#I might even post it to Ao3 when it’s done but i have to kill my shame first

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[candycryptids]

Aaauuu so I said a while ago s/t abt stars n Uri n my WoL and then never delivered because gpose wrecks my wrist 🥴 but it’s fine cos yknow what *doesnt* wreck my wrist

Writing hundreds of words 😶

[mrsbarnesblog]

Little games

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Gamer! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: you really need to calm down, so you get under Bucky's table while he's playing with his friends.

Words count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut, established relationship, college gamer bucky, blow job, come eating, pet names

Author’s note: even though originally I posted it back in August, I might as well publish it now as a part of the kinktober. enjoy and let me know what you think🩷

It was a long fucking day with too many stupid people that just played on your nerves. You were supposed to study at the library for your exam, but instead you were arguing with people who didn’t know how to properly behave in public places and talk to others

Almost an hour later, your blood was still boiling with anger, and you came to your and Bucky’s apartment, carelessly throwing your bag on the floor and kicking off your shoes. You needed to punch someone, scream, take a hot shower, or just have really good sex. And you knew someone who could help you with the last one. 

You walked into Bucky’s playing room; it was a little bit dark with a few neon lights turned on. He was sitting there with headphones, without a shirt, and only in black shorts. The camera was off; he was just playing with his friends, but he was too fucking hot for his own good.

The urge to climb on Bucky right in his playing chair hit you like lightning. You walked closer, wrapping your hands around his neck from the back and sliding them lower down his firm chest.

“Hey, baby doll.” He pushed back the microphone, giving you a quick look but then going back to his stupid game. You deeply inhaled as another wave of annoyance ran through your body because you didn’t get the attention you wanted. 

“Buck… I’m really angry right now, and I need you.” You mumbled against the hot skin of his neck. 

“Gimme like... ten minutes, doll, ‘kay? I have to finish this, or we’re gonna lose. Love you.” Bucky, not looking away from the monitor, placed a kiss on your cheek, and you heard a muffled sound of Steve’s or Sam’s voice in the headphones. “No-no, it’s nothing—on your back!” Bucky suddenly screamed into the microphone as his body moved forward. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing damn well that this is not for “ten minutes”. You didn’t mind him having such a hobby, but at times like this, you just wanted to throw everything in the trash because it was really hard to get Bucky’s attention during the games. It was obvious that if you wanted to cool down, you needed to take everything in your hands. Well, quite literally.

You stepped to the side of Bucky’s chair before dropping to your knees and getting under his table in well-trained motions. It's not like you haven’t done it before. He probably didn’t even notice it because when you quickly put your hand on his crotch, he jumped in surprise and looked at you with his big baby-blue eyes. 

“What are you doing?!” He whispered so his friends couldn’t hear him.

“I am fucking mad, James, and since you don't want to fuck it out of me, I’ll do everything by myself.” You hissed, dragging his shorts down enough to reveal his semi-hard cock. 

Bucky’s eyes rolled back as soon as your soft hand wrapped around him, and he felt that he became hard almost immediately. Usually, he didn’t miss a single chance to get his hands on you. Bucky was quite literally obsessed with you, and he was ready to have sex with you everywhere and every time, but right now he was in the middle of the game with his friends, who might hear everything. 

His body became hot within a second. His hips unconsciously jerked upwards to meet your hand, and he completely forgot what he was doing, looking at your grinning face in between his legs with a slightly open mouth.

“Barnes, what the fuck are you doing? I almost got killed!” It was probably Sam, you thought, but it didn’t stop you from your intentions.

“Do you hear it, Buck?” You innocently whispered, spitting on the hard cock in your hand to help your slow movements. “Continue playing your little game; I’ll just do my business here.” 

“Erm, nothing, it’s just—Alpine dropped something, I don’t know, got distracted...” Bucky  breathed out into the microphone, trying to stay as calm as possible, his eyes quickly moving between you and the screen. He continued to play, still trying to win the game, even though your hand felt too good and his eyes desperately wanted to close. 

Your smirk grew wider before you leaned closer to his cock and traced the vein on the lower side, going from the bottom to the top and swirling your tongue around the head at the end. You hummed at his taste in your mouth, sending vibrations down his body. 

The reaction was exactly how you wanted it to be. Bucky cursed under his mouth; his head fell back, and you could tell by the way his arms and jaw were tensed that he wanted to moan. Yes, he was always vocal, so teasing him that way felt so good. 

“What is wrong with you, man?” Another voice was heard through the headphones, but Bucky didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, fuck!” Your lips wrapped around his cock, sucking on the tip and looking Bucky directly in the eyes. You knew that it drove him crazy. Bucky completely forgot about his game while different people yelled at him and put his left hand on top of your head, guiding you to get lower. “Just like that...” 

“Who are you talking to?”

“Are you having sex?”

“What the fuck are you doing, Barnes?” 

A bunch of different questions mixed in the group voice chat, and it became so annoying that Bucky just muted the call and pulled his headphones off.

You tried to smile, but it was hard to do in your current position. You lowered your head, taking more of Bucky’s hard cock into your mouth. The hand on your head was firm, but it didn’t push you down. When the tip hit the back of your throat, he loudly moaned and gripped your hair, holding you in place.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck!” You didn’t stop, staying like that for a few seconds even though your vision was already blurred with tears. You pulled back, stroking his cock with your hand again. The mixture of your tears, saliva, and his pre-cum made a mess on your face, but it was the least of your concerns. “You’re so pretty, baby, so good for me. What made you so mad, hm?” You saw how his pink tongue licked his lips, and even more dirty thoughts about your boyfriend’s face in between your legs made you want to whimper and rub your thighs together. 

“Some assholes in the library. Fuck, Bucky, just use my mouth, I need it.” The smirk appeared on his lips again. The hand on your head buried itself into your hair, holding them tightly but not too rough to hurt you, and pushed you back on his waiting cock.

You moaned around him when Bucky didn’t hesitate and started to move your head up and down, hitting the back of your throat every single time. You gripped his thighs, digging your nail into the skin, and relaxed so you wouldn’t choke too much. 

With each thrust, you felt that Bucky was getting closer. The movements became slightly out of rhythm, and he didn’t hold his moans anymore. The phone began to ring, and you both knew that it was one of the guys, but neither of you cared enough to pay attention to it.

“Of fuck—baby, ‘m gonna cum.” You didn’t pull away, and in just a few seconds, you felt the thick and hot liquid filling your mouth. Bucky released your hair, unable to move in his chair, while you took his cock in your hands and stroked him a few times until the last drops fell onto your waiting tongue. You swallowed everything, locking eyes with Bucky’s hazy ones, and kissed the tip one last time. “You’re going to kill me. Fuck, you should go to the library more often, sweetheart.” His lips curled in a sneer, and when Bucky wanted to drag you onto his lap, the phone rang again.

He rolled his eyes but still answered.

“What the fuck, Barnes, we lost because of you!” 

“I don’t really care, Willson, because I just got the best head, and now I’m going to have no less good sex with my amazing girlfriend. Don't call me for at least a few hours.”

“Ew, you’re motherf—”

Bucky didn’t listen to whatever Sam wanted to say and ended the call, throwing away his phone. Then he looked back at you, still on the floor, and that dangerously attractive grin appeared on his face again. 

“Now let me pay you back, and then fuck you the way you wanted me to. Gotta help my girlfriend relax, right?” That was Bucky’s last words before he stood up, helped you stand up, and then casually threw you over his shoulder, taking you to your bedroom. 

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 30th

Day 30: Weight Gain // Object Insertion // Sex Pollen

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Post apocalyptic setting, mentions of infection, begging to die, fuck or die, sex pollen, mentions of murder, rough sex, premature ejaculation, unprotected sex

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His hands shake, trembling so hard that he can barely hold onto the door knob. Growling out your name as he tries to twist it and turn it with no luck. His entire body is on fire and the press of his cock against his jeans is so hard he feels like he’s about to burst his zipper. Shouting your name again and then beating on the door desperately. “Open the door!”

Your eyes are wide, rushing to the door to fling it open and he crashes through it. “I- fuck, you have to kill me.” He had only come to tell you goodbye. Promising you that he would never just disappear, even though it was hard to promise with the way the world was. Still, he had wanted to reassure you just once you weren’t going to be left alone again. 

“What?” Your hands tighten on his jacket, holding him steady while he resists the urge to just drag you down to the floor and rip your clothes off. His vision blurs, sweat beading on his forehead despite the fact that it’s cold. His body temperature has skyrocketed in the past two hours since he had been infected. “Joel, what is-” 

“I’m infected.” 

You jerking away from him makes his heart ache. Remembering how he had done the same to Tess so many years ago. Regret pooling in his stomach as he wishes he could change the past. There would be so many things he would have done differently, said to those that mattered. Now nothing matters except protecting you and all of Jackson from himself. “No.” 

Joel nods, “I- I ran into a - a clicker.” Dread settles into your stomach and you flinch when he moves his hand, but he just sinks his fingers into his hair and tugs on it. “I- I need you to do it.” He pants, his eyes pleading and there’s unspoken apologies swimming in their depths. 

“Where?” You demand, shaking your head in denial. Joel frowns and you repeat yourself. “Where?” You want to know where he was bit, if there's a chance you can amputate his limb. If there’s a chance to save him. 

“Seven miles-”

“Where were you bit?” You snap impatiently, swallowing harshly and wanting to pull his clothes off his body and search for the wound yourself. 

“I wasn’t.” His answer makes you freeze, frowning at him. “It- it kissed me.” 

You’ve never heard of a clicker kissing someone. Frowning, you stare into his eyes, searching for the spider webbing of red veins that seems to change the pupils before a person is completely taken over by the cordyceps. “Kissed you?” 

He nods, knowing it sounds insane, but that’s not the point. His cock twitches, leaking into his boxers and he moans softly, closing his eyes and swaying where he stands. “I - you have to do it, baby.” He insists, knowing that providing you closer is the best he can offer you right now. “I- I don’t know what is happening to me.” 

“Strip down.” You tell him, frowning in confusion. He’s not acting like anyone you've ever seen infected. 

“Baby-”

“Strip down.” You order, your tone harder and he stares at you for a minute before he nods. Hands shaking as he peels off his jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt. It might be better this way. Easier for him to take off his clothes than for you to do it after he’s gone. No chance of blood getting on them. They could be boiled and given to someone else. 

He is shaking. You can see it. Joel’s hands haven’t shook in a long time. Not since he’s accepted that Ellie isn’t talking to him. To find peace in what he had done to protect her. You know all about it, having come into his life after the rift had been created and over time, you had become a kind of bridge between the two of them. Ellie would sometimes ask about him, and Joel would give you something to pass to her. Now he can barely unbutton his shirt and you seem him grit his teeth as he hisses out a sound of pure pain. 

Fumbling with his belt and buttons on his jeans when he finally gets his shirt off. Groaning your name, his hand slides down to cup his cock through the material, making your eyes widen in surprise. It’s not like Joel has never touched himself in front of you, but you couldn’t imagine that he’s horny now. 

Except that he is. His cock is hard, springing out of his pants and nearly purple with need. Dribbling precum down the side of his length, and it twitches every few seconds like it is begging for attention. It bounces heavily as Joel kicks off the jeans and he shudders when he sees you staring at his cock. “Fuck baby…..” He groans, hands in fists at his side. “I don’t- I haven’t- I don’t know what the fuck is happening.” 

You don’t know what is going on either, but you don’t think that he’s infected. Not like normal cordyceps. He’s not showing any other signs of the fungus taking over, unless you count the shaking and you don’t think that is what is happening here. 

“Describe it to me.” He whines when you say that. Joel Miller whines. That is a sound you haven’t heard ever, not even when he was impatient to slide inside you. 

“I need-” He pants, eyes slipping closed and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I need-” He swallows. “I need you.” He finally manages. “I need to fuck you. To cum inside you. To fuck you until you can’t walk and my back gives out and then I want you to ride me.” 

You listen to his tone, the desperation, his cock twitching every other word that falls from his lips. Four fat drops of cum have fallen from the weeping tip of his cock and hit the floor while he describes what he needs. 

“Why?” You are getting wet just thinking about it, but you don’t know what the fuck to do. Why is he acting this way? 

“I’m on fire.” He hisses. “Burning from the inside. I feel-” He shudders again. “I feel like I’m about to come unglued. Like my cock is going to explode if I don’t sink into your cunt. Bury myself deep and -” He groans, uncurling his fist and sliding it against his thigh, inching closer to his needy cock. “Fuuuuuuck.” 

His eyes open and they are black with desire. None of the cordyceps yellow in his iris, nothing showing but hunger. Fixed on you and he takes a step towards you, almost ready to break before he holds himself back. “Baby, I need you to do something.” He growls. “I can’t- I don’t know how much longer I can last. Put me out of my fuckin’ misery.” 

You have a decision. Something you have to roll the dice on. Do you fuck him or kill him? You can’t choose wrong and you don’t want to kill him. Even if your mind is revolting and screaming that you are in danger, this is Joel. You know that he would kill for you, but he would never kill you. 

So you strip. His eyes have closed again, panting breaths covering the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and when you step forward to touch him, Joel nearly jumps. Eyes springing open and you can see that he thinks you are about to kill him for a split second before he realizes that you are naked. 

His nostrils flare and before you know it, Joel is spinning you around and pressing you against the kitchen table, his mouth fusing with yours before you can even squeak. 

There’s nothing breathed into you. No fungus crawling out of his mouth, no infection. Just the heavy flick of his tongue against yours while his hands grab your hips and push you up onto the table to spread your thighs and crowd in between them. 

He’s rough, much rougher than he’s ever been with you before but it's the need that is driving him. A desperation to fuck you that has him pressing against you and pushing inside your body before you are ready. 

The pinch of his cock makes you gasp but his own groan overpowers the sound. Absorbing it as he pushes in to the hilt and panting your name into your mouth. Only to immediately start fucking you like he is running a race that has to be finished. 

Joel quickly takes over all of your senses, making you forget everything but the way he is punching deep into your cunt with heavy, hard thrusts. Feeling like he is in your stomach and you hear him whimper in pleasure every time he pushes deep. 

He gets a dozen thrusts in before his hips stutter, a strangled groan coming from the back of his throat and you feel the heat flooding your womb. He’s cum. A lot. You feel it start to drip out of your cunt even as he continues to rock his hips. 

Breathless, he presses closer to you and for a moment you think that he will collapse against you. Only to start to push his hips back again to start moving again. The thrusts are shallow and squelching as he pushes the newly deposited cum out of your pussy. Still achingly hard and ready for round two. 

“Joel-” He’s never gone two rounds. He needs hours before he can even think about getting hard again. One of those complaints of old age that bothers him more than you. But right now he is still desperate to move inside you. To fuck you. 

“I can’t - I need more.” He growls, pressing his lips to yours and wrapping his arms around you to drag you closer to the edge, needing to be deeper inside you. Something happened out there in those woods. Something changed inside of him. There’s this need for you that is burning in his blood and he doesn’t know how long it will take for him to get it out of his system. Or if he can. 

[king-candybug-backup]

Kill Switch: Part Eight

He had cut her off with a harsh stomp to the ground, the loud crack of the multicoloured road echoing all around them, his tails lashing back and forth as his full height loomed over Vanellope. She couldn’t be sure if it was an attempt at intimidation, but she certainly wouldn’t put it past him. “I’m sorry, since when are you an expert on who I am?” He snarled back, that bug-like warble sneaking its way back into his voice, “You weren’t even alive back then. You don’t know anything.” “Then make it make sense for me! You mean to tell me that you, Turbo, didn’t consider the obvious consequences that doin’ somethin’ that extreme might have? I don’t buy that! I know you ain’t that stupid!” Despite taking notice of that intensifying snarl lurking in the Cy-bug’s chest, Vanellope didn’t let it stop her. “You had to have known how dangerous that was! Why the heck would somebody so crazy full-of-himself ever do something like that? Throwin’ your life away like that?! You coulda died!” “I may as well have!” He regretted snapping back the second those words left his mouth. The second he saw how Vanellope’s expression had changed from a face of disturbed confusion to something else entirely. Something far more shocked, yet with hints of a look he knew all too well on her. That look of pity that he oh, so hated.

Read the full chapter on AO3!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Finally getting into #TheRoadblastersIncident.... The Roadblasters backstory in the movie was honestly one of my biggest pieces of inspiration for Kill Switch as a whole. I won't ramble on about it here, as I explain my view of it in more depth at the end chapter notes, but I hope y'all can still enjoy this chapter for what it is, even if my interpretation of events may not line up with how others might see it. Either way, have some pain and suffering, I guess! Lol (Also I decided to split the Ralph scenes into another chapter because this one was getting long as usual shgdfvjbj, BUT ON THE UP SIDE THAT MEANS NEXT CHAPTER WILL ALSO PROBABLY BE DONE PRETTY SOON DUE TO NOT BEING AS LONG LOL)

ALSO MORE FAN-ART SHOUT-OUTS AAAAAA!!! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, YOU GUYS HAVE FIRED UP MY INSPIRATION LIKE CRAZYYYYY AND TBH HAVE MADE ME WRITE SO MUCH FASTER THESE PAST FEW WEEKS LMAO, I AM IN THE ZONE, MY DUDES 😂

Here is GREAT art of the "Calhoun lowkey squaring up w/ Candybug" scene by the lovely @sweet-treat, as well as Vanny and KCB's Uno scene!

And on the topic of cards, we also have an ADORABLE art of those two with the "Go Fish" part, lol! Courtesy of the wonderful @thegalwhoasked! I HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH BOTH OF THEIR CARD GAMES IN ART FORM LMAOOO, THANK YOU <333

And of course, we have this absolutely AWESOME art of Candybug and Sinistar, as well as the scene of Candybug intimidating Calhoun's soldiers, by the spectacular @caleeeeee! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL IMAGES, I LOVE YOU GUYS 😭😭😭

Also gotta credit this beautiful post by @gretelandcat for a lot of inspiration in how the beginning of the Starway scene went!

[ciaomarie]

Waiting on my AO3 invite. Here's a one shot Sydcarmy story. Canon compliant. Post season 2. Please excuse the grammar/spelling mistakes. I need season 3 to get here quickly!

Title: Won't You Be My Neighbor

It was her break and for the 89th time in the last three days Sydney reassessed the apartments within 15 minutes walking distance from The Bear. As CDC she no longer wanted to depend on the train should there be some kind of accident, strike, or weather event. There were three that she could afford on her own and many more options if she were willing to become a roommate. She wasn't. If inspiration for a recipe struck her at 2am she wanted to get up and cook if she wanted. She loved the freedom of walking around naked after a shower, picking out her clothes or getting a snack. Most of all she missed turning up her music and dancing like an inflatable tube man in private.

She had sent a message to each leasing office to schedule an appointment next Monday and two of the three had confirmed a 10a and 11a showing. It had been more than 48 hours since she messaged the third so she called. The leasing agent informed her that the specific unit she wanted was no longer available, but they had a gorgeous 2 bedroom for $3800 a month if she was interested. "Okay, now that's just two options" Sydney muttered after getting off the phone.

"Hey mija, what you looking at?" Tina asked sitting down to eat lunch.

"Just apartments. I finally have the funds to move" Sydney answered with a sigh.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to be getting out on your own?"

"Oh, yeah for sure. It's just I'm really picky"

"Well, it doesn't have to be forever. Just make sure to read the reviews. You don't want roaches or bed bugs".

"Oh, I can't stand bugs! My dad still has to kill them for me, but I better get a fly swatter and spray now that I'll be on my own soon."

Break was over and Sydney stood up to resume her duties. First she needed to talk to Natalie about the upcoming private party. A celebrity had reserved the entire restaurant next Thursday evening. The names of all staff members on duty that night had to be submitted ahead of time with signed NDAs. It was all happening so fast and The Bear's debt was likely to be paid less than a year after opening. First there had been a Grio article about her being a rising black chef. That led to Keith Lee, the TikTok restaurant reviewer, raving about his to-go order that included the T-Bone and the Michael cannoli. It went viral and suddenly, they were booked for the next three months with a waiting list. She was working harder than ever, getting paid pretty well, and she deserved a place of her own.

After talking to Natalie, she found Carmy working on her prep.

"Hey, thanks! I can take over that now if you want"

"Actually….it's done. I wanted to take you somewhere for like 30 minutes" he said finishing up and cleaning the station.

Sydney folded her arms, her eyebrows raised high.

"Okay, where are we going?"

"I know you've been looking for a place and I think know the perfect apartment for you. Just a 10 minute walk from here. The landlord gave me the key so I could show you today" Carmy said trying to sound casual, but a deep pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Why is he being weird?" Sydney thought but simply said "Okay, that's dope."

The Chicago air was soft and warm, the clean sunlight making everything look new. Summer afternoons like this made you forgive the brutal winters here. Carmy directed Sydney when to turn left and right, but refused to tell her where exactly they were going. Soon they were standing in front of his building.

The reason for his weirdness was now perfectly clear to Sydney and she felt so flattered that she had to avoid looking at Carmy when she said "So, there's an open unit in your building?"

"Uh, yeah. The people who lived just above me moved and I, uh, thought you might want to see it".

The apartment was on the fourth floor. Carmy unlocked the door and let Sydney go in first. The walls were freshly painted in "Cloud White" and the oak hardwood floors creaked comfortably under their feet. The layout was the same as Carmy's apartment with plenty of windows to let in natural light and a shockingly large kitchen for a 1 bedroom place in Chicago. As Sydney inspected the appliances and bathroom, she decided that if the rent was going to eat up even half of her check it was worth it. She had always admired Carmy's spacious apartment and with her sense of style she could make hers, a cozy bohemian oasis filled with plants, wall art, and actual furniture (eventually).

Carmy had let her roam around in silence for a few minutes, muttering and emitting tiny sounds of joy to herself. When she met him in the living room again, he said trying not to grin too widely, "If you like it, it's already yours."

"How? I know places like this are snatched up fast" Sydney said her eyes finally able to meet his again.

"The landlords, they're a couple, and their 20th wedding anniversary is coming up. They want reservations at The Bear." Carmy explained, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh, that's nice work, Carmy."

Then Sydney squealed and cried "This is just what I wanted!!" and she flung her arms around his shoulders in a wild hug. Carmy commanded his body not to shudder as he hugged her back. She was just wearing a t-shirt and without her usual layers of clothing he felt her delicate frame, her slim shoulder blades imprinting on his fingers.

In a moment Sydney pulled back shly and let her arms fall to her sides, her face burning. She made a mental note: Hugging Carmy. Not a safe activity for those who want to cook along side him using sharp objects or sleep peacefully at night dreaming innocent thoughts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Sydney said taking another step back and making another turn around the room.

Carmy nodded and concentrated on not melting into the floorboards.

"You're okay with this? We already spend 60+ hours together at the restaurant every week and now I'd be in your building! And literally living on top of you."

"Yeah, well, I want you to. You deserve everything you want, Syd."

"Then I'll take it! Just a warning though. If you hear someone belting out Kpop and an occasional thud, that's just my weekly one woman concert, which will be over no later than 10pm. I'm not being murdered."

Carm was no longer unable to contain the width of his smile. This girl is so cute, his body physically ached. How would he get through service tonight?

With a happy shake of his head, he replied, "Thank you, for the heads up!"

With that Sydney marched towards the door and exclaimed "Take me to your landlord!"

Carmy floated behind her.

Cue: Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"

[dandylions101]

Poly Xianle Quartet Dynamics Headcanons/Thoughts

Okay so first we have our main big ships: Hualian and Fengqing

Xie Lian x Hua Cheng: our star-crossed lovers duo. Constant heart eyes. We know them. We love them. It’s very important to me that they both love each other the same intense amount tho.

Feng Xin x Mu Qing: Rivals to lovers type. I think they both definitely had a crush on each other when they were younger, a bit of a “fuck this guy but also he’s kinda pretty wait what-“. I think post-canon they finally try and do get over their general angst and bad communication and become a duo that really make a fantastic team when they can. Like. Not kill each other enough to actually listen. The Martial Gods of the South. They’ve been at each other’s side (and at each other’s throats) almost always since they’ve met, and I think that fact really is the foundation of their dynamic.

Alright, now the more fun stuff.

Xie Lian x Feng Xin: ‘Body Guard x Royal’ dynamic my beloved. I think they’re very much childhood friends to lovers too. Like saw each other in diapers type. I think Feng Xin was born to a noble family (with a strong martial background) that was mostly dead by the time the kingdom fell, and therefore was one of the few people deemed high ranked enough to be friends with the Crown Prince. Which makes him like. The person Xie Lian knew the longest. Intensely loyal, especially post-canon once they get over their angst. Honestly I think they may be a little bit codependent for a bit, but they ease out once they’ve settled into their relationship again. There’s definitely more to say here but I’ll leave it at that for now.

Xie Lian x Mu Qing: Ah yes, it’s the Unrequited Love complex they both nurtured for me. I read It’s In Your Warmth, I Feel The Coldest, by PeacefulDiscord on ao3 (it’s great you should check it out). And they wrote a line which really pinned down their relationship for me; “I always thought of you as my beauty,” Xie Lian says. His gaze is firm even as his hand gentles where he’s still holding Mu Qing. “My jade. My love for you drove me mad, it made me too harsh when I believed you to have discarded me so easily.” And that right there has to be the crux of their relationship. I think they both crushed on each other when they were younger, and they found each other’s differences fascinating. But that difference in class made it so difficult for them to actually understand each other. I think post-canon, once they both have lived closer to the contexts of each other’s childhoods, they both have a much better understanding of the other person. They both had strong insecurities when it came to each other, a balancing act when they never knew what the other might take the wrong way. And the power imbalance that Mu Qing was always intensely aware of and that Xie Lian never even considered. Which made them lash out the minute they felt unsure. Assumptions galore. I think after a long chat post-canon, they settle into a sweet and close relationship again, and I think their experiences after they parted lent them a new understanding of each other they bask in now. The intense admiration (and love) they have for each other goes unshadowed now.

Alright, now probably the most juicy dynamics (at least in my opinion):

Hua Cheng x Mu Qing: I headcanon that they knew each other, when they were kids. Same impoverished neighbourhood type. I’m not sure how close that relationship was, but I think they definitely had one, even if it was just Mu Qing lying about Hong Hong’er’s whereabouts when his family or some other kids try to hurt him. They have lots of animosity to get through, especially regarding the whole Xie Lian stuff. And I think because their childhoods were similar, it made Hua Cheng even less inclined to forgive Mu Qing for what he viewed as his abandoning Xie Lian (especially cause I wouldn’t have done that, he thinks to himself). I think Hu Cheng also envies him the relationship he had with Xie Lian when they were younger, thinking him undeserving. I think any headway they make happens after an explosive verbal fight, which is probably how their other two lovers learned they knew each other when they were young. Once they actually talk out the resentment, I think their relationship eases a bit. The spark of admiration they had for each other when young erupts into a whole forest fire pretty quickly after that. (Mu Qing was definitely Hua Cheng’s gay awakening when they were younger, and Xie Lian was Feng Xin’s. Mu Qing’s was Feng Xin, to his eternal despair and Feng Xin’s eternal smugness. And Xie Lian’s was obviously his San Lang, it was almost Feng Xin tho, but he was too oblivious). They turn that lingering animosity into gossiping and judging people together, it’s their favourite bonding activity. I think their shared background eventually makes Hua Cheng the person that can read Mu Qing the easiest, and Mu Qing the person that catches Hua Cheng’s insecurities the easiest too. Their relationship is surprisingly soft. Theres is a slow burn.

Hua Cheng x Feng Xin: These two bitches might actually be enemies to lovers. Hate at first sight. Hate for a long while after. They have no basis for a relationship outside of their assumptions about each other, and the early post-canon years consist of snide remarks and actual fist fights sometimes. Their own unique relationship with Xie Lian means they have no qualms about throwing him at each other’s face, and it wasn’t until they almost made him cry doing that they finally calmed down a little. Still. Lots of animosity that doesn’t get solved until some sort of mission together forces them to actually exist around each other enough to not try to explode each other with their brains. They realise, after a fraught silence, that they’re both quite similar. Especially with loved ones. Especially when it’s loyalty. And they both, respectfully, hate this new understanding of each other. “What do you mean I can’t get mad at him for doing the most for someone he believes and is loyal to?!” “What do you mean I can’t hate him for leaving our shared lover because he proved more loyal when being asked to leave?!”. Unfortunately for them, this does prove to be the ice breaker for their relationship. They end up bonding over their shared drive to keep their loved ones safe, and they understand each other’s intense more than anyone else. It’s a slow surprise to both of them when that starts to include each other as well. But they find it’s nice to be the object of someone’s intense for once too.

Alright that’s all for now. I clearly had more thoughts than I assumed.

[mmmichyyy]

🌸 gallavich fic rec list 🌸

welcome to my 2023 fic rec list! i went through my ao3 bookmarks and my tumblr tags from this year so here's some (not all, or else this post would go on forever) of my fave (new & older) one-shots, completed multi-chaps, wips & ficlets <3

make sure to check out my 2021 list & my 2022 list ! since i'm not going to include fics i've mentioned before in this year's list :)

& don't forget to check out @gallavichfanficlibrary @gallavich-fic-club @gallavichthings @thegallavault for more recs plus @galladrabbles & @gallavichmeta too ✨ let's go!

one-shots:

doesn't matter where we go by @heymacy (The boys take a road trip.)

to think that we could stay the same by teatrolley (post-breakup au, but Mickey gets out of prison, Caleb doesn't exist, and we get really into their past and Ian’s (struggling) head)

of going home by @lalazeewrites (Valiant has taken the greatest fall from grace the superhero world has witnessed in years. The Shrike is an unregistered vigilante who doesn't even ping the radar of Chicago's crime fighting scene. Ian is forcibly put on leave from his job and returns to the Gallagher house, a failure all over again. Not only does he not know what Mickey does when the world goes dark, he doesn't know that Mickey is still living southside at all. Not since the events of eight years ago.)

quiet by @babygirlmickey (In the quiet of a perceived absence of scrutiny, Mickey can be incontrovertibly tender. Or: 5 times Mickey lets his guard down, as observed by various third parties.)

all i need in this life of sin (is me and my husband) by literatii (As embarrassing as it might be, Ian is not only his husband but also his best friend, and Mickey is pretty damn okay with that. Why the fuck would he find other people to do the exact same shit with that he already does with Ian, minus the fucking, when he can just do that shit with Ian plus the fucking? It makes no sense. Or: Ian wants the two of them to have more friends. Mickey doesn’t.)

thirteen hours by @crossmydna (Ian has known for thirteen hours that he’s not crossing the border with Mickey, so he makes the most of the time he has left with him.)

queen of decatur by jaxington (“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.” Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head. “No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”)

like strings of fire by @gardenerian (mickey finds a safe and colorful way for ian to indulge himself when hypersexuality rears its ugly head.)

the needle and the burning body by squash (jesuisgourde) (Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.)

some fucked up romcom by godisthedice (Two years after they locked him up, Mickey told himself that he was done with Ian fucking Gallagher for good. Two years as a free man and he's marrying him for all the wrong reasons.)

when the sun goes down by @sam-loves-seb (super cute and fluffy lifeguard au!)

lava java by @stocious (He's being really unprofessional. Mickey might not even be gay. He might be hitting on a straight man through takeout cups.)

here's to hoping i'm not what kills you by @crestfallercanyon (After a confrontation gone bad, Mickey and the Gallaghers get Ian to the hospital. And look, Mickey always knew that if the Gallaghers had a will they'd find a way, but being roped into their schemes himself wasn't something he'd planned on signing on for. All the Gallaghers need to know is Mickey's helping out because he's not pure fucking evil. They don't need to know Mickey was scared shitless when Ian got knocked unconscious, Jesus, he can barely admit that to himself. Once Mickey knows Ian's not dead and not dying, he's out of there. Except he can't bring himself to leave.)

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian (Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.)

i'll come meet you where you are by @crestfallercanyon (Mickey comes back from prison with a ring of vicious bruises around his neck and an edge to him Ian doesn't recognize. But he came back. He came back, and now it's time for Ian to meet him halfway.

closing in walls and ticking clocks by c_cups_bitch_u_wish (So, this is happening. Mickey is sitting in the corner of the bedroom on the comfiest fucking chair he’s ever sat in, and his adult self and adult Ian are about to fuck. And he’s going to watch. What's most odd is that this doesn't even feel like the weirdest thing to happen to him today.)

a spark of fire by @lingy910y (“You wanted us to finally have some time alone. You wanted to keep me safe, but you didn’t really care as long as we were together. You didn’t want it to end.” Mickey swallows a lump in his throat. “I…I don’t fuckin’ know.” “But can I, uh, ask you something else?” Ian rubs his thumbs together. “You like me, Mick. You fucking like me.”)

flip fuck? by @gallawitchxx (Mickey’s always thought that Valentine’s Day was fucking gay. But then some dramatic, ginger fuckhead had to move into the room next to his, and steal his hole, his heart, and the attention of his tumblr mutuals. Mickey decides to keep it lowkey when he asks Ian to spend the evening together: You wanna hang out on Tuesday? Ian’s response is quick and gives absolutely nothing away: Sure thing! That big-dicked idiot better remember it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.)

completed:

prelude motel by @whatthebodygraspsnot (When Mickey’s secret spot is infiltrated by an intriguing stranger, all the warning signs are there. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to disengage, he can’t help but bite off more than he can chew, running straight back to the spot and the stranger when a job leaves him injured. Enter: the Prelude Motel - where, for the next three days, Mickey finds himself hiding from more than just his pursuers.)

garden song (series) by @gardenerian (two gorgeous fics about ian's bipolar, about hope, healing, and tomatoes)

better by anomalously (It's been ten years since Ian's seen Mickey.)

in your love by @sgtmickeyslaughter (Mickey had been out of prison for 2 years and Ian never would have known until they ran into one another on a random night in May. Ian fights for the love they shared while Mickey fights for the life he built, as they both struggle with shame and guilt from their shared past it becomes clear that they cannot help but be drawn to what is bright and beautiful between them.)

whumptober 2023 (series) by @sam-loves-seb (21 beautiful fics of angst & hurt/comfort)

out of nowhere by @suzy-queued (Ian should have never offered to hide his father's stash of gold. Now he's stuck living on a deserted piece of land in the woods, alone, losing his sanity. Mickey wants nothing more than to disappear — from prison, from his family, from the entire world. If only he knew where to get his hands on a cool million. The Gallagher gold. Mickey wants it. Ian will do anything to protect it. Who will cave first?)

all these things i have left to say to you by @crestfallercanyon (After all this time that Ian's been missing, he leaves a tape recorder on Mickey's pillow. And on it? An hour of pure, unfiltered, Ian audio that is all, apparently, dedicated to him.)

wips:

keys to my heart by @milkovichrules (Ian finds his stable college life getting difficult when a new neighbour moves into the dorms.)

intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar (another college au) (one of my fave fics of all time!!)

the ink is a witness to this by @palepinkgoat (six chapters about the stories tattoos can hold and hide.)

order up by @heymacy (Ian and Mickey work together at a Chicago diner. They like to push each other's buttons - all their buttons. How long until the dam finally breaks?)

second chapters by @squidyyy23 (When Mickey’s PO assigns him a job at the local library, he’s pleasantly surprised—not that he’d ever admit it. Practically lived in the prison library, and what better way to start his new life than with a career he might actually enjoy. And when he meets the charming, clever, utterly fuckable, redheaded children’s librarian, well, shit just keeps getting better and better. Mickey’s definitely not interested in anything serious right now, but what’s the harm in a little fun?)

electric blue by @goodkwuestion (Paramedic Ian Gallagher knows true love exists. He's not going to settle until he finds it either, no matter how much his friends and family roll their eyes at him. Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, isn't sure about all that stuff. He's an engineer with a long to-do list, and chasing rainbows isn't on it. He'll never say no to a good time and a pretty face though. When they meet, it will feel like kismet, something inevitable that neither of them can shake. Honestly though, who would want to? Falling in love can be the easiest thing in the world, especially when the whole universe is rooting for you... That's if the whole universe is rooting for you.)

ficlets:

all of @heymrspatel's drabbles, especially this one of ian being self-conscious about his body

docks scene & birthday suit gardening ficlets by @metalheadmickey

all of @lupeloto's sweet & domestic ficlets

@sam-loves-seb's meta about ian being the moon and mickey being the sun

ian's birthday ficlet & 31 ways we never meet (a.u.gust 2023 ficlets) by @callivich

airport confessions by @dynamic-power

gallavich drabbles by @whatthebodygraspsnot

all of @howlinchickhowl's a.u.gust 2023 ficlets!

(if you made it this far, i also write fics occasionally too so here's a self-promo lol)

[lottielovelace]

princess — chapter one

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: Finally you get a chance to visit Simon. You just hope he hasn't forgotten about you. (aka two people trying their best to hide how incredibly into each other they are)

originally posted on ao3 (chapter length: 505 words)

Rating: M

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, background platonic relationships

Ao3 Tags FOR THE FIC AS A WHOLE, NOT THIS SPECIFIC CHAPTER:Past Rape/Non-con / Rape Recovery / Male Victim of Sexual Assault / Canonical Rape/Non-con (Simon's) / First Time / Getting Together / Manchester as a setting / disclaimer: author has not been to manchester / Simon does bare-knuckle boxing as a hobby / Sparring as Flirting / wrestling as flirting / Identity Porn / Non-Explicit Sex / reader is konig's half sister / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley (while on leave) / reader knows that simon is in the military but doesn't know he’s ghost / medium speed burn

this is a part of a series

Author’s Note: heads up this chapter is very short, mostly plot, and has little ghost. subsequent chapters will have a lot more :)

When König and Horangi booked a bodyguard job in London, you knew you were going to be superfluous for the next couple of months. It was a pretty low-stakes gig (a rich heir had gotten a few online hate comments and been spooked into extreme paranoia, deciding to hire the best of the best for the job), so any major injuries were unlikely. Plus with it being primarily in London, if things did go terribly wrong, there were medical resources available.

So when you offhandedly mentioned that you might pass on this mission to visit an old friend in the north of the country, they welcomed it. You might be more sociable than your brother, but they knew that close friends were still  few and far between for you. Of course, you don’t know if they would’ve approved had they known your “friend” was in the British military, but hey. What they wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt them (for now at least).

The pit in your stomach only grew as you took the train up to Manchester. It refused to ease as you checked into your hostel. The kernel clung to you, twisting as you stared at your room’s dingy walls (it was the cheapest you could get. Horangi and your brother thought you were staying with a friend, your financials needed to reflect that.) What if Simon had forgotten you? It had been months. Were his words white lies to placate a pathetic prisoner? Was he even still alive? You didn't know exactly what he did for work, but you knew it was high stakes.

Staring at the moldy ceiling (damn, this really was a shitty hostel), you reminded yourself of the mantra you memorized at the camp.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

Go to Manchester, find Stuart’s, ask for Simon.

Well you’ve already done one of the three.

----------

“Excuse me?”

The tattooed woman at the front desk glanced up at your soft words.

"Yes dear?"

"I was told I could find a Simon Riley here."

"Who’s asking?"

You told her your name and that “I met him while traveling abroad. He said if I ever wanted to get in touch to reach out here.”

"You’re in luck."

You tried not to get your hopes up.

“Really? Is he there?”

“No, but he will be. Just got on leave. Scheduled to monitor open gym tomorrow. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you."

"Oh, I'm not sure…"

"Please, Riley never gets visitors. I'm sure he'll love to see you."

You weren't quite so confident. But you hated to let the nice woman down, especially when she'd been so helpful. You forced yourself to nod, giving her a polite—if muttered—"Sure."

He could always turn you away himself.

A google maps search and Top Ten Manchester Attractions article later, you wound up spending the day killing time at the Manchester Museum. You finished the day with a cuppa and getting a takeaway from Nando's.

You somehow missed the eyes that followed you as you left the shop.

[quietblueriver]

**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

----

Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

-

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been. 

Home. 

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.  

 “Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned. 

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen. 

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long? 

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand. 

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer. 

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it. 

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore. 

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah. 

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted. 

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy. 

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly. 

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it. 

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that. 

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.” 

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization. 

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing. 

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist. 

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round. 

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight. 

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary. 

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin. 

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second. 

“Fuck.” 

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth. 

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now. 

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself. 

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

-

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall. 

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.” 

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon. 

Imogen never had been a very good baker. 

-

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.” 

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked. 

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.” 

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it. 

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast. 

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” 

-

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso. 

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be “undignified.” 

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…” 

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this? 

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach. 

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback. 

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed. 

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped. 

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof. 

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing. 

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?  

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive. 

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw. 

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed. 

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always. 

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes. 

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back. 

Laudna? 

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright? 

I love you.  

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them. 

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours. 

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice. 

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect. 

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist. 

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers. 

Caviar came to visit in my dream. 

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?  

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter One

Fool's Fare: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, Jake Seresin, suggestive language, fear of abandonment. I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.87k

A/N: Wasn't sure I was going to post again tonight, but here we are! Not sure I'm going to post a fic update tomorrow, but I might work on some drabbles and post some of the asks sitting in my inbox. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

The cool, night breeze twisted its way through the door of the crowded pub as a group of patrons exited, offering the briefest relief to your clammy skin as you busied yourself behind the bar. Patrons crowded around the various tables, some laughing in the open while others crowded in the dark shadows of the corners. Your regulars were easy to spot, most of them fishermen. Their carefree attitudes set them apart from the strangers passing through who kept themselves closed off and guarded in an unfamiliar places.

“Y/n!” Called Tom, one of your regulars. He had been a good friend to your father, having known him from his early fishing days. Tom had done well for himself, having been able to put enough money away to buy his own ship - the Iceman. “How’s about another ale!”

“Coming, Captain!” you hollered over at him jovially, already moving to grab a fresh glass. You had always liked the old captain, and had considered him to be a part of your family growing up. When your parents had died, he had seen to it personally that you were taken care of and that Bradley was able to secure steady work on the various shipping vessels that docked on your shores. “Where’s Rooster?”

“Should be coming along soon, I suspect,” Tom smiled warmly. Bradley had been picking up different odd jobs as of late, his latest one being aboard the Iceman loading and unloading cargo. He had been dodging your questions about it as of late, and you had started to wonder if he was up to something.

“He’s going to work himself into an early grave,” you grumbled, sliding the glass of ale down to the captain who caught it easily. “He won’t even tell me what he’s doing all of these jobs for.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” mused Tom, lifting the glass up to his lips to take a swig. “He probably doesn’t want you to worry.”

“He’s worrying me by not saying anything,” you countered, leaning against the bar. At that moment, the pub door swung open, and an exhausted looking Bradley stumbled through. You rounded the bar to help him sit down as he staggered onto a stool. “Bradley, for heaven’s sake!”

“Think you can get me an ale, Guppy?” he asked, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. The tips of his ears and nose were seared pink from hours spent in the intense sun, and you frowned at him.

“What you need is sleep,” you countered, but Bradley shook his head, fixing you with tired, pleading eyes.

“Please?” he asked again, softer this time. You sighed, moving back behind the bar and pouring him a draft before sliding it over to him. He grabbed it, raising it up in a silent cheers before tossing his head back with a long swig.

“Easy, lad,” Tom frowned, watching the young man as he took another long pull from his glass. Bradley set his drink down, absentmindedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Another,” he told you, but you shook your head.

“No, absolutely not,” you scowled as the furrow between his eyes deepened. “You need to go home and rest, Bradley.”

“She’s right, lad,” Tom started, twisting in his seat to face the younger man. “You’ll work yourself into an early grave if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine,” Bradley muttered, resting his head against the palm of his hand. Tom gave him a wry smile before clapping his hand on the other man’s shoulder. He shot you a wink before getting up to join his crew that was gathered on the opposite side of the room. You watched him go before turning back to look at Bradley with a frown.

“C’mon, Roos,” you prodded, leaning your head down so you could meet his gaze that was fixed on the bartop. “Tell me what you’re up to.”

“Nothin’” he grumbled unconvincingly. You rolled your eyes with a purse of your lips.

“I’m having a hard time believing you,” you sniped, snatching the glass away from him. Without another word to him, you poured another ale and offered it to him. He took it, offering a small smile. He met your even gaze just long enough for you to see the flash of guilt that flitted in his eyes. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he asked, taking a small sip from his glass.

“Why do you look guilty?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you hissed, eyes blazing, “I have known you for twenty years now. Either you tell me what you’re up to right now, or I will personally see to it that you won’t be able to get another job for a month.”

“Alright,” he winced, setting the glass down and finally meeting your stare. “You have to promise me you won’t yell.”

You scoffed. “Are you twelve?”

“Guppy, promise me,” he insisted, hazel eyes pleading with you. You studied him another moment before sighing.

“Alright, fine.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re what?” you shrieked, causing some of the patrons to turn to the two of you as Bradley hissed at you to be quiet.

“You promised you wouldn’t be mad.”

“That was before you told me you were leaving,” you snapped. “Where are you even going to go?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, leaning back. “Still need to find a crew that will take me on long-term.”

You stayed silent, watching him with furious eyes. After a couple of beats, you turned to walk back around the bar. “Caroline, I’m leaving.”

She waved after you, moving to tend to some patrons on the opposite end of the bar. Bradley watched you walk away with wide eyes before getting up to stumble after you. You flung the door of the pub open before setting off with a brisk pace down the road.

“Guppy!”

You ignored the man behind you, tears starting to gather in your eyes.

“Guppy?”

The tears began to fall, the trails they left behind on your cheeks turning to ice in the cool, night air. You turned to walk down to the beach past the docks. How could he drop that bomb shell on you? How could he keep that hidden from you in the first place? Your anger only served to cover up the true emotion you tried your hardest to ignore. Betrayal.

“Y/n, please,” Bradley begged, his long legs having helped him catch up to you by now. You stopped in your tracks, feet sliding into the sand beneath you as you whirled around. You shoved Bradley with all of your strength, shock at the unexpected movement being the only reason stumbled back at all.

“How could you?” you cried, tears falling quicker and your breath coming out shallower as you fought to keep your composure. “How could you just plan to leave me?”

“It’s not like that,” he started, but you shook your head.

“Don’t lie to me, Bradley,” you seethed, hands now clenched at your sides. “Don’t. I deserve the truth. Were you even going to say goodbye to me, or were you just going to vanish one day?”

“Of course not,” he murmured, staring at you with eyes once again pleading with you. “I would never do that to you. You know that.”

“I thought I knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t leave,” you shot back, causing Bradley to wince. “Guess I don’t know as much as I thought I did.”

“Y/n,” he sighed, running a hand over his face and looking out at the ocean. He seemed to be mulling over his words. “It wouldn’t be forever.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” you laughed humorlessly.

“It wouldn’t be forever,” he continued, giving you a pointed look. “It would only be until I earned enough to buy my own ship.”

“You can do that here,” you argued, but Bradley shook his head with a small, empty laugh.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve barely earned enough these past weeks to live off of for a month out at sea. I’d be buried in the ground before I earned enough to buy a ship, and you know that.”

You couldn’t argue. You knew he was right, and you knew that this was not the life he had dreamed of. He had dreamed of going off with your father on one of his many voyages before the sea had claimed him. It had been years, but the pain of his and your mother’s passing still felt fresh in your heart.

You saw how Bradley looked longingly out at the sea when he thought you weren’t looking, or how he always looked happiest standing on the deck of a boat. No, Bradley was meant for a life at sea, and you knew it. You just never thought he would leave you behind.

“It won’t be forever,” he says again, moving to put his hands on your shoulders, bending down so he was eye level with you. “And when I earn enough money to buy my own ship, I’ll come back for you.”

“That could be years,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper. Bradley sucks in a breath before slowly nodding.

“You’re right,” he conceded, wiping the tears from your cheek.

“What if you forget about me?”

Bradley huffed out a laugh before drawing you into his arms. He hugged you tightly, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “How could I forget my baby sister? Besides, I think you’d swim across the ocean to find me if I ever forgot about you.”

You huffed a laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re probably right.”

“‘Course I am,” he chuckled, pulling away from you. “Now, c’mon. It’s freezin’ out here, and I’m exhausted.”

You allowed him to lead you up the hill to your shared home. He left a chaste kiss to the top of your head before wishing you goodnight. As you lay in bed that night, you obsessed over the one question you had refused to allow yourself to ask him down at the beach. What if the sea claimed him too?

The following night, you found yourself back behind the bar of the pub. You had heard snippets of chatter amongst the locals about an unknown ship that had docked on your shores.

“I don’t like the look of’em,” Tom had told you and Bradley as he sat at the bar. A lull in the crowd had granted you a moment to stop and talk with the two of them.

“Why’s that?” you asked. He frowned.

“When you get to be my age,” he grumbled, “you can start to pick out the rotten sorts from just a glance.”

Before you could respond, the pub door swung open, hitting the wall with a thud. All three of you turned to see a large group step through the doorway and into the warm glow of the lantern filled room. A blond man stood at the front of the group, lips curled into a confident smirk. You noted the handsome features of him and his companions, and you knew the other women in the room had as well due to the scattered giggles from around the room.

“That’s them,” Tom mumbled, taking another sip of his ale.

The blond scanned his eyes across the room before catching sight of you at the bar. A twinkle of intrigue shone in his eyes as he began to saunter over to you, his crew dispersing to find a table to sit at. You shot a weary glance at Tom before moving to meet the tall stranger on the opposite side of where Bradley sat.

“Evenin’” you greeted with a polite smile. “What can I get you?”

The man looked you over with lick of his lips. “An ale, and your company if you’re offerin’ that too.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm. It wasn’t the first time a patron had made a pass at you, but it was the first time a patron was that devilishly handsome. “The ale, I can get you, but I’m not in the habit of entertaining sailors.”

“Shame,” the stranger grins, watching as you pour his drink. You hand it to him, and you feel a shiver run up your spine as his fingers graze yours. “Would have been nice to have someone as pretty as you in my bed tonight.”

You saw Bradley’s jaw tick from the corner of your eye, and you shot him a warning glance. This part of your job wasn’t new, and you had long since learned how to handle yourself in these situations.

“I believe there are more than a couple of girls over there who would be willing to warm your bed tonight, Mr…?”

“Seresin,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Jake Seresin. And I’m not interested in having anyone but you, pretty girl.”

“Well, then it looks like your bed will go cold tonight after all,” you said to him. Bradley snorted, trying to cover it with a cough, but Jake ignored him.

“Seresin,” Tom grunted, causing all three of you to look at him. He shook his head, and turned to glare at Jake. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a pirate.”

The conversation died in the pub as everyone turned to look at your little group by the bar. Jake’s easy grin never faltered as he stared back at Tom.

“Pirate is such a nasty word,” he drawled, taking a sip of his ale. “I prefer the term…liberator.”

“Whatever you call it, you have no business here,” Tom snapped.

“I beg to differ, my friend,” Jake countered, moving to stand. Turning to the rest of the room, he stated, “I’m looking for men to join my crew. You keep what you can carry with you. If you’re interested, come see me.”

And with one final glance at you, he sauntered off towards the back of the room where his crew had taken up purchase.

“Pirates?” you asked, looking at Tom hesitantly. He shook his head and got up to go join his own crew in the corner. You peered at Bradley from the corner of your eye. He studied the rim of his glass as he stroked it thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked him. He jumped as your words pulled him from his train of thought.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, refusing to meet your gaze. You studied him him for a moment until you saw the quick glance he threw towards the back of the room.

“No,” you snapped, causing him to finally meet your gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” he scowled, but you fixed him with a glare and a finger pointed into his chest.

“Don’t even think about it,” you hissed in warning. Bradley glared right back at you before hopping off his stool and strutting towards the crew at the back. You scrambled around the bar after him. You closed the distance just as he stopped in front of Jake.

“I want to join your crew,” he stated. Jake looked at him with an amused look, eyes flickering to you as you pulled on Bradley’s arm so that he faced you.

“Bradley, don’t,” you begged.

“Y/n, enough,” he snapped down at you, taking you aback. His eyes softened as you looked up at his broad frame with hurt bewilderment. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his sandy brown locks. He looked back at you before continuing. “Don’t you see, Guppy? This is my chance. If I don’t go now, who knows when I’ll get another opportunity to leave and make my fortune.”

“Roo, you’re my brother. I can’t let you do this,” you pleaded, taking his hand in yours. You willed him to listen to you, but it was no use.

“I’ve made my decision, Guppy,” he said. You couldn’t stop the flash of hurt you knew passed over your face as Bradley turned back to the captain. You looked around at the other patrons desperately before settling your eyes on Tom. He was already looking at you with a solemn expression, shaking his head.

“Sign here,” Jake instructed, pointing to the piece of parchment he had rolled out onto the table. Bradley obeyed, scratching his name in quick strokes to the bottom. You felt the tears start to run down your face before you could stop them. You couldn’t stop anything, it seemed. Bradley straightened and turned to look at you. The two of you stared at one another for several moments before you turned on your heel and stormed away from him.

That night, as you lay in bed, you dreamed of the sea. You dreamed of blue and green swirling around you as you struggled to breath. You dreamed of splintering wood and echoed shrieks that were drowned out by thundering waves. You dreamed of strange creatures that lurked the deep as they waited for their next meal. You dreamed of golden hair and cocky smirks as they taunted you beneath the waves. You dreamt of a cold, calloused hand that pulled you under until the surface was nothing but a distant memory.

[bumblebeehug]

hi friend. i am in desperate need of a chapter 520 reversal. lucy’s body heat is down and our man Natsu needs to help,,, post Alvarez PLEASE💗 love all your fics btw.

i'm yours no matter

Summary: Lucy comes back from a tough job in a terrible state: she's in a coma, Porlyusica won't stop naming risks and consequenses of the damage she's taken, and Natsu wants to throw up out of worry. Notes: glad fortsättning as we say in sweden! christmas is over, i have to study for my test, new years will probably leave me with the worst hangover ever bc when hasn't it :') but here's a hurt/comfort fic to satisfy y'all until the middle of january<3 thank you bluedragneel for this request, i'm obsessed with this trope and might write it again some day teehee :3 Ao3 - FF.net

***

Natsu would never have let Lucy go without him on this mission if he knew the state she’d come back in. He clenched and unclenched his fists while trying to understand what Porlyusica was saying, between odd medical terms and concerned small talk. He didn’t care about the details: he needed to know what happened and how it was going to be fixed.

“Boy, are you listening to me?”

“Huh? What? Come again?”

Porlyusica sighed, a vain threatening to pop out of her forehead.

“This is important. We don’t know how she’ll recover, if she recovers. If she does wake up we won’t be certain if she makes it out without brain damage. Wendy did the best she could, but even her magic is limited.” The fact that Porlyusica wasn’t screaming or yelling with rage, or even annoyingly tapping her foot or actively scowling at him made it clear that this was serious. She tried to appear calm, but in this case it only made him more worried.

“What… does brain damage mean? What would happen to her?” Natsu wasn’t sure he’d like the answer, but he had to know.

“What it entails?” She clarified, getting half a nod as an answer. “Well, if her brain is too damaged, her attention and concentration could suffer, we don’t yet know to what degree. She could also have problems with her memories, and making decisions and motivation would become difficult. This could mean that she’ll be more easily distracted, or she’ll experience information overload and become slower at taking in and making sense of information. Her work as a wizard would be jeopardized.”

Natsu felt a headache creeping on. He wasn’t sure if he properly understood half of that, but it sounded bad. His throat felt thick, swallowing seemingly didn’t help.

“That’s not all though.” Natsu glared at her.

“There’s more?”

He felt ill to his stomach. What could possibly be worse than what she’d just told him?

“We don’t know the exact circumstances around what caused this coma. Her sustained injuries have me worried that she’ll become disabled. It’s not certain she’ll be able to walk or talk like before.”

“What,” he hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier!?”

“I did tell you, you were just too busy throwing a hissyfit to listen.” If eyes could kill, Natsu would be ten feet under. “I’m not saying there’s nothing to be done, though.”

Natsu almost perked up. He didn’t dare have any high hopes, but a spark of possibility had shown itself: maybe she’d end up okay. Just maybe.

“What we know from the mission is that the client requested protection from a snow monster. Its estimated strength was around ten times the strength of a vulcan, and not only that – it was said to use strange curses. As curses are unregulated, we’re not sure what could have caused exactly this, but we understand that she got thrown headfirst into the mountain. It was Loke that brought her back, but due to how different the time flows in the celestial world, she’d already been out in the snow for a couple of hours.” Porlyusica tried to summarize again what had happened, considering Natsu had been too worried to listen the first time. “We already have Levy, Freed and Makarov working to figure out the curse, but there’s something I want you to do in the meantime.”

Natsu perked up, listening intently. If he could do something, anything, to get her back, he’d do it without a second thought.

“You need to keep her warm.”

“I can do that!” Natsu almost laughed in relief. He’s a dragon slayer – warming things was the thing he did best!

“You have to make the transition steady though. If you heat her up too quickly she could go into shock. Do you understand? You have to start by warming her with your body heat. This is important, you cannot rush things like these.” Porlyusica narrowed her eyes. If he got careless Lucy’s health could be in danger.

“Body heat? So what do I do, just warm her with my hands? It’s gonna take ages.” He fidgeted with his hands, suddenly more impatient than usual. Not to warm Lucy, specifically, just to get her treatment started. He understood how important it was to follow Porlyusica’s instructions: she’d never been wrong about this before.

“Do you remember back when Fiore was at war with Alvarez? You had that tumour in you, and you too were passed out in a coma. Back then, your fire was going out: you were rapidly freezing to death. Lucy was the one who kept you alive, and she did so with skin to skin contact. Today I need you to do the same.”

Goosebumps appeared on Natsu’s arms as he recalled. That was a time he didn’t think fondly of. He went through a lot of hardship back then, even if waking up to Lucy and Happy was something that had given him relief at the time. That’s right, where was Happy?

“Y-yeah, I’ll do it,” he mumbled scattermindedly. “Do you know where Happy went? I rushed here so fast, I’m not sure I told him what was going on…”

Porlyusica sighed. This boy was something else, wasn’t he? Not in the best way either, she feared.

“While you were yelling and getting mad, trying to run to the client of her mission for revenge, I explained everything to him. He’s already gotten a head start. I urge you to join him.” This time her glare was comparable to lazer, earning a hard gulp from Natsu. Still, he was relieved to hear Happy wasn’t in the dark: he knew how much those two meant for each other. If Lucy fell ill and Happy couldn’t be there to help… He didn’t want to think of it. Happy had been much more protective of Lucy ever since he felt Future Lucy die. That went for Natsu too of course.

___

Natsu gulped again and looked back at Porlyusica. Lucy layed behind those hospital drapes, shallow breaths filling up the room. Her scent did its usual work of calming him, but he noticed that it didn’t carry in the air like usual. He was sure that curse and her lack of body heat had something to do with it.

Porlyusica had turned around as she let Natsu undress. She’d seen him in this light attire before, but as a healer she had some courtesy to at least wait until he was finished. Natsu awkwardly cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had filled the room.

“Do I… Take off my underwear?” Porlyusica nearly choked on her own spit.

“No. Please don’t. For all our sake. She’s still a lady.” The last sentence was muttered in a voice barely louder than a whisper, but Natsu heard it. Still, he didn’t want to do anything wrong. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, feeling his arms hang along his sides. This situation was so odd. He wasn’t exactly shy, but being bare like this in a serious situation felt vulnerable. He wanted to wear his scarf, but she had rejected that idea as soon as he said it. Something about the neck being an important area as a heat source.

Porlyusica turned around, not sparing him as much as a glance. Instead she headed straight to the curtains and drew them to the side. There she was. Under a couple of blankets. So still that he’d be worried for her life didn’t he hear her pulse. It was faint, a bit irregular, but there. He’d made sure to really listen for it this time.

“What are you waiting for? Join her.” The healer motioned at the bed.

“It’s so small though…” he puzzled. If he had a Jewel for every time Porlyusica sent him a stare that was out to kill, he’d have enough money to buy not just Lucy’s apartment, but her entire apartment building. He took that as a sign to keep quiet if he was about to question Porlyusica’s methods.

“You’re gonna need to cuddle close anyways, just hurry up. We’ve already wasted too much time.”

Natsu took a shaky breath and lifted Lucy’s blanket. Her bluish pale hands laying against her sides made his heart drop. This was really serious. Just because this was a treatment that could help, didn’t mean that her health would perfectly return. If anything, this was just another flighty attempt to heal her. Surely it wouldn’t benefit her as much as lifting the curse: had Natsu been smarter, maybe he could have helped her faster.

He shook his head. No, he had to focus on what he could do here and now. Worrying about things that could have been wouldn’t help at all, even if he was right about this body-warming treatment only helping a little. It might just be the thing that would keep her away from this brain damage thing Porlyusica had been talking about. He finally crawled into bed beside her.

Cold. She was really cold. His first instinct was to make his own body heat higher, but as he was about to he heard Porlyusica’s warnings echo in his mind. If he didn’t take this slow, new complications could arise. He just had to slowly get used to this sensation.

Porlyusica suddenly spoke up.

“Now, I don’t want you just laying there doing nothing.”

Natsu sent her a confused look. Wasn’t this what she’d asked him to do?

“You need to talk to her. Say her name. Whatever happened on her mission, I’m growing increasingly uncertain of her coma being caused by a concussion. If anything, it’s more likely that it’s a magic coma. And if it’s a curse, nothing helps breaking it better than love. You need to call out to her.”

For the first time in a very long time, Natsu felt himself blush. Just faintly, but the indication that his love for Lucy would be the thing to wake her up, made him feel weird inside. Not a bad weird, just… weird.

“She did the same to you,” she added, only pouring gasoline on the fire inside of him. “If I didn’t think this was important I’d ask for someone else for help, much earlier. Elfman has a large body, he could easily get her to a normal body temp.”

This time, her implications made Natsu tense up instead. He didn’t like the thought of that giant muscle head cuddling with Lucy, skin to skin. He instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist, as to protect her from whatever googly eyed guy that would come waltzing in, in hopes to join them under her blanket.

“Don’t look so stupid. Getting angry gets you nowhere. Anyway, you’re the one who has to do this. If anything can wake her, whether she’s under a curse or not, it’s the connection you share. So I need you to talk to her.”

Natsu once again felt weird inside. He couldn’t pin the feeling down: was it that he felt vulnerable? Or that he felt embarrassed, doing all this in front of someone else? It was awfully intimate after all. Happy was one thing, but having another person listen to him calling out her name like a lost, desperate puppy? Well, awkward or not, it had to be done. He cleared his throat again and looked back at Lucy with determination. He felt his arms lightly shake her from a natural body reaction.

“Lucy,” he tried, his voice sounding weak in the still room. “Hey Lucy, come on… Wake up, would’ya?”

For the first time since Natsu entered the room, Happy spoke up. He seemed like he was in his own world, dazed in worry. Hearing Natsu must have made him realise what had been going on around him.

“Lushy…” The nasal croak he let out made it clear he’d been crying. Natsu envied him a little: he wanted to cry too, but if he did he was sure he’d have a complete breakdown. He had to focus on getting her awake – crying wasn’t an option. Porlyusica shifted her weight. It looked like she wanted to sit down, but she had to join the others with coming up with a cure soon.

“You have to try harder than that Natsu. A tip to not feel like you’re going crazy just repeating her name, is to recall old memories. It’ll keep you busy from anxiety and worry, plus it’ll strengthen your and her resolve. Besides, it’ll make your bond feel stronger. I think that could be beneficial in a case like this.” Porlyusica watched as Natsu turned her words in his mind, trying to understand exactly what she meant. “I’ll trust you to do this now, don’t let her down.”

With those words Porlyusica left the infirmary, leaving Natsu and Happy with their unconscious friend.

Natsu held Lucy close, her icy skin a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. Carefully he glanced at Happy, who looked like he was close to dissociating. If he didn’t start talking now, he’d probably have to deal with two traumatised people who meant a lot to him, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do that.

This thought was enough to kick him into action. He swallowed hard, his voice low and trembling as he spoke.

"Lucy… you’ve gotta come back. You can’t leave us like this." Carefully he grabbed her hand, her fingertips almost blue from lack of blood circulation. His grip tightened just slightly, as if willing her to feel the warmth spreading from his fingers. "I don’t know what happened out there, but I’m here now, okay? So… so just wake up."

He took a shaky breath, tangling his legs with hers, just like he’d done so many times before in her apartment. This time it was different. This entire situation made him want to cringe, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.Why her out of all people? He’d never been the one who solved problems tenderly. He could fight, get revenge, he’d always been confident of his ability to do grand gestures to fix what was wrong. He couldn’t handle things with care, make out nuances in language, emotion or even a thing like physical hurt. If Lucy ever got injured she’d be honest and frank: sure, she tried to go on for a little bit longer than she should, even while having deep gushes through her legs or shoulders popped out of place. But she was honest enough about it that Natsu always knew what to do about it: sear the opening of the wound, fetch Wendy, pop her bones back into place. Those things were child's play in comparison to this. Now he had to carefully heat her up, not too quickly but not too slowly either, while calling out to her, pulling on whatever strings they had on each other’s unconsciousness. He was aware of the connection they shared, and he was normally confident in it: at times he felt like they shared one and the same mind. But this? He wasn’t so sure it was enough anymore.

"You’re always the one who’s there for everyone," he continued, his voice breaking just a little. "You never give up, no matter how bad things get. That’s who you are. So don’t stop now, Lucy. Please… just don’t."

Happy joined in through whispers in her ear, not daring to raise his voice in case it’d crack. Natsu felt his heart break a little as he watched him hold on to Lucy for dear life. It was one thing that Natsu felt like this, but Happy wasn’t meant to be sad: he had spent his whole life making sure he would get the childhood Natsu never got. For him to have to almost lose Lucy twice: it was a pain Natsu could barely cope with himself. He was genuinely worried about his furry friend.

Still, he had to stay focused. He remembered what Porlyusica had told him, about memories being an effective way to keep his anxiety at bay, while still grasping at Lucy’s unconscious.

His thoughts raced, memories flashing through his mind. The way she’d smiled when they took their first job together, the way she’d always trusted him to catch her when she’d fall, how she always knew what to say to get him to keep moving forward.

"Hey, Lucy… You gotta wake up, you know? I promised you we’d go on more adventures, back when we fought against Future Rogue and…" His voice cracked, he still didn’t dare finish that sentence. "Whenever I was a wreck, you were there. You didn’t give up on me, not even for a second. So now it’s my turn, Lucy. I’m not giving up on you."

Happy’s soft, tearful voice chimed in from beside them. "Lushy… we need you. Please wake up."

Natsu’s jaw clenched. He would do anything to get her out of this. He just wished he could do something more effective. Deep in his stomach he felt his fire work it’s magic: he’d been suppressing it so he wouldn’t warm her up too quickly, so to not slip up and unleash a heat wave on the three of them, he took a deep breath.

“I… Guess this is the time to tell you how thankful we are that we met you all those years ago.” Happy met Natsu’s flickering gaze, sharing a small encouraging nod. “We really are thankful. Like, we’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you.” He tried to chuckle at the attempt of a joke, but Happy didn’t seem as pleased. Natsu cleared his throat.

“What I’m trying to say is… well… we can’t imagine a life without you. If I ever had to go back to only sleeping in my swine sty of a house, instead of being with you everyday, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my sanity. Even when you scream and do all kinds of weird stuff, we need you.”

“Lushy,” Happy sniffled, “what would I do if I had to go back to only living with Natsu? I’d starve! He burns my fish and everything else we own…”

“Oh come on! You’ve survived up till now!” Natsu protested, but couldn’t bring himself to actually find a counter argument. He was telling the truth after all. Happy glared at him and continued talking.

“I know he’s really stupid,” he began, earning a stern frown from Natsu, “but I think he might be the one who’d hate it the most if you died. But that aside, I don’t think I could stand losing you again.” Tears were once again pouring out of his eyes. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual proper mom…”

The last part would have been impossible for Natsu to hear, hadn’t it been for his dragon-hearing. He swallowed the big knot in his throat that threatened to come out as a sob. He didn’t know Happy had felt so strongly about Lucy, though it made sense as he heard it. Of course she was like a mom to him: she was perfect like that. Caring, worrisome at times, but always loving.

“Hey, you heard him, right? You can’t leave Happy after he tells you something like that, can you? So hurry and wake up… You’d never forgive me if I scared you like this, so come on…”

“But you did scare us like that though,” Happy argued.

“Oh can it,” Natsu muttered, raising his body temperature another degree.

While continuing talking, mixing the casual bickering with emotional anecdotes, Natsu started massaging Lucy’s right hand, the one with her guild mark. Laying there, he realised that the colour of it really was the exact same shade as his hair. The thought tugged on his heartstrings. Had she even meant for that to happen, when he made her join Fairy Tail all those years ago? Had she always been determined that it would be the two of them – and Happy of course – teaming up? Even if that wasn’t the case, if it had been her unconscious that picked the shade of pink so close to his hair, he still wanted to tear up. The two of them were so incredibly attached, to the point where Natsu couldn’t even imagine a life without her anymore.

He continued observing her hand as he massaged her soft skin. It was slender, a nuance less blue than it had been when he laid down with her some minutes ago. This realisation sparked some hope within him. They were helping her: it was working. Continuing the talking, letting his mouth speak whatever flew into his brain, he simultaneously went on thinking about her hand. When she proudly showed it off to him when her mark was new, it had been in pristine condition. Soft, flawless, not a callus or scar in sight. Her nails had been long, carefully taken care of, painted a light pink that almost seemed nude in comparison to the bright pink guild mark. As he looked at it now, it was covered in scars. Some cuts from falling on gravel, some webbing up her wrist like veins. He knew that must have been reminiscent of when she rewrote E.N.D. for him. Another constellation of scars resembled shattering, likely scars from when she had to summon the Celestial Spirit King back when they fought Tartarus. Most of these scars gave Natsu shivers. They were all pale and faded now, but he knew they must cause Lucy pain every day. To carry her biggest joy and her worst pain on the same hand seemed taxing.

He brought her fingers up to his lips, pressed them against them lightly. Then he embraced her, letting her limp, cool body rest against his. Her skin was so soft, but he didn’t enjoy this fake cuddle session: he wanted her to be awake, or even asleep would be better: even when she was asleep she ended up reciprocating his cuddles. This made him feel like he was hugging a corpse, and it was quickly rated as one of his least favourite sensations.

In his new position he could hug her from behind, the many pillows propped up behind his back making him sit up slightly. This allowed for Lucy’s head to rest on his chest, right by his collarbones. Carefully he nudged her a little bit to the left. Maybe his heartbeat could aid them in some way: he wasn’t sure how, but it couldn’t help to try. Happy nudged himself between Natsu’s embracing arm and Lucy’s chest, covering up what would be a very revealing view hadn’t he laid there. Any other day her nudity would be arousing for Natsu, but today it didn’t have that effect. Rather than arousing, it gave him a sense of security. Their bodies, pressed against each other, like clinging on to Lucy’s soul for dear life.

He rested his lips on the top of her head for a while. Happy was in the middle of yapping about Lisanna, his biological mom and Lucy, when Natsu suddenly felt her arm twitch. It was small, and he’d disregard it as his imagination hadn’t he heard her breath hitch at the same time.

“Lucy?” He hugged her tighter, squashing Happy a little in the process. “Happy, I think she’s responding. She just twitched! Keep talking,” he urged, nuzzling his face into her neck. He was certain of it: she had reacted.

Suddenly his resolve increased tenfold, his fiery determination bubbling to the surface. He didn’t care how long this took—he’d stay by her side until she opened her eyes.

"Lucy," he said, his tone growing stronger, more resolute. "I’m not going anywhere, got it? You’re stuck with me, so you’d better wake up and yell at us for being too loud or something. You always do."

Once again he thought he saw the faintest flicker of movement—a twitch of her fingers against his hand. His breath hitched.

"Lucy? Come on, it’s me. Natsu." He leaned closer to her ear, her smell filling his head until he felt completely intoxicated. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I need you. We all do. So please… wake up."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, her lips parted, and a faint sound escaped.

"N… Natsu…"

His eyes widened, hope surging through him like a wildfire. "Lucy!”

Happy dried his eyes that were puffy from all the crying he’d done. He was quick to jump out of their embrace.

“I’ll go get Porlyusica!” He almost left the room before he turned back, lifted her blanket a little to cover the goods, and then hurried away. Natsu barely registered his actions, his focus being completely tuned in on Lucy.

With a split moment alone, Natsu almost felt overwhelmed with the silence. She’d called out his name, though only faint, but instead of her heartbeat rising to accommodate her waking up, it seemed like it was slightly fading. Worry filled Natsu’s head, the anxiety shooting out prickling sensations in his arms and legs.

“Lucy, what’s going on? Why’s your heartbeat slowing down?” His high pitch made the worry apparent, but he didn’t care. “Shit, come on! Stay with me!”

He rocked their bodies back and forth in hope that he’d manage to keep her heart pulsing. It was quickly made apparent that it wasn’t enough, when for a split moment her heart missed a beat.

This time he couldn’t conceal his panic. No one was nearby, Lucy was fading away by the second, and all Natsu could do was choke out a small “Please…”. He didn’t know what to do, tears welling up in his eyes faster than he was prepared for.

“Don’t leave…” he croaked, sobs filling the silence. “Shit, Lucy, I can’t live without you… I love you…”

Had he not been busy pressing her lukewarm cheek against his, rocking them back and forth, and trying to swallow the sobs that leaked out anyways, he’d notice that his confession pulled Lucy’s heartbeat back for a few seconds. But he didn’t notice this: instead he continued his endeavors of grasping whatever life was left in her.

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy… Please…” He opened his eyes again, quickly regretting it as they soaked Lucy’s face in the salty liquid. He wanted to see her face properly, take in her soft features before it was too late. He grabbed her face with his free hand, slowly letting his thumb caress her cheek. His blurred vision made him miss how her eyebrows twitched into a furrow. Instead he let his heart steer his actions: he didn’t know what else to do.

Pushing her bangs out of her face, Natsu let his lips land on hers. Softly, his hot ones on Lucy’s dry cold ones. His chin quivered – he didn’t want his first kiss with her to be his last one. In fact, he never wanted his first kiss to be with Lucy while she was unconscious at all. He had thought of their relationship for a long time, even imagining them having their first kiss under the stars after a dinner that would leave both of them too stuffed to walk. They were supposed to be joking around, laughing, and he’d look at her, look into her brown, sparkling eyes, that held a universe inside of them, and he wouldn’t be able to contain himself, so he’d lean in and kiss her: and she’d kiss him back. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, in a sterile bed, in the infirmary that had too bright lights, naked under blankets, Lucy dying in his hands.

Still, he didn’t dare to stop kissing her. And good thing he didn’t, because suddenly, for him out of nowhere, he felt her kiss him back.

In shock he pulled away, his eyes big as plates.

“L-lucy? You’re…” Silent tears kept falling onto Lucy’s face. Her eyelids fluttered, and after what felt like an eternity, they opened, her brown eyes glassy but unmistakably alive. She blinked up at him, her voice hoarse but clear.

"You’re… warm," she murmured, her lips curling into a weak but familiar smile.

Natsu laughed, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t scare me like that…” he muttered, a blush spreading across his face before he could stop it. "But you’re back. That’s all that matters."

Lucy slowly brought her hand up, cupping Natsu’s cheek.

“Did you kiss me?”

Natsu avoided her eyes, awkwardly tensing up.

“I thought Porlyusica said you’d have brain damage or something…” Lucy was quick to hit him on his arm.

“Are you stupid? Don’t wish I wouldn’t understand something like that!” Her voice was shrill, cutting through Natsu’s ears like knives, but today he didn’t care about that. He was insanely happy to have her back to normal.

He let out a chuckle, albeit against his own will.

“It’s not like I hoped for our first kiss to be like that.”

Lucy just smiled. She had put out a lot of energy right as she woke up: truth was, she still felt exhausted and honestly a bit dizzy. After getting a good look at Natsu, taking in his worried frown, his wet cheeks and reddened eyes, she closed her eyes again.

“What are you?! Lucy! Wake up!” He violently shook her this time, not allowing her to fade away again.

“Calm down,” she puffed, “I just need to rest a little.” Slowly she sneaked one eye open, observing Natsu as his wrinkle became more prominent.

“How do I know you won’t die in your sleep?”

“Well, for one you don’t keep believing that I will. Don’t manifest it.” She tried to joke, but it was apparent Natsu didn’t understand what she meant. She sighed. “Just… Stay here, please?”

She turned her body around so she laid on her stomach on top of him. It was at this moment she realised the attire they both were in.

“Natsu..?” She whispered against his chest.

“Yeah?” Natsu had started rubbing his hand against her back in a repetitive motion. This time he was making sure she’d stay alive.

“Why are we naked?”

Natsu didn’t know if the sound he let out was a chuckle or a sob – perhaps a mix of both. It was such a relief to hear her worry about her usual things.

“Don’t ya’ worry ‘bout it,” he smiled, continuing to rub her back.

“Well that’s not suspicious,” she mumbled as she slowly fell back to sleep. This time it felt better for Natsu: her body was warmer, her arms were hugging him back, and now he knew any major damages could be disregarded.

That’s when he heard Happy let out a cry of joy, flying up to nuzzle against her cheek. "Lushy! You’re okay!"

Natsu hurried to push him away with a harsh “shh”. Happy would start an argument hadn’t he seen the corners of Lucy’s mouth curl into a soft smile, her eyes opening briefly to greet her feline friend. Her heart twinged at his tearful eyes, but she still managed to give him a playful blink. She wanted to assure him she’d be back to normal soon. Porlyusica stepped forward into the room, her expression as stern as ever, but a hint of relief apparent in her eyes.

"She’s not out of the woods yet. Keep her warm and let her rest. But this… this is a good sign."

Natsu nodded, his arms tightening protectively around Lucy. 

"Ya’ don’t gotta worry. I have her."

Lucy’s eyes drifted closed again, her breathing steadying as she slipped into a more peaceful sleep. Happy hugged her shoulder tightly. He was so relieved that she was okay. And Natsu? He was beyond relief. If he could, he would have cloned himself so one of his bodies could do a celebratory dance, meanwhile the other could stay here, holding her tight, making sure she could stay comfortable for as long as she needed. He didn’t know any cloning magic though, so he let his imaginary clone work the floor beside the bed while Porlyusica hurried around the two of them, counting Lucy’s heartbeat, drawing her blood for testing, checking her pupils for dilating. Despite the worrying things she was doing to her, Natsu managed to stay calm. Maybe it was the deep breaths he felt against his torso, or the tiny, almost invisible nudging Lucy did to get her body closer to his, but Natsu felt at peace.

Everything would be fine. He wouldn’t let her go:  not now – not ever.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

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Jungkook is the golden boy, an excellent student, the star of you college’s football team. Rumor has it, there’s simply nothing he can’t do. The same cannot be said about you, but you’ve never had an issue with that. You’re happy with your small group of friends and your lack of talent in sports. And then, Jin befriends Jungkook, and you find yourself spending a lot of time with him. Before you know it, you’ve taken an interest in him — and you’re sure you shouldn’t. There’s no way this can end well for you… right?

↳ if i can never give you peace // series. angst, eventual smut. mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn. in progress.

It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed. Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine. Until he comes back.

0 · 1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · Interlude · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 ·

STRAY KIDS

★ Bang Chan

↳ all your friends are so cool, you go out every night // smut. college!AU, friends with benefits!AU, jealousy. 5k.

↳ hoodie season // tooth-rotting fluff. established relationship AU. 1.4k.

★ Lee Know

↳ when he sees me // smut, fluff, angst. neighbors!AU. 13.3k. in progress.

Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon. And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

↳ kinda wanna throw my phone across the room // fluff. college!AU, coffee shop!AU, strangers to lovers, jealousy. 4.9k

★ Changbin

↳ wanna be you so bad // angst? college!AU, academic rivals!AU, jealousy. 4.3k

★ Hyunjin

↳ you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad // PWP, smut. college!AU, established relationship. 4.4k

↳ comparison is killing me slowly // hurt/comfort, smut. college!AU, established relationship, jealousy. 5.2k. same couple as you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad.

★ Han

↳ i'm so sick of myself // fluff, angst. college!AU, friends to lovers. 4.2k

↳ something's waiting now to pounce // angst, light horror, thriller. high school!AU, slasher!AU, friends to lovers. 6.3k.

★ Felix

↳ felix navidad // fluff, angst. christmas evel!au, strangers to lovers. 16.4k

You keep seeing Felix around. First he falls in your courtyard on Christmas Eve, then you see him hiding chocolate eggs in a park, and then he appears on the staircase behind your apartment, in the middle of the night. It’s unusual, and you have no idea what it means. What you do know, though, is that you’re absolutely fascinated by him, who he is, and the light and joy he seems to bring with him everywhere he goes. Even if you have no idea who or what he is, all that you want is to find out more — and get to spend a little more time with him.

↳ rather be anyone else // angst. college!AU, friends to lovers, jealousy. 3.7k

↳ wouldn't you like to see something strange? // angst, suggestive. urban fantasy, roommates!AU. 4k.

★ Seungmin

↳ i think i think too much // fluff, suggestive. college!AU, established relationship, jealousy. 3.7k

↳ everybody make a scene // fluff, angst (both light). coworkers!AU, convenience store!AU, friends to lovers. 4k

★ I.N.

↳ all i see are girls too good to be true // fluff, light angst. college!AU, idiots to lovers, jealousy. 3.9k

↳ take a chance and roll the dice // fluff. coworkers!AU, bar!AU. 3.7k

[nyxvalelovesdragonage]

I just wanna be yours

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Nyx (Rook)/Lucanis Dellemorte

This is just PWP, enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3!

“You- how did– the whole time-” Nyx floundered to come up with the right words, his mouth refusing to cooperate. “You were doing this on purpose.” A statement of fact, because they both knew he was right. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, mi amor,” he purred in response.

Rook liked to consider himself a well-composed man, he didn’t flinch even when in the company of gods. But when it came to Lucanis… he seemed to lack that composure that he so desperately needed. He was either a clumsy fool or a horny bastard. For some reason Lucanis loved it and put up with him more often than not.

Today was not one of those days. His composure, usually so sure in the face of unruly Venatori mages, was severely lacking. A few mistakes never hurt anyone, but Rook was starting to get concerned he might get himself killed with another misstep. It was a terrible day to fight anyone, much less the venatori. Damp, drizzly, and slippery. The rain did them no favors besides dragging them down. But no Venatori would be allowed to roam Treviso anymore, not after Illario was caught.

All of his mistakes pointed to one very particular person.

Lucanis.

It was his damn mouth. Lucanis’ mouth was… too nice for its own good. The way he snarled and bared his teeth after every kill, or when his lips curled back in disgust at every venatori they spotted. The best though was when Rook slowed and lagged behind, and Lucanis would move a little ahead before turning back to him. When their eyes met, his lips would quirk just a little into the makings of a smirk. One that was dangerous, the kind that made Rook melt.

So maybe Rook was on the other end of the spectrum; far, far from a clumsy fool. It was partially due to the fact that it was just him and Lucanis fighting off stray Venatori in Treviso, mostly because Lucanis kept looking at him like that. As if he knew a secret that Rook did not. It was beyond sexy and Rook couldn’t help but slow down more often than he usually did just to have Lucanis gaze back at him.

He was getting worked up and Lucanis hadn’t really even done anything. Just being his usual charming self and giving Rook all of his attention. He probably didn’t even know what Rook was feeling right now; the Crow was more oblivious to the inner workings of desire than Rook thought possible. He’d grown better over the time they’d been together, but he still found Rook’s sexual desire an enigma.

Rook hadn’t realized he stopped walking until there was a gentle hand on his forearm that shook him from his thoughts. His eyes darted up to meet Lucanis’, who was giving him a concerned look. Why was he so close? Dammit, he wasn’t helping matters. When they were this close, all Rook could think about was when Lucanis had grown jealous and recklessly fucked him into his mattress. Rook blinked a few times to rid himself of the lustful memories.

“You’ve been stopping more than usual. Should I be worried?” Lucanis tilted his head slightly and his lips curled into a smile. That damn smile, those fucking lips. Rook’s eyes inadvertently snapped down to Lucanis’ mouth and he did his best not to make the movement too obvious.

“I think I need a minute,” Rook finally forced out as he pressed a hand to his burning cheek. He needed to calm down, he needed a splash of cold water to the face. He needed to not pop a boner in the middle of Treviso just because his boyfriend kept looking at him a certain way.

The hand on his arm tightened slightly and Lucanis tugged on it. Rook didn’t protest as he led him out of the crowded streets of Treviso and into a more secluded area. Nyx wasn’t as familiar with Treviso as Lucanis was, the twists and turns doing nothing to help his sense of direction. Finally, Lucanis stopped in what appeared to be an alleyway. Not a single person dwelled in the narrow space, and it was pretty clean for a back alley, without a scrap of trash.

Rook immediately leaned back against the brick wall of one of the buildings and blew out a long breath. The humidity was stifling and made his skin sticky with sweat. Today was a fucking awful day to be in Treviso, all it did was remind Rook of his days in Minrathous. Maker, he hated sweating.

How could Lucanis stand being in this weather with his heavy outfit on like that? Rook would be drenched in sweat if he wore something like that in the sauna that was Treviso. Nyx’s eyes idly traced over Lucanis’ body and his previous line of thinking came rushing back in a blur. Rook let his head fall back against the brick wall and he closed his eyes to focus on his breathing rather than Lucanis’ taut muscles underneath all that padding.

“Something on your mind, Rook?” Lucanis’ dulcet tone was like a melody to his ears. Rook cracked open his eyes to find Lucanis closer to him, peering up at him. He was worried, and here Rook was thinking about ripping his damn clothes off.

The words slipped from his mouth before he could even think, “there’s a lot on my mind right now.” And you’re certainly not helping things by being so close.

His regret was immediate as Lucanis cocked an eyebrow and a small smile played at his lips. Rook yearned to know what was going through the man’s mind right now, what he was thinking about when he smiled like that. Were his thoughts about Rook?

It felt like the temperature rose a few degrees as Lucanis sidled closer and braced his hand against the wall next to Nyx’s neck. Maker’s breath, why was he getting closer? His concern was endearing, but misplaced. Rook’s mind was in the gutter and Lucanis had no earthly idea.

“Pray tell,” Lucanis murmured while looking up at Rook with smoldering eyes. It was at this point that it dawned on him. It must’ve been written all over his face because Lucanis’ mouth curved into a knowing smirk.

“You- how did– the whole time-” Nyx floundered to come up with the right words, his mouth refusing to cooperate. “You were doing this on purpose.” A statement of fact, because they both knew he was right.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, mi amor,” he purred in response. A shiver ran through Rook’s entire body and he reached back to dig his nails into the scratchy stone brick behind him. With Lucanis in his bubble, all he could smell was coffee and Antivan leather. His scent was pleasantly overwhelming, drowning out the smell of rain and making him dizzy.

“How did you figure it out? What gave me away?” Rook asked curiously. He was fighting tooth and nail to behave himself, to keep himself from just grabbing Lucanis and smothering him in a kiss. Yet his mind was consumed with ruminations of Lucanis’ bare body against his, pinning him against the wall while his co-

“Nyx,” Lucanis chuckled lightly, snapping him out of his reverie, “you do realize I am First Talon of the Antivan Crows, yes? I am supposed to notice every change in someone’s body language,” his hand settled on Rook’s waist, fingers gently tugging on his tucked-in shirt, “read every expression on their face.” His hand slipped under his shirt, cold against his skin as he hiked the fabric up. Rook shivered against his touch.

“So basically…” Rook began as he reached out to press a hand against the man’s chest, “everything gave me away.” He could feel the flutter of Lucanis’ heart under his palm, betraying his excitement, his desire. It had been foolish to even think Lucanis didn’t notice his eyes roaming over him, or the way his desire touched every move he made while in the presence of the man he adored. Rook was a Crow too, after all. Not like the First Talon, he couldn’t read his opponent’s every move or emotion like attending to a dance partner. But he should know enough to not underestimate Lucanis. More so because he’d taken to studying Nyx, learning what his body wanted without his knowledge.

The smile that escaped Lucanis shot through Rook like lightning. He shouldn’t be able to so easily unravel him with just a scrunch of his eyes and a curl of his mouth, yet Rook found himself pressing more of his weight against the wall behind him. His knees were threatening to waver under that molten gaze, but he held strong as best he could.

“I have an unfair advantage,” Lucanis’ voice was velvet and his words only heightened his sensitivity to his touch. Rook moved his free hand to grab a hold of Lucanis’ forearm to stop him from exploring his body’s hidden depths, his hand having pushed Nyx’s shirt almost all the way up to his shoulder to gain access to his soft chest.

Lucanis’ reaction was instant and he eased his hand away with a tilt of his head. Worry painted his features and Rook was uncertain if it was real worry or he was acting it out once more. Rook’s mouth slipped open to speak, but nothing would form as Lucanis stared at him with those big, brown eyes. There was a tight knot forming in Nyx’s stomach, arousal snaking its way through him and making it hard for him to concentrate on what was going on. When he breathed in, all he could smell was Lucanis. The distinct scent of Antivan coffee and expensive leather, and a subtle taste of some kind of aftershave. Nyx had smelled it countless times before, but each time became more intoxicating than the last.

Lucanis was so close, so far in his personal space that Nyx would only have to move an inch for their lips to meet. The minute details of his face were on display for Rook to see and he took in everything from the worry lines creased on his forehead down to the way his lips pressed tightly together. Everything about him was beautiful, the only way Rook knew to describe it. Each scar, each wrinkle a story that Rook desired to know more about. His resolve was slipping away like the morning tide and Lucanis hadn’t even done anything to merit such a reaction.

“Too much?” Lucanis’ words were hesitant, much like a puppy after being scolded. It was enough to snap Rook back to the present and he focused his eyes on Lucanis’ face. If there was one thing Lucanis excelled at, it was making sure, without a doubt, that Rook was comfortable. No matter the circumstance, the Crow put aside everything for Nyx, and did so happily. He loved so fervently, so wholly that Rook had never stood a chance. Even now he stared up at Rook, practically begging for approval, for permission. It was a rare show of vulnerability, strictly reserved for Rook’s eyes only. And it wasn’t as if Nyx had any want to say no to his lover, to push him away and leave. He’d put his hunger out on the table much earlier, and yet Lucanis still had qualms. Still wanted that verbal confirmation.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere in his throat and Nyx shook his head slightly, “I’m the one who was getting all hot and bothered, and you’re asking if you’re too much?” Fingers slid up Lucanis’ neck before settling right above his jawline. Lucanis’ eyes flicked towards Rook’s hand before he instinctually leaned into it. His eagerness was endearing, if rare to come to fruition.

While the soft touches and agile dancing of their hands across each other’s skin was equable and relaxed, Rook ached for something more. His want from earlier only escalated the longer they stood in close proximity. Lucanis’ hips were nearly pressed against Nyx’s, enough to where he felt as if he was pinned to the wall. Burning desire twisted through him like tree roots, overtaking any other emotion he felt in the moment. They pulsed and constricted and all his blood was soon flowing down south in a heated rush.

Rook, with an amazing amount of restraint against his growing hunger, leaned forward and pressed his lips to Lucanis’. His lips were chapped from months of drinking hot coffee nonstop, but they tasted like a rich, sweet cup of coffee themselves. It reminded Nyx of when Lucanis had described the coffee from Cafe Pietra during their first outing together. Like a kiss goodbye. Rook hadn’t understood the simile until he’d shared his first kiss with Lucanis. Nothing would ever compare.

Lucanis’ hand clamped down on the back of Nyx’s neck, pulling him forward so their bodies pressed flush. Rook let out a noise akin to a whimper as his own hand slipped from Lucanis’ face down to grip at his leather overcoat. They shouldn’t be so desperate to kiss, they kissed all the time in the privacy of the Lighthouse. Nyx had always been extremely affectionate and attached, which Lucanis had needed so intensely in his life. Their nights spent together, whether making love or not, were always spent with stroking hands and tangled legs. No matter where they were, Lucanis and Nyx gravitated towards one another as naturally as breathing.

Rook relished in the way Lucanis felt against him, his lean frame and wiry muscles enfolding him until his body was all he could feel. He was hazily aware of Lucanis’ free hand moving back to that familiar spot where his shirt had been untucked and icy cold fingers gripping his waist to keep him stationary. Nyx nipped at Lucanis’ bottom lip before the man dipped his tongue into Rook’s mouth. His grip tightened on Lucanis’ shirt as he sucked, earning the tiniest of noises from his lover. It was more than enough to spur Nyx on as their tongues intertwined.

“Rook,” Lucanis broke away from him first, cheeks flushed in a gorgeous shade of pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Rook wanted nothing more than to commit that erotic face to his memory, to have it forever. Lucanis looked heavenly, other-worldly when he stared at Rook like that. Like he desired nothing more in this world than Nyx himself. Half-lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips that yearned for Rook’s mouth only. It should be illegal for Lucanis to look at him like that, as the things it did to Rook were unparalleled.

“We should head back,” he said against his mouth before Nyx kissed him once more. They shared another heated kiss for a few precious moments and then Lucanis once more pulled back. “Rook. Mierda, I can’t stand here like this with you. The things–” he let out a low growl as his hand tightened on the back of his neck. He lowered his voice an octave, earning a pleasurable shiver from Nyx, “The things I want to do to you right now. We need to go to the Lighthouse.”

No, Nyx wouldn’t make it that far. Not with how unbelievably hot he’d grown in the past couple of minutes. He needed to be satiated now, lest he lose his current desires. He knew why Lucanis was so insistent, the reasoning wasn’t good enough in his mind though. Public displays of affection were frowned upon in the Dellemorte household, much more so sexual acts with the same gender. Many times that issue had cropped up in their relationship already, with Lucanis tentative with any sort of touching, down to holding his hand out in the public eye.

To be caught having sex in a back alley? Especially with someone like Rook? It would ruin House Dellemorte, not to mention ruin Lucanis’ reputation. Elves weren’t as criticized in Antiva as they were in Minrathous, but the racism still existed. That, coupled with the fact Rook was a man… It spelled disaster.

But disaster never stopped Rook.

“Amatus,” he purred, snaking his fingers through Lucanis’ hair and cradling the back of his head. He wasted no time in guiding Lucanis around and swapping their positions so his lover was the one pressed against the wall. The Crow didn’t protest, his lips slightly ajar as he watched Rook with desire written all over his face. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Lucanis tilted his head once more, just slightly, and gave Rook a puzzled expression in response. It would be much easier to show him rather than tell him what he planned on doing. Even though his own cock was starting to fill out from the idea playing out in his head, he ignored it in favor of concentrating on unhooking Lucanis’ belt.

It would be simple to just pull his pants down to his ankles, to take what he wanted. Lucanis wouldn’t complain, he seemed to enjoy a more dominant side of Rook. But such behaviors were not in Nyx’s nature, especially when it came to someone he truly cared about. So once Lucanis’ belt was undone and his pants unbuttoned to reveal his briefs underneath, Rook’s eyes darted up to meet his lover’s. No matter how pent up he felt, he would stop if Lucanis gave the word.

“Is this okay?” Rook breathed out with an earnest look.

It seemed Rook wasn’t the only one with a crumbling resolve. Lucanis’ face shifted, his expression practically unreadable as he regarded Nyx. He only did something like that when the gears in his brain were turning. Refusing to show emotion while he parsed through his own thoughts. Simply put, it was interesting yet maddening to watch. Rook had never nailed down that look, even during his Crow training. Such a look fit Lucanis much more than it did Nyx.

“Yes,” the word left his mouth in reverence, a blessing given directly to Rook. It comforted him to know that Lucanis wanted this as much as he did. The thought of pressuring the man into doing something he was uncomfortable with… such a thing did not sit well with him at all. But he pushed that thought out of his mind for the time being as he sank to his knees. The cobblestone under his knees scraped and pulled at the fabric of his pants, and his boots squeaked when he settled. The position wasn’t the most comfortable, the stone already digging hard into his knees, but his attention was fully captured by Lucanis. Lucanis, who, at the moment, looked much like a hala about to bolt.

Rook gently took a hold of Lucanis’ waistband and eased his pants down along with his briefs. He paused halfway down his legs and glanced around, half-expecting someone to just randomly show up. When nothing of the sort happened, Rook dropped his pants and dragged his eyes up to look at Lucanis in all his glory.

What he saw stole the breath from his lungs. Desperate want was etched across every feature on Lucanis’ face as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. His cock was already at full length, as if anticipating this exact moment. The fine, dark, downy hair around his length stretched up, up, up and disappeared tantalizingly underneath his shirt. Rook’s mouth watered at the sight and his own cock pressed against the tight fabric of his pants incessantly. Rook’s tongue darted out to lick at his lips as he drank in the sight above him. He would never ever tire of seeing Lucanis like this for as long as he lived.

Nyx leaned forward almost eagerly and kissed the tip of his cock before he took the entire head in his mouth. The response was immediate as Rook pressed one hand against Lucanis’ taut thigh and the other gripped the base of his length. There was no noise, nothing spilled from Lucanis’ mouth but his eyes were drilling into Rook, smoldering like dying embers. The elf’s eyes flicked up to meet Lucanis’ as he lowered his mouth further down on his erection.

Lucanis’ face was utterly distracting in the best way possible. Nyx had looked up to make sure Lucanis was doing okay and instead all he could see was how aroused Lucanis appeared. How could the First Talon go from calm, composed, and teasing to this within a few minutes? What kind of spell did Nyx have up his sleeve to alter the Demon of Vyrantium’s composure this drastically?

Yet, it wasn’t enough. It was only fair that Rook got his payback after Lucanis teased him as he did earlier. Pretending he didn’t notice that Rook was staring, thinking about all the ways Lucanis could pin him down and fuck him relentlessly. Nyx popped his mouth off Lucanis’ cock and stared up at him with an ardent expression.

“Good?” He drawled out in a low voice, squeezing his hand around his length a little. His lips curved upwards into a lazy smirk, “Or should I stop?”

Lucanis’ thigh tensed up under Rook’s touch and he moved his hand away from his mouth. His mouth was hanging wide open while he tried to control his growing pants. Rook flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and he knew that Lucanis was watching every single movement with those beautiful brown eyes. It was almost too easy to work Lucanis up, sometimes Nyx wondered if Spite had something to do with it. It wasn’t the most outlandish theory, given previous interactions.

A low growl escaped Lucanis’ throat and a flicker of purple passed over his eyes. It gave enough of an indication that Spite was indeed in there still and aware of what was going on. Rook leaned forward and teasingly lapped at the head of Lucanis’ cock once more, regarding him with muted enthusiasm. There was a certain thrill to doing something so intimate in public, especially with the knowledge they could most certainly be caught. Antiva wasn’t a reserved nation, per say, but for someone to witness a blowjob in an alley? Highly unlikely, very scandalous.

“Use your words,” Nyx urged, “both of you.”

A deep groan resounded from Lucanis and Rook knew he hit the mark with his specific word choice. He was all too eager to just swallow Lucanis whole right now, taste him in the back of his throat while those calloused fingers gripped his hair roughly. But he tasted so much sweeter after fanning the flames a little.

Though it was clear that Lucanis was fighting tooth and nail not to let Spite show through. To not show how much Rook’s word affected him and probably Spite along with him. He reminded Nyx of an unruly puppy, refusing to be trained.

“Don’t-” Lucanis’ voice caught and Rook raised his eyebrows in response. “Don’t. Encourage him, Rook.” Certain what Rook expected, but it was something he could work with. He purposefully blew out a sigh against Lucanis’ cock, breath hot as he sat back on his calves a little. Lucanis offered nothing else in response, his body wound tight like a bowstring.

“Then tell me what you want, amatus,” he purred with gentle encouragement. “I’m all yours.”

If Lucanis’ face could grow any more red than it already had, it had hit that point. Each little minute movement in the man’s face revealed more and more of his inner dialogue. While his eyes were trained on Nyx’s face, he was somewhere else almost entirely. His lips were pursed and his eyebrows furrowed as he seemingly spoke to some invisible force. What was Spite saying to him? Even as a mage, Rook could not hear their conversations like Emmrich could. Such a talent would be a blessing to him, as Lucanis didn’t always tell him exactly what Spite said. And he rarely offered the demon control willingly.

“I want…” Lucanis finally spoke and Rook’s ears pricked, “I want you. Nyx, please, don’t stop.”

Nyx listened to that quiet plea in utter rapture, a soft little moan escaping his mouth. Rook fluttered his eyelashes up at his lover and nodded in satisfaction. With another lick of his lips, Nyx sunk his mouth back down on Lucanis’ straining erection. Rook carefully took more of his length until he reached his own hand wrapped around the base. He could feel the tip brushing the back of his throat so he took in a few more inches with a noise reminiscent of a groan.

Fingers threaded through his hair as soon as he pulled his mouth back all the way to the head and Nyx was quick to steal a look up at Lucanis. His free hand had moved back to his mouth to cover it and he was watching Nyx with a hazy expression. Rook needed no further incentive than that as he took his cock all the way back into his mouth.

The feeling of fullness in his mouth was indescribable, Nyx unable to form a coherent thought as he ravished Lucanis’ length with his mouth. With each pull back, Lucanis’ hand would tangle deeper into Nyx’s hair and urge him to move faster. Rook could feel himself starting to drool every time he sunk down and he couldn’t help but dig his nails into Lucanis’ thigh. His eyes fluttered closed and he slicked his tongue over the underside of his cock, tasting his precum coating the inside of his mouth.

“Mierda, Nyx. Fuck-” his words were muffled through his hand, but Nyx could hear him loud and clear, even through his own daze. His own desire was mounting, his erection straining painfully against his slacks, weeping to be touched. With no free hands, Rook couldn’t give himself the attention he so desperately needed. So he instead redoubled his efforts on Lucanis.

As if reading his mind, or perhaps catching a peek at his erection through his clothes, Lucanis shifted his weight and reached out his foot. The sole of his boot pressed insistently against Nyx’s cock and his fluid ministrations stuttered. Nyx nearly keened right then and there while that boot pinned down his erection just right.

“Nyx, Nyx,” Lucanis groaned his name, “I’m– fuck, I’m close. Please, please– I can’t-” he choked out another moan, louder this time. Loud enough to where Rook nearly paused to scan their surroundings. A moan like that… could be mistaken for a moan of pain. If any nearby Crow heard that-

All thoughts were cut off as the hand fisted in his hair physically, roughly forced him to swallow his entire length in one swift motion. Tears sprung forth in his eyes and he nearly gagged at the intrusion, catching himself barely in time as a sinful moan reverberated around Lucanis’ cock. He greedily swallowed around his length, deep throating him while clawing at his thigh to keep himself grounded in some sense. The foot on his own dick was pressing down harder and rubbing against him, distracting him from the uncomfortableness of the disturbance deep in his throat.

“Want. More,” the growl reached his ears and Nyx blinked a few times before he stared up at Spite with half-lidded eyes. The demon wasn’t in full control, but he had enough to get to the front. The shift in eye color was mesmerizing and Rook couldn’t take his eyes off his lover even with his cock stuffed deep inside his mouth. His shaft twitched in Rook’s throat, the only indication that he was close to his orgasm. “Want. More. Nyx.”

With a deep breath in through his nose, Nyx took him all and the noise that left Lucanis’ mouth was beyond ecstasy, beyond anything Nyx had ever heard leave his lips. His grip on his hair was very painful but in the best way possible, and he kept Rook’s face pressed against his pelvis as his cock pulsated in his throat. Rook slid his hand up off Lucanis’ thigh and settled it against his hip, guiding him through his orgasm as best he could. The taste of him, salty as he swallowed it down, was downright bliss. He kept still until Lucanis was spent and those fingers in his hair loosened and finally released him.

Rook was light-headed from the rough treatment he endured, so he slowly and carefully pulled himself off Lucanis’ softening cock. His calves slid out from underneath him and he sunk his ass to the ground as he panted raggedly. Rook clamped a hand over the front of his shirt, noting the mess of spit and precum he’d left behind in his wake. That whole interaction… fuck. His heart was still racing, and his erection remained.

“Nyx,” Lucanis’ soft voice snapped him back to the present and Nyx focused on Lucanis as he crouched down in front of him. The man reached out and gently wiped his thumb over the corners of Rook’s mouth. The look on his face said it all, he didn’t even need to speak. Lucanis had guilt written out all over his face, most likely for letting Spite take over at the last moment and giving Nyx a run for his money. It had been a definite shock, but not a terrible one. Dazed as he was, Rook did his best to recover from the overwhelming events that just transpired. Nyx shook his head and with a little help from Lucanis, stood up on shaky legs. His knees protested after being pressed against the ground for so long and his back creaked and popped when he straightened up. He dug his hands into the back of his hips and arched his back in a stretch.

“You are maddening, mi amor,” Lucanis told him as he surveyed the surrounding area. Nothing was out of the ordinary, no one had stumbled across them during their little escapade. A miracle in its own right given how noisy Lucanis had grown. Undoubtedly, Nyx wasn’t the only one with a mouth on him.

A grin spread across his face and Nyx sidled closer to Lucanis. “In the best way possible, right?” He couldn’t help the slight desire that tinged his voice.

“It’s why I love you.”

[astarionancuntnin]

Dancing on the Edge of a Knife

summary: ever since his ascension, Malva was convinced that Astarion was the only person who could understand her every twisted desire. well, almost. there are some things she still keeps to herself, he simply wouldn't understand this part of her, the one who dances on the very edge of her knife.

or Ascended Astarion learns how real punishments work

rating: E

word count: 2.8k

pairing: ascended astarion x consort malva (oc, evil!sorcerer!tav)

cw: 18+. KNIFE PLAY (big warning cause the whole fic will turn around this specific one), smut, post-game setting a few years later, mention of violence/murder, mentions of and actual self-harm, slight voyeurism, shared sensations, blood play, bdsm relationship (Master/Pet, punishment), teasing, overstimulation, orgasm denial. full list on ao3

a/n: i just dont pick where the inspo comes from but malva lives rent free in my head

a/n2: decided to make the stories about malva and astarion into a series, they can be read independently but if you wanna read the first one featuring lotsa spanking, here it is (they also get to cum in that one)

a/n³: song inspo is PRETTY PLEASE by dutch melrose

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

It was just another day of bloody business for Malva and her Master. 

Another party used as distraction; another life to take; another bloodshed.

Another reason to dive her pretty blade into the chest of yet another unfortunate soul.

She remembers back when Orin had mentioned her potential to join the ranks of the bhaalists, and of course, she would’ve; Malva’s talent to murder people came as naturally to her as her powers had, but the mere idea of being attached to any godly entity made Malva retch.

And Bhaal out of all of them? The same one who sent his minions to do his dirty work? Really, what was the point in becoming a God if you didn’t use that power for yourself?

No, Malva acted sinfully within her own code based on her own goals; no Gods or voices guiding her blade, only her inner bloodthirst and the knowledge that she was mightier than any other mortal crossing her path. Compared to other species, she was already considered immortal, but now, as a vampire? A spawn of the Vampire Ascendant, out of all of them? She might be even greater than the Gods themselves.

Even then, killing was just a job, something that needed to be done nevertheless, and knowing how much she had to do, she just decided to take pleasure in it. After all, the line between pleasure and pain had been blurry ever since Malva could remember, even at a young age.

Ever since her mentor had shown her how to master her powers.

“You will need to use your powers for the greater good,” he had said. “They come with responsibilities. Wield them to perfection so they serve you on every occasion. Those powers are a part of you.”

Obviously, she remembers thinking, they're what makes me better than the others.

“But you need to know that, as much good they can do, they can also harm, and to fully understand this, you'll need to feel them yourself.” 

She recalls how he had grabbed her arm and inflicted a benign version of a lighting spell on her, just to show her how it would feel to receive it — the impact of it, even on a smaller scale.

“Now, every time you inflict this pain on someone, you'll carry the weight of it as if you felt it yourself.”

He couldn't have been as right and wrong at the same time.

Yes — the spark lighting up her skin had burned, and she had flinched and pulled her arm back the second the shock hit her. 

But what a delectable sensation it had been.

How the burn had tingled and resonated through her entire body, lingering long after, introducing her to a new world of possibilities, one she hadn't even considered.

She had spent the rest of her life chasing that feeling.

Using her powers on herself as she was still learning them, gradually increasing the intensity as she became numb to the minor pain to still feel the hurt but relishing the burn of the wound, that sweet tingle rippling on her skin.

Venturing into taverns as she grew older, looking for easy strangers with whom to spend the night to easily discard them once morning came, until one night led to her first kill, and instead of fear she had felt a thrill. The same one as her self-inflicted burns.

Picking up dangerous bounties only to use her powers on others without holding back, see the light leave their eyes as she felt the blood from her own wounds drip from her body, smearing her pale skin.

A knife held at her throat, her life hanging by a thread — the burn of the blade penetrating her skin even better than any cock could ever feel.

The rush of heightened pleasure that clouded her mind for those brief moments was better than any sketchy potion on the market, and yet, the conclusion always turned out the same.

This rush was short-lived. 

Every kill was done with the next one already in mind.

Pain was her pleasure, and no one had understood that about her in the past. She even led herself to believe that Astarion didn't understand how far her limits went. Believing he couldn't satisfy all of her needs — and he would go far; spank her hard, choke her, bite her — all things she adored, but there was still something… missing. 

Something she would just need to take care of by herself.

So that night, a night that felt as meaningless as the others — or that should’ve been — she let her mind wander after disposing of this nuisance of a man. With her spirit  clouded with lust from the blood now warming her veins, she eyed her dagger in her hand with a different intention.

Her dark, yet see-through long dress didn’t allow for under clothing — like most of her other dresses, she had noticed — and the skirt, which split in the middle only to be covered by a thin layer of fabric, made it easy for her to pull the slit of her skirt aside and slide the blade of her knife along her plump thigh.

The tip just ghosted over her skin at first, teasing herself with the weapon that had taken so many lives already. A shiver ran down her back at the promise of what was to come — finally, feeling somewhat alive once again — getting wet from the mere memories of the last time she had touched herself like so.

The blood of her previous victim still coating the blade as she pushed it deeper, breaking into her skin — just enough to draw blood and for her breathing to turn into whimpers.

Just enough to feel that same burn, that pain that turned into pleasure so quickly for her.

She had thought she had been subtle, that her time away wouldn't cause Astarion to come looking for her. Afterall, the kill had taken her mere seconds, she still had plenty of time to take care of herself and go back to her Master. She could always use the excuse that he had been a difficult target — either way, she’d come up with something.

Little did she know, he had felt it. 

Their connection was greater than with his regular spawns; he was able to feel any sensation she felt as well as accessing her mind at any time — not that she knew about the former — and the second that knife slid across her skin, Astarion had known.

The pain in the inside of her thigh, this familiar burn; one he recognized instantly.

Oh, and he ran to find her, expecting the worst, only to find her with her legs spread open, leaning against the wall of the hallway with a body at her feet, and the hilt of her knife sliding across her wet slit, with sinful moans escaping her luscious lips.

He couldn’t say he was surprised at the sight, this was Malva after all, the woman who took a malicious pleasure in the murders she committed — ones she never questioned. The same woman who smiled as she took each and every of his punishments.

And yet, that was the last thing he expected to see when he ran for her.

So here he stood, watching as she pleasured herself with the soiled weapon she had visibly used on the corpse lying nearby, her other hand holding back the fabric of her dress as leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving as her pleasure overtook her.

Worry aside, he was now fixated on her every move. Watching, learning, so he could use it on her later. This was just one more thing to add to his library of possibilities when it came to her.

What was unacceptable was how she took those liberties without involving him, how she so easily broke those chains, and dismissed his authority.

Not only that, but she had been cutting herself — cutting him. 

He only had himself to blame, after all he had never made her aware of this part of their connection, but now the consequences of his actions had caught up to him. The same cuts he remembered suffering, that made him bleed out to near unconsciousness years ago, and all because of their connection, he was reliving these moments all over again. 

No, no, this time was different — this time he was in control, he had a say in how this would go. If his consort wanted to play, he would play along.

He leaned back and away from her eyesight, a flicker of malice flashed in his ruby eyes as he opened his mind to reach out to hers.

“Enjoying yourself, pet?”

He smirked when he heard the clink of her dagger as it fell to the floor.

“Master?” She answered back through their connection. “I was just finishing up with this—”

“Oh no, dearest, you are far from done.” He cut her off. “Pick that dagger up, and cut through your other thigh, the same way you did the other.”

She briefly remained silent as she collected her thoughts, “How did you…”

“The dagger, pet.”

“Y– Yes, sir.”

He felt the ghost of the blade over his own thigh at the same time he heard her breathy moans echo in the hallway. 

He didn’t expect the vivid flashes of his past coming back to him, the burn of the scars in his back searing through his skin. He was all powerful now, this was long in the past, why was he still affected?

“Enough, pet.”

He needed to change his approach, no matter what, Malva was going to inflict this pain onto herself. He just needed to control it — make it feel good — for both of them.

He closed his eyes, banishing the remaining memories of his past to conjure the image of his consort instead.

“Take the hilt of your dagger and smear it with your blood.”

He imagined her in her long-sleeved black dress — the one he had picked for the night, with the embroidered red dragons partly covering her chest, matching his own ensemble — legs apart and cunt exposed with her dark blood slowly dripping from her thighs getting smeared over her skin as she ran the hilt of her weapon across it, coating it in her crimson.

“Now, guide it towards your slit, but don’t push it into you.” he paused, giving her time to follow his instructions, “And up to your clit. There, good girl. You’re gonna be rubbing yourself with it until I tell you to stop.”

He sensed a hint of doubt from her when she remained unmoving, “Do you not trust me, pet?”

“I… I simply didn't expect this from you.”

“Are you not glad I’m making the effort to keep your days exciting?”She bit her lip, remembering her dread of the previous dull days, “Yes, Sir.’

“Good, then close your eyes, and start rubbing that dagger over yourself.”

He heard her loud sigh before she finally let the bloody weapon touch her sensitive spot, allowing himself to feel her pleasure in his groin as she made it twirl and slide over it.

He let his head fall back against the wall as the sensation took place between his legs, only taking in the feeling temporarily before he shot his eyes open, ready to take the matter in his hands.

With her eyes still closed, Malva didn’t see Astarion approach her. She didn't feel the weight of his gaze as he stared her down like prey. But she did hear the pounding of his heartbeat against his chest as he grew closer, and her throat bobbed in anticipation between two raspy breaths, the movement between her legs relentlessly accelerating, her juices mixing with her blood as she neared her collapse.

“Tell me,” he purred down their connection. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Really good.”

“Don’t shy away from details now, I want to know exactly how you feel, dear.”

“The cuts… they burn deliciously, Sir. I’ve— missed this feeling, ah—” She became increasingly sensitive as she rubbed her swollen bud ceaselessly. “How… my wounds feel as the blood rises to the surface. When the burn spreads through my thighs and between my legs, fuck—”

Her breath accelerated and her mind blanked out as she focused on the growing ache between her legs.

“I’m— I’m close,” she panted.

Astarion might have to learn more about his dark consort after tonight, but if there was one thing he knew without a doubt, it was the clear signs of her collapse. With her head thrown back, her body messily leaning against the wall as her legs quivered from the excessive stimulation, and her pace getting sloppier as she was reaching her climax, he knew exactly how long until she reached the edge. Some time, right about…

Now.

“Stop,” he finally spoke up as he stood in front of her.

“What?!” She exclaimed, shooting her eyes open as she lifted her head back up, staring right into his eyes.

“Drop the knife, now.”

Reluctantly, Malva plunged her blade into the luxurious carpet, grunting as she did so. 

“Still feeling good, my dear?”

She shot him a frowning glare, chest heaving and lips parted as she panted.

“What do you think?!” She shouted. “I was so damned close– fuck!”

He snickered, stepping forward to meet her stare, “So you truly believe you deserve this? That you deserve more than what I've already allowed you, when you’ve been touching yourself behind my back?”

She lifted her head and without breaking eye contact, retorted with a growl, “You wouldn’t grasp how to please me, even if I showed you precisely how.”

He wouldn’t usually accept this behaviour from her, but this time around, he wanted to see how far he could take it.

“Is that so?” He smiled as he closed the gap between them, his stance hovering over her. “In all the years we've spent together, have I not proved you wrong already?” 

She backed into the wall as he pushed her against it, one hand caging her beneath him, while the other reached for his waist to pull out his signature dagger, bringing it up and pushing Malva's head upwards as he pressed the tip right under her chin.

“Do I need to prove my point again?” 

Her frown softened, “You seem to have underestimated me, my Lord.” 

Their lips were but a whisper apart, the threat of the blade restraining Malva in this position, leaving Astarion in complete control once again. All his consort could do in this position was talk back, something she was annoyingly well versed into.

“I'll have you know that it'll take me more than a few spankings to be truly satiated.”

He chuckled, “My beautiful, dark consort. I should've known you grew from the thorniest vines.”

His vision dropped from her eyes to her lips, trailing the tip of his dagger along her jaw and down her neck, stopping right at the valley between her breasts.

“Is this what you want?” He leaned his head above the crook of her neck, whispering roughly in her ear. “For me to slice you open and bleed you out, right here, in the middle of this hallway with our guests still waiting in the main room?” 

As he slid the blade down, partly slicing open the front of her dress, a faint line of blood appeared in its wake. The knife travelled down her chest, just past her navel, where it paused, leaving the dress only partially cut through.

He brought the blade back up with the same agonising pace, resting it right over her breast, barely pushing against her to pierce the skin, “Answer me, pet.”

Malva was already lost in the feeling of the blade hovering right above her heart, the word barely slipping between her lips as she held in her breath, one she kept forgetting wasn’t necessary anymore.

“Yes.”

He pressed deeper into her, just enough for the blade to penetrate her supple skin, pushing a deeper moan out of her, “And do you think you deserve it?”

“Y– Yes, Master.”

“Mmh…” He let his knife slide back down where her pleasure had accumulated, pressing its flat side against her glistening cunt, just enough for her to believe in the promise of what would come… 

Only to remove it completely right after, licking her blood and juices off from his weapon before pushing himself off the wall.

Malva blinked as her breathing came back to her, watching as her Master walked away from her, leaving her in an even messier state than he found her in.

“Maybe next time I’ll believe you.” He made sure to pick up the blade she had thrown down earlier as well, “You'll have to use your powers to carry out your tasks from now on, I’m sure you’ll manage though. After all, I can't trust you to carry around a blade if you risk to hurt yourself, can I? It would be unwise on my part, I’m sure you understand.���

Without knowing it, his consort had opened up a whole world of possibilities for him, and it all started with her first, real, punishment.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated, I love reading your feedback! <3 (tag list will be in the comments moving forward!)

[chiliconsharls]

“𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞”

2.8K, explicit, post China Sprint

Read on AO3 or bellow the cut

He’s still fuming even when the roar of all engines has shut off. Absurd move, and for what? Fucking out of the podium and pole again. He yanks the balaclava as he seizes the ‘55’ of the garage, each step he’s taken has slowly made the anger subside but still sits in his gut like lava.

Everyone turns to him with their eyes wide and unblinking and Charles breathes. So, they’re waiting for a scene. A screaming match or maybe blows but it’s not the stuff he and Carlos are made of— apparently. He bites his tongue in his mouth when Carlos comes, eyes deep and gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Charles repeats himself, but his tone is far lighter than he intended it.

“Not right now, okay?”

And just like that, he flips the switch. Just like that, Charles’ fire dies and he thinks anyway. He thinks whatever. He thinks good riddance.

Because it’s always been like this with Carlos. Always half-measures and stolen glances and mixed messages and never enough. He should’ve known better than to hope their last year would’ve been different.

If anything, this might just prove to be the worst one yet.

By the time he’s done with the media circus, smiling in the absurdity of his frustrations, he’s ran out of fuel to keep him fired up, and when Carlos approaches him –fucking finally– he’s only greeted with a tired, heavy sigh. “I have to speak to the stewards because of the shit with Alonso, listen—if I was too aggressive—”

Charles taps his chest and through the layers of fabric, he can still feel the heat coming off Carlos, the steady pumping of his heart and the hard carcass that surrounds it. “It doesn't matter. I've been there, too, haven't I?” he relents and it's pathetic. He knows.

But Carlos squeezes his fingers and looks at him puzzled, as he's often done lately. Half-here, half-somewhere else. One foot out, Charles remembers.

And he doesn't say anything else before he disappears from his grip again, Charles also doesn't stick around to listen.

Instead, he replays the sprint idly in his mind after he's showered, revisiting all the missed twists and turns and convincing himself that his fight with Carlos didn't fuck up his chances for a podium. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. What counts is tomorrow, anyway.

But then a flash and he's pushed out of the track like nothing but a bug and his head is spinning and it's a hundred degrees but his gut is boiling with more than just that. His heart is racing for more than just racing. Fucking see me, I'm right here.

I'm yours to push and shove.

He doesn't have to open his eyes and look down to know what he knows already. His shaft's hardening as he lies and overthinks, great. It's not the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track, it's not even the first time he's gotten hard after a fight on track with Carlos. But it'd been a while, and it'd been a while since the race, too.

He bites his lower lip and eyes his problem. His cock is nestled only somewhat uncomfortably inside his briefs. He could leave it there, he's only halfway into hardness. But then it's also just 10 p.m. in Shanghai so he's got a few more hours to kill before he's ready to rest. Social media seems like a good idea for a minute until he watches one too many videos of the race and his minor issue goes right to considerable.

It's starting to itch, the fabric. But when he moves his hips a little bit the constriction provides friction and Charles' interest is piqued, then. Fine, he'll stoop lower. It's one sprint video that leads to interviews with bullshit excuses that make Charles lose himself in brown eyes like he's done for the last three and some years that then lead him to a myriad of Sainz footage and he's gone.

And Charles could call him up, could get the whole actual show. But Charles was weak enough already to turn down his apologies when Charles very much deserved them, Charles was weak enough already to just let him fucking push him over, he'd been weak enough lately.

This was still weak, of course. But it was at least between him and God. Did he mention he was the bigger man earlier already?

He throws the phone to his side when Carlos' smile begins spinning in his head after three or so photos. It always took so much of his face, but Charles noted that it didn't matter because his laugh was contagious. A lot of aspects of Carlos were like that, could make you feel whatever he wanted in just a flick.

Charles palms himself, just a press of the heel of his hand to his bulge and he breathes heavily. Inhaling deep as his teeth trap his lower lip. He turns over and pushes a pillow between his legs, just to keep the pressure subsided.

Except that Carlos' fingers earlier linger on his, in his mind, and Charles eyes his hand like it's foreign to his body. He's washed off, it's been hours already; there's no trace of Carlos' smell or his heat at Charles' fingertips but it doesn't hurt to imagine. It doesn't hurt to rub himself softly, index finger moving from his clavicle to his chest to his navel until Charles breathes heavily again before he pushes down the briefs and ends the charade that he's wishing this away. He squeezes the pillow harder between his legs to keep his cock from flinching at the cold of the dead darkness of his room. The nearly dead emptiness of the life he carries. And his finger draws faint circles on his body again. Aimless, odd-shaped figures across his arm and his torso and his shoulder just like Carlos would. Touch and graze him like Charles was made of the most precious marble.

And kiss him. Carlos would kiss him breathless. Would kiss him like his life depended on it, would kiss him like he'd fight him on track. Like he did today.

This is all that I've got— can you take it?

Charles bucks into the messy lump he'd already made of the pillow as a yes echoes in his head, chanting, nearly. Yes, I can fucking take it. You want to fight me harder than the rest? I'll meet you halfway there. I'm no coward. Crash into me if that's how bad you want it. We'll give them a bloody show.

He grunts when his tip grazes the silky fabric of the pillow just slightly enough to sting and he comes to think that maybe he ought to just get on with it and use his hand, instead, but the rough friction is good. The rough friction reminds him of calloused, big hands, tanner than his. Musky smells and hairy wrists that always manage to twist right how Charles needs. It's unbearable, really. How perfectly they piece together.

And now Carlos wants to fight me.

All because they have left us in these ruins.

It's not my fault they didn't pick him.

He whimpers as his rhythm picks up, back arched as he's shifted to topple the pillow that's now under his belly. He no longer worries about the cold because his many efforts now got him glistening in sweat and panting, just like he was inside the car earlier.

Riled up because of Carlos fucking Sainz, albeit in two entirely different ways. Or were they? Wasn't their predicament the entire cornerstone of Charles' current frustrations?

They couldn't love each other, they could never love each other. They couldn't even have each other, because they didn't have a say in that.

And they couldn't hate each other, either. They couldn't go at each other's throats.

Well, at least that's what I thought. But he didn't give a shit about that, did he? Maybe that could mean…

“Merde,” he moans when he starts rocking his hips easier because he's started leaking. The moist spot he's made gets slicker with each roll of his hips and soon he just thrusting wantonly into the misshapen lump.

He supports himself a little on his elbows on the mattress, back arched just enough to make room for him to thrust back in, and so he repeats in a frenzy dance. He imagines himself squeezed into nothingness like the pillow, and bucks harder, relentless. Carlos wouldn't lose the pace, not at least until the very– very end. But he wasn't Carlos. He was only the mess Carlos had made of him, whimpering and moaning into his mattress and about to come untouched like a fucking teenager.

I bet he's smiling. I bet this is what he's wanted all along. To see me lose my damn mind like this.

He curses and he can nearly taste the bleach they used to clean the sheets; his tongue dries in the cotton as he lets go of the fabric, and adjusts himself a little. Legs a little spread, this time just pressing on his knees and he moves his hips in circles. Charles breathes at the slight change of pace but his mind provides more reasons to keep him going. Flashes of Carlos meaty lips dropping wet kisses all over his back before he claimed him, the way his bushy eyelashes would flicker before he came, mouth slacking in a soundless ‘o’ that Charles always needed to stick his tongue into.

Carlos' breathy laugh and silly jokes and big hands, crowding all of him both in public and private. Did he even know? How easily can I be undone under his fingers? He picked up his pace again as frustration started filling him once more.

“Charles?”

Yes, he'd fucking say. Sharl all soft like nothing's ever been wrong in the world. Like they're not caught up in the shittiest situation. Like Charles isn't absolutely dreading the end of the season. Like Charles doesn't lo–

He freezes when a hand wraps around his nape and Charles feels like an exposed wire, ready to electrocute. But the hand holding him knows him all too well, and it is as firm as it is tender. So Charles breathes and leans back into it.

“Vai avanti,” Carlos whispers in his ear and Charles wants to kick him out, kind of. He also wants to turn around and kiss the living daylights out of him.

It's always a bit complicated after a race, anyway. Carlos is the one he has to beat all the time, no matter what, but he also needs to have Carlos do good.

And they can't fight, so they don't fight. They make love instead, which is its own kind of fight, if you ask Charles.

He moves slowly — slower than he was a second ago— and the hand at his neck is so hot suddenly the pillow is too cold and rigid and Charles is no longer interested in it. He twists his face to see him, but the room is pitch black and the angle isn't right anyway.

“Carlos…” he whispers. It's not a plea, he wouldn't call it that. He's still got some dignity left in him.

But Carlos answers like he's made to answer, and Charles reflects on how bad he's been to him for the last two or so hours, until he reflects that he's in fact been soft. They both have.

“Shh, keep going. I got you,” Carlos says, and the hand around his neck rolls down his spine slowly to sneak under and wrap around him and Charles moans louder this time because it's what he's wanted the whole fucking day, since that stupid stunt he pulled.

Touch me the way it fucking matters.

“Venga, amore,” he prompts again, in the weird mix of Spanish and Italian he can muster, just towering over Charles somehow. Here and there and all around and Charles is dizzy in lust and something as intoxicating. He pushes himself up, pressed fleshed against Carlos, who's still gripping him loose and Charles knows this is what he'll give him this time. Just this, not more.

You get one piece of me this time. You'll never have me whole.

Charles loves a good challenge.

But he wasn't aiming to win this particular battle, so Charles just moves against the hand holding him firmly, Carlos rubbing his thumb on his tip so the precum would make the grip pleasant while Charles lost himself to the sensations and soon he was bucking erratically into Carlos' fist before spilling his release all over it.

Carlos supports him through the wakes of his climax, holding him to his chest as he stands just right near the edge of the bed, dropping soundful kisses on Charles' shoulders that make him shudder while he's still coming down from his high, Carlos still milking him through.

After the lights have stopped sparkling, Charles finally looks up at him. “I’ve been texting you,” Carlos says at the side of his face, but he sounds amused.

Charles half shrugs, before turning around fully, arms thrown over Carlos' shoulders. “I've been busy.”

“Clearly.” Carlos' right hand is sticky on his hip.

“How did you get in here?” Charles inquires, after he finally gains some clarity.

“Asked Nicolas for a spare key. Told him that if he's gonna tell the media you and I kiss then he might as well help me give it a shot,” Carlos says but there's a trace of amusement in his tone.

Charles still frowns. “Seriously?”

“‘Seriously’ did I ask him for the key or ‘seriously’ did he tell the press we kiss on the mouth?”

Charles rolls his eyes because he didn't really care that much about the answer. The world wasn't burning, so, who cared if his manager joked on international TV about something that may not be a joke? Who cared if Carlos outed them to his manager in response?

He leans forward slowly and drops a kiss on Carlos' lips only to realize he still smells like gas and sweat and tastes like their energy drinks. “Are you still dirty from the race?” Charles blurts, almost absentmindedly.

Carlos slaps his cheek in response and it makes a slick sound cause it's still covered in cum. “You're one to talk about being dirty.”

He chuckles, head falling on Carlos shoulder and trying not to giggle too much but the embarrassment is slowly getting to him. When he stretches his neck again, big brown eyes are looking up to him like he hangs the moon every night.

It's hard to imagine this is the same Carlos that would force him out of the track. The same Carlos that will fight tooth and nails this year to prove Ferrari that they should've chosen him instead of Charles. But, then again, they were all different people once the lights went off.

Charles could never begrudge him.

“Wanna take a bath with me?” he offers. “You can do your hair routine on me so I can have amazing hair after a race like you do,” Charles adds, playfully.

“Anything for Lord Perceval,” Carlos jokes in the same nature.

“You know it isn't personal, right?” Carlos asks after they sit in the tub for a while. His fingertips are drawing circles on his scalp and Charles lives, however long this moment lasts, in a world where none of that matters.

For this fleeting, miniscule moment, he's just having a bubble bath with the most beautiful man he's ever been near.

“I know.” Does he wish it was? Does he wish Carlos wasn't lying?

“It's not easy, though. It's not what you and I are used to,” Charles says, honest, too. Carlos is the longest teammate he's ever had so comparisons are dull. But, still…

Carlos stares at him unblinking as he does, and his eyes sparkle with sadness and wonder alike. It's a weird mixture that only Carlos can pull off, Charles reckons. “I'm afraid we're heading into territory that's gonna have us outside of what we're used to, amor.”

Was it a threat or just a bad omen?

“I can't say I won't be aggressive again for the rest of the season. You know why this one is more important than most to me, Charles— but… but I can promise that I'll come back to you still after. And we'll sort it out.”

The corner of Charles' mouth draws up as he looks at him. Yes, he knows. Ever since Carlos joined him, three years and so ago, Charles has known.

The only place Carlos would ever serve him is the bedroom and the only way Carlos would ever be gentle with him is like this.