storm gf

Carl doesn’t like to beg for things. Doesn’t like to ask for anything he can’t get himself. But the hunger that twists low in his gut when Negan lowers the straight razor at last to the bathroom sink is something starved and menacing that threatens to consume him, as it always is when it comes to Negan, and he pushes himself off the doorframe. Slight movement that catches Negan’s eye in the mirror where he’s wiping excess shaving cream off his face.

They just stare at each other for a few seconds. Negan knows, he must know what Carl wants, but he just stands there, eyebrows slightly lifted, amusement twisting the corner of his mouth. When Carl draws in a breath it feels solidified into his lungs.

“I want—” He hesitates. Walks forward until he is standing at the sink, Negan turned to face him, hip cocked against the counter. Carl’s hand flutters out of its own accord like a foreign thing through the air and he watches his fingers come to rest on Negan’s smooth cheek. The skin feels dry and a little rough in places and Carl strokes his thumb over the line of the cheekbone and watches fascinated as Negan’s eyes briefly shut.

Carl’s thumb moves down to Negan’s mouth. Simple, easy gesture that sends shocks like lightning through his whole body. That hunger twisting in him, opening its mouth, ready to devour. Negan’s looking again, amber glass eyes like the sun in a beer bottle. Carl’s mind flits to the way Negan’s stubble had scraped his jaw the last time they kissed, the power in Negan’s movements, the rough virile taste of him nothing like anything Carl had ever experienced. He wonders if it would feel the same, now. If every part of kissing him would be as smooth and clean feeling as touching his face.

“Would you…” Carl swallows. He hates begging, but he hates waiting even more. “Could I…”

Negan’s skin is warm and a little wet where his lips have parted around Carl’s thumb. “C’mere,” Negan says, quiet tense needy voice, and when Carl steps forward another inch Negan lifts his hand—gently, so fucking gently—off his mouth and kisses him. Bending his body down and forward so he can reach Carl, and then lifting him up a little so as to set him on the sink. Bracketing him in with his legs and one arm, the other cradling Carl’s jaw as they both like. Kissing him with that new soft smooth warm skin rubbing against Carl’s face, the lips plush and red and bitten.

Carl reaches out, rests his hands on Negan’s ribs. It’s fucking amazing, like always, to kiss Negan, to feel that new smooth skin on his and know it belongs to him, but he was wrong about one thing. The kissing is rough, and slick and hot and messy, feeding that starved ache that’s spread through his whole body now, and Carl moans, his hips jerking forward, and it isn’t clean at all.

exit(/in), pursued by a swan

Merry Christmas to my darling Gutter Flower Secret Santa, @captainswanismyendgame! Jenna, it’s been a delight, and I hope I was sneaky enough! I hope you enjoy this one. 

A post-Dust Storm AU.  A rising talent in Nashville, Killian Jones locks eyes with Emma Swan from across the room. There’s instant chemistry, but he’s still nursing the heartbreak that brought him here, and she’s fresh out of an engagement. Just maybe it’ll turn out differently this time, though…

Rated T for some salty language and innuendo, and ~1500 words. 

On Ao3.

It’s an odd thing, Killian realizes, being so at home in a bar when you don’t drink. But here he is, all pre-show nerves and adrenaline, still with that undeniable sense of belonging even through the stress.

He tells himself he doesn’t need a beer to get him through this, that it’ll be fine without it. On some level he knows it will be–it’s been a year since he turned back to his music, and now he’s here headlining this show.

He takes a deep breath to steady his racing heart and runs his fingers through his hair before replacing his beanie.

He’s ready.

Keep reading


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