#y’all........this ended me

[dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl]

If Aabria has 1 million fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 thousand fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 hundred fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 fan, it is Brennan Lee Mulligan and I have been killed, please avenge me

[anothersuperstition]

will you welcome your extinction in the morning rays?

[linkbetweenlinksau]

End of chapter 1- The Mark

Part 1|| part 2||

[shalomniscient]

ON TOP (part 2) | multifandom [NSFT][MDNI]

Topping my other fave fictional women but meanly…

cw. riding, orgasm denial, overstimulation, choking, cockring, spanking, ropes, degradation, strap-ons, edging, pet names (puppy), semi-public, sex-toys under clothing, clothed sex, squirting, shibari

notes. yeah uh there's no explanation for this one besides horknee

wc. will update later, checking wc on mobile is ass lmao

rahu

cw. rahu has a dick, riding, edging, choking, cockring, begging

"Look at you, poor puppy. Where did all your bravado go, hm?"

You coo down at Rahu as you sit on her lap, her cock buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt. A silicone band fits snugly at the base of her dick, the unassuming device now an implement of torture for the poor Sinner. She's painfully, achingly hard inside you but no matter how many times you've fucked yourself to completion on her, she hasn't been able to reach that high herself and she can feel her mind slipping at the denial.

"P-please," she whines out, the grip she has on your hips hard enough to leave imprints on your skin. "Please, 'm sorry, I need it so bad--"

You click your tongue, fingers wrapping around the pale column of Rahu's throat. Her eyes roll back into her head at the pressure and her hips buck, her cock pushing ever so slightly deeper into you. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, but you draw yourself back from that knife's edge of pleasure. Not yet.

"Are you?" you ask, your tone almost bored. "You really made a mess out of me, you know. In the Archives, no less. Don't you think you deserve this punishment?"

"Please," Rahu wheezes out, her voice deliciously desperate. Tears prick at the edge of her silver eyes, glossy as they meet yours. Your resolve falters ever so slightly, your other hand rising to wipe the corner of her eyes.

"Poor thing," you murmur, "tell me what you want, puppy. Use your words, hm?"

"Need to cum," she gasps, head bowing and hair falling like a curtain around her eyes. "F-fuck, need to cum so badly, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything--"

Your eyes glint dangerously. "Anything?"

"Anything," Rahu confirms, the muscles in her neck straining as she holds herself back from thrusting up into you. You hum, as if in thought, then slip off her cock with a squelch. Rahu nearly sobs as you withdraw, but then you're gently tugging the cock ring off, and she nearly sobs again; though this time in relief. Immediately, globs of pre-cum rush out of her tip, thick pearls of white dripping down her shaft and making your mouth water.

"You wanna cum, puppy?" you ask, crawling back onto her lap and positioning her cock at your entrance. Rahu's pulse in her throat jumps under your hand as you slowly sink back down, taking all of her back into your warmth with a moan of pleasure. You meet her eyes as your hand squeezes ever so slightly, the lack of air making Rahu's pupils blow wide with desire.

Slowly, you start to bounce up and down her cock again, making sure to grind down every time you come down, pulling Rahu into the deepest parts of you. She groans and grunts with each sinful roll of your hips, deep and throaty, her eyes half-lidded but drawn to the way your pussy swallows her length over and over again. Soon enough, you hasten your movements, the sound of slapping skin echoing throughout the room as you ride her to completion. You feel her cock twitch inside you and you grin, tightening your grip on her throat.

“Then cum,” you order, and Rahu does, beautifully. Her silver eyes disappear into her skull, and her back arches, her hips jerking beneath you. She squirms and writhes as she cums deep inside you, painting your insides wight and warm. You don’t let up the movement of your hips, grinding down on her lap and smearing your mixed fluids on her thighs. You keep going even as Rahu gasps and whines, her body jerking fitfully from overstimulation.

“W-wait, ‘s too much—“

You pout at her, almost condescendingly patting her cheek. “Didn’t you say you wanted to cum, puppy?” Your pout morphs into a wicked grin, and you lean forward to whisper in her ear.

"Then you won't stop until I say so."

serval

cw. sex toys under clothing, vibrators, semi-public, squirting, clothed sex

“Miss Serval… are you alright?”

Serval coughs at Molly’s question, the already red flush up her neck turning redder. From a corner of the workshop, your lips curve upwards knowingly, as you look up from tuning your violin. Serval meets your eyes but then her gaze darts away, as she braces herself against the workshop counter.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, Molly,” the guitarist assures, attempting a weak smile. “Just, uh— a little warm is all.”

“Ah, right… with the Eternal Frost receding, the temperature is picking up a little.”

Serval nods, and presumably tries to keep the conversation going—but doubles over all of a sudden, fingers scraping against the hardwood counter. You’ve never been more grateful for the constant whirr of machinery in the workshop; if only for muffling the sound of the vibrator you stuffed deep in Serval’s pretty cunt running at maximum right now.

“Miss Serval! Are you really feeling alright? Should I call Pela? Or your brother?” Molly asks, panic clear in her tone.

“No!” Serval chokes out, “no, absolutely not!”

Molly bites her lip in worry. “But—“

You decide to have mercy on the poor mechanic, and lower the vibrator’s speed. Serval visibly slumps in relief, and takes a moment to collect herself, before turning to her employee.

“I think I’m going to, uh.. rest up for the rest of the day. You can head home early—don’t worry, I’ll close up.”

Molly looks unconvinced, so you chime in as well. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets a good rest and behaves.”

Serval shoots you a look for the double entendre, which you return with a smirk. Your fingers creep towards your pocket where the controller lies, and her expression immediately shifts into one of both hunger and anticipation. You let the promise of it hang in the air until Molly leaves the workshop, and flips the closed sign on the door.

“Babe—“ Serval begins, but you don’t let her finish. Instead, you set your violin down and crank the vibrator to max once more. Serval moans openly now, and your mouth waters at the sight of her thighs squeezing together as you walk around the back of the counter, and press your front against her back.

You slip a hand down her shorts and into her panties, grinning as the tips of your fingers graze the drenched fabric. It’s a wonder she hasn’t leaked into her shorts yet. The vibrator buzzes away in her cunt, and you press on the base, pushing it deeper. Serval whimpers, a beautiful, melodic sound, as the toy presses against that spongy spot inside her and her knees tremble.

“F-fuck, babe, I’m gonna—“

“Go on,” you encourage, scraping your teeth against the shell of her ear. “Cum.”

Serval practically wails, and a surge of wetness drips into her already ruined panties. Your eyes widen by a fraction when you realise she’s squirting, and the hunger in you roars to life like a raging crescendo. You sink your teeth into her shoulder as she rides out her orgasm, your fingers working on her neglected clit, the bundle of nerves stiff and engorged.

It takes her about a minute or three to come down, at which point you’ve already shut the vibrator off and withdrew your fingers from her underwear. Serval pants, bracing her complete weight against the counter as she catches her breath, but you’re far from done. Instead, you grip her hip and spin her around, so you’re both front to front, and sink to your knees.

“Babe, what..?” Serval asks, trailing off as she looks down at you, her breath hitching when you start tugging her shorts down.

“Wanna see you squirt again, baby,” you mutter, entranced by the mess between her legs as you peel her panties off her dripping pussy. Serval groans as you withdraw the vibrator, letting it clatter onto the floor. It’s followed by a squeak when you lean in close, and let your breath fan over her exposed sex.

You place your hands on her thighs and look up at her from between her legs, smirking.

“You can give me one more, can’t you?”

yelan

cw. spanking, ropes, degradation, strap-ons

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Dirty little thing."

The words leave your lips in a disdainful sneer, as your hand comes down and collides with Yelan's plush ass for the fifth time in a row. Her body jerks forward at the impact, the pale skin turning a pretty shade of red under your treatment. Yelan only groans at it, fingers digging into the ropes binding her wrists together before she replies.

"Y-Yeah, but so are you," she bites back, painted lips curling into a smirk as she looks at you over her shoulder. "So a little pot and kettle, don't you think?"

You scowl at her, and answer her with another smack to her ass. "Still so fucking mouthy, hm?"

"Mhm, but you like me like this," she says breathily, and you can't help but allow yourself a smile at that. She isn't wrong at all; you do enjoy her like this. Very much so. But right now, she doesn't need to concern herself with that. Instead, you reach behind you on the bed and produce a blue strap-on, and you relish in the way her eyes widen by a fraction and her pretty lips part in anticipation.

"Don't worry," you hum as you fix the strap to your hips, aware of Yelan's eyes hyperfocused on the toy. Once it's secure, you grab her hips and pull them upwards, letting her brace her weight on her knees so she's ass up face down for you. She yelps at your manhandling, but you don't miss the way her cunt drips down her thighs. Her breath hitches as you position yourself over her, your front to her smooth, muscled back, the tip of your strap nudging at her slick entrance. "I'll fuck you until there's not a thought in that pretty little head of yours."

Yelan scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Right, how about you actually get on with it instead of—“

You interrupt her by surging forward and stuffing her full of your cock. Yelan’s snark turns into a scream of pleasure as your strap bullies its way into her tight cunt, and you bite your lip as you see the way her pussy spreads to accomodate the sheer girth of it. You don’t give her a moment to catch her breath, and immediately start railing her into the mattress. Nothing but garbled and slurred moans and cries of your name leave her lips and you grin.

The next day, none of the staff at the teahouse can look you or Yelan in the eye. And if they notice Yelan walking a little oddly or avoiding sitting down for the time being—well, they know better than to ask.

raven

cw. edging, degradation, shibari, strap-ons, cockwarming

“M-my love, please—“

Raven’s begging immediately devolves into simpering whines as you cease the pounding of your strap into her puffy, drooling cunt. Red, corded rope criss-crosses her lean frame, encircling her breasts and down her torso, where knots secure her calves and thighs together. Her arms are bound behind her back as she sits on your lap, thighs on either side of your own. She strains against the ropes along her body, chasing the stimulation, but with the way she’s bound, it’s pointless. Her head drops onto your shoulder as she sucks in a breath, pussy quivering around your cock as she creeps down from her almost-high.

Meanwhile, you nonchalantly continue your work, signing papers over her shoulder. The sound of her heavy breathing and the scratching of your pen are the only noises in the room, until Raven starts trying to sweet-talk you again.

“Darling,” she begins, pulling back to look in your eyes, “sweetheart, dearest, love of my life—move, please?”

You hum, as if considering. “My work isn’t finished yet.”

“It will still be there later,” Raven wheedles, leaning in to kiss at your neck. You run your hand up and down her back as she gently works her lips along your skin, pressing kisses against your pulse.

“Mm, aren’t you forgetting this is supposed to be your punishment?” you drawl, suddenly tugging at the ropes on her back and pulling her away from your neck. Raven lets out a breathy whine at the movement as it rubs the strap against the walls of her cunt.

“Aha… ah, s-surely an hour is enough?” she continues, this time more strained.

You click your tongue. “I don’t know if it is. Barging in and distracting me from my work is a heavy offense, you know.”

Raven’s face falls, her usual easy, picture-perfect smile wobbling. She looks about ready to cry, and you coo at her, the hand at her back coming up to pat her cheek and brush the ridge of her cheekbones.

“One more hour, little bird,” you say, “you can manage that, can’t you?”

You make good on your words exactly an hour later, of course—although you’re quite certain Raven will never be able to look at your desk in the same way ever again.

[macabreblublu]

“So Darling Will You Saturate”

Been a while since my last post💀

And I started this piece in- July ☠️ college has kept me Busy and I haven’t gotten much personal art done but when I do, I procrastinate and trouble myself even more

Anyways lads, may I present:

✨iii Sleep Token✨

Alts:

[adri-atics]

I’m so obsessed with Drink With Me you guys don’t understand - the resignation, the acceptance of what will inevitably come in the morning, the choice they made to stay and see it all through to the end, despite everything.

Then Grantaire says:

“Can it mean you fear to die?”

“Can it mean your death means nothing at all?”

Which are such strong and beautiful lines, but also the voice of all their fears. Maybe it was all for nothing. Maybe they died for a belief that could never be.

And yet the next verse is happy and hopeful and dedicated to camaraderie. They don’t want to die, but they will. And they chose to spend their last night with their friends.

“Here’s to you, and here’s to me.”

[whoopseydaisy]

[il-predestinato]

Oh, I’m so sorry Daniel that sexual misconduct allegations are too much of a “noise and distraction” for you. How very understandable that you wish for this to simply “go away.” Incredibly inconvenient that this is messing with your vibes.

Not that I expected much from a man who said he didn’t watch world news because it contains too much “drama and negativity” for him.

[skillbattle]

kirby posting

[faggotthatwilldie]

Whizzer and Marvin would totally do that corny thing where they slow dance to music on the radio in their living room while trying not to laugh, I don’t make the rules, sorry buster.

[kelin-is-writing]

Yo… My man is truly majestic 🥰

[fulgurbugs]

Tressa + Therion Duopath - Departure/End

<-Previous comic

(full series)

[shalomniscient]

i just woke up, it’s 7am and i’m having thoughts about jingliu…

if there was one person on the luofu who knew jingliu the longest, it was you. not the high cloud quintet or the cloud knights, you. the daughter of jingliu’s master, and the stubborn sword champion’s personal healer. she entered your life as a gangly, hungry girl who could barely hold a sword in both hands—and now, she’s the greatest warrior the luofu has ever seen.

but more importantly, now, she’s your wife.

it seemed almost like an inevitability, that you’d fall for her. for all that she was your mother’s disciple, you didn’t see her much as children. jingliu would always be training, and you would always be studying. it was only after she became a member of the cloud knights, and you a member of the alchemy commission, that things would really start to blossom—like a lotus flower, bright and pure.

you were the only healer jingliu really trusted and even allowed to heal her. the warrior had a stubborn streak several miles wide, but perhaps it was the echo of your mother in you that had her obediently heeling to your treatments—a fact that always awed her fellow cloud knights, who teased her relentlessly about it. “whipped,” they’d say. jingliu would only grumble and grudgingly thank you, before leaving the clinic and decidedly and publicly putting every one of her squadmates on their asses during a sparring match.

but nonetheless, it is no one but jingliu who comforts you when teng xiao arrives at your door, a set of armor folded neatly in his arms, and a grim, apologetic look on his face. that night it is jingliu who sits by your side, letting you weep into her shoulder as she awkwardly and clumsily attempts to console you. grief burns through you like a wildfire, but jingliu is there, her presence soothing and cool like moonlight. you both fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms, finding that, if nothing else, there is comfort in shared loss.

the next morning, you ask her about it as you both still hold each other close. jingliu’s mouth opens and closes, struggling to choose the right words. “i swore to her that i’d protect you,” she answers. it makes you smile, just a little, even if grief still twists sharply in your heart.

“you’re protecting me by cuddling me?” you tease her, and her pale cheeks flush.

“that’s— i believed you might have needed—“ she stammers, and you cut her off by pressing closer against her cool body.

“i’m just teasing,” you whisper against her skin, arms tightening around her muscular form. as if to ground yourself, as if to assure yourself that she’s really here. “i appreciate it, jingliu. thank you.”

at your words, the warrior relaxes. her voice is barely higher than yours when she replies, tinged with a hint of tenderness. “of course.”

jingliu is different, after that. you guess that it’s because you are all she has left—much the same in how she is all you have left. there is a gentle awkwardness to her now, like someone who has never known how to be soft trying to learn for the first time. she sits patiently as she lets you fuss over her wounds, knowing that you need this, that you need to know she’s alright. she only looks away when you get a little too close, when she can feel the warmth of your breath on her skin, and she hopes you don’t notice (you do).

she comes to the house whenever she can, which feels just a little emptier without your mother’s commanding presence. she stands shoulder to shoulder next to you at the counter making dumplings, her rough, battle-scarred hands dwarfing your own more delicate ones—but she wraps the dumplings with finesse all the same. you eat them together, quietly, but the silence is comfortable. you know each other enough that words are unnecessary. these nights you can only ever fall asleep in her arms—and she can only ever fall asleep in yours. neither of you question it, but what is there to question anyway?

jingliu ends up being many of your firsts—including your first kiss. it happens on one of those nights, tangled in each other’s arms, with nothing but a sliver of moonlight to illuminate jingliu’s pale face. you feel her pulse jump under your touch, as your thumb traces the ridge of her cheekbones and your lips press gently against hers. kissing her is nothing grand, no fireworks or butterflies—just the quiet sense of finally coming home.

jingliu is your first time, too. her hands trail down your body with reverence, lips pressing kisses like prayers against your skin. she brings you to the edge of heaven with her fingers and her mouth until you lie boneless on the sheets. she kisses you while your essence is still smeared across her lips, and you eagerly return the favor.

jingliu is your first and only love. it’s the soft, quiet kind, more of a respite than a whirlwind in and of itself. a shelter where both of you can return to, when the world becomes too much. you’re there for each other at the lowest lows and the highest highs—jingliu attends the ceremony as you’re sworn in as the cauldron master of the alchemy commission, eyes trained only on you as you accept the honor. and you attend jingliu’s ascenscion ceremony for the title of sword champion, standing at the forefront of the crowd, a proud smile on your face. to jingliu, that is her true victory.

and yet, even as the sword champion, there are still things she fears—like telling you she loves you. it takes a grand amount of coaxing from her new friends—a blacksmith, a high elder, and a pilot, respectively—before she works up the courage. she whispers it against your neck one moonlit night, intertwined with you in the sheets. her voice trembles ever so slightly, her breath fanning unevenly against your skin, and she tenses when you laugh softly. but the tension bleeds out of her immediately when you say it back, and she slumps against you, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

(baiheng and yingxing later force her to buy them drinks, and she does so, grudgingly. after all, they were right when they said there was no way you’d say anything other than ‘i love you too’. dan feng only attends for the free alcohol, but he is happy for her nonetheless.)

your marriage is a quiet affair—or as quiet as it can get, with baiheng and yingxing together on the guestlist. but it is perfect, to you and jingliu. the rings were crafted by yingxing, inlaid with stones baiheng discovered along the trailblaze. neither of you actually wear them on your fingers due to your jobs, but none other than dan feng gifts the both of you corded red rope to loop the rings through and wear as a necklace. it becomes your greatest treasure, even centuries down the line.

the next few months of your life are calm and routine—until jingliu returns home one day with a teenager, of all things. the boy has long, shaggy, white hair, and curious golden eyes. He reminds you of a cat.

“this is jing yuan,” jingliu introduces to you. “my disciple.”

the boy greets you politely, before jingliu sends him off to an empty room in your home for him to claim as his own. once the boy is out of sight, you turn to jingliu, quirking a brow.

“disciple?”

she nods. “yes. i believe he has potential.”

you only hum at her answer, stepping forward to fix her collar. she lets you fuss, as you always have, and then presses her lips against yours gently, her hands on your waist. “trust me,” she whispers, and you do.

jing yuan fits into your life more easily than you expected. a sharp-witted young man, quick with a blade but even quicker with his words. it isn’t long before you grow fond of him as well—in an almost parental sort of way. before you realise, you start fussing over him the way you fuss over jingliu. it seems you’re not the only one susceptible to jing yuan’s charm, since the newly formed high cloud quintet adore him just as much—baiheng, especially, is delighted to have another little brother figure besides yingxing. jingliu is no exception; the pride in her gaze as she watches jing yuan train is visible to anyone.

nowadays, your home feels fuller. it is no longer just you and hingliu making dumplings—another pair of hands, sometimes even another three appear to help. the dinner table is full more often than not, and there always seems to be more plates in the sink. sometimes you find purple fur on the floor, or the occasional jade-like scale in between your couch cushions. but joy, you learn, is fleeting. nnd no one ever notices it is here until it is gone, ripped from your hands before you can even blink.

jingliu is your first and only love. she is also your first and only heartbreak.

everything you’ve built with jingliu over the course of centuries crumbles in a matter of days. the battle against shuhu is vicious. you can barely even keep up against the constant stream of injured that flood the alchemy commission. you and your colleagues down energising pill after energising pill to stay on your feet and support the xianzhou forces. tet the news from the frontline would nonetheless bring you to your knees.

baiheng, dead. yingxing, cursed. dan feng, imprisoned. and worst of all—

jingliu, mara-struck.

the ten lords commission keep her under strict watch in a holding cell. you barely have the time to visit, what with the number of patients that demand your attention. jing yuan is the one who visits her, by his authority as the new arbiter general. he speaks to you when he can, updates you on her condition—but you’ve treated enough cases to know when something is bad, even if jing yuan tries to assuage you with purposefully vague wording.

she barely recognises you when you approach her. her beautiful ruby eyes are covered by a ragged, black cloth. thick, metal bindings encircle her wrists and restrain her arms behind her back. you call her name, quietly, gently, trying your hardest to stifle the tremble in your voice. sometimes, there is a flicker of recognition. most of the time, there is nothing.

you return to an empty house. it’s so, so cold, and your bed is far too big. you hold tightly to your ring, praying that jingliu be spared this fate. but the aeon does not listen.

because no more than a few months later, jingliu breaks free from her confinement, and rampages across the luofu. smoke chokes the air as ice and frigid wind sweeps across the epicenter that is jingliu. but instead of running away, you run towards her. the ice seems to part and melt before you as you run. you need to see her.

instead, all you witness is the majesty of the lightning lord, as he strikes down your beloved.

nothing remains of jingliu. they find no body, not even any remnants of armor or personal effects. after that, they strike her name from every record for her dishonor. all her achievements, her victories—erased. as if she never existed. you are forced to resign as cauldron master in shame, with your apprentice dan shu taking your place.

you feel… nothing. only a pervasive, parasitic emptiness spreading through your entire being. you spend your days in a bed in a guest room—you can’t bring yourself to set foot in the room you once shared with her. the kitchen lies deserted. you barely feel hunger or thirst, or any sort of sensation. and yet, you keep living. your cells respire and your lungs draw breath, and your heart still thumps in your chest—even as your soul rots and decays.

the only thing—or person, rather—that stirs you now somewhat is jing yuan. he has lost everyone too, this general who will always be that curious-eyed boy to you. you do your best to pick yourself up; if not for yourself, then for him.

(but jing yuan knows. he sees it in your eyes, the truth of the matter. the guilt that gnaws at you, that compels you to keep fussing over him.

you think that caring for him will help you atone for the way you failed jingliu. he wants to tell you that his master would’ve never thought such a thing. but he doesn’t, and lets you mother him all the same.

he needs this too.)

jing yuan appoints you as his personal healer, even as his advisors protest. they question your ability—after all, how could a good healer not even mend the one she loved most?

that moment is the first and last time you ever see jing yuan angry. it fades as quickly as it comes, however, and you are appointed as his personal healer nonetheless. you remain by his side for the next few centuries, watching as he grows more and more into the role of the general. the pain of your loss doesn’t heal—not fully, at least, but it scabs over.

still, you can’t help the ache in your chest when jing yuan approaches you one day, a young boy at his heels.

“this is my disciple, yanqing,” he introduces. the boy has flaxen hair, and expressive amber eyes. there’s a fire in them, a determination that you remember seeing in a pair of ruby ones. he greets you, politely and a little shyly.

it’s a painfully familiar scene, and the best you can manage is a wordless smile.

yanqing becomes another target of your fussing soon enough. he squirms when you check him over for injuries, insisting that he’s fine. the boy is incorrigibly stubborn. but in the end, he is still a boy. his enthusiasm, unmarred by grief and loss, brings a liveliness to your monotone life. you can’t help but sneak a few more extra strales into his pockets for swords when jing yuan isn’t looking.

(but he knows. jing yuan always knows.)

you are not happy, not truly, not without her, never without her, but for now you are content. the boys in your life give you reason enough to keep going.

yet your life turns upside down once more when the stellaron bursts on the luofu. jing yuan keeps you away from the whirlwind of conflict, assigning an elite squad of his knights to guard your house. it makes you curious, but the answer reveals itself to you only a few days after the crisis is resolved.

there, standing amidst the unconscious bodies of the cloud knights supposed to guard you, is none other than the ghost of your beloved.

she’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

[rogloptimist]

hey primoz so how does it feel to always be so close?

credits under cut

not strong enough - boygenius // primoz roglic - stage 4, tour de france 2020 // primoz roglic and tadej pogacar - podium ceremony, tour de france 2020 // we were young - fortesa latifi // remco evenepoel, primoz roglic get tour de france taste at paris-nice - afp report (flobikes) // primoz roglic - podium ceremony, vuelta a espana 2021 // jonas vingegaard, sepp kuss, primoz roglic - vuelta a espana 2023 // paris-nice | watch: primoz roglic’s bad luck returns to haunt slovenian star - in the bunch // the miseltoe murders - mark romel // primoz roglic - podium ceremony, giro d‘italia 2023 // primoz roglic - stage 16, vuelta a espana 2022 // the tour de france dream is dead: primoz roglic’s curse of crashes - rachel jary // roglic abandons vuelta after stage 16 crash - road bike action magazine // primoz roglic - podium ceremony, adriatico 2023 // primoz roglic - stage 20, tour de france 2020 // a self portrait in letters - anne sexton

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve very rarely gets sick. He prides himself on it.

But when Eddie spent three days in a row in bed with a fever, puking every time he got up, and coughing everywhere he could reach, Steve had no choice but to stay and take care of him. Which meant he spent three days in direct contact with whatever virus decided to leave Eddie bedridden.

Halfway through his shift at Family Video, he turned to Robin and said he was going to pass out.

She didn’t believe him, laughed it off like he was being dramatic. “You’ve been hanging around Eddie too much lately.”

So when he passed out five seconds later, she panicked. He opened his eyes to her frantically trying to move him onto his side.

“Robs, ‘s not a seizure.”

“Right, but what if you puke?”

“I’m just dehydrated.”

He wasn’t just dehydrated.

He was dehydrated and feverish and exhausted.

He was sick.

Robin called Eddie to come pick him up, rambling nervously over the phone about his symptoms. Steve couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he knew Eddie was probably laughing at the situation.

“He’ll be here to get you in 10 minutes. Can you please not pass out again because I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Sure, I’ll just tell my brain to hold off until Eddie’s here.”

“Thanks.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he settled on the floor behind the counter. Robin wouldn’t let him stand up again in case he fell and hit his head, which was actually probably a smart move.

When Eddie arrived, he took one look at Steve on the floor and sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I warned you, Stevie! I said ‘you’re gonna get sick, you shouldn’t stay’ and what did you do? Mommed yourself right into the flu.”

Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because it would take too much energy to give one. He stood on shaking legs and made his way to the door.

He felt so weak, he barely registered when his knees started to buckle. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and held him up.

“Jesus, Steve. Were you feeling this bad when you left home?”

Steve shook his head and let out an embarrassing whine. His head was throbbing, a dull ache set in shortly after he got to work, and only got worse after he passed out.

“Can you make it to the van or do you need me to carry you?”

“I can make it, just…help?”

Eddie kept an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, supporting most of his weight as they walked to his van. He opened the passenger side door and helped Steve get seated and as comfortable as possible.

Steve let out another small whine when he realized he would have to move to buckle himself in.

“What’s wrong?”

Eddie was so nice. Maybe he could buckle him.

“Belt?”

Eddie wordlessly reached for the belt and buckled Steve in, his hair brushing along Steve’s cheek and chest as he pulled away.

Steve repressed another whine, though for a different reason, when Eddie’s hand brushed against his thigh.

His thighs were sensitive, even in jeans. Sue him.

Steve nodded off during the drive to his house, barely aware of Eddie singing along to something on the radio.

When they arrived, Eddie unbuckled Steve’s seatbelt and helped him out of the van. He was saying something to Steve, but his brain wasn’t processing any of it.

He could barely keep his eyes open while Eddie got him upstairs and into bed.

He could feel Eddie’s rough hands gently pulling off his jeans and shirt, but couldn’t offer much help.

Passing out really did a number on him.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

Oh. Steve said that out loud. Interesting.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you? Get sick and it’s like your brain’s melted out your ears.”

Steve let out a giggle before relaxing against his pillow.

Eddie started to tuck him in, pulling his covers up to his chin and brushing a piece of hair away from his face.

“I’m gonna get you some water. You hungry?”

Steve felt his stomach turn at just the thought of food touching his mouth. He used all of his remaining energy to shake his head.

“Be right back, Stevie.”

**********

When Steve opened his eyes again, it was too dark to even recognize his own bed. It’s been so long since he slept with no light, he felt disoriented and scared that the power had gone out.

Just as he was struggling to sit up, he heard a grumble from the floor followed by a groan.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I’ll get the light.”

Before Steve could process who the voice belonged to, his bedside lamp turned on and covered him in a golden glow.

Eddie.

The room started spinning around him before he could say anything. He closed his eyes to avoid the disorientation, but it only made it worse.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.”

And he did. Eddie’s arms were wrapping around Steve and pulling him against his chest, solidifying his presence in one place despite everything else in the room moving.

Steve melted into Eddie, breathing in the faint leather and smoke smell that never failed to make him feel safe.

“You just have no filter when you’re sick, huh?”

Eddie laughed softly, brushing his lips against the top of Steve’s head.

Steve didn’t give a response, not able to actually produce words when he wants to, apparently.

“You’re burning up. I got some Tylenol for you while you slept. You should take some now and try to rest.”

“Stay?”

Eddie didn’t respond, just moved to grab the water from the table and hand it to Steve. He watched as he took the Tylenol, telling him he did a good job before putting the water back on the table.

Just as Steve settled against Eddie’s chest again, he was moved away by strong hands.

The whimper he let out stopped Eddie in his tracks.

“Are you in pain? Robin said your migraines get so bad sometimes you can’t move. Is that happening?”

Steve shook his head, immediately regretting doing so when the room started spinning again.

“Stay.”

It only took a moment for Eddie to adjust them both so they could lay down together. Steve wasted no time in curling into Eddie’s side, and Eddie’s hand found it’s way to Steve’s hair.

His fingers gently pulled through some of the tangles, smiling to himself when Steve couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“Feel okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t believe you let me get you sick.”

“‘S worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

Eddie only hesitated a moment before dropping a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Promise.”

They hadn’t acknowledged the way Steve had acted when taking care of Eddie. They hadn’t talked about the cuddling and small kisses to his hair or cheek or nose. They hadn’t even been around each other since Eddie was feeling better.

But this felt like a turning point - no more ignoring the way they felt about each other. If Eddie was reading things right, Steve wasn’t just like this because he was sick and slightly delusional.

They’d have a talk when he was better, but for now, Eddie let Steve suction himself to his side and take the comfort he needed.

[hanakihan]

listen I’ve been plagued by idea of Apothecary Diaries AU and Rook is MaoMao you need to see my vision—