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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

Sicktember 2021 Prompts

26. Strep Throat/Laryngitis for One Piece - whichever character you wish :)

Quiet Eggplant

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Zeff, Sanji

When the teenager didn't react to the woman, Zeff knew something was wrong. @sicktember prompt 26: Strep Throat/Laryngitis

Picking a character for this took a while. My first instinct was Heart Pirates (of course), but none of them felt right for this and in the end I ended up on pre-series Sanji at the Baratie. I've never written Zeff before, and barely written Sanji, so this was a challenge on characterisation, but it was great fun anyway :D Sanji's around 13/14ish in this; teen rating is for canon-typical language and affection-violence.

Sicktember 2021 Prompts - I only plan on writing prompts if I get a request for them, so request away :D Doesn’t have to be TAG - characters from any fandom can be requested (although I can only guarantee I’ll work with ones I know)

Zeff hadn’t been a man of the sea, survivor of the Grand Line and all that entailed, Captain of a Grand Line crew – not to mention the motley pile of idiots that made up his employees-come-crew – this long without knowing a thing or two about people. Adults, mostly, he’d admit, but the eggplant had forced him to learn at least a bit about kids, and Zeff was a fast learner when he put his mind to it.

He also knew his people, nakama he sailed with, lived with, worked with. So when the eggplant kept his mouth shut and head down when a woman walked in, he knew something was up. The teenager had become borderline insufferable in the past year or so as puberty had settled in and women had gone from being just more people to an object of interest.

His peg leg had slammed into that blond head more times than he could count when the idiot eggplant had almost – almost – dropped food in his distraction. If he was honest with himself, the fact that this time he didn’t have to remind the teenager to think with the right head was downright worrying, no matter how much he tried to play it off as relief.

The other chefs noticed, too. No amount of harshly reminding them that the kitchen was a place for cooking, not gossiping, was enough to quell the worried mutters to each other whenever their resident blond charge was out of earshot.

“Sanji didn’t even look at that captain’s companion,” Patty hissed to Carne as he passed him. “Last week he barely kept his eyes in his head when she was aboard.”

“Something’s up,” came the agreement, concerns they kept at bay whenever the eggplant was around seeping out through the meat master’s voice. “This ain’t right.”

“If you want to gossip, get the hell out of my kitchen!” Zeff snapped, punctuating the action with a solid kick. He couldn’t deny that they were right, though, and as he went out to greet the next arriving customers he considered his options.

They didn’t do mushy. His eggplant didn’t expect that from him, and he didn’t offer it, either. He taught the brat everything he needed to know to survive the world and one day find All Blue, but he didn’t coddle him.

That being said, his behaviour was throwing off the rest of the chefs, and something wasn’t right. Zeff was well aware that he was the closest thing the eggplant had to a parent, and while he had no intention of chasing around after him like some sort of nanny, he also didn’t want to let whatever this nonsense was fester.

So, he decided once the newest customers were seated and perusing the menu, there was only one way to solve this.

As the teenager made his way back into the kitchen, setting down empty plates to be washed up before silently heading for his next job – there were many things that could be said about the eggplant, but he was a damn good employee when he wasn’t being a pubescent brat – Zeff lashed out with his peg leg, landing a solid crack against the slender back.

“Put that sullen attitude awa-” he started, fully prepared to be snapped back at and unprepared for the reaction he actually got. As far as kicks go, it was basically a love tap, nothing that should faze the teenager any more.

Certainly nothing that should have seen him stumble forwards, lose his balance, then end up face down on the kitchen floor.

“Oi, Eggplant!” he snapped, attempting to ignore the way his heart leapt up into his throat. “What shitty reaction was that?”

No reply, not even a snarl of shitty geezer. All he got was a solitary blue eye glowering at him, as though the eggplant wanted to say something but was being stopped. The teenager certainly never held back of his own volition, and Zeff’s feeling that something was off strengthened.

The blond dragged himself back up slowly – too slowly – and Zeff elected to hurry the process by grabbing his collar and hauling him up. This close, the pale skin and slight warmth of his skin was immediately apparent. Everything slotted into place and he growled, hurling the teenager straight for the stairs that led up to their cabins.

“What do you think you’re doing working sick, you damn eggplant?” he demanded, feeling anger rise. It was definitely anger that he was risking their customers and reputation, and nothing to do with being worried about the brat’s own health. “Get your ass out of my kitchen and away from the food right now!”

Around them, the other chefs paused, until he rounded on them and reminded them that they were supposed to be working, not gawking and letting the food burn.

The eggplant was still slumped against the stairs where he’d landed, eyes wide as though the fact he shouldn’t be working while sick hadn’t occurred to him in the first place.

Whoever had raised the brat before they’d been thrown together had a lot to answer for.

“Are you deaf?” he demanded, punctuating the words with another kick, forcing him up a few more steps – if he’d wanted to, he could have punted the eggplant all the way up, but then he’d need to replace the inevitably broken banister so a gentler kick it was. “Get your ass out of my kitchen and don’t come back down until you’re not sick any more, got it?”

Still no verbal reply, although the blue eye smouldered in frustration. The teenager at least got the message, though, and after a moment dragged himself up and out of sight.

Out of sight, out of mind, or so it was supposed to go.

Zeff lasted an hour, past the end of the lunchtime rush, before cursing under his breath and stomping his way up. If nothing else, he at least needed to have some idea what the eggplant had come down with, if only to make sure it wasn’t contagious and about to pass through the entire kitchen.

Pesky brat.

He found him curled up in the window of the communal cabin, staring out at the sea. There was no acknowledgement of his presence, so either he was being ignored, or the teenager was worse than he’d thought. Neither of those were options he cared for.

“Out with it,” he demanded, crossing his arms and shifting his weight in case he had to deliver another kick. “How sick are my chefs about to be?”

The blue eye flicked back to look at him before a shoulder raised in a half-hearted shrug. Still no words, and Zeff had never known the eggplant to be sparse with words when he had a whole vocabulary of pirate-learned insults at his disposal. Not willingly at least.

“Seaking got your tongue? I asked you a question, Eggplant.”

It took a moment, but the teenager opened his mouth. The sound that came out could hardly be called a voice, even if shitty geezer was just about recognisable before it turned into rasping coughs.

Well, that answered that. Sore throat, lost voice, and Zeff sacrificed a moment of pride to reach out and roughly shove his hand against the eggplant’s forehead, to a hoarse squawk of surprise. Low grade fever.

He knew what that was, alright. Probably not contagious enough to spread through the kitchen, although not a guarantee, and definitely something to be kept away from the customers.

Damn eggplant.

“If I see your ass in the kitchen before your voice comes back, I’ll kick it straight back up here so hard you won’t be able to get out of bed,” he threatened. “The same goes for if you even think about a smoke.”

The visible blue eye widened for a moment before the teenager’s face settled back into a scowl. His duty done, Zeff turned to leave, well aware there was nothing anyone could do until the thing cleared up by itself.

Well, nothing except making sure his eggplant only ate things that soothed his throat, although if anyone suggested that Zeff was going out of his way to make a special meal for the sick teenager, they’d get a peg leg to the face. No-one went hungry on the Baratie, and if that meant making food for the brat on a temporary kitchen ban, then it was just good sense to make something Sanji’d actually be able to swallow easily.

#sicktember2021 #one piece #one piece fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #red leg zeff #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #patty #carne #purfectpurple #sicktember

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

A Flexible Approach [FE3H]

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Explicit

Their shared tent is very small and Sylvain learns just how flexible Felix is.

A/N: Oh my God, I can't believe I wrote this (actually I can, and it's all because of some random prompt I saw on tumblr, whoops). As always, it's Sato's fault, but I think by now I've just accepted this as part of my daily life. Read here on A03 for better formatting and follow me here on Twitter!

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Sylvain’s irksome at his best moments and downright infuriating at his worst.

Felix just wants to get off. They’ve been too busy with war; slogging it through marshy battlefields, days on end in tents, and no privacy. Barely enough time to wash up with dirt-tinged water and pass out before being up at dawn to march off again.

And it isn’t that he wants to hurry. No, no, he wants to enjoy this, as he should. As they both should. There’s been little more than a few quick jerk-offs when no one was looking.

Sylvain won’t shut up, though, and it’s not in the good kind of way where he croons praise close to Felix’s ear, breath ghosting the shell of it and warming the skin there.

The tent is cramped, not really meant for two people. Byleth was mildly amused when Felix proclaimed he’d be sharing one with Sylvain, one of the few cracks of genuine emotion they’ve ever seen from him. And no one’s ever said anything even though Felix knows that they want to.

They aren’t exactly subtle or quiet for that matter. Try as they might.

Tonight’s one of those nights when they’re feeling extra frisky, blood pumping where it’s probably the worst. Straight into the gut and below. Felix wanted to sleep but then Sylvain slotted behind him, grinding their hips together, and-- well, he’s a simple man in the end.

Still, they don’t usually indulge to this point while out on the field. For a lot of reasons. It’s hot and sticky. It’s dirty and muddy. They’re covered in who knows what even after a quick rinse. Their tent is directly in the middle of the camp, strategically placed by their dear Professor because the more people they’re around, the less likely it is that he and Sylvain will be up to no good.

It’s turning out to be more work than anticipated, though, and part of Felix wishes that they’d just committed to the quick handjobs that they usually manage. The other part of him just wants to get railed. Preferably sooner than later.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought,” says Sylvain, a hand on the back of Felix’s thigh as he pushes at it.

“Shut up,” says Felix, annoyed.

“I’m just saying,” says Sylvain, fingers hooking underneath Felix’s knee and lifting it slightly.

“Ugh, this is too awkward--”

“Are you saying that you want to stop?”

“No!” Felix says it a little too quickly and a little too loudly, something that greatly amuses Sylvain.

He reaches out with his other hand to cover Felix’s mouth. Then he leans over, smirking. “Quiet, Felix. Weren’t you the one who said we’d have to keep it down?”

“You’re one to talk,” says Felix, quieter than before, barely above a hiss.

“Okay, okay.” Sylvain’s quiet for a touch too long, just looking at him. “Would you say that you’re Felixable?”

“That’s it,” says Felix immediately. He still has his own tent. It’s rolled up and tied up tight, hanging off his camping pack. “I’ll just handle this on my own-”

Felix’s words dissolve into an embarrassing squawk as Sylvain rubs the palm of his hand over his crotch, squeezing at his half-hard cock through the rough fabric of his smalls. It annoys him, how easily he turns to mush under such a simple touch. How little it takes for him to crumble at the behest of Sylvain.

“Bastard,” hisses Felix.

Sylvain laughs at Felix’s ornery temperament, and how his hips chase after when Sylvain pulls away, desperate for more friction, for a longer touch. “But I’m your bastard,” says Sylvain affectionately, leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss against Felix’s face. “And you love it.”

Felix pushes Sylvain’s face away roughly. Then presses his hips closer, trying to get as much friction as possible, vexed at how desperate he’s become. His cock was already burning with need; Sylvain’s hot-handed touch only made it worse.

And Sylvain knows it, evident in the devious smirk that’s plastered across his face. Sylvain can read Felix like that well-worn copy of war tactics Byleth’s passed around to them all, so there isn’t a point in trying to hide it. Felix doesn’t. Sylvain’s hand still rests on the back of his thigh, thumbing across the smooth skin there.

“Lazy,” says Felix. “Are you going to just sit there or are you going to fuck me?”

Sylvain hums at that, amused. “Impatient,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of Felix’s knee, his lips lingering there. Felix groans in aggravation. “It’s been a while so I want to enjoy this.”

“There isn’t time,” says Felix. Never enough time, he thinks like always. Sylvain’s right, though; it’s been too long since they’ve indulged in anything other than brief touches that are barely satisfying.

“There’s enough,” says Sylvain. “Certainly enough to enjoy ourselves.”

Handjobs are enjoyable, thinks Felix. Even their quick fucks in the dark, down and dirty when they’re too exhausted to do much more than pull their pants half-down. Felix understands what Sylvain means because even he misses those long nights where they pull apart each other slowly, fucking lazily as they burrow into the bedsheets. Sweet touches that Felix would never admit to and the soft kiss marks that he leaves behind to stake his claim.

It’s been too long.

Still, they’re in the middle of the camp and there are prying ears. “Sylvain,” hisses Felix lowly. “I just want to--”

“I know what you want,” says Sylvain, his hand finding Felix’s side, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Doubtful,” says Felix even though it’s a lie. Sylvain can play him like a lyre, plucking the perfect chords that will melt him right into a puddle.

Sylvain chuckles against Felix’s skin as he leans over, pressing his nose into the side of his neck. Their positioning was already awkward but it only gets worse as Sylvain dips lower, fingers ghosting along Felix’s ribcage. Felix doesn’t fight him when he tugs his shirt higher to suck a soft little bruise into his sternum.

“Never,” says Sylvain, insufferably confident.

Felix is about to retort when Sylvain’s mouth finds his nipple, tongue swirling around it before flicking the little nub there. Felix moans softly instead, arching into the touch, biting at his lip as Sylvain lavishes him with attention.

Damn him, thinks Felix. Damn this stupid dolt and his perfect mouth.

Sylvain thumbs over his other nipple, rolling it between his fingers gently. “So easy,” he murmurs against Felix’s skin, his breath ghosting his other nipple before tonguing it again.

“Fuck off,” says Felix.

“Fuck you,” says Sylvain, pulling back to look at Felix. He runs a hand down his chest, fingers trailing along well-honed abs before stopping right at the edge of Felix’s smalls. Waiting with infuriating patience. This is where Sylvain always has the upper hand-- he’s someone who can wait. Forever if need be.

Felix can’t. “Get to it, then,” he says, impatient as he ruts against Sylvain the best that he can, legs wrapped tightly around Sylvain’s hips. The tight space of their tent makes it damn near impossible and the lack of relief is making him irate.

“Alright, alright.” Sylvain tugs at Felix’s underthings, and after a series of awkward movements they’re off, Felix bared to the world. His cock is hard, already wet at the tip and dripping. Waiting for the good shit to start happening, to finally be sated.

“What if I’m on top?” asks Felix. He’s already moving when Sylvain grabs him by the legs and holds him there. And, he’s still mostly dressed, only the collar of his shirt undone. Felix can barely see his collarbone, just a peek of skin there.

Insufferable.

“No,” says Sylvain, his hands warm against the backs of his thighs. “Like earlier,” he continues, pushing Felix’s legs upwards, expecting resistance. There is none and Felix’s knees wind up near his ears, almost pressed into the thin mattress. “Shit.” It’s a soft little swear into the night, and Sylvain looks at Felix like he’s seeing him anew, far too delighted in this revelation.

Felix forgets entirely about his discomfort the moment he sees the unbridled lust that’s bloomed across Sylvain’s face. “You’re too slow,” he says, keeping up the annoyed facade he’s spent years perfecting.

Sylvain’s still dressed when he dips lower. Felix knows it isn’t comfortable for him either, it’s hell on his knees and there’s a high possibility that Sylvain’s feet are probably sticking right out the tent flap because he’s got absurdly long legs.

The moment that Sylvain presses a thumb against the skin just under his balls, Felix stops giving a shit about the embarrassment of getting caught. Fucking isn’t against the rules and everyone knows that they don’t share a tent because they’re close friends.

Sylvain’s touch is soft and sweet, far too slow for Felix’s liking, of course. He cants his hips up, trying to get his point across, trying to remind Sylvain that there’s a reason to all of this. “Hurry up,” says Felix, nodding to his pack. “There’s oil in there.”

Because of course there is. He’s learned to always be prepared.

Sylvain, the obstinate bastard, has other plans. He leans close to press a kiss to the tip of Felix’s cock instead. Felix groans in frustration, moans in pleasure, and nearly smacks him upside the head. And then Sylvain dips lower, tongue trailing across his balls, over the soft, sensitive skin there and--

Felix damn near kicks down one side of their tent when Sylvain licks right across his hole. The sound that Felix looses is unholy, a breathy little moan punctuated by a whine that he tries his damndest to hide. He fails miserably.

“Too loud,” murmurs Sylvain against him. But he doesn’t stop, tongue swirling around Felix’s entrance slowly, sinfully, and with perfected intent.

They don’t often do this; it’s always the wrong time and place. The goal is always to get off quickly and enjoy what they can when they can. Sylvain seems to want to indulge despite where they are, despite their early call time, even though he knows this kind of thing turns Felix into a mewling mess and that there are prying ears all around.

Sylvain’s thumbs at his ass cheeks, spreading them wide, tongue soft and warm as he licks across the entirety of his hole.

“Fuck,” says Felix, unable to stop himself.

“Not yet,” says Sylvain, cheeky in that insufferable way of his.

“Shut up--” Felix’s voice pitches high when Sylvain presses his tongue inside, just enough to get a taste of what he truly wants. He can feel the way that Sylvain smiles against him, tongue writhing as he licks into him, everything so very precise.

Sylvain’s perfection in bed. Even Felix can recognize it. Eager to please, patient in return, willing to change things up and do the unexpected; a winning combination as far as Felix is concerned.

A finger traces Felix’s rim, already slicked and ready to go. Sylvain hesitates, pressing in only with his tongue, and Felix sighs in frustration. He drops a hand to his groin to curl a hand around his straining cock, but Sylvain grabs his wrist. And holds him there with surprising strength.

“Not yet,” he says against Felix’s ass, tracing after the words with the tip of his tongue.

Felix’s head drops back into the shitty camping pillow, eyes closing tight with a crabbed grunt. Normally, he’d tell Sylvain to fuck off. Normally, he’d push his hand off, flip them around and take whatever he wants.

And Sylvain likes it when he does that, when Felix takes control. Felix also likes it like this, where Sylvain pulls him apart and puts him right back together, boneless and satiated.

Even if he has to bite at his lip to keep the edge off.

Sylvain pauses and looks at him, waiting patiently.

“Dolt,” says Felix, wiggling his hips. Ignoring the dark, sultry look that covers Sylvain’s face, and the way that his lips are slick with spit, glistening in the low light of the small oil lamp. “Back to work, you imbecile.”

To anyone else, it’d be an insult, but with Sylvain, it’s an endearment. He soaks it up heartily with a wide smile, pressing a kiss to the swell of his ass before swooping lower once more. This time, Sylvain slips a finger in next to his tongue, a slick and neat maneuver all at once. Just the way that Felix likes it.

Felix bites his moan off just in time and cants his hips down, pressing closer to Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain makes good use of his finger alongside his mouth. His tongue is wet and warm as it licks into him. His finger is insistent as he presses against his walls, avoiding exactly where Felix wants it.

Utterly infuriating. He feels the slow burn in his gut, the way that his pleasure coils just barely. Sylvain’s playing hard to get, trying to drag out his pleasure and make him beg. Felix won’t give in, refuses to.

“Useless,” murmurs Felix. “Good for nothing. I barely feel a thing.”

Sylvain hums at that as he adds a second finger, knowing that Felix is goading him. Sylvain plays right into his hand.

The burning stretch is exquisite, despite the generous amount of oil. Sylvain is always careful, always dutiful in his care. He also knows that Felix likes it fast and rough, the pull and tug at his rim. The way that he can feel it all in the aftermath, a reminder of what Sylvain’s done.

He’s only talked about it once and Sylvain’s never forgotten. He’s always been dutiful in his attentions after that, with touches that just barely sting in the best kind of way. Felix grinds his hips against his hand, his face.

Sylvain’s no longer tonguing at him, he’s watching, eyes blissed out as his fingers gently scissor in and out, pulling at Felix’s rim in a delicious stretch. Staring, entirely engrossed, pupils blown wide as his hand moves, thumb tucked against the skin just underneath his balls. He licks his lips, wanting to taste again.

Felix is too impatient for that.

“Enough of that,” he says with a huff.

“Never enough of that,” says Sylvain.

“For tonight it is,” says Felix.

Sylvain pauses and their gazes meet once more. Sylvain sweeps the length of Felix’s body, taking in the way that he’s curled tightly into himself, knees near his ears. The ruddy pink of his face, the red strain of his hard cock against his belly. The annoyed look on Felix’s face as he waits for him to just get to the point.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain, completely enamored.

“About time,” says Felix obstinately. “Been waiting too long.” Sylvain doesn’t answer, only sits up between Felix’s legs. Then Felix shifts, a hand dropping to Sylvain’s crotch, squeezing. Sylvain punches out a long breath, eyes slipping closed as he tries to keep his composure.

Sylvain’s easy to please, getting off on doing all the hard work. Felix rewards him by running his fingers over his still-clothed cock, gripping him tightly. The resulting whine is worth ten thousand wars.

“Good boy,” whispers Felix into the quiet of their tent. Sylvain’s cock twitches at the praise.

It’s too hard to pull his pants entirely off, so Sylvain settles on yanking them half-down around his knees. Felix looks, taking in the peek of his collarbone where it meets his shirt, and then the cut of his hips, then the swell of his well-honed thighs and ass from years of riding.

And then there’s his cock, hard and waiting, perfectly formed. It always sits well in Felix’s hand or throat, and there isn’t a thing better to fill him.

Sylvain lifts Felix’s legs, pulling Felix’s ass to his groin. Felix groans when Sylvain teases his hole with the tip of his cock, just barely pressing in. Already flushed and wanting, itching to fill that void left behind by his fingers. Then Felix curses as Sylvain presses in and slides straight home.

Annoying, how easily Felix loses himself in the feel of it; the stinging burn and pressure of Sylvain’s cock, how perfect he feels. Nothing else can compare. Not Felix’s fingers on lonely nights, or well-crafted toys bought from the coy Anna, each to the burning memory of Sylvain’s touch.

The answer is always Sylvain. Felix always runs right back to him, even when it’s against his better judgment, like now. Sylvain insists on leaning back as much as possible despite the cramped space. Insists on looking between them, to see where they’re connected, even in the low lamplight.

Felix knows they’ve made too much noise, that the entire camp is privy to what they’re up to.

Sylvain groans at the sight, hand slipping between them, thumbing over where Felix is stretched tight around him. “Perfect,” says Sylvain, pressing in again, far slower than Felix would like. And Sylvain knows it, that Felix is impatient and wants it dirty and fast and rough.

“Dolt,” says Felix in a hush, the word pinched as Sylvain executes a perfect grind. An expletive shortly follows as Felix’s head falls back against the shitty cot pillow.

Sylvain laughs and leans over again, pressing his nose into Felix’s neck. “So pliable,” he says, tongue sneaking out from his lips to lap at Felix’s sweaty skin. “Supple, malleable--”

“Intolerable,” cuts in Felix, earning just a bit of his bite back. He clenches tight around Sylvain who moans in response, biting at his lip to keep from calling out. Felix can’t help the smirk, desperate to gain the upper hand band.

But then Sylvain changes the angle, raising his hips slightly and plunging back in, relentless. A perfect assault against his prostate, a smooth and calculated motion that hits the target every time. Felix’s voice hitches and he curses again, nearly going slack. His legs tighten as they settle around Sylvain’s waist as he tries to move against him, tries to meet the thrusts.

“Supine,” says Sylvain, his breath ghosting his skin before biting at it. He sucks a bruise that’ll last for days. Everyone will see and Felix won’t care.

Supine indeed, thinks Felix. Lost in the feel of it, craving more. Gone is his decorum and carefully controlled demeanor in favor of sinking into the feel of Sylvain’s body heat, and the filthy glide of his cock.

Felix wouldn’t trade Sylvain for anyone else, not that he’d ever voice it aloud. Sylvain knows; he sees it in the moments like this even if Felix isn’t vocal about it. War is difficult, impossible even, but this one small thing they share is enough to keep them hanging on, if only for another day.

That, and Sylvain’s cock is utter perfection, snug within him, hitting all the right spots.

“About time,” says Felix, ever contrary even when he’s given in.

“Never enough, for you,” says Sylvain in a soft murmur, his hips pumping against Felix in a steady rhythm.

“No,” agrees Felix unapologetically. “More,” he says.

Sylvain grunts but pauses, pushing at Felix’s legs again, unwrapping them from where they rest around his waist. His hands find the back of Felix’s pale thighs and he says, “Hold them.”

Felix blinks and then smirks, lips crooked towards one side. “Oh, like that do you? That I’m flexible?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s obvious,” says Sylvain, looking between them as he slides in and out, pulling at Felix’s rim. Felix knows that he must look like a ruined mess; face flushed, hair mussed, his ass slick and stretched.

Sylvain loves it, loves him, so it’s the least he can do when he grabs the backs of his thighs and pulls them towards his chest.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain.

“You could fuck me more,” says Felix.

They both know that he can’t. The cadence of Sylvain’s hips is already losing its steady rhythm. Nearing his end, and Felix is too. He can feel the pressure mounting in his gut, that slow-stoking fire starting to set ablaze.

Sylvain’s gaze is glued to him, sliding over his form from Felix’s legs, to where he holds them, to where Sylvain’s thrusting home. Sylvain bites at his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he tries not to make too much noise.

They’re already too loud. There isn’t a chance in Ailell that the rest of the camp can’t hear the wet slap of slickened skin against slicker skin. The way that Sylvain pounds Felix into the mattress within an inch of his life.

Or so it feels.

“Good boy,” says Felix quietly, and Sylvain whimpers, eyes slipping closed like he can’t bear to look at him. Like he’ll come right then and there if he does. “Always good for me, always giving me what I want,” continues Felix, goading him further.

“What you need,” says Sylvain. He drops a hand to Felix’s stomach where it hesitates. “What else do you need?” His fingers twitch just above Felix’s aching cock where it’s hard and straining against his belly, bouncing slightly with every thrust Sylvain gives him.

“Not that,” says Felix. Sylvain’s eyes snap open, looking back at him. They meet gazes and Felix can practically feel the heat that rolls off him. Sylvain’s nails dig into his stomach, just barely, trying to ground himself.

“I want to come with only your cock,” says Felix, a dirty little whisper that fills the tent. “I bet that I could. You always do so well, know exactly how to push my buttons.”

Sylvain moans at the praise. He grabs Felix by the hips, anchoring him there. Felix still holds his legs up, still folded into himself, muscles burning with the strain. It’s worth the look on Sylvain’s face as he watches Felix like a starving man who’s finally getting a meal.

Sylvain’s a simple man and loves to be praised, so Felix keeps at it, murmuring compliments to his ego that he knows will drop straight to Sylvain’s gut. His hips stutter slightly as he loses his grip and the steady slide. It’s good, it’s so good; Felix can feel his body coiling tighter and tighter.

Felix comes first, a rarity in most cases. It’s usually Sylvain to fall with Felix shortly after, but this time his cock hits the right spot at the right time. Everything within him snaps-- his stress, his thoughts of the war, the idea of sleepless nights ahead.

All he can think, hear, see and smell is Sylvain and the way that they’re connected. Felix tightens around him, bucking slightly as he lets go of a leg. Sylvain’s cock pulls so deliciously as he fucks him through his orgasm.

“Sylvain,” says Felix, a scarce show of affection that he knows Sylvain will tuck away and keep the memory of as he often does.

“Fuck,” Sylvain says, still rutting into him. One second and then another, and then he’s tumbling after, chasing that high as he comes deep inside Felix.

“Shit,” murmurs Felix, “Sylvain, fuck.” His curse echoes Sylvain’s as he drops his legs. When Sylvain moves to pull away, Felix makes a pathetic little whine before squeezing his legs tight around him. “No.”

A gentle command that Sylvain ignores entirely. He smiles into Felix’s sweaty neck, pressing a soft little kiss there before untangling themselves. Felix doesn’t protest when Sylvain looks at his ass, thumb sweeping through his come and pulling lightly at his rim.

“Sylvain,” he says, warningly.

But Sylvain, the handsome devil, only smiles in return before bending Felix back again and dropping to lap at his hole. It’s a rare indulgence. When Sylvain partakes, he does so enthusiastically.

Felix is too sensitive, still thrumming from his orgasm. Still coming down from that high. The feel of Sylvain’s tongue, wet and probing as he licks up the mess that he made nearly sends Felix right back up.

“I wanted to enjoy this,” says Sylvain against him, “I said as much earlier.” A finger finds Felix’s hole, and then two, pressing in with more care than not. Teasing his walls as Sylvain laps at him.

Felix moans, falling back into the cot. His cock is filling out again; from the feel of it, from the intimacy of it, at the behest of Sylvain’s overt eagerness to eat him out.

Sylvain directs Felix to hold his legs again. “Just once more, darling,” he says, “Just for a moment.” Felix complies wordlessly.

Then, Sylvain spreads his asscheeks and dives right back in. Felix keens, not bothering to bite his lip, not bothering to hide it this time. Fuck the camp, he thinks, as Sylvain works his magic, doing his best to pull Felix right back apart a second time.

His tongue swirls around his rim and his fingers spread wide before pushing back in and hooking against that perfect spot. Sylvain raises a hand, hovering it over Felix’s cock. Felix huffs in annoyance, knowing what it is that Sylvain wants to hear.

“Please,” says Felix, “Again.”

Sylvain’s grip around his length is warm and tight as he jerks him expertly, perfectly timed with the thrust of his fingers against his ass. Felix can’t hold back the moan that escapes him, can’t help the way that he ruts against Sylvain’s face.

The fiery pressure in his gut is wearing thin again, tightening more and more. Sylvain’s fingers curl around the head of his cock, smearing the come that’s already there, using it to ease the glide of his hand.

The sounds are sinful, the way that Sylvain moans against him. Sylvain’s debauched, his face pressed against Felix’s ass like he won’t survive unless he laps up every last drop of his spend. Licking up to suck at his balls, before dropping right back to his prize. His fingers pump into him with a steady and gentle press, milking Felix’s prostate for all that it’s worth.

Were this a different night, Felix might test his limits, might see just how long Sylvain can keep him going before pulling away.

It’s already too late though, he’s already slipping over the edge again. The line of pleasure within him snaps and Felix is coming again, all over Sylvain’s hand, hips rising and falling with his overstimulation. Sylvain, mercifully, stops moving his hand, only cupping his cock.

He pulls back and presses a kiss against the meat of Felix’s inner thigh. He’s red in the face, eyes hazed with pleasure, mouth and chin slick with come. His come. Felix etches the sight into his memory for lonely nights to come.

The cleanup is clinical, perfunctory even. They wipe themselves off silently and manage to pull on their pants, at least. They’ve been caught with them down, even in bed, a few too many times.

When they lay in the cot once more, Felix is the one to spoon Sylvain, his preferred position. Wrapped around him like a clingy brat, nose pressed to the nape of Sylvain’s neck, smelling the sweat of their lovemaking.

Remembering their lovemaking. The best thing to go to sleep to.

“Tired,” says Sylvain quietly. He hasn’t blown out their tiny little oil lamp yet and his face is lit with a dingy orange glow. “But I bet the others will be too.”

“You are insufferably loud when you want to be,” says Felix, teasing. They both know that he was far louder. They also know that they won’t hear the end of it the next day.

“And you are divine,” says Sylvain. “Truly. I didn’t know that you could bend that way.”

“What do you think that I do when I train?”

There’s a brief silence and then Sylvain says, “Run things through with swords? Pointy-end goes that way, and all that?”

“I also stretch,” says Felix, scoffing. Sylvain’s thinking again, Felix can tell. Probably terribly dirty things like how and what he can bend Felix over. “Want to help me stretch next time?”

A question tinged with innuendo, something usually brought forth by Sylvain, not Felix.

“Depends. Will there be an audience?”

“That can be arranged, though I’d much prefer to have you all to myself. Perhaps late one night when the training pit is empty. The stars out and all that.” It’s about as romantic as Felix will ever get.

Sylvain only laughs before he leans over and blows out the candle.

#fire emblem three houses #felix hugo fraldarius #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #sylvain/felix #sylvix #fe3h #fire emblem fanfiction

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detectivesebcas · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 Day 24- Forced Mutism

Warnings: none

Universe: AU, canon divergence in STEM

----

“Stefano!”

He hears Sebastian’s shout somewhere in the background, beyond the rushing of air in his ears, beyond the screaming voices in his head. He is in the clutches of the ghost woman, her face less than a foot from his, her hands digging into his arms, and her mouth gaping open.

He remembers the war, Emily’s death. Every low and painful moment of his life flashes through his mind in quick succession, but it doesn’t stop there. The memories are being pulled from his mind the same way the air is being pulled from his lungs. He is going to lose his mind. He is going to lose himself. He is going to become one of the mindless, shambling horde.

“Stefano!”

Sebastian’s voice is louder this time, breaks his concentration, and possibly his attacker’s as well, because she disengages abruptly and turns on Sebastian, emitting a horrible shriek of rage as she bears down on him. Stefano prepares himself for the worst, but as quickly as the specter appeared, she is gone, leaving the two of them staring at each other in shock.

Sebastian crosses the room to him immediately. “Are you alright?”

He opens his mouth to tell Sebastian he’s not sure, but no sound comes out. He tries to clear his throat, tries to cough, but that doesn’t produce any sound either. It’s baffling. He can breathe, and his throat is unobstructed, but he can’t seem to make any kind of vocalization.

Panic starts to rise up in his chest, because he was already impaired enough before this. His vision has never been quite what it was before the accident, and Sebastian already has plenty of reasons not to trust him. If he becomes useless, if he becomes a burden to Sebastian, then Sebastian is going to leave him here, and without his powers he will not survive on his own.

“Stefano?” Sebastian says, looking at him with confusion.

His heart is pounding. His hands go to his throat, and he looks at Sebastian in terror.

“You can’t speak?” Sebastian asks.

Stefano nods furiously, tears welling up in his good eye and burning his bad one. He brushes them away, but it doesn’t make him feel much better. His budding partnership with Sebastian is going to be over before it starts, and that hurts much more than it should. There is more than survival at stake here.

“Hey,” Sebastian says, stepping in a little closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re going to figure this out.”

Stefano gazes back at Sebastian in disbelief, because surely Sebastian doesn’t mean this. Sebastian isn’t going to go out of his way to help someone he barely knows, someone who, until recently, was rather at odds with him. But that seems to be exactly what Sebastian is suggesting, because he gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes his shoulder.

True to Sebastian’s word, they continue on their mission. Sebastian is a little more attentive to him, taking care to face him fully when talking so that he can see Stefano’s reactions to his words. Unfortunately they learn very quickly that Sebastian can’t read lips, but Stefano does attempt to communicate through facial expression and body language, and it works well enough.

They are taking a break at one of the safehouses when Sebastian says, “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of miss you talking about art all the time.”

Stefano rolls his eye, exaggerating the gesture with his head for Sebastian’s benefit.

“No, I mean it,” Sebastian says. “I mean, I didn’t understand much of it, but you’re obviously passionate about it, and that made it interesting to listen to.”

Sebastian seems to be genuine in his statements, so Stefano shoots him a look that is rather smug.

“I’m not saying I’m learning to appreciate the art,” Sebastian clarifies, “but I can appreciate your passion for it.”

Stefano smiles. He had thought that a one-sided conversation with Sebastian would be insufferable, that it would simply be Sebastian talking back and forth to himself, but Sebastian has proven to be more complex than he expected, and certainly more introspective. It’s a pleasant surprise, and one Stefano would like to explore in more detail if he can ever regain the ability to express complex thoughts.

He rubs at his throat absently, wishing he could speak his mind.

“Don’t worry,” Sebastian says. “I’m sure it’s not permanent. Things are weird here.” He gestures to the room around them, but Stefano is sure he means all of Union. “We just need to figure out what exactly happened and how to fix it.”

Stefano is concerned to say the least. The ghost woman has demonstrated some powers that shouldn’t exist in Union, powers that are entirely outside the system that’s been constructed here, and if she isn’t playing by the rules Stefano has no idea how to begin reversing whatever she did to him. He shrugs at Sebastian.

“I’m telling you,” Sebastian says. “We’re going to find a way to solve this. I’m making it a priority.”

Stefano can’t help but smile a little at that, because so far Sebastian’s only priority has been finding the Core, and it is comforting to know he ranks high enough with Sebastian to get priority status.

Sebastian’s hand lands on top of his where it rests on the seat beside him. Stefano looks up in mild surprise. Sebastian has laid hands on him a few times, but this feels different. Sebastian’s hand on his feels almost electrically charged, and Sebastian’s eyes are boring into his with such intensity that his heart accelerates in response.

Sebastian’s fingers interlace with his, and Stefano gives his hand a squeeze. He might not have believed it a few hours ago, but there is a lot that can be communicated without the need for words, and he and Sebastian are finally speaking the same language.

#whumptober2020 #no.24 #forced mutism #the evil within 2 #Fic #Sebastian Castellanos #Stefano Valentini #anima

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Since Ao3 looks like it’s having some issues today, also posting my Day One ZhuiYi week Ficlet here.

Ficlet: Bigmouth Strikes Again from the To Celebrate a Simple Life post-canon collection

Many things had changed since that pivotal year when what was supposed to be a simple night-hunt at Mo Manor upended the entire Cultivation World. There were the obvious things, like the upheaval of the Cultivation Clans hierarchy; the changing of sect leaders; Hanguang-Jun becoming Chief Cultivator; the fall of the Jins and their rise again under Jin Ling’s (and Sect Leader Jiang’s) guidance.

And then there were the smaller things: marriages among their friends and fellow disciples; becoming senior disciples and having their own students; Zizhen also becoming a sect leader; Sizhui taking on more responsibilities as he became the official heir to Gusu Lan.

Some things hadn’t changed. Lan Jingyi was still deeply in love with his best friend. He was still afraid of ghosts. He was still punished like a Junior whenever Lan Qiren felt like it. (Or to use him as an example. By sheer repetition and practice, no member of Gusu Lan had perfected the ‘keeping the ends of their forehead ribbon off the ground while doing handstands and writing out their sect rules’ quite like Jingyi and Lan Qiren used his stance and stamina as a measurement to which all Juniors now aimed to achieve.) Senior Wei was still responsible for getting more rules added to the Wall of Discipline. There were still rabbits in the back hills and the Cloud Recesses remained a mostly tranquil place best suited for learning, music, and meditation.

There was one change that Jingyi absolutely despised. Because of Sizhui’s responsibilities, and because of Jingyi’s place as a Senior, their time spent together night-hunting had been cut down to nearly nothing. Jingyi honestly couldn’t remember the last time it had just been the two of them, or even the two of them leading a hunt of other disciples. He missed Sizhui, missed curling up next to him, stealing his body heat, sleeping under the stars. He missed their dinners in random taverns in the most remote corners of their world. He missed their secret moments in dark corners, soft touches and deep kisses exchanged during what little time they could find alone. He missed having someone at his back he absolutely trusted, who he could fight beside and know their movements would be equally matched, who he could communicate with and not say a word. He missed Sizhui’s musical speaking voice and commanding tone while barking out orders and those laughs he only reserved for Jingyi. He just missed him.

Being stuck with Lan Qiang, of all other cultivators in their sect, didn’t help matters. They’d never gotten along. Lan Qiang had always been jealous of the fact that despite Jingyi’s lower marks, he was favored by their teachers. He’d often questioned why and how Jingyi maintained his close relationships with the elders of their clans. And his even closer relationship with Sizhui.

It wasn’t Jingyi’s fault that Lan Qiren had adopted him as a sort of grandson after his parents died during the burning of the Cloud Recesses. It wasn’t his fault that his teachers had encouraged his blunt manner of speaking, citing the Lan Sect’s own principles that silence and false modesty would go against Jingyi’s true nature and character. And it certainly wasn’t Jingyi’s fault that Sizhui had picked him as his friend back when they were small children. So Jingyi truly meant it when he said Lan Qiang was the most insufferable Lan to appear in at least six generations.

Jingyi considered his opinion sound, since no one, not even Zewu-jun himself, had ever disputed that claim.

“Maybe the Elders wanted him gone so they could finally discuss Sizhui finding a cultivation partner?” Lan Qiang loudly asked.

“Gossiping is forbidden,” Jingyi said, not taking his eyes away from the tree line in front of them.

“It’s not gossiping, it’s speculation. Sizhui is more than old enough, and it is normal to be concerned over the future of our sect.”

Sizhui already had a cultivation partner, or rather one impatiently waiting for their official wedding date. He was right here. Stuck in a forest. With an idiot and a gaggle of children.

Jingyi knew they should’ve eloped.

“Pay less attention to your mouth and more attention to your ears,” Jingyi said. “We need to find out what’s causing the deaths among the villagers.”

In Jingyi’s opinion it was most likely an animal and not a ghost based on the injuries The townsfolk--and Lan Qiang--had insisted differently and now Jingyi was stuck in this forest on this absolute waste of time. Of course Jingyi’s sound advice, years of experience, and basic grasp of the fact ghosts didn’t impale people like boar’s tusks, was overridden by the fool leading this hunt with him.

Jingyi had a real fear he was going to die before he even got the chance to embrace Sizhui as his husband. And it would all be because a certain vocal group of clan elders continued to drag their feet and punish Sizhui for being born a Wen and refusing to abandon his only living blood relative and Jingyi for being born Jingyi.

A loud growl sounded from the west.

“I told you it was a demon,” Lan Qiang said.

“You said it was a ghost,” Jingyi said. He pulled out Senior Wei’s newest version of his compass. It revealed nothing.

“Defective,” Lan Qiang said with a sniff.

Sizhui made him promise not to start any fights in front of the Juniors. Not when they were so close to getting that certain group of elders to cave. Jingyi was to stay on his very best behavior.

Another growl. One that sounded distinctly like a boar and not a ghost or demon or fierce corpse.

“That way,” Lan Qiang said, sword already out, leading the group directly into what was probably the poor animal’s den.

Jingyi took a deep breath, resigned himself to the future injury he knew was coming, and followed them if only to save the fools from themselves.

**********

“Jingyi, you’re bleeding!”

Sizhui’s shocked voice was nearly as loud as the sound the doors had made when Jingyi shoved them open.

Yes, yes he was bleeding. He’d bled on the forest floor. And he’d bled flying on his sword back to the Cloud Recesses. And he’d bled on the mountain path and the entire walk to the conference chamber. He’d bled on every single night-hunt since he’d been separated from Sizhui, and while he’d gladly bleed for Sizhui until there was nothing left in him, he wouldn’t do the same for Lan Qiang and his merry band of Junior idiots.

Lan Jingyi was done.

“Yes, yes I am,” Jingyi said, not caring how shocked and outraged some of the elders looked. “Because, once again, even though I’ve requested not to be paired with disciples who have no practical working knowledge of the world, I was sent off with someone who should never leave the Library Pavilion. Because, once again, my orders were dismissed by an arrogant little fu--”

“Jingyi,” Sect Leader Lan warned.

“Apologies, Zewu-jun,” he said, bowing his head. “My experience was dismissed by a certain disciple who needs to relearn a few of our more valued lessons. Such as listening to those with more experience in a dangerous situation.” He cut his eyes to the small group of thrice-damned elders. “Still, none of this would happen if I was no longer separated from my cultivation partner.”

Sizhui pressed a hand to his side, using his energy to stop the bleeding.He nodded at Jingyi’s words. “We’ve been patient waiting for you to pick the date of the ceremony,” he said. He raised his head, voice and eyes gone cold. “We will follow the examples of our direct elders if one is not agreed upon soon.”

A rumble of disagreement came from the group of the elders responsible for holding up their public, official, marriage ceremony for so long.

Sizhui and Jingyi had been respectful. They’d been patient. But at this rate, Jingyi really would be dead before he could even enjoy his marriage bed.

Lan Qiren held up his hands to silence the room. “We will not have an elopement again,” he said, eyes cutting to both of his nephews.

Zewu-jun gave his typical serene smile. “As stated before, I did not elope, just married in the manner of the Jiang sect.”

“Alone,” Lan Qiren said.

“Jin Ling was present,” Zewu-jun argued.

Lan Qiren turned to the grumbling elders. “Pick a date. The invitations will go out tomorrow.” His eyes turned to the open doors of the chamber. “Since our entire sect now knows.”

Jingyi turned around and found a group of slack-jawed Juniors staring at them.

He turned back to Sizhui. “I swear that was not my intention.”

“I already told my fathers that if they seperated us on one more night-hunt I was kidnapping you.”

“I offered to help,” Senior Wei said.

“No more elopements,” Lan Qiren repeated. He nodded at Jingyi. “You are dismissed. Sizhui, tend to his wounds. And send in Lan Qiang.”

“Gladly,” Jingyi muttered. Despite it all he still gave his elders a respectful bow.

He leaned on Sizhui, ignored the shocked Juniors, smirked at a stammering Lan Qiang, and held his head high as they left the conference chamber.

“Is that a boar?” Sizhui asked.

“I offered to leave it with the villagers, but they insisted we take it as payment. I made the kids carry it back,” Jingyi said. “Damn thing almost ran me through.”

“It didn’t?” Sizhui asked. “Then why are you bleeding?”

“Because Lan Qiang doesn’t know how to use his sword.” He laughed. “In more ways than one, I’m certain.”

“Jingyi!” Sizhui chastised, but Jingyi knew his Sizhui well. He could hear the laughter in his voice. He brought Jingyi to their chambers; the two rooms had once been divided, but with Zewu-jun’s pointed helpful comments and official permission, they had long ago removed the wall between them.

“Sizhui,” he said as he watched him prepare their bath.

“Yes?”

“We’re finally getting married.”

Sizhui paused and then looked at him, his beautiful face overtaken by a blinding smile. “Yes, yes we are.”

“I love you,” Jingyi said.

Sizhui came to him, arms outstretched, and carefully pulled him into a kiss. “I would hope so. Now that everyone in the sect knows.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jingyi said.

“You never do,” Sizhui said. He led him to the tub. “Now, come here. Let me properly see to that wound. You’re not dying on me now.”

#long post #fandom: the untamed #fic: to celebrate a simple life #zw2019 #sort of double posting here since the ao3 link is on the other post #my ridic writing

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bellarkefanworkawards-blog · 7 years

Photo

Best Slow Burn

ARKADIA FLORAL & GARDEN by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

Clarke has owned Arkadia Floral & Garden Supplies for 3 years when Bellamy Blake, her high school rival, comes back into town following his mother’s death and needs Clarke’s help to restore his mother’s garden to its former glory. But gardening isn’t Bellamy’s strong suite, and neither is coping with losing another parent. He might need a lot more help than he’s willing to admit, but luckily for him, his feisty blonde former rival is there to guide him through some of the most difficult months of his life.

ALL MY FRIENDS ARE HEATHENS by DracoTerrae

Chancellor Jaha put together a team of criminal delinquents, each with his or her own special Ability, in order to learn if his people stand a chance on the earth on which their ancestors once lived, a land that is filled with hostility—both from the environment and the people who inhabit it. Canon inspired with a twist. X-men, Suicide Squad, The 100 mix. Eventual relationships.

DON’T LOOK BACK, YOU’RE NOT GOING THAT WAY by andsowemeetagain

Viking Bellamy prepares for the journey of a lifetime. Clarke Griffin is the new, mysterious girl that wants to join him.

Best Fake Relationship

THINGS WE SHOULDN’T DO by Willaphyx @rebelprincebell

“The history between the two of you is well known,” Marcus went on, talking over Clarke’s continued splutters. “And it hasn’t escaped the notice of certain news organizations–” “What, you mean fucking TMZ?” Clarke interjected.Marcus sighed. “It would be in the best interest of the show and I think both your careers if you were to be seen as a couple. ”Silence.“A dating couple,” Marcus added as if that hadn’t been clear. Bellamy and Clarke exploded simultaneously.“If we what?” Clarke demanded at the same time that Bellamy just started laughing. He slipped sideways, dangerously close to falling out of his chair. Clarke is at the bottom of a downward spiral and Bellamy is riding an all-time career high when they’re cast as the leads of Marcus Kane’s newest drama. The entertainment world expects a blowup of immense proportions between the two feuding actors but get a hard to explain romance instead. Or: a fake dating celebrities AU.

I GOT MY SWIM TRUNKS, AND MY FLIPPIE-FLOPPIES by Kacka @katchyalater

Going on a cruise with her friends seems like the perfect last hurrah before Clarke moves across the country, and it seems even better when she finds out that her ex-nemesis, now-sort-of-friend is on the same cruise. And not just because he’s game to help her mess with her mother.

I DREAMED YOU A SIN by monroeslittle

“If I do this,” Blake said, “how are you imagining it’s going to work? I can’t just knock on his door, and say I want in again. It’s been eleven years. And even before I left, I never cared about the business. Do you have a plan? You say you want me to open the door for an agent. How? What’s that mean?” “You’re going to get in touch with your grandfather again at your wedding,” Clarke said. He stared. “I hope you don’t have a girlfriend, Mr. Blake.”

fake!married AU. Clarke’s in the FBI, Bellamy’s the grandson of a mobster, and they’ve got to work together.

Best Pining!Clarke

TREADING ON WATER, CAUSE I NEVER LEARNED TO SWIM by andsowemeetagain

"Shit" he said, "I think I'm in love with her." Clarke choked on the beer she'd just taken a sip of. "What?" In the five years since she's known him, she has never heard Bellamy Blake use the word 'love' when referring to someone other than his sister.

Or the one where Clarke and Bellamy are best friends and everything is right in the world until Bellamy falls in love with someone that isn't Clarke.

I (LOVE)D YOU by funfanfin

A relationship that only lasted five months and ended four years ago shouldn’t still be affecting her, but…it wasn’t just any relationship. It wasn’t just any breakup. It wasn’t just any ex. It was Bellamy.

AND THEN WE WERE CHASING COMETS by prosciutto @prosciuttoe

That same, elusive shrug. “It’s a secret, princess.” He says pointedly, snagging the book from her before throwing the truck into park, “But you’ll be the first to read it once it’s done, okay?” “Wow,” she says, nodding. “I’m honored.” A beat as he sizes her up, his brows furrowing together in exasperation before he says, weary, “You’re going to ask me what it’s about again, aren’t you?” “Bellamy,” she says obediently, grinning, “what’s your book about?” If you told Clarke Griffin that she would become best friends with the resident black sheep of Arkadia, she would have difficulty believing it, let alone the fact that he apparently wrote an entire book about her.

Or: Clarke and Bellamy through the years, as childhood best friends.

Best Royalty AU

KINGDOM COME by the.ktgrace

Her father, the king, was poisoned. She, heir to the throne, fled into hiding. Ten years later, a royal guard needs to bring her back to the throne to save his sister. Faraway kingdoms, arranged marriages, deception, brewing war… And that's only the beginning for this stubborn princess and her arrogant guard. A story of fantasy and adventure in the kingdom of Ark.

THE CHOICE by BeneathaMoonlessNight

Medieval Bellarke AU. When Lady Clarke Griffin begins her journey to the City, she couldn't imagine the choices that she'll have to make. A journey filled with excitement, danger, war, a Rebel King and the most difficult question of all- How does one choose between Duty and Love? This has slowly and unintentionally become a Game of Thrones AU

HOW TO SAVE A KINGDOM by Laughingsenselessly @wellsjahasghost

Clarke sputters an indignant laugh as he takes her elbow and steers her away from the doors. “You won’t let me out of the palace and you’re calling me a difficult person? You,” she fumes, “are insufferable.” Bellamy merely grins. “Now that’s no way to talk to your husband.” Clarke forces herself to stalk away before she can give into the urge to throw her glass of wine at him. She doesn’t know why she bothers, though. Somehow, none of their guests seem to notice the clear antagonism between the king and queen, or maybe they just don’t care. And why should they? The two of them are just husband and wife. They’re not actually expected to like each other.

AU. Clarke marries Bellamy for a political alliance.

Best Teacher!Bellamy

MUST BE LOVE (ON THE BRAIN) by Caramelle @mellamymake

Is she grateful for the distraction that is Finn Collins? Sort of. Does that make her want to punch his teeth in any less? Hard no. Or, the one where Clarke Griffin wishes the annoying boy who always sits next to her in class would shut up and let her listen to her professor. Her professor also happens to be really pretty. The two things are mutually exclusive.

AFRAID TO CALL THIS PLACE OUR OWN by HawthorneWhisperer @hawthornewhisperer

Clarke frowned at the notification on her ipad. “Why does your history teacher want to meet with me?” she asked, but Madi kept her eyes innocently on her homework. A little too innocently. “Mr. Blake’s a hardass,” Madi said with a shrug. “A hardass who wants a meeting with me barely a month into the school year?” Clarke asked. Madi shrugged again and Clarke narrowed her eyes and scanned the email. “He’s worried about your performance already. Have you even had any tests? What am I missing?” “He just doesn’t like me,” Madi replied and erased something on her worksheet.

YOUR TOUCH HAS GOT ME HAUNTED by troubledpancakes

Clarke’s twenty-first birthday was bound to be something she’d never be able to forget after Raven surprised her with a night at a strip club, with the highlight being a private lap dance by one of the most talented, and lusted after performers, Bell-Oh-My. However, seven years later, with a daughter just entering kindergarten, Clarke realized that night would be harder to forget than she originally thought when she introduced herself to her daughter’s handsome (and all-too-familiar) new teacher.

Best Roommates AU

CAN WE DO MORE THAN ORBIT? by fawna

If Bellamy knows one thing about the internet it’s that Clarke’s good at it. Bellamy? Not so much.

Or: where Bellamy finds Clarke's tumblr

KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS by Kacka @katchyalater

Clarke thought subletting Miller's room for the summer would be a perfect solution: convenient, affordable, and it comes furnished. Unfortunately, it also comes with his roommate, who for some reason, hates her.

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOVE PEOPLE WITHOUT THEM DYING by Kacka @katchyalater

“This is where it falls apart,” Clarke whispers. Her finger traces random patterns across Bellamy’s chest, his gently untangling the knots in her hair. The sun hasn’t yet risen but the sky outside has begun to lighten, those nebulous hours when night fades to morning and the world starts to think about waking up. Clarke greets them like an old friend. Most nights she wakes with a jolt-- sometimes from nightmare, other times from the stress of an unimaginably long to-do list-- and lets the slow ascent into day calm her racing mind.

Best Social Media AU

OR, YOU COULD ALWAYS GOOGLE IT by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

“You know,” Bellamy muses, grin wide and a little conspiratorial, “you’re robbing our legions of fans here. They’re expecting a showdown and you’re being perfectly cordial towards me.” “Right,” she nods, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. “Well, it’s not too late. I could always pitch that glass of water down your shirt.” Someone really should have warned Clarke that the first step to becoming internet famous would involve acquiring a nemesis.

(Or, Bellarke as rival YouTubers, basically.)

YOU'RE COOL ON THE INTERNET, AT LEAST by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

Look, Clarke will not dwell on this. She will not get flustered just because a possibly cute guy on Facebook apparently shares her views on what constitutes a terrible person. Ten minutes later, her phone gives a short, irritated buzz; startling her enough that she jumps. Biting at the inside of her cheek, she allows herself a quick peek. Friend request from Bellamy Blake. Clarke has no idea how she manages to develop a crush on a guy who won’t stop fighting everyone on Facebook, but here they are.

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

I THINK YOU'RE CUTE by caramelle @mellamymake

On second thought, Bellamy should probably have thought to check in with his sister before becoming Instagram buddies with her new roommate. In his defence, he hadn't been entirely sure what 'Follow' actually meant. He'd genuinely thought it was just like some kind of vague, subscription type thing, like when you hit 'Accept' on one of Groupon's numerous attempts to send you updates on the latest offers. It's only when Clarke Griffin actually follows him back that he realises the gravity of what he's done.

Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke meet on Instagram.

Best Enemies/Friends to Lovers

ALL MY FRIENDS ARE HEATHENS by DracoTerrae @dracoterrae9099

EMERGENCY CONTACTS by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

When Bellamy gets a call from Ark Memorial Hospital because he's the emergency contact for an unnamed girl in her early twenties, his only thought is Octavia. He can't imagine that someone might have just entered his phone number by mistake. But when he sees the blonde girl lying unconscious in a hospital bed with no other contacts until she wakes up, something tells him to stay. So he does.

Based on the prompt: au where person a accidentally puts the wrong number as their emergency contact and when they end up in hospital person b gets called (and comes anyway, despite not knowing person a)

IN MY DREAMS WE ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER by andsowemeetagain

100 delinquents got sent to Earth and battled for survival against the odds. They landed in Trikru territory but that is not where they stayed. After weeks of battle and war, the Sky People finally lost. They were sent to a land far away, where a group of Grounders unlike any they've met waited for them.

*This is a terrible summary...I don't know how to describe this story. It's a mix of canon and AU. But if you like arranged marriage and enemies->friends->lovers and friendship and love and fluff and angst, then this is the fic for you.

Best Past Relationship

I (LOVE)D YOU by funfanfin

KNOWING ME, KNOWING YOU by caramelle @mellamymake

In hindsight, staying in the apartment he shares with his ex probably isn't the best idea Bellamy's ever had. Probably not his worst either, to be fair.

Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke break up and, instead of moving out, somehow find themselves in a heated prank war.

I FEEL IT IN MY FINGERS by lightyears

It’s a short wait for the patient to arrive once Clarke gets herself organised. She stands out at the emergency entrance for all of three minutes before the ambulance comes to a stop in front of her, Jasper jumping out of the driver’s seat and rounding to the back to open the rear door. Clarke’s right behind him, watching as the patient is pulled out on a gurney, and getting ready to take action, just like she’s done countless times over the years. But instead of grabbing ahold of the stretcher railing to help wheel the patient inside, asking Monty what happened, what his initial evaluations found, she falters in her step, feels the air get knocked from her all at once. Because she recognises that boy, warm brown skin sprinkled with freckles, unruly inky curls and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. She recognises him despite the ten years that have passed and the bruises and cuts scattered across the skin free from his clothes. She recognises him and it makes her world stop. “Bellamy,” Clarke breathes out.

#bfwa #bellarke fanwork awards #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke fam #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #The 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bffa #bffa 17 #bffa 2.0

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Best Slow Burn

ARKADIA FLORAL & GARDEN by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

DON’T LOOK BACK, YOU’RE NOT GOING THAT WAY by andsowemeetagain @and-so-we-meet-again

Viking Bellamy prepares for the journey of a lifetime. Clarke Griffin is the new, mysterious girl that wants to join him.

Best Fake Relationship

THINGS WE SHOULDN’T DO by Willaphyx @rebelprincebell

I DREAMED YOU A SIN by monroeslittle

fake!married AU. Clarke’s in the FBI, Bellamy’s the grandson of a mobster, and they’ve got to work together.

Best Pining!Clarke

I (LOVE)D YOU by funfanfin @funfanfin

AND THEN WE WERE CHASING COMETS by prosciutto @prosciuttoe

Or: Clarke and Bellamy through the years, as childhood best friends.

Best Royalty AU

KINGDOM COME by the.ktgrace

Her father, the king, was poisoned. She, heir to the throne, fled into hiding. Ten years later, a royal guard needs to bring her back to the throne to save his sister. Faraway kingdoms, arranged marriages, deception, brewing war… And that’s only the beginning for this stubborn princess and her arrogant guard. A story of fantasy and adventure in the kingdom of Ark.

HOW TO SAVE A KINGDOM by Laughingsenselessly @wellsjahasghost

AU. Clarke marries Bellamy for a political alliance.

Best Teacher!Bellamy

MUST BE LOVE (ON THE BRAIN) by Caramelle @mellamymake

AFRAID TO CALL THIS PLACE OUR OWN by HawthorneWhisperer @hawthornewhisperer

Best Roommates AU

KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS by Kacka @katchyalater

Clarke thought subletting Miller’s room for the summer would be a perfect solution: convenient, affordable, and it comes furnished. Unfortunately, it also comes with his roommate, who for some reason, hates her.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOVE PEOPLE WITHOUT THEM DYING by Kacka @katchyalater

“This is where it falls apart,” Clarke whispers. Her finger traces random patterns across Bellamy’s chest, his gently untangling the knots in her hair. The sun hasn’t yet risen but the sky outside has begun to lighten, those nebulous hours when night fades to morning and the world starts to think about waking up. Clarke greets them like an old friend. Most nights she wakes with a jolt– sometimes from nightmare, other times from the stress of an unimaginably long to-do list– and lets the slow ascent into day calm her racing mind.

Best Social Media AU

OR, YOU COULD ALWAYS GOOGLE IT by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

(Or, Bellarke as rival YouTubers, basically.)

YOU’RE COOL ON THE INTERNET, AT LEAST by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

Best Enemies/Friends to Lovers

EMERGENCY CONTACTS by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

When Bellamy gets a call from Ark Memorial Hospital because he’s the emergency contact for an unnamed girl in her early twenties, his only thought is Octavia. He can’t imagine that someone might have just entered his phone number by mistake. But when he sees the blonde girl lying unconscious in a hospital bed with no other contacts until she wakes up, something tells him to stay. So he does.

IN MY DREAMS WE ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER by andsowemeetagain @and-so-we-meet-again

*This is a terrible summary…I don’t know how to describe this story. It’s a mix of canon and AU. But if you like arranged marriage and enemies->friends->lovers and friendship and love and fluff and angst, then this is the fic for you.

Best Arranged Marriage

BEFORE: KING OF A BROKEN LAND by forgivenessishardforus

Miller, a knight who had graduated with him five years before and now a lieutenant and one of his best friends, sticks his head around the door. His mouth is quirked in a smile that instantly makes Bellamy wary. “You have visitors,” he announces. Bellamy groans. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is visitors; most were families of murdered nightbloods, looking for answers he didn’t have; some were looking for advice on problems he didn’t care about; still others came to him with suggestions and criticisms on what he should be doing to better protect his people. “Tell them to wait in the audience chamber. I’ll deal with them in a couple of hours, or maybe in the morning.” “Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to keep these visitors waiting,” Miller says. His eyes are positively snapping with mirth now. “Who is it?” Bellamy demands. “Just the Queen of Arkadia and her daughter.”

JUST AS YOU ARE MINE by prosciutto @prosciuttoe

Bellamy’s already there by the time she makes her way to the centre of the room. She didn’t get a good look at him before, so Clarke takes the time to look at him now. He’s not all that much taller than she is, but the breadth of his shoulders feels worrying, somewhat. His skin is marked with a array of calluses and scars, white against his tanned skin, and the deft, sure movements he makes confirms that he’s every inch the warrior he’s promised to be. Swallowing, she steps forward, meeting his gaze. His face remains carefully blank, same as before, when Kane had told her that they’d be married. In hindsight, marrying a total stranger may not have been one of Clarke’s brightest ideas.

Or: Arranged Marriage AU. Clarke seals an alliance with the Broadleaf clan by marrying Bellamy Blake.

Best Past Relationship

KNOWING ME, KNOWING YOU by caramelle @mellamymake

In hindsight, staying in the apartment he shares with his ex probably isn’t the best idea Bellamy’s ever had. Probably not his worst either, to be fair.

Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke break up and, instead of moving out, somehow find themselves in a heated prank war.

I FEEL IT IN MY FINGERS by lightyears

#bfwa #bellarke fanwork awards #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke fam #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #The 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bffa #bffa 17 #bffa 2.0

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