#wip: umbrella boys

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] Love, Rain Down on Me

Rated: M Word Count: 2272 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, stargazing, care packages, acts of service, kisses in the rain, realizations, confessions, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, 5+1 fic

Notes: Final entry for Fluffbruary 2024; turns out I wasn't done with this Umbrella Boys AU just yet. Shoutout to @academicblorbo for asking about Dream's pov and suggesting the first 'I love you' as an idea; my brain said 'Oh yes' 1489-Hob-style and while this is not exactly what I first envisioned, I'm still happy with where we ended up.

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 25: fox twilight sweat Day 26: fluff woolly care package Day 27: table blush laundry Day 28: reward shelter piano Day 29: breakfast valley sign alt prompts: wish hot solid

Summary: 5 times those Three Little Words go unspoken, and one time they do not

On AO3

1. The first time Dream realizes it, Hob has taken him to the astronomy department at the college, after hours, to look at the stars. "Gale lent me the key," Hob had laughed when Dream expressed trepidation about breaking into Hob's place of work. "I'm allowed to come moon over the stars sometimes, and I'm allowed to bring you with me if I want."

So they are taking turns looking through the telescope, peering into the perpetual twilight of the heavens and marveling at the beauty that cannot be properly seen with the naked eye nor from within the light-polluted aura of the city. Hob laughs when Dream observes as much. "Maybe come end of summer we'll take a drive out of the city, camp out for a night in the countryside and do some real stargazing. Sound good?"

And Dream looks at him, this beautiful man squinting up at the skies through his colleague's telescope, the way his hair falls around his face, the scruff of his three-week-old beard and the elegant line of his nose, this beautiful man who offers anything he thinks Dream might like as if it's nothing. Hob has shared with him the woes of past breakups, the consensus that he is too intense, moves too fast, is too much to put up with, and he has admonished Dream to please please tell him if he ever oversteps or pushes too hard, too far because he is trying to do better, but all Dream can think in this moment is how warm he feels in Hob's affections, how priveleged to receive his time and attention.

I love this man, he realizes, like camellias blossoming beneath his ribs, like the sun breaking over the horizon.

"Dream?" Hob is looking at him now instead of the stars, eyebrows raised, mouth curved in a patiently-amused smile.

"That. Would be lovely," Dream answers at last, smiling warmly back at Hob, and cradles his newfound revelation close in the hollow of his chest.

2. The second time, Hob is away at a conference and Dream has emerged from a morning of fitful writing to discover a neatly-wrapped package delivered for him, tied with a ruby red bow. His sister has brought it up and left it by his door rather than interrupting his writing time, as they've agreed. Upon opening it, he finds a letter from Hob atop an airtight plastic container.

Hey Dream, reads the letter, just wanted to say that I'll miss you while I'm gone and can't wait to lavish you with sweet kisses when I get back. Meantime, I made you some of those lavender-rosemary-lemon biscuits you love and here's my shirt you can sleep with if you want. Enjoy ~♥

Delighted by the package and the letter and the biscuits, and the intent behind them, Dream lifts the container out of the box; beneath it, there is a compact umbrella nestled in what turns out to be one of Hob's favorite t-shirts, worn just enough to smell like him. Dream presses it to his face and inhales, absurdly touched, and smiles as he picks up the umbrella.

Of course Hob has sent him an umbrella; that is their 'thing', that is how they met, and he is also terrible at remembering to bring one with him. Tied to the handle he finds a piece of card stock about the size of his palm, with a drawing penciled on one side. It's a rough cartoon figure that is recognizably Hob, smiling brightly and holding a sunny yellow cocktail umbrella that has been carefully attached through the card so that Hob's penciled hand appears to grasp the toothpick handle. Don't forget! says his speech bubble, and Dream feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as his smile grows too wide for his face to contain.

I love you, Hob Gadling, he thinks, both hands wrapped around the umbrella, and presses his lips gently to cartoon-Hob's precious happy little face.

3. "You did not have to do my washing, Hob," Dream protests, somewhat futilely as the deed is already done, dried, and being folded. "I am a grown man, capable of doing my own laundry." Never mind that his clothes had been accumulating in Hob's flat all week while he worked through additional revisions to The Seeds of Fate; Hob's space was conducive to this particular story, he found, and Hob was generous in allowing him to hole up here during the day while Hob was at work and on into the evenings when he returned, overnight when Dream wished it.

Hob shrugs. "They were here, I had a load of darks, they fit. Don't worry, my washing powder's the allergy-free stuff and I checked your tags for temps and such. Which reminds me." He sets the black jeans he just folded aside, takes up a pair of his own. "Your fancy lace shirt's hanging in the shower; hand washed it in cold just like it said and put it up to drip-dry."

Dream is keenly struck by the soft warmth of Hob choosing to do mundane everyday chores for him, taking care with his things, simply because he wants to and he can. It is not new, by any means; Hob has engaged in little acts of service the whole of the time Dream has been acquainted with him, from the very moment he first offered shared use of his umbrella to Dream. The domesticity of this moment settles something deep within him, something that sings of home and happiness and contentment.

"Hob Gadling, you are a chivalrous and wonderful man," he says, when what he means is I love you. "Truly, you make my life so much easier." He comes close, presses a kiss to Hob's cheek.

Hob just smiles, soft and warm and pleased, and continues folding his laundry. "You're welcome, duck. My pleasure."

4. "Here, take ours," Hob says, handing his umbrella to the woman with the toddler at the bus stop as the skies open up.

"Oh I couldn't!" Her eyes dart from the umbrella (which Hob is of course holding over her and her child) to Dream and back to Hob. "That's very kind, but then you'll get soaked!"

"We're not far," Hob assures, pressing the umbrella into her hand. "I insist. We'll be fine."

"Well…if you're quite certain?" She clutches it gratefully.

"Of course. Take care." Hob offers a friendly smile, the kind that makes his nose scrunch up adorably, and they turn to leave.

"Thank you!" the woman calls after them.

Dream finds that he doesn't mind the rain, is not inclined to run for shelter, not with Hob beside him, not when their getting soaked is because Hob does not hesitate to offer kindness to strangers. It gives him a warm glow inside, to know that he loves a man who works to put kindness out into the world, to brighten the days of those around him when he can. Damp clothes and wet hair are a small price to pay, and the summer rain is not so cold.

Halfway to Hob's flat, Dream steps around in front of him and drapes his arms behind Hob's neck. "That was a very kind thing you did," he murmurs, stepping backwards, drawing Hob with him so they do not stop moving onward. It is very much like a slow sort of dance down the street, and Hob's arms wrapping about his waist only heighten that impression.

"Yeah?" Hob shrugs, smiling. "She needed it." Like it is truly that simple.

To Hob, it is.

Dream kisses him, pressing close while the rain falls upon them. "Not many would give up their own comfort for a stranger." His lips brush Hob's with the words and then Hob is drawing him back in, warm, hungry. Dream fancies he can taste the rain, between them.

"Not a hardship, not when I've got you to keep me company," Hob finally says, nipping softly at his lips, water dripping steadily from a loose lock of hair.

"Such things you say." Dream is intoxicated with the moment, the atmosphere, the swelling of feeling he holds for this man and the tender warmth in Hob's eyes gazing back at him while the skies wash the world around them in soft hazy grey.

I love you, he thinks, kissing Hob again, pulling him close in the falling rain, I love you, I love you, I LOVE you—

5. He thinks it next when he is tangled with Hob in his bed, breathless and sweating and coming apart in Hob's practiced hands, when every time Hob moves within him he is crying out, starlight bursting behind his eyes.

He thinks it as Hob shivers to a halt, pulsing hot inside him, trembling in his arms.

He thinks it laying in Hob's embrace after, Hob's chest solid and warm beneath his ear, rising gently with each of Hob's sleeping breaths. I love you, I love you, I love you, he whispers in his head, in time with the steady beat of Hob's heart, and lets himself drift to sleep, content.

One day, one day when the moment is right, he will say it aloud; until then, he hoards it like a precious secret safe in his heart.

+1 Dream wakes on Sunday with a groan, protesting the sunbeams that have found his face; they had not closed Hob's bedroom curtains last night and he is paying the price for this oversight now.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Hob says, leaning on one elbow beside Dream with his head propped in his hand. He is supremely unbothered by the brightness, leading Dream to surmise he awoke some time ago.

"You are watching me sleep, now? You will not convince me that it is entertaining." He blinks once, twice, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Entertaining is not the word, no, but I do enjoy it. You're so pretty when you're asleep, soft and relaxed and at peace. I love that I get to see it." Hob smiles, reaches to trace a fingertip down his cheekbone. "Was trying to decide what to make you for breakfast, actually."

Dream squirms onto his back, throws an arm over his eyes, stretches his toes. "You need not make such effort—" He cuts himself off with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"You're worth it, though," Hob says easily, and Dream rolls his head to the side, meets Hob's eyes again. The sun is striking them exactly right, illuminating the depths of the brown to amber, honey.

He is so beautiful.

"Very well." Dream smiles, indulgent, lazy. "What will you be offering to please my discerning palette?"

"Fry you up an egg and a couple slices of bread? Tomato too, if you want. Blueberry jam for your toast and your sweet tooth. And if you're hungry enough, a nice hot juicy sausage?" He waggles his eyebrows.

Dream arches one of his own in return, and Hob grins. "Yeah alright, that's for later. But I will cook you actual sausage too if you like."

"I will take actual sausage with breakfast, yes, and 'sausage' when I am awake enough to enjoy it." He swings himself out of Hob's bed and makes his way to the toilet, the warm sound of Hob's laughter following him.

By the time he wanders into the kitchen, having donned his pants and a t-shirt of Hob's, bare feet and bare legs and bare arms because he's comfortable and because he knows Hob likes it, Hob has sausages and tomatoes frying in one pan with eggs and bread in another. He's tied an apron over his bare chest and joggers, captured most of his hair in an elastic band, is whistling cheerfully over the stovetop with a spatula in hand. The kettle is going, and Dream retrieves two mugs from the cupboard.

He preps Hob's tea once it's steeped, a quarter the milk and sugar that he puts in his own, and offers it to Hob to taste once he's finished plating their breakfast.

"Perfect," Hob pronounces, handing it back and picking up the plates to carry to the table. "Why's it always taste best when you make it?"

"I infuse it with my charming personality," Dream quips, deadpan, and Hob huffs a laugh.

"God, I love you," he says, his smile still broad, bright enough to rival the morning sun outside the kitchen window; and then he stills.

Dream, too, has gone still; Hob has never said those words to him before, and it sets something joyful and effervescent singing through his veins.

Hob loves him.

Hob loves him.

But Hob is shrinking in on himself, just a little, as if he could hide behind the plates in his hands and the apron he wears—every inch the man who fears (too much too fast I always come on too strong) the consequence of words he had not intended to speak aloud. Dream will be sad about this later, that he has failed somehow to make clear to Hob beyond the shadow of any doubt how welcome his affections are, how endearing his intensity, and he will vow to do better; but now, in the moment, with his heart soaring, the solution is simple, so simple, as easy as breathing.

He has never said the words aloud either, but they are as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart and they are spoken with as little effort.

"And I love you, Hob Gadling." He leans over the corner of the table, kisses Hob soft and sweet on his blossoming smile. "Now, where is my blueberry jam?"

= Started: 2/26/24 Drafted: 2/29/24 Posted: 2/29/24

The lavender-rosemary-lemon cookies were first written by @softest-punk and then brought to life by @carnelianmeluha; you can find the original fic and the recipe via this link One day I will brave my utter dearth of kitchen skill and make these myself. One day.

[sunriozz]

bonus: this...wip thing for that one au.

[missjiru]

Some flats on this adorable homicidal shitheel~

[celerysimpnartz]

Hi so I cut off a bit from the klive christmas week prompt list thing cause suddenly my brain shut down so here's a peace offering of WIPS of my old fanarts

Read tags for explanations on the WIPS

[void-dude]

SHAPES AND PINES AU MASTER POST

here ye! here ye! Here's a full list of every post related to Shapes and Pines!

This will also be updated as I continue to create things for the AU! (Everything under cut)

Wanna see all the cool FANART AND FANFICS? -> Masterlist 2

!Random drawings semi-/non-canon!

How it started... oh it STARTED NO

First concept / Second concept

I'm infecting people

Playlist for the SaP

Voice HC for Tad

WIP (give me your heart)

Lovey-dovey

semi working but complicated queer situationship

They simply came to me in a dream

Legs 1 / Legs 2

Wrinkles and Love

I'm Tad Strange

Kiss Kiss

No competition

He want that fat boy

Immortality is a curse

OURGHH GET A ROOM

Glamour on (to hide)

Get a room...(suggestive)

My Boss

Nightmare Tad

Climb him like a tree

The umbrella

Catnip...

!Backstory time/Billy Arc!

Look at the stars

Glamour and Scar

Oh Little Billy, please

Billy you're just special (provided by my amazing mootie Nako, everybody say thanks Nako)

!Semi Chronological timeline!

One is the loneliest number

THE FIRST MEETING

So they talked...

“ And before I knew it, I agreed to things I shouldn’t have “

The day I got out of the basement

Floppy disk

Touchy subject - Stan

Well shit

Getting a ring

Thermometertest

!Side AU/hypotheticals!

(Not all are from me but I loved them so much that they are part of this)

GET BETTER TASTE

Dreamscapers (provided by my amazing mootie Nako, everybody say thanks Nako)

Tad stuck around

Human Tad and Bill

Cold hands (provided by my amazing mootie marlon, everybody say thanks marlon)

[loganwritesprobably]

Surfer Ace

Inspired by this post by @thietanavenus

Content/warnings: Gender neutral reader, modern AU, surfing instructor!Ace

Living by the beach hadn't always been in your plans, but when you saw the way that Ace lit up when he could access the ocean, you just couldn't say no. You'd made the move from the city to the coast just a few months ago now and it was one of the best decisions that you'd ever made.

You sat on the sand, with an umbrella shoved into the grains behind you to block out the sun and prevent sunburn. You held your book in hand, open to the page you'd just been reading, but your eyes were elsewhere.

In the not so far distance, Ace was whooping and cheering as he surfed along the waves with a younger boy beside him. You'd managed to keep your old job when you'd moved, changing to remote work, but Ace had become a surfing instructor. He was always at his happiest in the water, and being able to teach his skills to kids brought him more joy than was measurable.

The kid shakily managed to surf in all the way to shore, and Ace cheered for him loudly alongside the kid's parents. You watched as your lover gave the kid a high five before waving and grinning at the parents as the kid ran off, his lesson complete. Dripping with sea water, Ace made his way back to you and pressed a quick kiss to your head, propping his board up in the sand beside your umbrella.

"Done for the day?" You asked with a smile, marking your page in your book and setting it aside.

"For now, anyway. I wanted to spend some time in the sun with my favourite person." Ace replied with a wink.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[asti-doodles]

Found this in wips folder and it's supposed to be an AU where Adrien receives his miraculous a bit later and oh, umbrella scene doesn't happen and Marinette still doesn't like our boy :>

I'm a mad woman when it comes to Ladrien stop me if you can

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

I've been keeping busy making more SnowBaz fan art dolls this week. If tiny boudoir Simon has not crossed your dash yet, please find him here. He is adorable. I make them in matching sets, so below is Baz of Only Creatures fame by the amazing @emeryhall.

Much like writing, doll making comes with its own ups and downs. I always stage the poses 2D before I start sewing and stuffing things to get an idea of how things will turn out. Here was the plan for the next set. Can you guess the fic?

However, sometimes the final product does not play nice. Baz was supposed to be long and lean compared to Simon, but maybe he's too long and lean?? These are the exact same dimensions as Baz's Beard--Character, only this Baz is naked and his feet are pointed. Not sure what went wrong. I might take the legs off and try again.

Simon is also presenting problems, but that is mostly the fabric. To get a good skin tone, I had to buy a different brand that is not as high quality as the Baz felt. *Sigh.*

As for writing, this is likely my last preview/teaser for The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch. There is no good way to preview Chapter 14 or the Epilogue without spoiling my own story. Enjoy a bit of Chapter 13 below the cut.

In August, Simon decides they must go to the beach, even though Baz is incapable of enjoying the sun. He sits under the umbrella the whole time, covered head-to-toe in layer upon layer of sunscreen, and reads a book dejectedly or complains about the existence of sand. Meanwhile, Simon splashes in the ocean with glee, the sun making his golden skin glow.

I’ll be at the beach next week, just like the boys! We’ll see if I remember to post.

Hellos and high-fives: @thewholelemon, @raenestee, @bookish-bogwitch, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire

@hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3-que3n, @artsyunderstudy, @rimeswithpurple

@larkral, @talentpiper11, @drowninginships, @valeffelees, @skeedelvee

@facewithoutheart, @aristocratic-otter, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @beastmonstertitan, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@youarenevertooold, @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @run-for-chamo-miles, @messofthejess

@theearlgreymage, @arthurkko, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture

@katatsumuli, @noblecorgi, @comesitintheclover, @stitchyqueer, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

Let me know if you’d rather not be tagged, especially since updates moving forward will likely be for sewing projects and not writing. If you’d like to be added, let me know too!

[werepuppy-steve]

may fic rec

a monthly rec list to help me handle my tbr

<- april fic rec ❀ more fic recs ❀ my ao3

King and Prince - M, 19/?, WIP (ao3) @apomaro-mellow

tags: royalty au, demon king eddie, slow burn, kidnapping, enemies to friends to lovers

Eddie is in the middle of a feud with an opposing kingdom. Running out of options, he decides to kidnap their prince.

supportive uncle wayne - G, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: title says it all, post canon, good parent uncle wayne

Wayne first saw Steve Harrington when he was on a class field trip to the plant. He couldn’t have been older than 9. Eddie hadn’t come to live with him yet. He only saw him for a minute, but it only took a minute to see that the boy had dark circles under his eyes that rivaled his own.

Sharing Smokes Outside the Snow Ball - T, 1.5k, complete (ao3) @augustjustice

tags: future fic, post canon, single parent steve, single parent eddie (he's raising his cousin's kid), pre-slash

It's the Hawkins Middle School Snow Ball...of 1999. Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have some catching up–and reminiscing–to do.

linguistic phenomenon - M, 2/2, complete (ao3) @dodger-chan & @sharpbutsoft

tags: hellfire, the linguistics of the word 'suck', talks of blowjobs

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing. “I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.” Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

(asking to have) you on their skin - E, 2.6k, complete @starrystevie | rogersharringtons

tags: mutual masturbation, truth or dare, handjobs, dirty talk

"truth or dare?" steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up. they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid. "...truth?" steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

Between The Lines - M, 2.4k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: protective steve, misunderstandings, established relationship, shovel talk, good parent wayne

“We need to talk.” Wayne wonders if this is the tone of voice the kid uses to fight the monsters they don’t talk about. “Say again?” ——— Or: Eddie gets hurt, so Steve and Wayne participate in…something of a shovel talk.

the anatomy of a home run - E, 5.7k, complete @tboygareth | hxneyfarmer

tags: established relationship, baseball terminology, bottom eddie, top steve, virgin eddie, barebacking, creampie no condom nation

Eddie doesn't know shit about baseball. He does know a few good euphemisms.

Pool Day - T, 1.9k, complete (ao3) @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

tags: post canon, pool party, pre-relationship

It’s a clear, warm, sunny day in the late summer of ‘86. The whole ‘other dimension survivors’ party is in attendance at Steve’s place for the day; Hop, Joyce, Karen, Claudia now, and even Wayne are staying inside in the A/C, the kids are in the pool, and all but the one of the ‘older kids’ are lounging around on the Harringtons’ sun chairs. Argyle in particular is soaking up the UV rays. Jon is burning to a crisp under his and Nancy’s umbrella. It’s Eddie, however, that’s been in the pool practically all morning, and is currently hyping himself up to do… something.. off Steve’s creaky, probably dry-rotted, diving board. He does look good up there; drenched head to toe with his hair pushed back from his face like that. If he wasn’t covered in pool water, Steve would want to lick him.

A Punch In The Dark - T, 10.3k, complete @roguenancy | tentones

tags: post-s4, pining, fall festivals, first kiss, accidental injury, scare actor eddie

Eddie smiles through the blood. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary and not the nerd that just got decked, he nods. Then he throws his head back and howls in laughter. It’s a harsh sound in the too-small hallway. It bounces off the walls, making Steve wince as something coils inside him. “Fuck, Harrington! I pegged you as a hitter, but I never imagined you’d be such a screamer.” Or: Eddie Munson gets a job working at a haunted maze during the fall festival, and over the course of a single night, Steve Harrington's life turns into a series of struggles.

Twenty-one - E, 7.2k, complete @itcanbepalped

tags: alpha eddie, omega steve, heat sex, first time, eddie's soft and a lil mean too, overstimulation

Eddie is twenty-one and he finally gets to rail Steve like he’s always wanted to.

don't you hear me howling, babe? - E, 4/5, WIP @occasionaloverboy

tags: post canon, grief/mourning, vamp eddie

In the fall of '91 Steve comes home - and the past finally catches up to him.

What Glows In The Dark - E, 5.5k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: modern au, roommates steddie, prank war

“Steven,” Eddie breathes venomously. He gestures to the condom-scattered floor. “Would you like to explain to me why I had a guy leave my room unfucked half an hour ago?” (The prank war had started innocently enough, but it quickly devolved into a game of cockblocking, which in Eddie's opinion, is The Worst Game Of All Time.)

Free-Use Health Care - E, 2/2, complete QueenOfSwords1312

tags: omegaverse, omega steve, alpha eddie, heat clinic, mutual pining, true mates

Heat and rut clinics have been in-operation in Indiana since the mid 1800’s, but the new one that opens up just outside of Hawkins in 1987 is the first one that’s strictly a heat clinic. It’s considerably progressive for its time, the first of its kind to cater entirely to unmated omegas who would prefer not to risk an accidental bonding at one of the regular clinics. Honestly, it sounds like a dream to an unmated omega like Steve. —— Or: Omega Steve uses an omega-forward health clinic to help with his heat and learns quite a bit about himself along the way.

When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name - E, 5.1k, complete @sidekick-hero

tags: established realtionship, mirror sex, married steddie

"Beautiful," he whispers again, and Eddie grabs his hand and brings it to his lips, kissing every fingertip before taking two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking them gently while holding Steve's gaze. The light of the setting sun has almost disappeared, leaving a dim twilight that barely illuminates their bodies. Steve doesn't think he needs any light for this, he knows Eddie's body by heart, all his senses so attuned to him that the absence of one of them wouldn't make much of a difference. But then he happens to look past Eddie to the ceiling, and what he finds there makes his heart stutter in his chest. A full-length mirror adorns their ceiling, reflecting their image perfectly. He can't believe he hadn't seen it before, too caught up in his husband it seems. But now that he's seen it, he can't look away, can't stop drinking in the way they look in the faint light that still filters in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Or: Even after almost a decade together you can still discover new kinks.

safe under you - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: domestic fluff, sleepy steve, wedding vows

Steve purses his lips and tries—fails, but tries—to peek at the notebook on level with his temple. “What’s got you so invested, then?” he finally gives up trying to turn and read where Eddie’s hasn’t even bothered trying to hide, not least because there is nothing there, and just asks. And Eddie could dodge it. Steve would respect it if he did. But he…he doesn’t. Generally speaking he doesn’t hide anything from Steve. Big or small. Their life is a shared thing from top to bottom and Eddie loves that about them so fucking fierce, so. He just sighs and admit it. “My vows.”

Livin' in sin is the new thing - E, 2.1k, complete @hornedqueenofhell

tags: transmasc steve, cunnilingus, period sex, established steddie, kas as his own entity inside eddie's head, kas has a crush on steve

Kas purrs for him and leans into the touch as his tongue leaks drool all over the towel, Steve tugs him closer and spreads his legs wider. The purr shifts into a deeper growl as Kas’ tongue licks over him once, twice more, before delving between his folds.

Move fast, baby, don't be slow - E, 1.3k, complete @hornedqueenofhell

tags: established steddie+kas, threesome, switch eddie, dom steve, sub kas, spit kink, spit roasting

“He wanted you so bad princess, all growly and possessive over ‘our mate’. Thought I couldn’t see him fantasize about you fucking him.” Eddie purrs, watching Steve palm himself as he bites down on the spot between Kas’s shoulder and neck to leave a mark. “That what you want sweet pea? You wanna be a good boy for us?” Steve calls out teasingly, watching Eddie make out with his not twin was never a kink he expected to have but the sight was unparalleled.

deck of cards - E, series, complete @wynnyfryd

tags: robin+eddie meet cute, misunderstandings, fluff, robin has two hands let her have two platonic soulmates

“Ask me anything,” she says, bracing herself for a hard hitter. Eddie leans in, eyes too intense again as he holds her gaze. After a moment he says, “Be honest.” Robin gulps. “Promise.” “…Did you eat stale popcorn out of the popcorn machine in the lobby?” A horrible, startled snort-laugh explodes out of her so forcefully it kinda rattles her sinuses. “I meant you could ask a real question!” “Oh, that’s a very real question. I don’t think I can be friends with someone who’s too prideful to admit they scarfed down a handful of that buttery garbage when no one was looking.” “I totally did,” she admits on a laugh, and Eddie laughs, too. “I know, I saw you do it.” --- Steve, Robin, and Eddie kill time in a bar.

i could tell that you'd be on my mind tonight - T, 5.8k, complete @anniebibananie

tags: author eddie, writer steve, modern au

The room clapped, and Steve watched as a man stepped out from somewhere behind a nearby bookshelf to approach the microphone. Edward Munson. Steve wasn’t sure what he’d expected him to look like, probably some balding middle-aged man with a beer belly, but it was just… a dude. A guy, probably around his age, with dark hair pulled into a low bun, fingers stacked with rings, wearing a Metallica shirt with dark jeans and thick combat boots. He was, well, he was kinda hot honestly. Maybe Steve did understand why so many people were sitting in the crowd to get a glimpse of this dude. When Steve gets dragged along to an event for the author of the Vecna's Curse series by Nancy and Dustin, he isn't expecting anything to come from the night. He's definitely not expecting Eddie Munson.

Crave - M+E, series, WIP @eddies-artofsuffering

tags: modern au, coffee shop au, baker eddie, bookshop worker steve, flirting getting together, CWP (crack with plot)

At noon, as expected, the doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open as Hot Steve walks in. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag on his apron, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter. It’s go time. - Or: a stupid coffee shop AU in which Steve takes his break from his bookstore shift at noon to come to Café Byers every day, and Eddie loses his mind every time.

If It Has to Happen, Let It - T, 4.1k, complete (ao3) @steviewashere

tags: sickfic, hurt/comfort, emetophobia, migraines

"Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea. — He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. — Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is." OR Steve has a emetophobia and a bad migraine, Eddie helps him through the worst of it

because i care about you - G, complete @pearynice

tags: sickfic, established relationship, fluff

Steve is sick. Which might as well mean Eddie’s entire world is ending. 

[rottin6]

wip it out! | thank u for the tags @sixlane and @fromagony (kissing u both!!)

stealing flowers. | jegulus.

There was a fucking thief and Regulus was hell bent on catching him if it was the last thing he ever did.

He didn’t realise it at first. Of course, he didn’t. No one ever thinks to count the flowers or notices that someone would be stealing them out of all the things in the shop. But on a Tuesday morning, Regulus refilled the stands, paying more attention to the white roses which he thought smelled quite nice but were drastically overpriced. An old lady came by sometime later on and asked Regulus when they’d be getting a new batch in, and that’s the confusing part. Because not once that day did Regulus sell anyone any white roses.

Now, the thievery didn’t happen for the rest of the week, but Regulus was so sure that whoever it was, was going to strike again the following tuesday. So, like any normal and sane-minded person, he set out to catch them instead of calling the police.

Regulus arrived earlier for his shift that day with a goddamn plan. He’d gone though it in his head at least twenty times and was certain it was fool-proof. He must’ve had around three coffees and four energy drinks coursing through him because what if the thief was a seven foot hench bodybuilder? Regulus may as well give him the rest of the flowers and anything else in the shop because he, albeit studied the art of martial arts over one summer, was about as frail as a feather in a thunderstorm.

Regulus filled the bucket with flowers before promptly ducking away behind the stack of umbrellas. He stayed there for minutes, patiently waiting for the thief so that he could execute his very well made plan. It got to the point where he was beginning to think no one was going to rob him today but as he began to move, a flicker of movement caught his eye and he froze.

Catching James Potter standing in the door of the shop, one leg in and one out while he was stealing was something Regulus never expected. His fingers picked meticulously at the white roses, holding them carefully in a batch. Regulus couldn’t look away—James’ hands moved dainitly from stem to stem, being so gentle that Regulus couldn’t even be angry or scared at the situation. Though, by default, he was both, considering James Potter was stealing from him.

That’s when Regulus, obviously, had to knock into an umbrella.

“Shit,” James muttered, freezing before standing upright and looking around. “Hello?” he called. “Hey, is someone there?”

Regulus didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say and instead settled on resting his palms and his back flat on the wall behind him.

“I–I can explain,” James continued, adjusting the glasses on his face. “I wasn’t breaking and entering. Well, I was entering but your door was already open in my defence, so there was no breaking.”

Regulus begged to differ but it wasn’t as though he was about to tell James that. He could barely lift a finger. He knew he had to do something, anything, and he so wished he had his phone so he could text Remus for help.

“Also,” James paused, the moment laying between them as though he could tell Regulus was listening. “I found something,” he said. “a necklace?”

And Regulus jumped out immediately, brushing past the newspaper stands and coming face to face with the boy in front of him. A gust of air swept by him from the late spring winds coming in through the door, wrapping around Regulus, and for once, he was self conscious.

But then James’ face had broken into a grin. “Oh,” he sighed. “Hi.”

His arm was still firm against his chest, the flowers nestled like one of his football trophies. His eyes, clear and golden, were on Regulus, who squinted back and held out his hand, attempting to look as mean as possible. “Give me the necklace,” he said, not budging. “Now.”

In an ideal world, James would’ve given the necklace and the flowers back, apologised and then left Regulus alone forever. But instead, he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his face taken up by his wide teeth grin and dimples so deep that Regulus wanted to sink his finger in.

“Can’t we talk first?” he asked, amusement flowing behind his eyes and Regulus struggled to stand still. “Now that you caught me and all, you know. I didn’t think you’d be all business already, seeing as it’s only what, half eight?”

“Who steals at half eight in the morning?” Regulus blurted out, his hands clenching into a fist shape at either side of him.

“Well, I’m no proper thief but I doubt any of them have schedules and stuff.”

“Stop talking.” Regulus said. “Give me the necklace, or I’m calling the police.”

James raised his eyebrows, his smile stretching further. “Or?” he echoed.

Regulus nodded, “Yes. Give it to me and I won’t report you, and we can just–just pretend none of this ever happened.” He crossed two fingers over his chest, James’ eyes following the movement. “Promise.”

He wasn’t really going to call James in. Not only did stealing flowers seem like a stupid crime to call the police for, but if his boss found out there was a thief, she’d most likely fire him and Regulus can’t let that happen.

So it worked in his favour when James finally took a step closer to him. “Who am I to say no to an offer like that?” he said, the morning sun hitting his face just right. Up close, his eyes were bronze with specks of green dotted around, the same size as the moles scattered across his face.

“Here you go.”

James placed the necklace into Regulus’ palm, the metal cold on his skin and so different from the brief warmth he felt from James’ touch. His pulse spiked and he stuffed the necklace deep into the pocket of his jacket.

“Thanks,” Regulus said quickly, his cheeks matching the red roses next to him. He moved past James and held onto the side of the door, motioning out. “Really, thanks. See you at school—”

“Wait.” James spoke, standing in front of Regulus who huffed. “I don’t know your name.” he said, leaning on the door. “I’m James.”

“I know.” Regulus’ voice stayed calm. “And you really shouldn’t introduce yourself to the workers of shops you steal from.”

James looked down at the roses he held onto, his brows creasing. “Oh. Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus gritted out, his hand holding onto the door. “We just got that batch in actually, but it’s fine. I just n—”

James interrupted him. “Wait. So, you’re okay with me taking your flowers?”

“No fucking way,” Regulus shook his vigorously. “Definitely not. I’m actually not okay with any of this which is why I need you to leave right now.”

Neither of them spoke for a couple of seconds and for the first time that morning, James’ smile faltered. He nodded, “Okay. Okay, yeah, I’ll leave.” he said. “But I wouldn’t be here if I absolutely didn’t need to be. And I can show you why–”

Regulus formed another great plan at that moment. It was quick and stupid but needed to be done. And as soon as James moved himself from the door, Regulus leapt out of the way and crashed it into the frame, pushing James out while doing so.

idk who’s been tagged or who hasn’t so open tag!! if u see this then ur legally bound to upload ur own!

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Blind Dates and One Night Stands [Frankie x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (cishet f!reader)

Warnings: reader wears a thong, cunnilingus (duh, it's frankie!), piv sex, multiple orgasms, frankie is flustered and cute!, but also smoldering and hot! safe sex, also frankie is a big boy but we already knew that, some drinking but not too much.

Summary: Frankie has a blind date that doesn't work out, but maybe the night goes well anyway?

Words: 3,639

A/N: I feel like I haven't written in months, but that's not entirely true. I feel rusty, however. I hope you like this.

Update: There is a sequel! One Night Stands and Phone Numbers.

Frankie's leg is vibrating restlessly, feet perched on the metal footrest of the bar stool. He takes his cap off, swipes his hair to the side, and puts it back on, then takes it off again. Maybe he shouldn't be wearing a hat, it's impolite. But without a cap, he feels formal, and he doesn't want that. He puts it back on, then glances at his wristwatch.

She's late.

Cursing out Benny again for this idea, Frankie shakes his head at the bartender who looks at him with a raised eyebrow. No, he's not ordering yet. He has to wait for his date, the woman Benny set him up with. "She's cute, blonde, and friendly," his younger comrade in arms had reassured Frankie. "You need someone to take care of you, or at least get laid."

Frankie had finally agreed to meeting the woman, if only to get Benny off his case. But he was starting to regret it.

He regrets it even more when the woman finally shows up. She's nice enough, and definitely cute, but Frankie can tell almost immediately that this is not going to work. She seems to want to make an effort, though, and he chides himself for not just excusing himself and putting a stop to this.

Because he doesn't put a stop to it, he ends up sitting with her through two orange umbrella drinks, while he himself nurses a beer. At some point his date seems to understand that there's no future for the two of them, downs the rest of her drink, and calls her friend who's been on stand-by to drive her home if the need arose.

Frankie very dutifully gives her a quick hug and watches her leave the bar before he sighs deeply.

Another one bites the dust.

He takes his hat off, runs his fingers through his hair, scratches the back of his head. This is getting exhausting. Sure, not everybody gets to experience the love story of the century, but how is even just a night of good sex with a nice person so hard to reach?

Leaning against the counter, he gets the attention of the bartender, and orders a Scotch. Might as well get fucked up.

"Comin' right up."

You pour the man whose broad shoulders are hunched in defeat a whisky. He wanted it neat, and you make it a double because you feel so sorry for him.

"On me," you say as you place the glass in front of him. His eyebrows shoot up and you give him a lopsided smile.

"That was a terrible first date."

"First and only," he confirms.

"Good," you nod. "Never waste any more time on bad dates."

"I'll drink to that." He lifts the glass and nods at you. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Over the next couple of hours, you return to the guy with the Standard Oil baseball cap to chat between customers. He's easy to talk to, drinks slowly, is interesting and funny - and really handsome. You feel his gaze on you when you pull beers for the increasingly inebriated crowd, and you find yourself wishing that his eyes could be on your ass (which looks really good in these jeans) and not on the back of your head. It's speaks for him that he clearly finds your intelligence attractive as well, but there's something about him that makes you want him to look at your body and go, "damn".

A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells you that you'll be closing in two hours, and the customers are already thinning you. You sway your hips as you do a lap around the room to pick up empty glasses and wipe down a couple of tables, and when you return to the bar, you find the man staring at you, just like you wanted him to.

And it turns you on more than you could have imagined.

You decide to employ a cheap trick, so when you come back around the bar for a chat, you bend over it for a lazy lean that displays your rack. You even fold one arm underneath your tits and frame them with the other, coquettishly propping your chin on your hand. And bless him, he looks you straight in the eye even with the soft swell of your tits right in front of him. You detect a hint of color on his cheekbones, though, and it makes you like him even more. He's a gentleman, perhaps even shy.

When it's time to close, he stays behind to help you stack chairs on the tables. He easily keeps up the conversation - the topic is baseball, turns out both of you played in high school - and eventually accepts your offer of a nightcap. You hop up on one of the barstools, a whisky in hand, and he slides onto the seat of the one next to yours.

"How did you find her?" you ask, sipping your drink. He raises an eyebrow, not understanding, so you make a gesture in the general direction of the stool where his date from earlier tonight sat.

"Oh. Right. Um, buddy of mine set it up. He thought it was a good idea."

"Your buddy is a terrible matchmaker," you judge. He laughs.

"That he is, but he means well."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't that the saying?"

"I guess it is."

You take another small sip of your whisky, feeling it burn all the way down to your belly. It might be the sleep deprivation in combination with the alcohol, but you blurt out:

"You might still get lucky too, if you play your cards right."

He raises his chin a little as he stares you down. "I've never been good at playing cards."

"That's a shame," you shrug, feeling your cheeks heat.

"So, for the sake of just speeding this up... what do I have to do to get permission to kiss you?"

Your heart is beating so hard and fast that you almost feel light-headed.

"You just need to ask," you manage, your voice a little shaky. He smiles, and it doesn't look like the confident grin of a player, no, he looks like a little boy who just found out he could have another cookie.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks quietly, and he barely has time to make his request before you're nodding:

"Yes!"

The relief is plain to see, and he slides down from the barstool so that he can get closer to you. When he leans in, you can smell his cologne, and when he very gently puts his hand on your arm, you can feel him tremble a little.

There is something about the tentative teasing of his lips,  the bristles on his upper lip, the fullness of the lower one that drives you wild. You're usually not this forward with a complete stranger - you realize that you haven't even asked his name yet - but it's like he makes something just snap in you.

"What's your name?" you ask, and he blushes slightly. Shit, that's hot.

"Frankie," he introduces himself, and you taste his name, let the syllables roll off your tongue, before telling him yours.

And then you kiss him, devour his mouth, take his hands, and place them on your ass, thread your fingers through his hair. His hat falls to the floor somewhere behind him, and he's kissing you back, like he wasn't all blushing and timid only moments earlier. He grabs handfuls of ass and squeezes, pulls you snugly against himself. He's getting stiff, and there's something so primal and pure in that. You're just two people meeting each other by chance and being turned on by each other, and it spurs you into making him harder, so you eagerly rub yourself against him. He moans into the kiss, and it's the sexiest sound you've ever heard. You tear your mouth from his and meet his gaze that is somehow both hazy and intense. Your hands land on his belt buckle.

"Can I?"

"Please."

So polite. You tear open the belt buckle and his fly, and Frankie wants to reciprocate.

"May I?" he asks, as if you aren't ripping his jeans to shreds. You grin.

"Absolutely."

His gaze drops down to your fly as he deftly undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. His breathing is audible, just like yours, and then his hand is down the front of your ass-hugging jeans. One long finger is pressed along your slit, the tip teasing in between your warm, damp folds.

You catch your lower lip between your teeth and exhale in a small moan. So eager that you're almost too rough, you shove your hand down his underwear to find a thick, stiff shaft.

Oh. Working his jeans and underwear down his ass cheeks, you release his cock, eyes widening when you see it.

Frankie notices your reaction.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you assure him, "it's just... you're really big."

He slides one finger inside you as he leans in and nuzzles your neck, before touching his lips to your ear: "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're wet enough to take me."

You are shaken to the core by the smooth rasp of his voice, the words, the way he now inches his finger into you.

"Please do," you manage, and Frankie pulls his hand out of your pants. He grabs you by the waist and hoists you up on the barstool. You hold onto his shoulders, so wide they take up almost all in your vision field, so very secure and you imagine that they're perfect to hold on when life is stormy, and you need something stable in your life. He devours your mouth again, kisses you full of his whiskey breath before he asks you, in that same raspy, low voice that makes the hairs stand on the back of your neck:

"Can I go down on you?"

Mutely, you nod, and he helps you to get rid of your jeans. You're wearing a thong, not your usual underwear but there's just something about the way your ass looks in those jeans without any extra layer underneath, and you hook your thumbs under the thin straps, but Frankie shakes his head.

"Keep it on. Hold onto the counter. Careful, don't want you to fall."

Touched by his concern and turned on by his request to keep the flimsy garment on, you carefully lean back, supported by your elbows, on the bar. Frankie moves in between your legs, spreading them, and kisses you breathless again, before starting to trail kisses down your neck, over your cleavage, his hands pushing up your tits towards his eager lips and tongue. He then skips the part of you that's still covered by your shirt, and comes to his knees, putting him right in front of your displayed pussy. You wait with bated breath, sliding down a little on the stool to give him better access, your cheeks burning at the way he keeps intense eye contact with you. He has gorgeous eyes, beautifully brown, soulful, and absolutely filthy right now, with the way he stares right into your soul, like he's already fucking you. Gone is the bashfulness from before, and the change is thrilling.

"Is this okay?" he asks, still all polite as if he wasn't smirking like a little devil. You let out a breathless chuckle and try to sound sassy.

"You sure talk a lot."

"Hey, consent is sexy."

A retort is forming in your brain, but Frankie doesn't give you time to finish it: without breaking eye contact, he leans in and presses his mouth and chin to your dripping pussy, his tongue probing in between your slick lips. All you can produce is a choked gasp at the sudden intensity, and you grab hold of Frankie's thick hair as he lifts both your legs over his shoulders.

"You steady?" he wants to know, and you nod frenetically.

"Don't stop now."

He grins at you, and then he utterly rocks your world. The way he uses his tongue, his mouth, his prickly chin on you is goddamn magic, you've never had anyone eat you out like this before. He's everywhere at once but not in a disarrayed way, like he doesn't know what he's doing, oh no, he seems to know exactly what he's doing as he alternates with long, stiff licks along your slit, tongue dipping inside you before drawing out your juices and his saliva in a swirl around your clit, ending in a soft suckle, his mustache scratching you just right. His arms are around your thighs, holding you securely to him, and that's good because your arms aren't really doing their part anymore as you writhe on the stool, overcome by the fervor with which Frankie is pushing you towards a release that almost feels intimidating. Holy shit, he's going to kill you with this orgasm, oh God, oh shit, shit, shit, shit...

You don't realize that you've been going Oh God, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck at a steady pace for a few minutes until the volume of your own voice becomes so loud that you yourself are startled by it. Frankie's now focused on your clit, tongue working faster than you thought was possible, and your hips have started to move, seeking more friction, more and more and more.

"I'm cumming," you announce in a shrill gasp, never once thinking about how stupid it sounds in porn when anyone with eyes can clearly see what's happening, no, you must let him know, Frankie has to know that you're about to come apart under his tongue, that he's making you cum now, right now -

The orgasm is just as intense as you feared, and so much better than you ever imagined. You're actually screaming, which has only happened once before and that was that time you got drunk on a Saturday night and edged yourself with your Magic Wand for hours before you finally let yourself orgasm.

When you come back to some form of rational thought, your eyes blinking open against the faint lights of the bar, your ass is cramping, and your neck is sore. Thighs shaking, you nudge Frankie away from you, and let your legs down, a whine finding its way over your lips when he gives your throbbing clit one last lick.

He grunts when he gets up from his knees, and you realize dimly that both of you are perhaps a little too old for acrobatics like these, but there is no mistaking his proud smile when he comes up to kiss you. His lips are unbelievably slick from you, and you hum into his mouth.

"Am I wet enough for you now?"

"So fucking wet, baby," he assures you in a voice that makes you clench. His cock is rock hard against your thigh, and you mumble something about condoms.

"I've got rubbers," Frankie immediately assures you, and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. You take the condom from him and take a firm yet gentle hold of his thick cock. Christ, but it's thick, this is going to be intense. Frankie's eyelids flutter and he lets out a groan when you slowly stroke him a couple of times before putting the rubber on. This is fun, you think with an evil grin, you could do a lot more damage to him if you weren't dying to have him inside you.

"There," you whisper, taking his cock and pushing your soaked thong to the side so that you can slide him through your lips to lube him up. "I want you to fuck me now, Frankie."

He captures your lips in a searing kiss as you nock him at your entrance and let him start inching into you. Even with how wet you are, and how slow he's going, he still takes your breath away.

"You can take it," he growls, his low tone vibrating through him and into you. "You're doing great, baby..."

Holding onto him, you lift your legs and wrap them around him, hooking your feet by his ass, to lessen the angle of entry, but it's still a tight fit, God, he's big but feels so good, you want him to fucking ruin you.

He pulls back a little before pushing back in, and your moan gives him pause.

"Am I hurting you?"

"You're just really big," you blurt out inelegantly, smiling a little at his expression of alarm mixed with pride. "Maybe if we try it from behind?"

He pulls out and turns the stool around. You lean forward and brace yourself against the counter as you slide yourself to the back edge of the stool, angling yourself right. Frankie finds you, pulls your underwear to the side, and pushes in. He can't get as deep this way, but he still takes your breath away.

"Fuck, that's better," you moan, "take me hard, this is perfect!"

He takes orders well. With his large hands on your hips, he quickly finds a devastating rhythm that creates a filthy song of his thunderous panting in your ear, your loud moans, the slapping of skin against skin with each impact of his hips against your ass. Possessed by a new urgency, he paws at your tits, shoves one hand inside your bra to free one breast from the cup, the other hand still holding on to your hip, fingers digging into the flesh. His breaths are burning your neck, his cock is working you mercilessly, thrust after thrust after rough thrust, as his groans rise to a growl. You release one hand from the counter and put it over his to make him squeeze your breast. You want him to bruise you, want to feel him on your flesh, in the grip of your hungry pussy when you wake up tomorrow - later today. You don't know him, but you want to, you've never felt this way before with anyone, it's never been this easy with anyone, this easy and overwhelming. Fuck, you might even be able to cum again.

You slide your hand down to your sensitive clit, bracing yourself with one arm on the counter, Frankie draping himself over you from behind, fingers roughly pinching your nipple.

"One more for me," he huffs, "that's a good girl."

You cum almost immediately, his praise working wonders for you. As your squelching pussy flutters around him, Frankie's loud moan joins your wail. His hips stutter, then still, and his forehead falls to your shoulder as he catches his breath. You're shivering, parts of you stiff from strange positions and holding on, other parts like jelly. As you draw a trembling breath, you realize that you've dribbled saliva from one corner of your mouth, and you quickly wipe at your chin and slip down from the stool. Your legs almost buckle under you, but Frankie quickly catches hold of you.

"Easy."

"Thanks," you mumble, suddenly a little embarrassed. You've never been good at good-byes after the few one night stands you've had. Your thong chafes, your crotch is soaked, and you're feeling a little uncomfortable as the passion wanes and you're starting to feel the late hour.

Frankie's hand rests on your waist. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you hurry to reassure him, "I'm just... tired. It's late."

"It is." He takes off the condom, ties it up, then looks around for a trash can, finding one a few steps away. Having disposed of the rubber, he tucks himself in, and pulls up his pants.

"I had fun, though," he offers, his voice soft. You're just stepping into your jeans, and as you pull them up, you return his shy smile. Look at that, all raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens again.

"So did I," you reply, meaning it. "I had real fun, I mean... it was really good."

Both of you finish getting dressed in silence, then you do your final checks for the night, cash up, and turn off the lights. Frankie's with you as you lock up, and then you turn to him.

"Well... my car's over there." You point in the general direction of your parked car. Frankie gestures towards it, inviting you to start walking.

"I'll follow you to it. Make sure you're safe and sound."

Such a gentleman. It's half a block on a silent, empty street that you've walked down countless times before, but you don't mind the company, not to mention the gesture.

You yawn widely when you reach your car, and Frankie immediately asks if you're okay to drive.

"Sure," you promise him with a tired smile, "this isn't my first night shift. I don't have a long drive home, anyway."

"I could drive you," he offers, but you just shake your head and shoot him a flirty look.

"Then you'll just want to come up for coffee, and we both know how that story ends."

He chuckles, looking down at the ground. When you reach your car, he looks at you shyly.

"I got two questions before I can let you leave."

"Shoot."

"One: can I kiss you? And two: can I have your number?"

You pout and tilt your head, as if deep in thought.

"Yes to the kiss."

He immediately leans in for a surprisingly sweet kiss that ends way too soon.

"And the number?"

You grin mischievously.

"Come back tomorrow night so I'll know you're for real. Then you'll get my number."

He laughs at that, then stands watch as you get into your car, and drive away.

The next afternoon when you return to work, you find his baseball cap on the counter where the cleaner left it.

Now he definitely has to come back.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

✨✨✨ Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me ✨✨✨

[inastarlesssky]

It's that time again...

Ella's Current WIPs & Planned Projects

Works in Progress

Harry Potter

When the Day Loved the Night - Dramione AU (canon divergent from 5th year on) There's prophecies, soulmates and plot twists!

Equilibrium - Dramione Multiverse/Time travel AU featuring Unspeakable!Hermione and Auror!Draco [not posting until it's finished]

Planned Projects

Good Omens

Paradise Lost - Season 2 AU, inspired by 'Running Up That Hill'. Deals are made with the powers that by and the ineffable husbands are up against Heaven and Hell, again.

Dead Boy Detectives

These Brilliant Lights - Cryland Edwardian AU; Charles is cursed and Crystal meets him during seance. Featuring Edwin and Niko as paranormal detectives.

In Umbra Mortis - Cryland; inspired by Orpheus & Eurydice.

The Sandman

In This Twilight - Constantdream Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience AU

The Umbrella Academy

The Gilded Lily Fallacy - Five/Dolores Season 3 AU

I'm probably forgetting stuff, but this is all I can remember at present.

Anyway, I'm trying to concentrate on ONE wip to finish it first and then I'll tackle the others.

[geddy-leesbian]

TRICK OR TREAT‼️‼️

you didn't specify wip or screenshot so BOTH

Luis has always had a complicated relationship with religion. He was always skeptical of it, from a very young age, but did his best to force himself to believe in it because literally everyone in his life believed it, so there had to be some truth to it.

He stopped trying to believe when his grandfather died. What loving, almighty god would do that? Strike an innocent old man down with a cruel, prolonrged death, leaving a child all alone in the world?

Umbrella restored his faith, to some extent. It made the whole “everything happens for a reason” nonsense make a little more sense in his head. His grandfather died for a reason. He had to die so that Luis would be motivated to leave Valdelobos on his own, and live out his glorious destiny of being a world renowned scientist.

And then he realized Umbrella wasn't all that rosy after all. He was back to not believing anything.

Now his faith is once again trying to reignite.

Saddler had the entire village population gather in one of the castle's halls, then monks brought out the infected in shackles. Luis had no idea what was happening, but he didn't like it.

It was a religious thing. Saddler began chanting, and Luis just tuned him out right away. He'd been subjected to enough sermons in his youth.

Saddler has Luis's full attention back when it works. It fucking works! All Saddler has done is say some magic words, and the mad villagers are soothed. Cured. They're talking, asking where they are, what happened to them. The monks free them from their shackles while the rest of the villagers run to them to hug them and tell them how they were so sick but the amazing Saddler was able to cure them.

Luis pushes his way to the front of the crowd, to tell Saddler he'd like to run some more tests before allowing the sick villagers back into village life. Saddler doesn't answer him, because he doesn't have to. The villagers butt in to yell at Luis. Shame him for questioning a miracle worker.

Luis would be having an existential crisis over having just witnessing a prayer heal people, were he not busy in crisis over being shunned.

For the past few days, he'd truly been treated as a hero. When he walked through the village, he always had people running up to him to thank him for giving up his big city life to come help his small hometown. (Méndez had decided that a white lie would make things easier for Luis– he told the villagers he had contacted Luis by mail and, upon learning he was now a doctor, pleaded for him to come help. Saving Luis from endless questions regarding his vague reason for coming back.)

Despite food being scarce, the village's women did their best to scrape together ingredients for baked treats to bring to Luis to thank him. Little girls brought him flowers. Little boys would try to ask him questions about his adventures outside the village, before being tugged away from him by their mothers, and scolded for wasting the time of someone so important. The men weren't chatty types, but Luis could tell they did respect him by the nods and quick greetings he got passing by them. A small group of teenagers decided to continue the restoration work on the cabin Méndez had started, rebuilding more of the roof. If they were still working when Luis came back from the lab, they peppered him with questions about his big city life, and he indulged them to some extent, carefully choosing his words to make sure no one would get mad at him for encouraging them to leave the village.

Now it's all gone. Not only is he not the hero who cured the mysterious illness, he's being shunned for daring to question the real hero. It hurts worse than it did when he was a kid, at least back then he didn't know anything else. Now that he knows the sweet taste of acceptance and validation, having it taken away cuts so much deeper.

He hates how bitter he feels walking back from the castle. He's not grateful for the fact the villagers are healed. He's bitter that he wasn't the one who healed them.

He's truly disgusted with himself when a voice deep in the back of his head starts whispering how great it would be if it turned out the villagers were only temporarily given relief from their illness and they were ill again tomorrow. Sometimes he wonders if the sick parts of his brain are that way because of how Umbrella was messing with his head at a young age, or if the sick parts were just who he naturally was and Umbrella simply coaxed them out to the front of his mind.

His sick prayers are actually answered a few days later. It's not the healed villagers relapsing, but an entirely new outbreak. Salazar had reopened the mines while Luis was gone, and several men who had been working in the mines start coughing up blood. They, of course, immediately rush to Saddler.

What's surprising is that Saddler then comes to him. To the many times over disgraced Luis.

“If you could pray away the madness,” Luis doesn't try to mask the bitterness in his voice. He's already gotten himself ostracized, it can't get any worse. “I wouldn't think a bit of respiratory trouble would be much trouble for you.”

“You, my child, are the answer to my prayers this time,” Luis doesn't like being called my child by Saddler, but he does like being told he's the answer to someone's prayer. “My prayers today resulted not in healing, but with a vision. Of you and the newly ill on the boat to the island. Of you doing scans and discovering that it's a parasite causing this illness. Of you working diligently and finding a cure.”

Parasite.

That was definitely not what Luis would have expected to be the root of a respiratory disease in miners, but he's inclined to trust that Saddler's vision is accurate, after his healing prayers undeniably worked. Luis is thrilled. Parasites are his specialty. What are the odds? He's definitely back to thinking that life isn't meaningless and there could be a grain of truth to religion.

“Then I will go to the island's laboratory. And I think it's best that just I and the ill go alone and remain there in quarantine until I learn more about how the illness spreads. Of course I will need to have food and possibly other supplies delivered from the mainland.”

“Yes. Of course,” Saddler's smile makes him feel uneasy. “I have communication devices that will allow you to contact me from the island and inform me of whatever you need. Hiring more staff is also on my agenda. You will be head researcher and, should you desire, more researchers can be hired to work under you.”

“I'll have to wait and see how things play out. I'll need at least a couple days to evaluate what I think I might need. Though I believe a team just for this would be overdoing it.”

“It wouldn't just be for this. Preliminary planning of the laboratory began before anyone was ill with the madness. My faith called out to me to help heal ailments across the world. From a young age, I received visions of that calling. I wasn't called to do research or medical procedures with my own hands, but to foster and provide tools and resources to those like you who are gifted in a more hands-on way. After a cure is found for this outbreak, I want research here to continue, on diseases that aren't local so that we can improve the entire world, not just our tiny corner of it.”

That is… A lot. Amazing, but terrifying, because Umbrella doesn't like competition. If Saddler's plans come to fruition and any medicine is exported from Valdelobos, Umbrella will come in to assess the situation, and Luis will be found and sent off to Rockfort. Luis desperately wants to maintain connections to the outside world and help people, but there's so many risks. But at least that's in the distant future, not something he needs to worry about right now. With time, he'll gain more of Saddler's trust, and he'll likely be receptive to any measures Luis thinks of to keep themselves under the radar.

[nerdieforpedro]

Wrong Beach and a Speedo

Part One of Two Hearts by the Ocean

This part is for general audiences - rating will depend on individual parts. Overall will be 18+ MDNI

Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC)

Main Masterlist / Two Hearts by the Ocean Masterlist / Javier Gutierrez Masterlist

Word Count: about 2.3k

Summary: Frustrated by her friends, Abigail is going to see one of the beaches on Mallorca. Her sense of direction fails her and she meets a man in a speedo. Javier needed a break from his current worries. The beach is picturesque and so is the beginning of their story.

Warnings: mildly annoying friends, rich guy horrible cousin problems, meet-cute, that speedo, FLUFF, they're sweet okay?!

Notes: I've actually had this in my WIP folder since October of last year. I really have wanted to write for sweet Javi G and finally the right idea came along. Since it's winter I really want to be on a beach somewhere. Soaking in some sun and finding Javi in a speedo. A lovely summer romance. 🥰 I have a lovely mansion in delulu land.

Cobblestone streets, rolling waves on beaches, beautiful vistas from atop hills; this was Majorca, Spain. There was so much to see and do on a girls’ trip there. But Abigail’s friend group was more preoccupied with the nightlife and wineries. Wine didn’t taste like sweet grape juice and she wasn’t too keen on being in a club, she didn’t even go clubbing at home. Why do that when there’s so much to explore?! These heifers hadn’t even been to the beach. She did not come all the way to a beautiful island off of Spain to be inside partying all the time, some of the time sure but not all the time.

Abigail was a round girl, larger belly than butt that hung a little, wide thighs, arms that waved after she stopped doing so and a round face. She believed she was cute, she wouldn’t say sexy, but cute and she felt even more so in her red one-piece bathing suit with white polka dots. It also had a short skirt that accentuated what little butt she did have. She had a large yellow sun hat and put on her white cat eye sunglasses following the resort map to the beach. She brought her tote bag which had her phone, wallet, sunscreen, books, beach towel and towel to dry off and a water bottle. She also carried a beach chair that had an umbrella attached to it. Abigail always liked to be well prepared even if it looked and was cumbersome. She trotted down to the beach and set herself up, sitting in her chair that she placed on her beach blanket and stretched her legs out. She was watching and water and sky meet each other on the horizon as waves crashed lightly before her. It was stunning and looked like a postcard.

“This is perfect. I’m so glad I finally made it here.” A serene smile came over her face, she cracked the spine on her erotic thriller that she brought with her, ‘The PI that Fucked around and found out.’

Javier was fed up with Lucas sticking around so long this time, they had argued again about Javi’s scripts and his Nic Cage shrine. Lucas wanted him to spend the money and make like a party boy so he did, what was the problem? He didn’t like guns and very violent things like his cousin, he didn’t need to feed into any machismo by being any sort of tough guy. Thanks to Lucas, Gabriella had really quit this time and left the country, who was gonna help manage the estate now? Lucas and his friends had made one too many passes at her, she shot the man in the balls and now she was in the wind. Did Javi know where she was? No and even if she did, he wouldn’t tell his cousin a damn thing. 

The Majorcan party boy needed to relax and the ocean did that for him, despite all the chaos his cousin caused, the ocean and Nic cage movies were constants in his life. Javier donned his white and navy speedo and asked the chef to help him put sunscreen on his back, he slipped him a few hundred for it because it was not in his job description. Javier just had his towel, shades and a longing to be in the water.

He happened to spy something new at his beach though. A blue umbrella chair, and thick caramel legs extending from under it. Javi knew he hadn’t been at the beach but a few minutes so he shouldn’t be hallucinating right now, right? He figured he should just let the person know that this was a private beach and you can’t just come in here, but he looked past the stone wall that surrounded his estate and noted that the fence labeled private property had been removed, when did that happen and why didn’t he not know about it? Is Lucas messing with him? Would he go that far? Even the beach? The aspiring screenwriter expected to see one of his cousin’s goons and not…an attractive pair of legs, likely belonging to a woman he assumed. 

Javier walked over to the umbrella repeating, “Hola! Perdón, señorita? Hola! (Hello! Excuse me, Miss! Hello!)” several times with no response. He walked around to the front of the umbrella and roughly waved after being frustrated but it melted away when he saw her. “Oh! Ah…perdón una diosa (a goddess).” Javi simply stared at the woman before him. She had a large hat on and sunglasses but she had a round adorable face to match her soft body and those dense thighs. Her delicate hands set the book down and removed her AirPods. She looked up and removed her sunglasses exposing honey eyes that appeared to be confused. 

 “Buenas tardes señor (Good afternoon sir). Pasa algo (Is there anything going on?) Estaba sentado leyendo (I was sitting and reading).” She responded; she said the words correctly but seemed to have an issue rolling her tongue. Spanish was not likely her first language which meant she may be a tourist. Javier knew of a resort that had a beach on its property, but why was she here?

“Muy bien (Very good) señorita. Hablas Ingles (Do you speak English)?” Javier asked with his smile still wide though his praise of her may have extended to what he saw before him as well as her proficiency in Spanish. He heard her chuckle and stood from her chair, she dusted her bottom off and returned his smile. 

“Sí (Yes). Ah yes I do. I’m sorry, I did practice some basic phrases but I’m not past the colors, stores and family yet. Um,” Abigail explained. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He seemed nice, definitely handsome and she was drawn to him. She crossed her arms over her stomach and held her forearms, her very obvious anxious tell. “My name is Abigail. Are you here to enjoy the beach too?” Javier’s smile changed to a grin and nodded.

“Yes señorita Abigail. I regret to tell you that you are on a private beach. My private beach.” He stated, not menacingly but the look on Abigail’s face told him that it was received poorly. 

“No, this should be the resort beach. I walked from just over there.” She pointed to where the fence was suspiciously gone. Javier sighed as he followed her finger to that area as well. He pondered and considered asking her to leave, though when he turned back to tell her this, she was bent over rummaging through her tote bag looking for her map. Javier stared at her rear and his eyes went wide. He is first and foremost a gentleman so he looked away…after sneaking a lingering peek.

Abigail finally retrieved the map and pointed to her resort and the path she walked to the beach. Javier was thankful that she didn’t seem to notice and looked at the map with her.

“Señorita, the map is the wrong way. The beach that belongs to the resort is to the right and not the left.” Javier pointed out, taking the map and turning it the opposite direction, he set it in her soft hands and exhaled deeply. He chuckled as she stared at it, he could picture smoke coming out of her ears. 

“I…this is worse than that time I got lost finding my own car from the airport…” Abigail sighed, her poor sense of direction had prevailed again. She weakly smiled at Javier and then frowned. He was being very nice about some weird lady on his property. This beautiful man in a speedo. She wanted to poke his belly and see if he would giggle. He looked like he would, his face was so expressive. “I-I’m sorry for trespassing. I didn’t even realize I was. It was just really wonderful to have a calm day at the beach.” Her eyes led back to the water, it was quiet here, not full of bumbling tourists and crying children, but it was not hers to enjoy. Noticing the longing look she had toward the seas, Javier had an idea, rather a suggestion.

“Señorita Abigail, you’re more than welcome to stay on the beach for the time being. I’m glad you were able to find peace here.” Javier started, her face snapped back to his with a wide smile. He continued, “Do you have any food allergies or dishes you’re opposed to eating? While we relax out in the sun, I can ask my chef to make us lunch.” His hand extended and took a hold of hers that wasn’t holding the map, she didn’t shy away from the touch but she wasn’t expecting it either nor was she expecting to be offered a meal by the very person who came to tell her that she was on his property.

“No food allergies. Are you sure? Oh, I don’t think you gave me your name.” She recalled, no, he had not, she knew she wasn’t good with names but she felt she wouldn’t forget his. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh of the back of her hand slightly, feeling it bounce.

“My name is Javier Gutiérrez. Please call me Javi mi diosa.” In his excitement upon meeting her, he left his name out, thinking it not at all important when speaking to the crimson and caramel clad beauty before him. 

“Javier…Javi. Okay, I got it.” Abigail muttered to herself, though Javi overheard and was delighted. “Lunch sounds delightful. I’m not hungry now, but I will be in a bit.” She explained, Javier released her hand and sped toward his expansive home yelling, 

“I’ll be right back señorita Abigail! Do not spirit away anywhere!” Javier yelled kicking up sand as he ran toward his home. He informed his chef to prepare lunch for two along with a little something for dessert, whatever he had around. It dawned on Javier that his guest may not want to eat in her bathing suit. His golf cart could take her back to the hotel and bring her back for lunch. He informed one of the maids to prepare a room for her and to leave for the day. Maybe she would stay, maybe not, but he would be prepared either way. Javier wondered what movies Abigail may want to watch, everyone has at least one favorite move, what was hers? He grabbed a white button up shirt and threw it on quickly, not bothering to close it up. If she wanted to freshen up, she’d likely want to do so where had her clothes. Javier also reasoned that at least having a shirt would be better than showing up to the resort in just a speedo.

Abigail stood looking over the water after folding her beach chair and towel. The cerulean waves crashed along the shore and she had a serene smile on her face. It truly was beautifully breathtaking. She didn’t hear the jovial man’s steps behind her, a strong gust of wind blew her hat and it started to get away. Javier stretched and grabbed the brim of the hat, he pulled it to his toned chest and held it until the wind calmed. A beaming smile was across his face as he stepped in front of Abigail.

“Perdón (excuse me) Señorita Abigail. Tu sombrero está a salvo. (Your hat is safe).” Javi stretched out his arms and raised them, placing the hat on her head and tipping it up at an angle so her face was fully visible. 

“Gracias (Thank you) Javier.” Abigail smiled shyly, placing her hand over Javi’s on her hat. They were warm from the sunlight, he brought a hand to her face to cup it, but let it hover.

“Is it alright if I touch your face Señorita Abigail?” Javier questioned softly, she nodded and dropped her hands, letting them rest at her sides.

“Only if you call me Abigail or Abby rather. Señorita is a bit too formal.” A smile graces her face as his sun-kissed hand cupped her face with his thumb outlining her soft cheek. She couldn’t resist reaching for the hand still at his side and holding it. The moment appeared surreal as they stood, the crashing of the waves behind them, with another soft breeze in the air.

“Señ- Abby, did you want to come to lunch as you are now? Or travel back to your hotel to change. I find myself fine with either option you choose.” The chocolate haired man explained, leaving Abigail to decide. It would be best to freshen up before going to his home which looked to be enormous. A squeeze of his hand and a nod confirmed that she heard him. 

“I’ll go and freshen up before our meal. I shouldn’t be long Javier.” Her voice was calm as he led her to his golf cart. She was curious why he was leading her to the golf cart, but he quickly explained that he would drive her to her resort, help her unload her beach belongings. Javier joked that he came prepared with his shirt which made her chuckle as he carried her bag and chair despite her instance that she could carry one of them but he refused to let her as he put them in the golf cart. 

Together, they made the short drive to her resort where Javier suggested that Abby should have his number to be able to text him and let him know when she was ready for him to pick her up for lunch. Had he not had such a warm smile and gentle touch, Abigail would have said no. Javier, however, had walked her to her room on the fourth floor of the resort and his hand touched the middle of her back as they walked inside and spoke briefly about what she had seen on the island already and still wanted to see. She ended up watching him as he left her room and made his way down the hallway, waving to her as the elevator doors closed.

“Hasta leugo mi diosa (See you later my goddess).”

Part Two

Peeps who got lost and found that speedo 😎: @innerpersonunknown @trulybetty @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @grogusmum @secretelephanttattoo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @lady-bess @readingiskeepingmegoing @missladym1981 @avastrasposts @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @gasolinerainbowpuddles @i-own-loki

[spnfanficpond]

Weekly Pond Newsletter

It's a holiday weekend in the US and the unofficial start of summer! Here at the Pond, we're ready to read all of your fics where our boys get to put their toes in the sand and drink something with a teeny umbrella!

Old Business:

Giveaway in the Discord server - Last weekend's giveaway was won by @samanddean76! Congrats! 🎉

SPN Rewatch: FanFic Edition - We had another great chat yesterday, this time about episodes 2.09 Croatoan and 2.10 Hunted. Both the episode and theme docs have been updated, so head over to the Archive to see all the ideas we discussed! Maybe something will spark a story idea for you!

Last week's #TweetFicTues prompts were -

New Business:

Giveaway in the Discord server - We're giving away a glow-in-the-dark plush toy from CultureFly this weekend! Members can drop a link to a fic in the giveaways channel to an SPN fic that features a funeral, memorial, or someone honoring someone who has died. Deadline for submissions is Monday night at midnight, EDT (or whenever Admin Michelle gets around to it 🤣).

Competitive Writing Sprints - Mata Ray Arthur (@heavenssexiestangel) will be hosting a session of writing sprints in the Discord server on Tuesday. Add words to your WIP and win fabulous prizes! Stay tuned for announcement posts with details!

Fishing For Treasures - Next weekend is FFT weekend over at the @fanficocean and they will be celebrating stories with POC or LGBTQ+ reader insert characters! Check out their blog later this week for details.

Angel Fish Awards - It's that time of the month again, when the deadline to submit AFA nominations and earn entries for the current month's rafffle draws near. (Nominations can be submitted at ANY time, but the deadline is the end of the month to earn entries into the raffle.) Rec your favorite fics and earn chances to win fabulous prizes! Click here for more information about the AFA's and how to participate!

(Divider by @glygriffe!)

That's all for this week! To see all Pond events, and also other SPN-related things like conventions and online concerts, check out our Google calendar! Click here for a static view in Eastern US/Canada time (desktop only, no mobile app access, sadly), and click here to add our calendar to your own Google calendar! We try to keep it as up-to-date as possible. If there's something you want to see on the calendar that's not there (maybe a convention we missed, cast birthdays, or something similar), send us an ASK and let us know!

Hope you have a great week! - From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, and @heavenssexiestangel!