flint trail

ficlet: caress me down

For @jadedbirch who asked for massage fic! I hope this satisfies. ❤️ Also credit to @starrose17, from whom I nicked the idea of Silver being in desperate need of a massage and Flint being more than willing to help him out.

Porn ahoy! But like, feels-y porn, because that’s my thing. Rated E, Silverflint, almost 2,000 words since I don’t know when to shut up. Title borrowed from the Sublime song of the same name because I am 12. Not really but you get me.

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Alright, this was written in response to @iwtv2007‘s beautiful nsfw picture prompt. Angsty Silverflint masturbation behind the cut. 

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In retrospect when he thinks about it, Flint’s surprised he doesn’t come across more of the crew masturbating. It would be highly unlikely if they’re all abstaining; he knows full well they’re doing no such thing. As for Silver, well, if Flint thinks about it, not that he has, he seems a likely candidate. Flint could easily picture finding him rutting into his fist while on duty late at night, or down in the galley when he’s supposed to be peeling potatoes or doing some other task Randall set for him. It’s absurdly easy to imagine. Silver’s surprise at being found out and then some silken excuse about, “needs” and “necessity” and “haven’t you just ached for it so badly, Captain, that you couldn’t wait any longer?”

This is not how Flint would have expected it to go. 

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So I wrote a thing based on this post, specifically the tag #also he probably encouraged her to go for Eleanor. Enjoy!


James looked up. One of the women from the brothel had just sat down opposite him on his table at the tavern. Although she was barely more than a girl, really. In fact, James was fairly sure it was the girl Eleanor was always talking about. Her innocent crush was almost painful to watch, and James felt fiercely protective of her every time she mentioned it.

“It’s Max, isn’t it?” he said, attempting to smile up at the girl. It wouldn’t do to upset her, if only because that would upset Eleanor. “I’m not interested, I’m afraid.” He looked up again when there was no response from the girl, to find her staring intently at him, a smile playing on her lips. “And I’m busy,” he added firmly.

Max snorted. “I wasn’t here for that” she said, in her accented English, and James wondered vaguely about her background.

“Oh,” he said, feeling wrongfooted. “What are you here for then?” As soon as he said it, he knew he had said it too roughly, and cringed internally. Max, however, didn’t seem to be put off - on the contrary, she was smiling even wider.

“You are close to Miss Guthrie, are you not?” she asked eventually.

“I see her as a partner, yes,” said James, wondering what she was insinuating. He hoped not that. He and Eleanor were…friends, he supposed. Partners and allies, certainly. Nothing more than that.

“Then, will you tell me, captain Flint…” Max trailed off, suddenly looking shy. “Does she like me?” Her voice was quiet, less confident, but imbued with quivering feeling, and James was knocked off his feet by the memories that brought back.

“She talks about you all the time,” he said in a hushed voice, and then immediately berated himself. That was supposed to be a secret. Eleanor hadn’t wanted him to tell anyone. What if Max hurt her?

Then he looked at Max and saw the softening of her eyes, the joy lighting them up from inside, and he knew Max wouldn’t hurt her, not if she could help it.

“Thank you,” she said. “I just had to be sure, before…thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and he sat there for a moment, blinking slowly, confused about what had just happened. When he focused again, Max had gone.

Later that day, Eleanor found him on the beach, where he was overseeing the repairs of the Walrus. She immediately embraced him, much to his surprise, although not, he found, to his displeasure.

“Eleanor,” he cracked out.

“Thank you,” Eleanor whispered in his ear, and then his cheek was kissed for the second time that day.

“What for?” he asked as Eleanor drew back slightly, looking at him affectionately.

“For what you told Max. We’re - well,” she cleared her throat, looking both embarrassed and pleased. “We’re together now.”

James smiled and this time it was truly genuine, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness for this young girl that he didn’t think possible, least ways not for men who weren’t fathers themselves. “I didn’t really do anything,” he admitted.

“Oh, nonsense,” she said. Her voice went quiet, in a way James recognised as her saying something meaningful. “Thank you for being so supportive of me. Even in- even in this.”

James softened. “Eleanor, I-” What could he say? There were so many things he wanted to say, that this was one thing she would always have his support in, that she was never to feel any shame for her feelings, that he had been taught by someone much better and braver than him, and that James only wanted to pass on that legacy…but he said nothing, merely shaking his head. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

Eleanor nodded and smiled, bright and warm, and James thought, unbidden, how Thomas would have loved her. He turned away from her light, desperate to hide his pain from her - she did not need to see that, did not deserve it.

“Goodbye, then, Captain Flint,” she said, sounding a little uncertain suddenly.

James just nodded, attempting a smile again.

As she walked away, James wondered if he ought to bring Meditations for Eleanor to borrow next time he visited Miranda. Part of him curled up defensively at the thought of letting anyone but Miranda and he so much as touch it, but on the other hand…he couldn’t shake the feeling that Eleanor had earned it. 

ellelan  asked:

8. “Because I care about you!” - for h/c

ugh @ellelan i’m sorry but the h/c is VERY minimal no one is bleeding at all 

:( there’s emotional comfort anyway, lots of that. hope that works!

i have like three more of these to do and the momentum from yesterday is gone, but i’ll get to them this weekend! probably! you guys are the greatest!

set after ~*~the conversation ~*~ in 3x10

8. “Because I care about you!”

Night on Maroon Island was a living thing, the darkness filled with all the noise of a thousand things hidden in the earth, in the trees, in the air. Leaves swayed, twigs snapped, streams babbled. It all seemed so loud to Silver, sitting in silence across from Flint by the fire.

Flint hung his head, thumb massaging his palm as though it ached him. A frown was stuck on his face, still imagining - Silver was sure - all the ways the following fight could fuck up for them.

Silver’s own mind had strayed from Flint’s story to voice his own worries, his own plans, but with the rum warming his insides and the fire warming everything else, he inevitably drifted back to the past.

He tried to picture Flint young and in love, but it wouldn’t stick. That man, McGraw - with pale skin and clean hands and, Christ, hair probably longer than Silver’s - might as well have been a character in a made-up tragedy. He was Hamlet’s father, the wronged ghost whispering in Flint’s ear how every act of violence was justified. Or perhaps his Thomas was the ghost, and McGraw was just another dead body on the stage.

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cptainflint  asked:

silverflint + 5?

5. hands on the other person’s back, fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin that make them break the kiss with a gasp

Oooo what a delicious prompt, thank you! This one was inspired by some gorgeous Silverflint art I’ve seen floating around. This one gets a little closer to porn but it’s mostly just feels and making out.

Enjoy! <3

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what's mine is yours, apparently

“ It’s not – it isn’t a sex thing. It could be, she thinks, but it isn’t. Which. Well, it’s wise – that it isn’t a sex thing means she can keep writing it off as some sort of…work thing. Leader thing. ”


there’s so many new people following me now (why, i’m so sorry) that i feel like i need to let you in on a small secret: i post a shit ton of snippets that are SO USELESS. SO UTTERLY USELESS. I PREEMPTIVELY APOLOGIZE FOR THAT.

this one is inspired by the prompt:

“Bellamy secretly loving it when Clarke is wearing his shirts + him saying “Goddammit, princess” whenever she does (◡‿◡✿)”

  • kind of. it’s kind of inspired by this
  • it’s sappy. sappier. ish. oh who knows, i’m drunk
  • super drunk
  • woooooooooooo
  • c'mon imagine clarke in huge bellamy pants, rolled up and belted in place and stormin’ some enemy camp, just DO IT

if this makes no sense…blame it on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol.



They escape, they escape and things change.

The days wear into weeks, the weeks into months, and gradually Clarke stops noticing some things. Like the way Raven shuffles her steps when she gets nervous, as if she’s lost confidence both in the weight of her statements and the weight of her torso on the fragile nerve endings in her leg. Or how Finn’s eyes get too wide at the sound of gunshots – whether real or imagined, the ones which come from the left-over cargo batches or the ones that come from dropped sheet metal and stone on flint. How Monty trails after someone, anyone, mostly Clarke but often Jasper, or Raven if he’s feeling particularly stranded. How Jasper, in turn, trails after Monty, how he sticks close to people who can reassure him of a situation’s validity, or the strength in his aim as it relates to the strength of his judgement.

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