2023 (full interview)

Other random stuff collected under hashtags:

My fanarts

My fics for YunaAki (to be moved soon)

Enjoy your stay! ✨

#//pinned post #welcome and read this before following thank you!✨#I don't use DNIs or carrds or whatever #basically in this house there's just one rule #don't be an asshole about what I love

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knific · 8 months

Text

hi im john! or zero. i'm a LEESBO and i draw stuff : also im multifandom and i switch interests almost monthly. if you follow me for one thing you might not get that.

i'm fifteen and from the southeast of asia. i can speak different languages but i only prefer being spoken to in english lol!

also we MIGHT be mutuals. this isn't my main blog and that was actually a mistake because i didn't know how to use tumblr by the time. if you see you're being followed by some user called epicflowpow then I guess we're mutuals :') that's my main blog that im inactive on! lol! it's hard to explain

byf:

i have bad memory don't expect me to remember anything personal like ur birthday,

i make sex jokes sometimes ok if ur not comfortable lmk and ill stop,

i post what i want, i might post blood, gore, etc. anything i post may be triggering, if you don't like it block me! the only form of censoring you'll get is the tags so get ready to mute a few (ex: cw blood, cw knife, cw suicide)

my social skills suck.. you can try to talk to me but i get very nervous when talking privately and i might say things i don't mean

i am sometimes rude but it's just for fun lol i don't actually mean it,

i don't reaalyyy use tonetags but ill use them when my wording starts to sound a little serious

uhhh i make homophobic jokes because it's FUNNY. im actually a person of the bacon community though so yeah.

i like to cuss my faves out. i will say very very mean stuff about them and I won't state whether it's positive or negative. if you don't like that then you should probably not read the tags sometimes

i ironically use emojis like 😂🥺🥹😜 etc

dni: i don't have a dni because people are gonna interacr with me anyways. ill block whoever makes me feel uncomfortable and who not (pr/shipp*rs are not exceptions lol ALL will be blocked)

also i do requests! here are like. rules for my requests n stuff:

i think im most likely to do EVERY request you guys give me, so go crazy! i just won't do it quickly. because im not an art machine

i do any reqs, but i will less likely do/will put for last the oc requests lol :)

okay when I said any reqs i lied: just don't request me taco x pickle loll it's for the sake of some of my mutuals :) i can still draw them hanging out but it won't be tagged as ship or implied ship

i also do any fandom but again i will less likely do fandoms im not in lol

uhh. if im uncomfortable with a ship in particular ill just ignore your req don't bother sending it again or im gonna give you a beating

complicated styled characters are ok but if you wanna give me a first good impression don't send them or you're literally breaking my fingers physically

also comics scare me if you request those too you're also breaking my fingers (it's not prohibited though you can send them but ill cry)

tags

0 art: for my art

0 ask: for asks

0 req: art requests!

0 s req: things people draw for me :)

0 reblogs: for reblogs (best muted)

0 txt: me talking

0 talk: me talking w other ppl

0 fave: favourites/saving for later

0 other: other

#0 art #0 ask #0 req #0 reblog #0 txt #0 s req #0 other #pinned #for context: the bacon community is the LESBIAN community. i cant say bc my sister knows my tumblr #0 talk

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midnightsilver · 2 months

Text

Looking for an art activity to do this month? Or maybe you just want some no pressure Art Prompts to get the creative juices flowing? 😄

Then check out the Events and Challenges page in the SPN FANART COMMUNITY and see if anything there sparks your fancy 😁. Our page has bangs, prompt events, monthly challenges and more! 🎉

⭐️ What is the SPN FANART COMMUNITY? ⭐️

❇️ Tumblr Communities are a bit like a group blog which lets members make posts directed at the group and chat privately underneath the community posts. You can also share interesting reblogs from tumblr main.

⭐️ In the Spn Fanart Community you can share your latest art wip, or a new art technique you are trying, ask for second opinions or ideas on different approaches to creating your art. Share a tutorial or reference link that you found helpful. Extoll the virtues of a new art medium that you tried. Show off your art haul. Post references pics and inspiration ideas up for adoption. Signal boost an art event. Promote your commissions or art shop. Talk about the art that you love 😄🙌🏼🤗

⭐️ Spn Fanart is a ship and let ship community. No drama, no hating. I’m your admin (MidnightSilver - they/them 👋🏻😄) and together we are creating a relaxed and uplifting space, where we support and encourage each other in our art.

⭐️ The community is open to artists of all levels whether you are right at the beginning of your journey or have been on the open road for some time. The idea is that we are all travelling together so we might as well help each other along.

➡️ If you would like to join the community you now don’t need to wait for an invite, click the link below and come on over and join us. We’d be glad to have ya 😄

https://www.tumblr.com/join/MRtB8ii

#supernatural #spn fanart #art #events and challenges #ship and let ship #all levels of artists welcome #Spn fanart community

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inkareds · 2 years

Note

Can I please request some fluffy headcanons with namor or a lazy day? I need more soft namor after the fight between wakanda and talocan is over, Thank you if you do this!

Care for You Namor

nav // marvel m.list // ko-fi ✧.* word count: 2.4k ✧.* genre: SFW // suggestive fluff ✧.* warnings: just some suggestive things at the end but I still think it's SFW

After the fight between Wakanda and Talocan, Namor worries you were disappointed in him, how wrong he was.

Taglist (rmbr u can join my taglist through the link in my bio or commenting in my monthly wip lists on which fics you'd like to be tagged also if you'd like to be removed j tell me! No hard feelings!!! <3): @simonsbluee @namorwife @euphrosyn3 @dilly-dalladalla @deliciousfestsalad @lothkat @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry

(all italic texts are Mayan)

“I can’t believe he would do such a thing, I mean, giving up to that spoiled Wakandan Princess?! It’s a disgrace to our fighting abilities. We had them! You know we did!”

“Does it matter if we had them or not?! If what they’re saying are true, that ‘spoiled Wakandn Princess’ bested him in a fight. He could’ve died and the only thing you’re thinking about right now is if we were defeating those Wakandan soilders or not?!” You practically yelled at Attuma.

Namor, your husband, had said it would be better if you both were to fight on different fronts. After all, it was expected for him not to fight with the main army as he would’ve needed to fight against Shuri. If you were fighting with your soldiers it would bring the overall mood up, seeing their ruler fighting alongside them would give them more strength to fight.

That decision had come as a double-edged sword, whilst it was true that the soldiers fought more valiantly with you in the ranks reminding them why they were fighting. It was also true that it brought you great anxiety when you realised that you didn’t know what was happening to Namor. For all you know he could’ve been dead or dying when fighting against Shuri.

You knew better than to underestimate the woman. She may be much younger than both you and your husband, but she held the experience of someone double her age. Coupled with the loss she had experienced at the hands of your husband? It’s only natural that she’d fight fiercer than anything both you and your husband have seen so far.

She was dangerous. You know that.

The entire time you fought, feeling your blade clash together with the spears of the Wakandan soldiers, the only thing on your mind was to get this done quickly so you may be of assistance to Namor, your king, your husband. Nothing could’ve described the insane amount of thankfulness that rushed to you when you saw him and Shuri standing side by side on that ship.

When he forced everyone to back down, unlike your people, the first thing you thought about was quickly dispelling your people. You’ve faced enough losses today, you’ve seen one too many of your subjects be killed in front of your eyes. You will not squander this chance of mercy Shuri has granted your king just because of pettiness.

But just like in the war, once you were back in your underwater kingdom you were once more separated. As general, Attuma, a very close friend and confidant to you, pulled you aside to talk about the casualties and his overall rage at Namor’s decision.

“Would you rather he die?” you asked in an exasperated manner towards Attuma when you saw the way his face still held anger. You knew where he was coming from, both your people and you have trained practically every day for this day to come. For the day that the people above waged war. To know and accept that the first battle in that war was lost to you, was hard to swallow.

But it was something you had to swallow, and you’ll force everyone else fighting by your side to swallow as well. As selfish as it sounds, you’d rather lose a hundred battles than lose your husband.

“There are strategic reasons why this is adventageous for both of us. If K’ul’kukan had killed Shuri it would’ve crippled Wakanda as a nation, yes! But that would mean they no longer have anything to lose! Did you see how many of us they were able to kill? What do you think will happen when they lose their pillar? More cassualties will follow, and Wakanda is greater as an ally than an enemy.”

It was true you were rather frustrated at the turn of events, but now that you were away from the battleground and had some time to think. There was an advantage to losing and being spared after all. Advantages that would not show their true colours until later on. When Attuma looks unconvinced you turned your head. It’s useless trying to move an immovable rock.

“Enough, remember who you are talking to Attuma.” Despite fighting on the same front you were quick to remind Attuma of his manners and the respect he should show you as his ruler, “I am tired of the fighting and I want to see my husband. Now leave me be, if you have anything to discuss about, Namora will take my stead.”

Attuma seemed as if he was about to say something, but he quickly shut up when you pointed a sharp glare in his direction. “Of course, your highness, forgive my disrespect.”

“You are forgiven, now go.”

When Attuma left the room you’re in, a room decorated from wall to wall with war strategies, statistics, and the like, you quickly left as well. The water could not carry you fast enough to the cavern that held your chambers with your husband. The only time you were able to see him was with Shuri on that ship, and even then he looked rough.

You could only guess how many injuries he actually sustained during the battle.

Finally setting foot on the cavern you practically ran to your shared chambers. As you slammed the door open, his attendants and the doctors around him jumped at the sight of their ruler.

“Thank you for tending to my husband, you may now leave.” You quickly masked your panic as you realised the other people in the room.

Namor looked at you with an unreadable gaze, sitting on a chair, his attendants surrounded him fussing about his wounds, massaging him with oils to ease his muscles, and two doctors worked at once to heal the wounds on his body and wrap the bandage around his ankle. “Your highness, we haven’t fully bandaged the king yet-”

“No matter, I will do that myself, now leave.” The doctor that spoke to you quickly nodded and stood up before urging his partner to leave with him.

Not long after that the attendants soon left as well after tidying up their tools.

In quick succession the moment they left the room you dropped to your knees in front of your King. Grabbing the bandage that the doctor left behind and slowly finishing dressing the wound on his ankle where Shuri ripped off his wings.

You were silent and gentle when your hands slowly placed down the bandage once you realised the bandage on his ankle was already bled through. Namor didn’t speak when you slowly pulled the bandages away, showing the gash. He didn’t even wince when you placed medicine on the open wound.

The only thing he did was watched as you meticulously cleaned and dressed his most damning wound. His silence was due to how he thought you felt. Here you were on your knees in front of him, showing him your subservience and yet he wasn’t able to win just a simple fight. He assumed you felt disappointed in him.

The king of Talocan himself, a god in his own right, not being able to win a fight against a princess not even an eighth of his age? He felt great shame facing you right now. To any of his subjects, he would’ve told them about Shuri’s fighting spirit. How she was incredible on the battlefield.

But to you? He can’t say anything.

There were no excuses that would leave his mouth if you were to ask why it was that he lost.

He had placed you on the front lines, you could’ve died and he wouldn’t have been able to avenge you. How can he call himself your husband if he can’t even do that?

Buried in his own self-loathing thoughts Namor didn’t realise that you were done bandaging his ankle. His train of thought was only stopped when he felt your warm lips against his own.

His eyes widened as he realised what was happening. Why were you kissing him? He was unworthy of your love, your touch, your kindness right now. When he didn’t kiss back you pulled away.

“My love.” You whispered placing your forehead against his. “I was, so scared.” Namor was just about to apologise for putting you in such a dangerous position, thinking you were scared of having to fight the Wakandan army.

But the moment he sees the tears leaving your eyes and the way your hands so delicately placed themselves on top of his chest covered in bruises and marks. He realised you were scared for him. At that point, he had nothing else to say.

Did he seem so weak that you were worried for him? How unworthy was he truly for your love? You, a warrior, a deity in your own right.

“Please stop thinking,” it was as if you could practically hear his self-loathing thoughts. “Stop thinking, just- just look at me.” One of your hands left his chest and went to angle his chin upwards to face you.

You stood taller than him right now with him seated and you standing next to him. This way Namor could truly see how worried you were. “It killed me inside not knowing if you were winning the fight or not.” You finally croaked out in between your tears.

Namor, finally breaking from his spell, grabbed both your hands, slowly lifting them and giving your knuckles long kisses. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry for failing.”

“Hush, I couldn’t care less about any of that right now. I’m just glad you’re here with me.” Then and there silence wrapped the two of you in its warm embrace.

Though neither you nor your husband felt cold often, to be in each other’s presence, basking in the silence and comfort of just existing together felt warmer than anything else in the world. His hands slowly caress your own. Both of you with your closed eyes and touching foreheads. There was nothing else more calming in this world than this moment right here.

When you remembered Namor was still fresh off the battlefield you pulled away from his touch, leaving him to slightly reach for your skin. “Patience, my king. Let me take care of you.” A hint of mischievousness lined your voice at that moment.

Seeing s how the tension was slowly melting away, Namor only grinned and watched you intently as you walked behind his chair towards the table holding numerous oils. Picking one bottle up, he chuckled once he realised what you were going to do.

“Is something the matter, my king?” the edge in your Mayan only made Namor’s grin widen. “No, no, please continue. Serve your king.” he teased.

It was your turn now to smile at his words, all before going towards him and pouring some of the oil on his back and your hands. Slowly you pressed the palm of your hand on his back. You’ve done this plenty of times to both your king and your soldiers as a way to ease their tense muscles after battles to know what you were doing.

But no matter how many times you’ve done it with Namor, every time it still feels intimate. He practically melts against your touch as you pushed your hands to knead away the knots in his back and body in general.

You smiled as you watched the way Namor eased. You wished you could truly describe to him the amount of awe you had for him. Though you aged slower than most humans and mutants alike, you haven’t lived half of Namor’s lifetime. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to be him those days when he was alone.

To be a king at such a young age, to be a god to a people for such a long time. Such burdens materialise in the way his muscles ached and tensed.

But now with your skilled hands, you release all of that tension.

Despite this, you were still quite cheeky, as you couldn’t help but speak when Namor kept lowly groaning at the pleasure of your hands on his back. “Is this that enjoyable my king?” you know he’s used to your jests, but what you didn’t expect was for him to suddenly stand up.

The sudden action caused you to jump and he took that opportunity to lift you off your feet before dropping you down on your shared bed.

“K’ul’kukan!” you yelled out entertainingly when Namor crawled on top of you, placing his body weight on both his hands and knees he looked down at your now flushed face as you looked up at him. “It was very enjoyable, I think I should return the favour, no?”

A grin made its way to his lips as he began to lean down to your neck and pepper light kisses. Despite your clear enjoyment of what he was doing, seen by the way you were craning your neck to give him more access, you half-heartedly pushed him away. “Your wounds are still fresh K’ul’kukan! They’re going to reopen if you keep doing this.”

He only hummed in response against your skin, his teeth slowly grazing and nibbling on the soft flesh of your neck. “Your doctors are going to be mad at me.” You tried to reason with him.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m the king remember?” You swear he’s only teasing you, but Gods was his voice the most sultry thing in the world right now.

Slowly through his soft touches and kisses, you began to forget that you were supposed to be worried about his well-being. “I was scared of you too.” he whispered so quietly against your skin.

At that moment, you realised why he was doing this. It wasn’t because he wanted to say thank you for massaging him. Maybe that did play a part, but the reason he was now praising your body as if you were a temple was that he was scared.

He was terrified about your own safety. Now that you were in his arms, words failed to describe how happy he was. And when words fail, actions speak louder.

So, you stopped struggling and let your king, your husband, your God, make you feel like a deity.

Hi! I know this isn't REALLY what you asked for but I just couldn't get this out of my head! I hope you enjoy this either way though! But if you'd still like me to make a lazy day fic for Namor I can totally do that!!! <3

#namor x reader #mcu namor #mcu namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #mcu

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tj-dragonblade · 1 year

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[FIC] Caribbean Sunset

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 5496 Tags: Human AU, PWP, cruise ship, Service Top Hob, Enthusiastic Bottom Dream, Dream is not quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, bossy Dream, agreeable Hob, outdoor sex, potential for unintended exhibitionism, a brief moment of thrill-seeking sex w heights involved, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, effusive endearments, a brief turn of Top Dream/Bottom Hob, background Hob & Johanna, Hob and Johanna are besties, mention of swinging and f/f/f threesome

Notes: A fill for the monthly smut prompts posted up by the lovely @staroftheendless - this is directly inspired by Smutember day 10 (cruise ship) and also makes use of Smutember day 12 (sunset) and, if I wanted to be technical, I could also say it pulls in Smaugust day 31 (ocean) by default. I was so sure I could do this as an under-1K quick fill. They, as usual, had other ideas.

Summary: Hob hooks up with a beautiful stranger on a Caribbean cruise

On AO3

His stranger's back hits the full-length window with a thud, and the sound he makes disappears into Hob's eager mouth. His arms are around Hob's neck, fingers tangled in his hair, bare legs gripping tight about Hob's hips. Hob's hands are splayed on the backs of his thighs, moving under to grab his own cock now that the laminated glass is doing the work of holding the guy up; Hob double-checks that the condom is properly in place and then he's lining himself up, pushing in, tight wet heat sinking down around him.

His stranger's head knocks back against the glass, a long moan rising out of his throat, and he makes a practiced, fluid motion with his hips that seats Hob that last inch smoothly inside him. "Fuck me," he orders desperately, that low voice strung tight and breathless, "oh god, Hob, fuck me—"

And Hob, well. He's hardly inclined to refuse, obviously, and so he obeys, a few careful strokes to establish the balance and the rhythm, and then he's railing his stranger senseless—fucking up into him hard and fast, panting into his pretty red mouth, pinning him against the glass and drowning in the way he wails his pleasure.

Hob can hardly believe he's actually here.

Two nights already they had been flirting on this cruise, escalating rather quickly from heated eye contact to suggestive conversation in the lounge to the clearest possible signals of raging interest and intent. Twice Hob had been ready to bed this seductive siren of a stranger who coyly refused him a name and twice he'd been cock-blocked by Johanna, with whom he'd previously agreed to barhop the entirety of the ship, whom he'd 'promised karaoke time, c'mon Hobsie, don't leave me hanging—'

But tonight he'd told her she was on her own, and his beautiful stranger had dragged him back out of the lounge as soon as they'd spotted one another, promising him a drink from the bar in his suite if Hob was 'truly that thirsty for alcohol'.

His stranger's suite turned out to be the royal suite, the grandest accommodation on the ship, but Hob had no thought for appreciating the luxury of it when his stranger had slammed him up against the inside of the door while still sliding his keycard into the power slot, kissing him fiercely. They'd shed clothes all through the entryway, kissing like they were starved for one another the entire time, winding up naked in the doorway to the bedroom—where his stranger had retrieved lube and condoms and herded Hob back out to the main room.

"I do not wish to be had in the bed," he'd said then, breathlessly aroused but still haughty as anything, the 'I've spent ungodly amounts of money on this enormous suite and I should like to be railed against every option it offers' clear in his tone. So Hob had pushed him down on the plush sofa in the middle of the main room and swallowed his pretty pink cock until he came, had spread him like a feast on the private dining table and eaten him out until he was hard again and singing Hob's praises, had bent him over the bar and fingered him all the way open until he was sobbing and demanding Hob's cock.

And now Hob is balls-deep in his beautiful stranger, who is plastered against the glass door to the verandah making noises like he's getting fucked within an inch of his life.

Which, of course, he is, if Hob may say so himself.

The curtains are wide open, giving Hob a view over the deck and the rail to the dying Caribbean sunset beyond—which he's sure is gorgeous, but he's rather more enamored with the way that that light paints his stranger's pale skin with liquid gold, the glint of it off his tousled ebony hair, how it casts the vivid kiss-bitten red of his open mouth in sultry shadow.

"Just look at you," Hob gasps, fucking hard and fast up into tight heat, utterly wrecked by the sight before him. "Christ, you're beautiful, I'm the luckiest bloke on this goddamn ship—"

"Hob—ahh—Hob, Hob—!" His stranger is moaning his name on every thrust, arched back against the glass and clinging fiercely around Hob's shoulders, thighs trembling where they grip his hips. He's so open and responsive, so noisy, Hob can't get enough and he shoves up close again, buries the sound of his name beneath the weight of his tongue in his stranger's mouth, fierce and wet and adoring.

And then his stranger lets go of him with one hand, swipes along the glass and scrabbles for the door latch, wrenches the lock open and tears his mouth free of Hob's. "Outside," he gasps, wrapping arms and legs tight about Hob again. "Take me outside—"

Hob hefts him off the door and sweeps it open, stumbles out onto the spacious verandah. There is a private hot tub out here and doesn't that hold a lot of fun possibilities, but Hob will think about that another time. Because his stranger is bouncing himself slightly on Hob's cock like he just can't wait for Hob to start fucking him properly again, little 'ah' noises in his throat each time he comes down, and it's making it so hard to keep his balance, let alone walk or actually give the guy what he so desperately wants. It's a relief when he squirms down on Hob's cock and stays put, tilts in for a brief kiss that is more biting-and-licking than actual proper kiss. "Put me on the railing," he breathes, right into Hob's mouth, and okay. Alright. He can do that.

Somewhat.

The railing is tall enough to hit his stranger low on his back as they're currently situated, a little too high for Hob to actually perch him up there and still be able to fuck him, not without a step. So he presses up against the railing as-is, crowds in close to his stranger again, grip firm around his thighs because he's suddenly registering that is a bloody long drop to the ocean below, especially from the top deck of the goddamn ship, where this ridiculously posh suite is of course located.

The last thing he wants to do is drop the guy overboard in the middle of sex; the thought is a bit of a moodkiller, to be sure. And yet his beautiful fuck-hungry partner seems not the least bit bothered by the possibility, letting go of Hob to grasp the railing tightly, leaning himself back out over the emptiness as much as he can, legs locked tight around Hob.

"Careful," Hob can't help saying, a frisson of alarm curling underneath his raging arousal.

"Yes," his stranger agrees, head dropping back so that he's gazing upside-down at the dusky sky, at the fading molten line where it meets the sea, and then he writhes his hips, impatient. "Hob," he whines, and damned if his name in that voice doesn't make Hob just a little bit feral.

Fine, alright. The guy wants a little adrenaline rush with his sex; Hob can respect that, and his dick is certainly happy enough to start fucking again, his stranger's arse still slick and warm and tight around him. He loses himself in it for a minute, the heat, the slide, the open air, the guy's cock jutting stiffly between them, the beautiful pale arch of his stranger's neck as he hangs back over open space, the soft little moans he's making from this angle and the way they would suddenly turn to shrieking screams if he fell back and over—

God damn it.

His stranger lifts himself upright again quite suddenly, a graceful fluid display of extremely sexy core strength that completely disrupts Hob's faltering rhythm.

"What's wrong?" he demands, breathless and urgent, blue eyes narrowed, pretty mouth turned down slightly.

God, but that pout looks good on him. Hob swallows. "Bit terrified I'll drop you over, actually. Can't get it out of my head?"

His stranger's expression smooths out, the little wrinkle of consternation disappearing as the pout morphs into a smoldering half-lidded gaze of pure lust. "My Hob," he purrs, leaning forward, draping his arms around Hob's neck, tilting in, "so wonderfully. Chivalrous—" The word brushes straight into Hob's mouth, followed by the wet curl of his stranger's tongue, the kiss thorough and deep, fingers combing through Hob's hair, his stranger's prick nestled into the thick fur of Hob's belly.

And then he's lifting himself off of Hob's cock, unwrapping his legs, sliding down and stepping back. Hob lists after him blindly, helplessly, dizzy from the kiss and already missing the grip of his partner's body. "I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to stop things—"

His stranger presses those slender fingers to his mouth. "You haven't." He kisses Hob again fiercely and then he's turning around, leaning forward against the rail and angling another of those coy smoldering looks over his shoulder. "Have me like this, instead." He arches his back, legs wide, presenting his arse, and oh-kay, Hob's on board, definitely, much safer this way with everyone's feet on the ground. Yes. His hands are already on his stranger's cheeks, spreading him open, displaying his slick and well-fucked hole to the light flooding through the windows behind them in the rising dusk and Hob takes half a second to just appreciate such a beautiful sight before he lines his cock up and slides it neatly home, all the way to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

"Yes," his stranger moans, rocking back against him, clenching around him, "Hob, yes, yes—"

Hob grasps his pretty little hips in both hands and fucks.

The sky is deep blue overhead, purpling toward the horizon, faintly pink still where the sun has just sunk below; the noise of the deck party at the other end of the ship is faint, barely audible, and there is nothing but the sound of the waves, the endless stretch of darkening ocean around them, billions of stars twinkling into view and Hob gets it. He gets why his stranger brought them outside, why he hung over the edge, why he wants to get railed over the railing (heh). The vastness of the sea and sky is exhilarating, invigorating; he feels small and inconsequential yet so damned alive he thinks he might burst, and fucking is the best thing he could possibly do about it.

His stranger is moaning beautifully, low and lilting, is gripping the rail and thrusting back to meet him and Hob is maybe just a little bit in love already. He slides a hand around, grasps his stranger's cock just to hear his voice rise, strokes it because he can't not. It's such a perfect prick, shapely and slender-tipped, thick at the base and exactly the right length to ride on and Hob wants it inside him very badly next time, if there is in fact a next time. For now he's content just to stroke it, to savor the feel of it in his grip and the way his stranger positively writhes forward into his hand and back onto his cock.

And then his stranger slides a hand over Hob's, twines them together briefly around himself before lifting Hob's hand away, bringing it up to his chest. "I will come untouched," he declares breathlessly, and well, okay. That is both flattering and intimidating, the implicit expectation that Hob can and will fuck him so well he doesn't need his cock stroked to finish—but Hob has never been one to shy from a challenge, especially when there's orgasms involved.

"Putting a lot of faith in me, love," he says, teasing, slowing his thrusts just for variation, and gets himself another coy over-the-shoulder glance for it.

"I am certain it is not misplaced," his stranger says, a little moan on the final vowel thanks to Hob's cock sliding into him again.

"Heh. As you wish, then," Hob demurs, still fucking slow and smooth, and since his hand is resting on his stranger's chest, he moves his thumb in search of a nipple. The noise the guy makes when he finds it is startlingly loud; charmed, Hob flicks over it again and his stranger gives a shuddering whine, wriggles backwards on Hob's cock.

Of course he has sensitive nipples too; he is so utterly perfect in every way and Hob absolutely has to fuck him harder about it, slamming his cock home while his fingers dance over the ripened bud on his stranger's chest. His moans are getting high and loud as Hob takes him apart, unmistakable if anyone were to overhear, which. The suite is designed for privacy, sure, but his voice is really carrying and it's not unthinkable that the nearest neighbors might be getting an earful if they're out on their verandahs. Hob debates for a second, but when his next thrust jolts a high sharp cry from his stranger, he abandons the nipple and wraps his hand over the guy's mouth instead, muffling his voice.

"Alright then?" he asks, leaning close, lips along the back of his stranger's ear, and gets a desperate whine in answer, a nod jerked against his hold. They carry on another moment, lost in the heated slide and slap of their bodies, Hob's blood rising with every second. He lets go of the pale slender hip he's been holding on to and grasps the railing right next to his stranger's white-knuckled grip, leaning into him, still covering his mouth, and the shift in angle is apparently exactly what was needed to get the guy there. He shudders and throws his head back onto Hob's shoulder, twists under Hob's hand and sinks his teeth into the meat of it between thumb and forefinger, the high keening sound he's making now still effectively muffled. The bite doesn't hurt, just spurs Hob on really, and when the guy starts to tremble, then shake, he doubles his efforts, hammering hard. "C'mon, sweetheart," he pants, low and breathless, lips brushing the shell of a pale ear. "Come for me, darling, there's a love—"

His stranger spasms, goes rigid, wails into the palm of Hob's hand as his orgasm hits.

Hob slams in deep and holds there, runs his lips along the taut line of that pale neck, shivering at the way the other's arse grips him tight, clenching rhythmically with his release. Doubtless he's spattering all over the plexiglass of the rail, dripping on the deck, but cleanup will be a later problem.

When his stranger goes limp, Hob eases back, pushes carefully into him again, and the resulting moan is low, softer, sated. Hob's hand is released and he drops it to the guy's hip, thumb caressing the dip of his waist as he fucks in slow and smooth again.

"I can stop, if you like," he offers, unsure if his stranger is the type who still enjoys getting fucked in the aftermath of orgasm or the type who can't take the ongoing stimulation.

"I would prefer you continue. However—" Abruptly, his stranger has drawn off of Hob's cock and turned around, is pushing him backwards until he stumbles and falls onto one of the sun loungers on the deck, which are much plusher than the ones in the common pool areas. "A change of position would please me immensely." And he swings himself down to straddle Hob's lap, wriggles his arse over Hob's prick and sheaths him back inside with ease.

The incline angle of the lounger is perfect, makes it easy to reach up and pull his stranger down to kiss, easy to grasp his hips and let him move. And move he does, effortless and smooth, a sultry roll that has Hob's toes curling while the guy's tongue is practically dancing in his mouth, slender fingers carding behind his ears and angling his head into the kiss, which somehow gets even better.

He lifts away a long moment later, presses short little pecks to either of Hob's parted lips and darts his tongue briefly in between them, a lingering tease of farewell before he straightens up, still leaning forward. He's holding Hob's eyes, unblinking, intent, and the roll of his hips turns insistent, rising and falling on Hob's length in a heavy, steady rhythm.

It's a little surreal, sprawled in the lazy embrace of the sun lounger, stars blanketing the heavens overhead, the warm night air and the wafting breeze, the shush of the waves against the hull far below, the beautiful fey creature in his lap, limned in soft golden light from the uncurtained windows. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin by now from exertion, and it makes him practically glow as he rides Hob's cock, alive and ethereal and untouchable, and absolutely sexy as fuck.

"How are you even real," Hob breathes, reverent, awed, hips pulsing up in soft counterpoint and the heat in his belly swimming, spreading.

His beautiful stranger gives a sultry little whine, mouth turning down the slightest bit. "How are you not coming yet?"

Hob blinks.

"Your stamina is unbelievable. Men usually pop for me very quickly. I am not accustomed to working quite so hard for it."

There is a tease underneath the complaining tone, and the corner of Hob's mouth lifts in a roguish answering grin. "Can't help it, gorgeous. My partner should get off before I even think about my own pleasure."

Those incredibly blue eyes actually roll. "Hob Gadling." Yes, he'd given the guy his full name that first night, and clearly he'd remembered it. "Your chivalry is—misplaced, at this point. I have come twice by your talents, yet you seem—intent on making it three, while you have yet to finish once. I will have your orgasm, now, and then—ahh—I would have you carry me to bed and stay the night."

Hob loses his rhythm at that. "You…want me to stay?"

"The shower is sensual, and spacious. I would have you there, in the morning, and then perhaps you might join me for breakfast?" His tone is the haughty-imperious thing that had tied Hob's insides in knots the first night, but it's shot through with a fleeting thread of unexpected vulnerability.

"That sounds absolutely divine," Hob says, something warm blooming in the vicinity of his heart. He knows he's falling too hard too fast but fuck it—he'll worry about that when the cruise is over. He wants to pull this beautiful creature into his arms, kiss him senseless, roll them over and fuck him tenderly until he comes again, and then maybe come himself. But the width of the lounger doesn't allow for a graceful roll and he's not about to disrupt things to the point needed to get this guy underneath him.

"Talk to me," he says instead, running his hands from hips to ribs and back again, a soft caress. "Your voice does things to me. It'll help, if you've truly worn yourself out on my cock." He winks.

"Not quite," the guy smirks, and starts moving again. He is quiet a moment, and then: "I pleasured myself, while thinking of you," he says, undulating on Hob's dick like it's the easiest thing in the world. "The other night, after your charming friend dragged you away. You had aroused me terribly; I came back here and thought of you, writhing in my bed with my hand on my prick and my fingers in my arse, imagining how you might do it instead."

"Shit," Hob gasps, the words sparking new heat in his gut, making him harder. He's staring up into his stranger's beautiful face, utterly mesmerized by the intensity he sees there in the light that spills from the windows alongside them.

"I was frustrated, last night, when you left me again," he says, picking Hobs hands from his hips, twining their fingers together, leaning forward to gently pin them beside Hob's head, his rhythm faster, still flawless. "Aroused, aflame, abandoned by the one I desired. I engaged with an American gentleman who was eager to take me back to his stateroom and suck me off. I pretended his mouth was yours."

Hob whimpers, well on his way to orgasm, spurred on by his stranger's confessions. He raises his knees and plants his feet on the lounge, giving himself leverage to thrust properly in counterpoint and his stranger lights up atop him.

"But tonight—ahh—tonight, I have you in truth, at last, and you are—exceeding, my expectations, and—and—ohh, you are going to make me come again, Hob—!" He untangles his fingers from Hob's and buries them in Hob's hair, plunges his tongue into Hob's open mouth with a whine, kissing hot and wet and desperate as he bounces his hips fiercely in Hob's lap. They are slamming together now hard and fast, the kiss turning into openmouthed panting against one another, swallowing each other's little noises; Hob's hands are tangling in his stranger's artfully-messy hair, scrabbling down his back, seizing his arse and spreading his cheeks, holding him open and still as he fucks up into him relentlessly. His own orgasm is looming, building, so close he can taste it but his stranger has said he's about to come again and Hob will make it happen first.

The guy's almost quiet about it, this time; his body goes tense atop Hob's in very short order and he moans into Hob's mouth, a thin, warbling sound that strains out of his throat. "Don't stop, don't stop," he manages, as Hob holds deep to let him ride it out, so he starts thrusting again while the guy is still coming and that's just about all it takes. His stranger's moan ends on a gasp, and then a series of sharp sobs as Hob fucks him through it, keeps him trembling at the height of climax while fiercely chasing his own. He nips at the guy's open mouth, heedless of the saliva drooling from his quivering lower lip, seeks out the luscious wet of that tempting tongue with his own.

It's exquisite, exhilarating, erotic, and Hob's body has completely slipped its leash, pistoning up into his stranger with abandon, pleasure rising like floodwaters. He moans as it starts to hit, lamenting that he still doesn't know this guy's name and then he's up over the precipice and falling, spilling into his stranger's shaking body with a choked cry. "I'm coming, love, I'm coming," he gasps, earning another sob; his hands are tight on the guys arse, holding him down, holding the two of them crushed together while he empties himself at long last.

It lets him go in a rush and he goes limp, his stranger collapsing on top of him, burying his face in Hob's throat. Hob wraps unsteady arms around him, cradles him close, both of them silent while they catch their breath.

He stirs only to reach down and take care of the condom as he softens; once it's tied off and set aside, he's holding his stranger again. The guy hasn't moved, except to burrow a little closer, and Hob is thoroughly enamored with how cuddly he's becoming in the aftermath of what was, quite frankly, incredible sex.

He gives him a few moments before he shifts, bringing a hand to cup the back of his skull, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Still alive, there?"

The guy stirs, lifts his head, brushes his lips lingeringly across Hob's. "Not even a little bit."

Hob cards his fingers underneath his beautiful stranger's sweat-damp hair, strokes his scalp, easing down to his nape. He presses the tiniest kiss against the red of the guy's upper lip on one side, soft and affectionate.

"Love, sweetheart, precious…what's your name?" He turns into an absolute sap once he's come. He can't help it.

His stranger gives him that same coy little smile that's been tying him in knots since two days ago, but it's softer and sweeter around the edges now, which. Is somehow much, much worse.

"I like the things you call me because you don't know."

Hob's heart trips lightly in his chest. "If you're fond of petnames, darling, I promise you've not heard the last of them from me. Still love to have your real name?"

His stranger's smile softens to something that looks incredibly fond.

"Stay?" he says, in lieu of an answer, tucking his face back into Hob's throat. "The bed is spacious, and quite comfortable."

Hob is so far gone already, it's a little pathetic, but again, he can't help it. For the sake of his own dignity, though, he's trying very hard not to crumble immediately. "If I stay, will you tell me your name in the morning?"

"Perhaps." The coy smugness is crystal clear.

Hob caves. "Fine, okay, yes. Let's get you to bed."

"And you will stay?"

"'Course, love. I'll stay." He swings himself around and upright, his stranger still cuddled in his lap and clinging like a limpet, and somehow summons the strength to stand.

He carries him to bed as requested, pushes back the covers and lays him down, and when he moves to straighten up the guy holds on with a low little whine of protest. "Ho~ob."

It's adorable, honestly. "In a tick, love," he says, gently disengaging those gorgeous arms from around his neck. And then, as an afterthought, he smooches him on the forehead.

It takes him a minute to find his trousers out in the main area and retrieve his phone to text Johanna, but it turns out she's beat him to it.

Eyyy, Hobsie! Y'know my cute little shirt with the pineapples and flamingos on it? Turns out that's code-signaling for swingers, who knew? Anyway I met this AMAZING couple, gorgeous gals, spending the night, don't wait up. Ta!

Hob smiles, shakes his head, fires off a quick reply.

Hey Jo - lemme know you're still alive when you wake up. Hope you had fun? Found my pretty stranger; he's invited me for breakfast. I'll be back in time for the excursion.

He turns his phone off, slips back into the bedroom and into the bed, where his stranger immediately snuggles close, rubbing his face in Hob's chest hair like a cat. "Goodnight, Hob," he murmurs, and Hob's heart does a soft little somersault.

Yeah, he's got it bad, and he doesn't really care.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams."

His stranger snorts a little sound that might be a giggle, and Hob drifts off in short order with this beautiful man in his arms and a smile on his face.

~~~ In the morning, he discovers that the shower is indeed as opulent as promised, and that his gorgeous stranger is very good with his hands. And his mouth.

Also, his name is Dream, which Hob finally learns while crowding the guy up against the glass of the shower wall after, mouth on his slender white neck and hand around his perfect cock.

There is a certain decadent hedonism in taking breakfast buck naked with his stranger—with Dream—in his lap after orgasms in the shower, at the same table he'd eaten Dream out on the night before. It's a shame he must excuse himself directly after, but he's promised to meet Johanna in time for their shore excursion today.

Serendipitously, Dream has booked the same excursion, swimming with the dolphins in St. Thomas—it's a lot of fun, and Jo is a very good sport about the added company. She does excuse herself as soon as they've reboarded that afternoon, though, since 'the ladies invited me back tonight and I am absolutely taking them up on it, thanks.'

Dream draws Hob aside by the forward elevator bay, pulls him into a short but steamy kiss, slips a keycard into his pocket and regards him from beneath coquettish black lashes. "I trust you can find your way back?"

"Oh yes," Hob breathes, and the heat stirred in him by the short exchange fuels him all the way back to his and Johanna's stateroom. He passes Jo on her way out, rolls his eyes with a smile at the leering finger-guns she gives him, and hurries through grabbing fresh clothes for the morning, his own toiletries, his phone charger.

Dream is nowhere to be seen when Hob lets himself back into the enormous posh suite, but the door to the deck is wide open, sea breeze wafting pleasantly through the room. Hob finds him out in the hot tub, jets frothing up the water, arms stretched out along the rim and head laid back to bare his throat temptingly, eyes closed. There are two glasses of wine in easy reach on the side of the tub.

"Hullo," Hob breathes, turned inside out all over again that this gorgeous charming creature has chosen his company.

Dream cracks open one eye, greets him with a slow curling smile. "My Hob." He shuts his eye again, arches back in a show of sensual indulgence. "Take your clothes off. Join me."

Hob doesn't need to be told twice.

Sitting naked in the hot tub with Dream, drinking wine and soaking away any cares, is a deliciously heady experience; when Dream sets aside his glass and drifts into Hob's lap to kiss him with gentle confidence, it becomes even more so. They spend a good half hour like this, Dream's lithe wet body in Hob's arms, Dream's elegant hands idly playing with the hair at Hob's nape, and on his chest, and on his arms. Their kisses are soft, wet, slow, a thorough and unhurried reacquaintance with one another after the day spent platonically, the frenzied passion of the night before.

The end result is much the same, regardless.

"Dream—" Hob is still so delighted to have a name "—Dream, darling, please tell me we can fuck again tonight," he breathes, enraptured by the way Dream's hard cock is idly bumping against his beneath the warm water.

"My apologies, Hob," Dream says with a slow smile. "You made such exquisite use of me last night; I would prefer to allow myself another night to recover. However." His fingertips drag up the side of Hob's thigh, dance across his stomach to stroke over the head of his prick. "I know many other ways to…entertain you, for the evening." The purr in his voice and the sultry look on his face are such that Hob wouldn't be surprised if the water around them suddenly set in to boiling.

"You can entertain me any way you like," he says, a rush of anticipation fizzing up inside him as Dream strokes him slow and lazy. "But I am absolutely dying to get your beautiful prick inside me, if you're willing?"

Dream stills, draws back, looks at him with wide eyes, and it's clear this is not a request he's accustomed to hearing. "You would like…me, to fuck you?"

"Please," Hob breathes, viciously aroused by the way those words sound in that delicious mouth and a bit broadly pissed off at every guy who'd ever added up Dream's fancy words slight build and pretty face and assumed him a waifish twink who exclusively bottomed. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all day. Please, please please please please—" he's leaning forward, each 'please' brushing Dream's parted lips "—sweetheart, let me sit on that brilliant cock? Or lay me out and spread me open and fill me up?"

Dream surges into him and seizes his face, kisses him fiercely, water sloshing all around them and over the sides. "Such things you say, Hob Gadling," he breathes, nipping at his lips in between his next words. "Up. Out. Wait for me over there."

Hob is, again, only too happy to obey, adjusting the sun lounger to lay flat, the breeze warm on his wet skin as he settles onto it. Dream returns with condom and lube and crawls over him, kissing, touching, and Hob learns exactly how talented those pale slender fingers are as they open him up with relentless skill.

The sun is settling into the sea when Dream finally pushes into him, full and perfect between his legs, mouthing kisses against Hob's hairy calf laid over his shoulder, warm everywhere that their bodies touch. The dying light paints him golden and vibrant, coppers and oranges playing on his skin; Hob soaks him in, the flawless rhythm he sets between them, the pleasure singing in his own veins, the sight of Dream leaning close above, aglow in the wash of the Caribbean sunset with adoration in his eyes as he gazes down at Hob, and Hob knows.

Whatever happens when the cruise is over, whatever follows his return to normal life—this holiday, the chance to connect with Dream, has been more than worth it, and will stay with him forever.

=== Started: 9/4/23 Drafted: 9/10/23 Posted: 9/13/23

Fun trivia: Jo's pineapples-and-flamingos discovery is 100% a real thing. An upside-down pineapple on your stateroom door (or your door at home) indicates willingness to swing/looking to swing/there's a swinging party happening here right now. In clothing it's apparently meant to be a little more subtle/covert, a way to start a conversation in that direction. Flamingos as a swinging indicator is usually more in context of plastic lawn ornaments at home or when camping, but will also get incorporated with the pineapple motif on cruise ships/tropical vacations. So depending on who her hookup couple is (Gaultienne? LuciMaze? I couldn't decide), when they spot obviously-single Johanna alone at the bar obliviously advertising that she Plays Well With Others they decide either she probably doesn't know and perhaps they should tell her, or to have a little fun at her expense. Jo strikes me as a woman of opportunity regardless.

Jo: You two got an insider's perspective on this, then? Jo: You looking for other swingers tonight? Jo: Because. *sips beer* Wouldn't say no, would I. 'F I got asked?

I am not writing this I wouldn't even know where to start with characterization brain stop feeding me snippets—

✨✨✨ Sequel: London Fog ✨✨✨

#Dreamling #Hob Gadling #Dream of the Endless #Sandman #TJs Fics #nsft

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