#somfte

EEEEEEE!! I'm so happy you asked about this one because (even though I love all my WIPs) this is my current baby. Apologies if this gets long.

Now, I love stories about royal marriages: they can be loveless, hateful, friendly, a business relationship, a mutual beard to hide behind, any number of things. And the potential for sexual frustration is high, and I like that.

I was having fun worldbuilding's Erebor's economical renaissance, and wondered "where would Bilbo and Thorin stand in this universe?" (although I like the story of The Hobbit as it is, in fic, I want Thorin to live and deal with the fallout of his actions) and the most interesting answer was that their relationship is fucked.

In my fic, they fell in love on the road, but while Thorin was goldsick, he married Bilbo in a fit of possessiveness, and was abusive. (to be clear, not sexual assault, but he was really pushy and possessive and ultimately, as we see in the movie, violent.) They stay married because Bilbo knows he wouldn't fit in and would be lonely if he went back to the Shire, and Thorin would have to find another consort and have an heir, and he refuses to pass on his susceptibility to goldsickness. It's better for the kingdom's stability. Also, the person they fell in love with is still there, right? (no they're not, these are all the wrong reasons, can you tell this is a terrible idea?)

I want to show how they become a very efficient ruling team as the years go on but on the personal side their relationship dies. I'm going to create a marriage that is so depressing. In public they look fine, but in private they don't touch, don't discuss their feelings, have separate rooms, etc. I want them to have created these coping mecanisms, walls of fear and guilt at the very beginning, but being unable to take them down when they want to later (which they will, yay).

It's about healing, abuse, duty, addiction (if I can fit it in, otherwise this one'll be a fic of its own), friendship, desire, and how these things mix together when they shouldn't and the result is ugly and not therapy-approved. And I want it to have a happy ending because I believe in healing and forgiveness.

Snippet time! Sorry it's long, I'm a wordy bastard. Careful, the vibes are rancid:

The wizard’s expression darkened, but he started moving again nonchalantly. “We had a similar nightly discussion some time ago. I warned you about Thorin and the effect dragon sickness would have on him. You told me you were not afraid of him, despite everything. Have you revised your opinion?” Bilbo kept walking, but it felt like a heavy stone had dropped inside his stomach. A shiver crept up his neck as the painful sensation of strong hands on his thighs and sides came back to him. He remembered the throat-tightening fear as he listened to Thorin rant and rave, go from gentle to threatening in an instant, Bilbo in his wake never knowing if this time he would escape the king’s fury or be discovered for the traitor he was and choked by a hand heavy with gold rings. He saw again the leering, the unbridled desire, the possessiveness. Thorin covering him in riches and bedding him on top of his cursed gold like he was one of his things to use as he pleased. [...] What happened didn’t matter because Bilbo couldn’t afford to grant it importance. The fact was that when he married Thorin Oakenshield, he married a dragon. A dragon that had since then disappeared, but who could tell that it wasn’t lying in wait, observing Bilbo hungrily from behind beloved blue eyes? “I haven’t,” he told Gandalf. “I don’t fear Thorin, I fear what he could become if he’s not watched.” “It is not your responsibility to watch over him, Bilbo,” the wizard said gently. It is. And not because Bilbo had taken hollow-sounding vows during a travesty of a ceremony hastily held in the treasury. He hadn’t needed a title or a formal bonding to jump between Azog and Thorin, to deliver him from giant spiders or the cells of Mirkwood, or to endorse his plea to the Master of Laketown.

This is gonna be unhealthy before it gets better.

11. not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

Yes of course my sweet, thank you for the prompt! This was a delight to write, I am so soft for them, I simply cannot. Please enjoy my somft boys <3

On Ao3 here Hand holding collection

Jaskier loves cities for the most part. He loves how busy they are, how life is absolutely everywhere. Usually he loves it, that is.

Today there are so many people, it is hard to cross the street. Today, the life of the town is crushing him.

It seems like there is about to be another wedding, one that he spitefully enough wasn't invited to play at. No matter, he is busy anyway. Chasing his muse across the continent, building his fame in every corner of every land. Can't do that from a ballroom, can you, Valdo?

Though it seems like his muse is... gone.

Swallowed by the masses. Lost for a humble bard forever and ever and ever and- oh. There he is.

Bards are allowed to be a little dramatic, he thinks, as the witcher approaches him.

More than one head turns as he passes, some glaring at his swords, some sneaking a peek at that ass. The latter Jaskier might possibly have done once or twice as well, admittedly.

Jaskier/Eskel | rating: T | words: 486 | CW: attempted kisses, licking of palms

Written for MY BOY. @softdarlingjaskier Beta'd by @dapandapod

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The skies opened with a crack of thunder in the middle of lunch. Jaskier shrieked as he ran from their cafe table, grabbing his drink to take with him. Eskel laughed as he followed Jaskier at a more sedate pace. They ended up under the cafe's awning, standing side by side as they watched the rain pour down.

"I just bought this damn cardigan. Wool, too," Jaskier sighed. He held his caffe mocha out to Eskel. "Could you hold this for me?"

Eskel nodded and took the drink. He fiddled with the straw as he watched Jaskier try to rid himself of as much rainwater as possible.

"I love thunderstorms," Eskel said, his eyes drawn away from Jaskier to watch the lightning streak across the sky. "The smell is always fantastic."

"I'd like it more if I wasn't in the middle of it," Jaskier grumbled, taking his drink back. "Now how will we get home? And what about the rest of the day? We had so much planned," Jaskier trailed off.

Eskel turned back to Jaskier and gave him a soft smile. Jaskier was so cute like this, soaked to the bone, his hair dripping water from the tips, and giving him the widest, bluest puppy eyes.

"You look like a drowned puppy." Eskel laughed when Jaskier punched him in the shoulder. "Not funny."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." Eskel reached out to Jaskier and tangled their fingers together. "Would it help if I said you were a cute drowned puppy?"

Jaskier huffed out his offense, leaning into Eskel's shoulder. "... Yes." Eskel leaned back and kissed the crown of his wet hair. "I thought it would." He then shook his head to shake the rain from his locks, the rainwater smacking Jaskier in the face.

"Eskel!" Jaskier complained, and shoved away from him.

Eskel reached to pull Jaskier back again, his hands clasping Jaskier's waist. "I just want to give you a kiss. You know, like in those old Hollywood movies."

"No," Jaskier said, smacking a hand over Eskel's mouth. "It's wet and I'm cold and you're really not helping right now."

Jaskier made a disgusted sound when he felt Eskel's tongue on the palm of his hand, snatching it back and wiping it off on Eskel's pants. "Ew, you don't know where that hand's been!"

"Oh, but I do." Eskel's answering smirk was wide, even as he stepped back and started peeling off his own jacket. "I don't have an umbrella on me, but I figure this would do." He raised the jacket above his head, tilting his head at Jaskier in invitation. "This way, we could at least head home."

"... I am chilly." Jaskier nodded and stepped under Eskel's makeshift protection, curling an arm around Eskel's waist.

Clint is most comfortable in a seemingly uncomfortable position. Thanks to his time in the circus, he can contort and bend in ways that look painful to others, but are actually really comfortable. Some of the more difficult positions he tries to keep to his own room, because the last time he did one in a public space, Steve ended up with a broken nose from walking into a wall and Tony laughed so hard he nearly passed out.

That being said, sometimes he needs to unwind and a simple handstand is enough to help him do that. He’s currently upside down, leaning against a wall in a random hallway somewhere in the Tower. His eyes are closed and he’s focusing on his breathing, which is why he jerks and flails a little bit when someone grabs his ankle.

“Jesus—what the fuck, Steve?” He crosses his arms and glares at Steve, who’s currently saving him from falling onto his head by holding him in the air by his ankles. “Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

“Sorry,” Steve says, but he’s got a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth so Clint is finding it a little hard to take him seriously.

“Put me down—carefully!” Steve lowers him to the ground, only letting go of his ankles when Clint’s hands are firmly on the ground and able to support his weight. “Thank you.”

“That’s really comfortable for you?” Steve asks curiously, his warm hand still on Clint’s ankle—it’s not distracting, no sir not at all nuh uh.

“It really is. I spent most of my time contorted or upside down as a kid, this is sometimes more comfortable than being upright,” Clint says to Steve’s chest, which is the highest he can look.

Aziraphale exhaled, pressing his nose flush against Crowley's cheek. It shouldn't have been comfortable, with the angles of his face being so sharp and jutting, but Aziraphale was content. He had a perfect view of long dark lashes from here, light and fanning across pale skin. The late morning light caught Crowley's hair like fire, burning brighter than the sun. He wondered distantly if the demon would've looked even more beautiful as an angel. It was hard to imagine really. Pressing a sticky kiss to one temple, Crowley let out a soft sigh. His eyelids fluttered open, golden eyes shimmering. He smiled.

"Good morning, dear," Aziraphale crooned, leaning his head into the cradle of long spidery fingers. "Breakfast?"

"I literally just woke up." Crowley grumbled back, snickering. 

"That's the perfect time for sticky buns, though".

Reaching up, Crowley wound his long arms around the angel, yanking him down onto the mattress. Aziraphale yelped but let himself be manhandled, giggling loudly as he was lain on his back. Crowley was suspended above him, pure adoration visible in his gaze. He leaned down to press a soft kiss against the angel's nose.