#my knee hurts so bad i'm about to take my second painkiller of the day and I don't know what to do about it because it's not like i can

[canirove]

Ten years | Chapter 5

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It's been a week since Declan and I kissed, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I've tried keeping myself busy with the pub, working out, reading, watching tv... Even going out with Benjamin again. But it's been impossible. The moment I disconnected for a second, I'm back on that car, feeling his lips on mine.

"Ah, fuck, shit!" I yell.

"What happened?" Dom says, running from the other side of the pub to check on me.

"I burnt my hand with the coffee machine. Fuck!"

"How did you do that?" he says, quickly putting it under cold water. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing" I say, the water easing my pain a bit.

"And that's why you burnt your hand. Because you weren't thinking. At all."

"I'm stupid, I know."

"You aren't stupid. But something is definitely going on with you."

"Dom, it hurts" I say, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. This doesn't look good."

"It isn't that... Oh" I say when I see the state of my hand.

"Lily, can you manage on your own?" Dom says.

"Yes, of course. Is it too bad?"

"I don't know. But I don't like how pale she's getting" he says, covering my hand with a wet cloth. "Let's go."

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"It looks more than it actually is" the doctor says, putting some lotion on my hand. "Very painful, but not serious."

When we arrived at the hospital I was crying like a baby, Dom having to carry me on his arms because of the pain.

"Thank God" he says.

"But you must do something about this, miss" the doctor continues. "It's your second visit in a week. First you cut your finger on your other hand, and now this."

"Sorry" I say between sobs.

"Is there anything worrying you?"

"No" I lie. "It's just that during summer we have too much work."

"Well, we don't want to lose you and having the best pub in the area going to hell, so you better take some days off and rest."

"But..."

"You heard him, sis."

"Next time I see you, I hope it's at the pub sharing a beer, not having to take care of another wound."

"I'll try" I say, my hand throbbing.

"I'll give you some painkillers for the pain. You can take them twice a day, and put the lotion three times. As it starts healing, you can do it less often. But be careful with the blisters, we don't want to risk an infection."

"I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry" Dom says. "Thank you very much."

"Thank you" I repeat after my brother.

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"How are you feeling?"

"I think the painkillers are starting to kick in" I say, closing my eyes and resting my head on the car's headrest.

"Good, good. But sis, did you notice how the doctor was flirting with you?"

"What?" I mutter, my eyes still closed.

"He said that he hoped that next time he saw you, it was sharing a beer at the pub."

"And?"

"That's flirting."

"Whatever."

"Maybe you should ask him out since things aren't going anywhere with Benjamin."

"Dom, I feel like my hand is about to explode. Can we please discuss my love life later?"

"Of course" he says, definitely smiling from ear to ear.

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"There you are. Finally!" someone says as Dom helps me get out of the car. No, not someone. Declan. Why is he here? "How are you? Are you ok?"

"It's less than what it looks" Dom says.

"When we went into the pub and Lily told us you had gone to the hospital because you had burnt your hand, I thought the worst."

"I'm fine" I say, my voice sounding very weird on my ears.

"It looks nasty" Declan says, grabbing my arm to check my hand. "Are you sure it isn't serious?" he asks, his thumb doing small circles on my forearm, something he used to do to help me calm down when we were together. And something that if I wasn't feeling completely numb because of the painkillers, would definitely make my knees feel like jelly.

"It isn't" Dom says.

"Well, if she isn't dying, then we can go back to minding our own business. Can't we, Deccy?" Birgit says behind him.

"Deccy" I snort, everyone looking at me. "Sorry. The painkillers."

"I think you need to lay down for a bit" Dom says.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

"Take care of yourself" Declan says, finally letting go of my arm.

"I will, Deccy" I say, quickly realizing what I've said and trying to cover my mouth with my hand. But I use my burnt one, the pain making me feel dizzy.

"Let's go" Dom says, picking me up in his arms again. And I don't know if it's the pain, the painkillers or all of it, but I could swear Birgit mouthed something like "you are dead, bitch."

#declan rice #declan rice imagine #declan rice fanfic #declan rice x reader #football fanfic #football imagine

[unreal-blogs]

A ramble about chronic pain

I wish I'd known when I was younger that my pain was only going to get worse. It started with twisted ankles whenever I ran, my back going into spasm at random moments and being unable to move for several minutes, and random aches that I thought were growing pains but I now know were not.

Then my knees started getting bad too, and I thought it would get better eventually. By this point I'd been referred to an orthopedic specialist to see if there was something they could do to help.

After x-rays and blood tests they decided to try vitamin supplements. Then it was insoles because they noticed my feet were flatter than they should be. When those didn't work I was referred to physio, who looked at my legs and the way they moved, and decided that they couldn't do anything either. That was the day it was decided that surgery was my only option. I would have to wait until I was 16 for it.

When 16 rolled around, I was told that they'd decided to wait longer, until after my a levels, at 18. The pain was still increasing at this point, and I had to ride my bike to school every day because if I tried walking it ached and I couldn't stand it.

By the time I turned 18, the pain in my back reached a point where sitting for extended periods of time made me feel like I couldn't breathe, and I'd wake up some mornings unable to move because my hips were in agony. I was still getting those "growing pain" aches, but by this point I'd stopped growing and I was still hurting, which didn't make any sense to me.

Eventually, it was time, surgery was booked and I was finally going to get better. I just needed to get a little worse first. So I got the first leg broken, and recovered slowly, and the pain didn't get better. And I got the second leg broken, and recovery was even slower, and the pain still didn't go away.

We've just reached three years since the first surgery, and I'm not better yet. I had months of physio, and exercises, and painkillers, but the pain is still there. Worse than before my legs were broken. Some days my legs won't cooperate and I rely on crutches to be able to move around. Some days I think I'm doing well, and then my hip or my knee will hurt every time I take a step, and nothing I do will stop it. And some days I still get those growing pains, even though I'm 21 now and I've definitely stopped growing. Sometimes I feel more like an old person in a young body, like my bones are older than me.

#chronic pain #trauma #disability #disabled #leri weill dyschondrosteosis

[flatstarcarcosa]

You've mentioned it a lot, but did you ever explain how Felix ends up owning a bar in your canon? I'm curious :)

SO. for starters i just got off work and am typing this while trying to eat in the 45-65 minute span i'm gonna have between 'eat food, take meds' and 'pass the fuck out', if anything is disjointed that's why

but anyway so

it comes initially from me being like. what the fuck would felix even DO anyway, because he's absolutely not the 'sit at home all day doing nothing every day even if he has a good reason (the new disabilities)' type.

when he gets medically cleared, and by that i mean his doctors are like 'congrats you don't have to come here multiple times a month, see you in six months' as well as being informed he's basically back to as 'normal' a level as they can get him, it kind of. begins snowballing a little, into a place i don't like.

i joke about 'heehee, soup' but luck, the armor lock, and his armor itself are the only reasons he lived. and that living still involved a 6 week medically induced coma, and another month actually IN the hospital before they sent him home.

and they didn't want to send him home, they wanted to send him to an SNF for more-involved therapy and he just straight up refused and fucked off AMA with my promise to his team i would at least do what i could, which would damn sure be better than whatever he'd do alone.

so by the time we roll around to him being at a point of getting antsy and wanting to do something with himself, it's been a while since chorus. he still thinks that despite everything, things ain't as bad as it could be, he's worked his way back, he just has to brush off the rust and get back to it.

and then while he's learning to shoot again, because yes, in addition to having to learn how walk and get dressed and hold a fucking toothbrush again, he had to learn how to use a fucking gun, he realizes that like...........

maybe he's not getting back to anything.

he needs a (mostly) permanent stiff brace on his knee, and will forever. if he's planning on using his fucking leg for longer than an hour, he's got to have it. stiff ones aren't like the little sleeves you slip on and can hide under a pant leg, and i imagine even in the far-future canon, there's not that many changes made to 'em. you don't redesign something that works, right?

he gets to a point where he finds out he's also going to need to need a moderate dose of painkillers basically forever, and all of the issues keeping them legally comes with, because having your bones put back together and a lot of them replaced with fucking metal might keep you from being paralyzed but it's gonna hurt.

when he's learning to shoot again, he finds a new problem. his doctors had mentioned at one point it could be an issue, but because it hadn't been, he jumped to assuming that meant it wouldn't be, and the problem is that repeated motions put too much stress on the joints and the tendons in his hands and arms and the end result is a tremor.

you can't fucking shoot if you can't hold a gun still, and keeping his hands in the same positions while target shooting are enough to make the tremor act up after a bit. the same with trying to use knives.

and so we slip back into a second period of turmoil, because this is somehow like when we came home the first time, after reach, but also it's not. it's not the same at all, and he says that at least that time everything was actually fine.

it was fine because he could just pick back up with whatever he wanted but he can't do that now because he's spent too long only being good at one fucking thing and now he can't fucking do that fucking thing

"so what the FUCK am i supposed to do until i fucking die, since you and sam couldn't leave it alone on chorus?!"

it's probably, maybe, the first time since the whole thing that i actually step away and go stay with @dadbodsandbots and sam for a bit. (depending on the timeline, and i still haven't nailed down the details bc i would end up hyperfixating on the medical side of it wrt his recovery, but, mason might be a baby now??)

i leave not because i don't care but because i don't know what to do, or say. i'm not going to give him false positives just to keep the good vibes, and i'm not going to remotely imply he doesn't deserve to be angry and maybe losing a little bit (more?) of his mind about it, but from my perspective it's like

he did it to him fucking self.

this whole thing is just him, finally, for once, actually experiencing the consequences of his own goddamn bullshit, and while i'm not cruel enough to tell him that, i don't think i need too. i think he knows. he knows, and that's part of what makes him so goddamn mad about it.

i think maybe he shows up after a couple days, having at least asked sam if it was okay first before showing up, and it ends up being the first time the four of us are actually around each other.

we've seen each other, a little. sam stopped by once, not long after felix was up and walking again at home, and i could do a whole fucking post just about THAT from sam's perspective tbh. (POV: you feel the need to check in on your former partners/friends despite everything and you've had this mental image built up in your brain for a very, very, long time about the one that was basically gaslighting and emotionally abusing you where he's a looming threatening monster that twisted you into becoming the same and then he answers the door on fucking crutches with one leg still mostly held up with visible fucking braces and rods attached down the outside of it, and while the man was never Jacked in his build he looks so fucking gaunt that if someone said he was a walking corpse you wouldn't doubt it. your world view is thrown ass over end, for the second time within as many years.)

i think it's the first time sam begins to ponder the fact that again, despite everything, the four of us are also the only other people in the whole fucking galaxy that know exactly what happened and why we all ended up the way we did and where we did and how, and that for whatever that may be worth,

it's got to be worth something.

i think when we come back home again after that, felix has had time to stew in his anger after i left, and then chew on his anger coming after me, and then finally let it abate enough to see what it left behind while we're there.

and he says, "what the fuck do normal people even do for jobs, anyway?"

we're not hurting for money or anything. my penchant for never spending more than we needed to, his penchant for always finding new ways to add to the checks, and both of us likely having maybe-dubiously-legal investments over the years means that technically we're fine.

it's not about the money, which is something else that feels weird for him, when so much was for so long, but it's looped back to what i opened with: felix isn't the 'sit around at home all day and do nothing' type.

i end up being the one spouting off bartending. one of the things for combating the nerve issues and the tremors is actually walking the fine line of retraining his fine-motor control without over-exerting it. when we empty out the storage locker we've been paying on for well over a decade, he finds his old guitar and picks up playing again.

his doctor comments that it's a really good idea, actually, so good he's bummed he didn't think of it himself, because of guitar playing involving dexterity and use of the hands without them being stuck in the same positions for too long.

it sounds silly, but he picks up a bit of juggling, too. not like, circus level shit, but just the repeated motions of throwing things and tracking them and catching them and rinsing and repeating.

basically he ends up doing a lot of mostly-mindless stuff that involves keeping his hands and arms in use, with bonus points being anything he can kind of do while doing something else. (if you're like, omg does felix have fidget spinners the answer is no, but he does have other stim toys, but also, if you call them that he will throw it at you, tremors be damned.)

and so i'm like.

bartending.

you can still be around people and shit talk them, it'll be a good environment that isn't something lifeless and soul sucking, you'll get ample use of your hands, and as an added treat, "you get to control people when you tell them no more booze."

"and if they get mad about it, i might still get to stab people sometimes, too," he adds, cheerfully.

he ends up just working in some little dive when none of the clubs in the area hire him. we can't like, outright accuse anyone with no proof but we're pretty sure it's because the clubs are run by snobs that would rather close down early every night for lack of staff than have a bartender with a leg brace.

the owner of the dive is probably some ex UNSC guy himself, the type that doesn't think it's something to hide while not making it everyone else's business. the type of guy that can tell felix's made-up timeline and events he gives for how he got injured ain't really jiving, but thinks at the end of the day that a man's business is his own and he doesn't owe anyone explanations about it.

i think the bar has a high turnover because lots of people get hired thinking it's going to be something other than what it is, and they think the owner is a dick (he's just old, gruff, and low on patience) and felix is one of the few people that sticks it out. i think he has a relationship with The Owner based on friendly animosity.

("you have me closing alone every night leading up to memorial day, are you a fucking sadist? are you trying to fucking kill me?"

"we're already dyin' a day at a time kid."

"well, can you please do yours faster so i can piss on your grave and find a new job?" )

it means that after a handful years, when The Owner is packing it in and retiring, before he sells the building to a realtor, he asks felix if he'd be interested in buying the bar.

claims that the realtor just wants to bulldoze the building to put in condos, and he'd rather die in the bar in the middle of a shift than let that happen, but then he offers felix a lower price than what he'd get for the condos, and felix can't help but feel that's by design.

so he says fuck it, why not? might be nice ~*~*being his own boss~*~*~ again.

#txt.txt #but also #others: samcat #should i expand on The Owner and give him like a name or something? #probably. #do i want to given How I Am About Gruff Old Men? no #but also: he's the anti-sarge in the fact that he's not full of insanity and smooth brains like sarge is #they'd still weirdly probably get along though? in the sense that sarge would go on a rant about something #and The Owner is shooting the shit along with him and then as soon as he walks away he's telling felix like #'that guys fucking insane and an idiot i understand why you wanted to kill him' #ship: save me some sunshine

[sunpopp]

Warm to The Touch | {CCH}

→ Summary; it's not often that Chanhee gets sick, but when he does, he's a very big crybaby about it. That, or he really is in as much pain as he says he is—regardless that leaves you to take care of him, and funnily enough, it has its perks.

• WC/genre: 2K of smut + fluff

• Includes/cw: Chanhee being sick and reader taking care of him, no kissies on lips 😔, sub!Chanhee, gn!reader, fingering (m receiving), dick neglection (?), handjobs, brief praise, aftercare

Riding the bus wasn't your favorite thing to do, but it was soothing if you were in the right mood.

Sadly, you weren't. Mostly due to the fact that Chanhee was quite literally blowing up your phone with texts asking how much longer it'd take you to be off the train and on your way with his precious medicine, making you sigh and roll your eyes before shooting him a reply that you'd be there soon, but knowing nothing would calm him down until you were in front of him to prove it.

You can't help but smile.

Chanhee didn't complain much about anything, besides maybe you not helping him with washing the dishes or set the table while he made dinner, but everything else was, at most, a dirty look that softened relatively quickly. Sickness, though, was a whole other ballgame.

He would rant and rave about the tiniest of phantom pains, practically on the male equivalent of his period with the way his mood would get snappy and sour at the slightest inconveniences.

But maybe he really did just have a shit pain tolerance like he'd often hint at. Though it didn't stop you from still being baffled when he'd get a bad cramp in the middle of the night and whine about it until he'd fall asleep again.

Coming back to reality as you glance up to the bus's nearing destination, you stretch lazily and begin to stand, muscles aching from walking all day and back cracking loud enough for you to wonder if other people heard it. The bus slows to a stop before finally lurching against the sidewalk, and you take your leave through the opening doors with an appreciative thanks to the driver.

Almost immediately after you hop down from the steps, a layering of chilly wind washes harshly against your front and the familiar smell of petrichor into your nose, relentless rain droplets against your coat as you begin in a jog in the direction of your apartment. Chanhee must be freezing right now, you think, concern growing even heavier at the visible breaths of air you let out. If he's already got the sniffles, a sore throat, and headaches, he's probably getting worse considering you'd forgotten to turn the heater on before you left.

Stupid mistake.

It takes maybe a couple more minutes, less than it'd take if you were walking like normal, before you're finally at your door, punching in the code for the lock before shouldering it open and kicking off your shoes on the shoe rack. It's cold inside, you can tell by the way your cheeks still feel numb.

"Chanhee! I got your medicine!" Your words echo throughout the hall, spreading out when you keep calling his name as you move farther in; past the open kitchen and to the bedroom door opposite the bathroom.

When you come into the room, Chanhee is still in the bed where he was when you left, but this time, he's sat up, looking at you with hooded eyes and a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. He frowns, "It's about time. While I was here suffering, you were out with your friends. Unbelievable..," he pouts and shakes his head.

With a chuckle and now eased posture, you sit in front of him and set the bag of medicine beside you to check his temperature. He's extremely hot.

"Yeah, well, staying around you while you're sick is enough to drive me crazy so you can't really pin the blame on me for needing to leave. Plus, it's not like you tried to stop me, did you?" You smile at him, standing back up to go run him a lukewarm bath.

"I was asleep!"

"Your problem, not mine!"

___

"Alright, up you go."

"Ah, but my whole body hurts..."

"Too bad, you're sweating a bunch and you haven't done anything to clean yourself yet."

Another tug of Chanhee's hands, and he's stumbling into your arms with a raspy groan at the jerky movement. You pat his back, pecking his damp forehead, then drag him to the bathroom.

"Can you undress yourself or do you need my help with everything?" You half-joke.

"Don't be rude, it's actually hard for me to do a lot of things," Chanhee utters bitterly, but he does manage to pull his shirt over his head, albeit with your help, as well as his pants and boxers before stepping into the water.

"Or maybe you're just fragile as hell and the smallest things have you bedridden for a week."

"Oh my god I'm gonna-"

"Hush, princess, you won't do anything," you find yourself laughing as you lower yourself to your knees beside the tub, folding your arms on the side before resting your cheek atop them, "Just relax, okay? I know you're too tired to argue right now, so let yourself calm down for a couple."

He thankfully doesn't protest, and takes your advice for once; letting himself fall against the back of the bathtub and close his eyes, the sigh through his nose an indication that he's allowing himself to enjoy the water. He looks so peaceful like this. Doll-like eyelashes fluttering against smooth, heated cheeks, and head slowly lolling to face you.

You feel yourself reach out. You know it's happening, but you don't stop it when you run a hand through Chanhee's bangs, then swipe a thumb past his eyelid to trail to his nose, then lips.

He opens his eyes, but doesn't say anything, even if he probably finds it strange. He lets you touch him.

"You're very pretty," you mumble whilst pouring water onto his head using the wash bucket on the back surface of the bathtub. Drops trickle down into mini patterns on his face, and he drags a hand over it to clear them away.

"Even while sick?" He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at your answer.

You comb the water into his hair to wet it as you nod, "Even while sick."

Chanhee smiles, "So, how was your day out?"

"It was nice. Found a perfect place where I'd love to take you, actually."

"Oh? Where?"

"The bone zone-"

"Oh my god, you're so annoying!"

You erupt into a fit of laughter as Chanhee swats a hand at you, getting some of your shirt and arm wet where you shield yourself from his little attack. You pinch his cheek, flashing a toothy grin, "Oh, come on! That was a good one and you know it. Smooth as ever if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, and you're the only one saying so," He pouts, pulling away from your pinchy fingers and trying his best to hide the steadily growing smirk that threatens to break his face into a smile. Stubborn as always, you see.

"You can leave now," Chanhee gives you a pointed look.

"Alright, alright. I'll be in the bedroom awaiting any further commands, your highness," You shake your head, and make a grand display of leaving the room and him to his own privacy.

Chanhee doesn't take long in the bath anyway, so you knew you wouldn't have to wait long as you fall back against the bed, shifting around until you've made yourself comfortable against the strewn navy covers. You spare a glance out the window pressed against your side; still raining, and still bathed in a silver glow from the blanketing clouds. It'd make you kind of sad, if not melancholic, but you were in a good mood from coming home, so at the most, you were calm.

Calm, even when Chanhee emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam a half hour later, only wearing a pink striped button up pajama shirt and matching bottoms, hands raised above his head whilst he dries his hair with a small towel. He comes to a stop in front of you.

"There he is," you exclaim, looking up from your phone and patting the spot next to you with a mischievous glint in your eye, "C'mere."

"I wonder why I'm hesitating," he says, and you can practically feel the the sarcasm in his words.

"Because hot people make you nervous? Duh."

"Are you insinuating that you're hot?"

That's your queue.

Leaning forward, you grab Chanhee's wrist and tug him into your chest, causing him to stumble slightly, but you catch him and pull him flush against you. A flurry of kisses to his face, excluding his lips, ensue.

Chanhee squirms around in your arms and acts like he doesn't like the affection at first, but a few more seconds of the same treatment prove true to his soft side when he goes limp and begins to giggle at the ticklish feel of your butterfly pecks.

Oh, that giggle. How you loved to hear it; sweet and beautiful like the chime of the prettiest bell in your ears.

You pull him on top of you as you relax against the crevice where the mattress meets the wall, and rest your cheek on the top of his head, humming, "You saying that I'm not hot?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

"Kidding."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You- Hush!" Chanhee covers your mouth finally and you chuckle against his palm at his feeble attempt to silence you.

You press a kiss to it instead of bickering further, causing him to soften. Just then, you realize something as you touch down his wrist.

"Woah, has your fever not died down at all? You're even starting to sweat a little bit again, too..."

Your suspicions prove true when a closer inspection at the ruddy skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest and heavier-than-normal breathing indicates that he's still hot, or at least overheated.

"Here," you murmur, already shifting him on his back so you can easily unclasp the buttons of his shirt, "Are you in any pain or is it still just the sore throat?"

"The headache I had earlier is starting to come back. It's getting worse, but that's about it so don't worry, I'll be fine," Chanhee tries his hand at reassurance, you can tell, but it doesn't do anything to stop you from crawling over him to scurry into the kitchen.

"I'm getting you some water, hang on!" You call out from down the hall, making quick work of filling up a decently sized glass before you return to him with some painkillers as well. He barely manages to sit up when you reach him; his face scrunching at the obvious pain that's beginning to hit him tenfold as he gratefully takes the pills and throws his head back when he tosses them in his mouth, chasing them with the cold glass of water you provided.

"Ah, it's actually really starting to hurt...," Chanhee whimpers and at the sound, you slide back into the bed to pepper his face with pecks once again. He's grateful for the comfort, if the way he gently drapes his arm over your shoulder says anything.

"Oh, my poor baby," you coo lowly, feeling the goosebumps on his back that prickle at your tone, "Is there anything I can do to make it better? Did you already take your medicine?"

"Yeah.. still hurts.."

"I can tell," you snort and trail a finger down Chanhee's sternum, looping it back up to flick at one of his nipples. He jolts, and you can't help but give a cheeky smirk, "Even your nipples have taken on somewhat of a hue. I wonder what other places are doing the same thing...," your words would hold suggestion to even the most clueless of people, spoken through lips now slicked with saliva as you roll your tongue across the tinted flesh and lower your head for a taste of his exposed breast.

"Ah!" Chanhee gasps loudly and his fingers find purchase on the back of your head, his body trembling when he arches his chest up into your face, searching for more when his mouth fails to ask you such a favor.

Teasing his nipple with a gentle nip before pulling away to kiss it instead, you caress his narrow waist, "You said it hurts, no?"

"It does...," Chanhee pants and nods as fast as his throbbing head will allow him.

"Where does it hurt most, baby? Tell me," You wet your fingers with a quick swipe of your tongue then reach under his lower half to slide your hand into his shorts, Chanhee helping you by taking one leg out, and glide down the seam of his ass to tease his rim, "Here?"

"Y-yes..!" you chuckle when he huffs and flings both arms around your head, pulling you close into him and meeting your forehead as he grinds down against your digits.

"Awe, look at you..."

And look at him indeed; Chanhee is already a mess before you. Staring at you with those big watery doe eyes of his, and silently pleading for you to continue doing things to his body that has him feeling like bursting.

You give him exactly what he wants.

Pushing your finger into him, slowly due to how tight the fit is, you press sloppy kisses to the underside of his jaw. The reaction Chanhee gives is a familiar one, with sensual lips dropped open to let out a high-pitched moan and legs trembling as he holds them open for you, fighting to not shut his eyes upon feeling you enter him.

"Good," you drawl, tilting your wrist at an angle once your index and pinkie meet the backs of Chanhee's thighs and gently curling your fingers upwards, "Just like that, baby. Is this okay? Are you okay?" Your eyes search his face for discomfort, and though you don't find any, you still your movements.

He nods and nuzzles against the top of your head with his cheek, "Mm-hm. Keep going, please."

You start back up at his polite request, as much as you love hearing him ask for more of something, and begin to drag the pads of your fingers back and fourth alongside his walls until you feel the telltale firmness of his prostate, then start on massaging it.

"Ah!" He emits a short, melodical whine at the burst of sensation now seething within him. It drives him one step from crazy as he scrunches his face and unconsciously slaps at your shoulder in a sort of mid-euphoria result.

You huff out a half-laugh, sitting back on your knees so you can get a better view of what you're doing, "Good?"

Chanhee tries to use his words, but by the way you pin him down to the bed with a palm flat against his collarbone before speeding up your hand, he can only manage a broken sob. It's followed by another of the same needy type, but this time, it's louder and causes your stomach to all but flip at the sound. Chanhee throws his head back, thrashing this way and that to somewhat get away from the overwhelming feeling, but also pushing down against it at the same time; all the while your hand keeps him in place.

"I'll take that as a yes," you jest, mostly to yourself because Chanhee sure isn't listening, then bend down slightly to finally turn your focus to his weeping cock. It's full-blooded from being hard for so long, angry red at the tip and jumping every once in a while, especially when you open your mouth to lick a strip from the base to the head.

"P-please I can't! You're gonna make me cum!" Chanhee rushes to sit up, but you push him back down as soon as he tries. He looks absolutely horrified at being so close already.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"I-I just- I don't want to disappoint you."

"Oh, baby," You take your hand from his chest in favor of jerking him off, which he all but chokes at, "It doesn't disappoint me at all. I find it very hot, actually."

"Plea-ease..! Oh!" Chanhee wails one final time before he lets go all over your hand.

It covers your knuckles, dripping white down the side of your thumb as you keep stroking him to help him ride it out. The orgasm must've hit him hard, you think when you look up to see Chanhee shuddering in time with the aftershocks that zap his body every few seconds, eyes closed and skin dewy with a sheen of perspiration.

"Hey, come back to me. You alright? Does your head still hurt?"

He takes a moment to open his eyes, but when they roll open and find your face, he does something that catches you off-guard. He latches himself onto your front, straddling your lap, and rests his head over your shoulder with a sigh.

"Chanhee, hang on a bit, my hand's still dirty and I need to clean you up-"

"In a second. I'm tired."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Mm, I don't feel like talking right now."

"... You are such a handful."

@vanillaknj @stealerhwa1

#sub tbz #sub tbz smut #sub the boyz smut #sub! the boyz #sub! the boyz smut #tbz smut #the boyz smut #dom!reader #sub!idol #gn!reader #idol smut #kpop smut #smut #chanhee smut #sub!chanhee #chanhee the boyz #the boyz chanhee

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ CLUB DOESN'T GO FIRST ❜

with Ezekiel Reyes.

Request: Second part of this prompt.

BY @ly--canthrope

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 2.9k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

Sitting up and resting your back against the window, you cover your mouth to drown a loud yawn on the palm of your hand. Your head hurts too much, but not more than your heart, feeling yet the oppression squeezing it. Turning to the nightstand, you find a coffee with a hand written note that says ‘drink me with the pill’. Angel has been taking care of you for the last four days, sleeping on the sofa you can't imagine how hurt has to be his back. Feeling so sorry for him. The history repeats itself years ago. Lowering the blind a little, you grab the painkiller to swallow it with a sip of the cold drink. You don't want to check your phone, knowing what you are going to find. But the masochism is stronger than your desire for not doing it. Grabbing it from under Angel's pillow, you unlock it.

There are thousands of texts and lost calls from EZ's number. And, like every morning since four days ago, you read all the messages. This time, you have fifty two. The most recent is from twenty minutes ago. You're aware that he has been sleeping on his brother's door waiting for you to talk with him. But you don't want any explanation. You understood why he was leaving in the middle of the night, thinking that you were sleeping. And you don't want to think about the fact that he has been cheating you. But if it's not, what else?

To: angelito 👼🏻

“I'm still alive to my misfortune”

Leaving the phone away, you try to get up stretching your whole anatomy after putting your feet on the warmth floor because of the sun going through the window. Walking straight to the bathroom and after having another drink from the mug, you place it over the marble sink to take off your pajamas, which is basically an old Angel's shirt, you get into the shower. The hot water wets down your hair and your anatomy, rubbing your face to get rid of the rheums and gargling to clean your throat from the taste of beer and cigars courtesy of last night. When your mane is already washed, and your body too, you step out from the shower wrapped in a soft blue towel covering from your chest to your knees.

From: angelito 👼🏻

“Drink the coffee, take the painkiller and come to the clubhouse. Prez wanna talk with you”.

To: angelito 👼🏻

“Is your brother there?”

From: angelito 👼🏻

“In Yuma till tonight”.

Sighing heavily, you nod at the last message walking back to his room to get dressed. For a moment you thought that he was in the building hallway waiting again for you to talk with him. But you're starting to see ghosts in a house that it's not haunted. When you're ready, picking your basic stuff around the house, like the keys of your car and your wallet, to keep them inside your bag; you leave the Reyes house. Unlocking the black Camaro, you find a note stuck in the front windshield. ‘I love you. I'm so sorry’. Crumpling it into a ball, you throw it to the ground without giving it more importance than it already has.

Driving your way to the clubhouse, your phone rings on the codriver seat, flashing EZ's name on the screen. And you're about to throw it too by the window, when you have to stop your car dead some inches away to not run Creeper over, at the entrance of the scrapping.

“Shit, mami!”

“Sorry, Crep'!” You say, sticking your head out of the car for a moment.

Biting your bottom lip, dying of shame, you continue by the gravel road to the front yard. Parking close to the motorcycles, Angel receives you between his strong arms, as soon as you step out of the Camaro.

“Gotcha!” He screams with a singing voice, lifting you up some seconds, squeezing you under his grip and making you laugh.

“Stop! You're gonna break me!”

“Yeah, sure… 'cause you're soft and fluffy, aren't you?” He jokes pocking the tip of your nose, before placing an arm on your shoulders.

“What does Bishop want?”

“You will see, (Y/N)”. He smirks at you, bringing you to the inside of the clubhouse. “He's in the Templo”.

Greeting the other members and grabbing another cup of coffee, you take off the sunglasses that cover the black bags under your eyes coming into it. Closing the sliding door, El Presidente gets up from his chair to hug you with an arm on your back.

“Sit down, querida”.

You have been all day thinking about the thing you want EZ to explain to you, making a whole speech in your head that you know you're going to forget when you see him again. Yes, you still be raged and bereaved, but you can't erase all at once a year of relationship, and a life of friendship. Your hands tremble over the steer wheel, clinging your fingers around it when you drive through the scrapping again when the night has fallen down above Santo Padre. Soon, you find him sitting on the porch waiting for you, after his brothers told him that you wanted to talk. Licking your bottom lip and breathing by your nose, you leave the car parked close to the motorbikes, getting out of it with dubious steps and your hands keeped in the back pockets of your jeans. Ezekiel smiles with a saddened aura wrapping him, noticing that the shine you used to have in your eyes now is gone. Standing up on his feet, you follow him to the roulotte, where everything happens. And even if you would like to have this conversation in another place, you know it's going to help you because of all the memories you have built there. This place is going to keep you in the real world.

Opening the door, the younger Reyes lets you come in first, closing it behind his back in the meantime you sit at the table. Your hands are intertwined in a first over the wood, with your gaze fixed on them, until he has a seat in front of you. Emboldening, you look at him.

“Those… three or four times you left past midnight, you went to see her?”

He nods.

“Yes”.

Licking your incisors with the tip of your tongue, you tour your lower lip with it. You already knew it. But it's painful hearing him confirming it to you.

“Did you f—”.

“No”. He just says, interrupting you with his eyes constantly on yours. No doubts, no trembling tone of voice. “I would never touch her. I would never touch any woman that it's not you”.

“Well, you were ‘actually’ touching her”. You laugh with a bitter and sarcastic laughter, resting your back against the sofa watching him snort. “Why? Why did you lie to me?”

“I couldn't tell you anything until being sure”.

“Being sure about what, Ezekiel? Fuck off with your secrets!” You bark hitting the table with the palm of your hand.

“Until being sure of who killed my mother... and who hired him”.

Placing both forearms on the table, frowning confused and your mouth slightly opened, you try to say something. Stuttering nonsense words. Now, in part, you feel like shit. You don't care anymore why he didn't tell you but the fact he has been through this alone. Rubbing your face with both hands and pulling back your hair from the roots to flood them onto your nape, you snort.

“Angel knows it?”

“No”.

“And… why Emily? What does she have to do with all this?”

“Jose Galindo hired a hitman to kill my parents”. EZ briefly explains, keeping his gaze on yours at all times. “Pops worked for him, but when he met my mom and got pregnant of Angel, he left the Cartel and ran away. I don't know if he… did it because he thought that pops could speak with the DEA or… I don't know… I don't know yet”.

“Do you… know the name of the… man who shot your mother?” Ez told you that he saw his face, but it wasn't enough to find him. He just nods, freezing your blood.

And you know it's the exact and perfect moment to drop your condition on the table.

“I want you to leave the club”.

The youngest Reyes twists his neck confused, because he wasn't expecting these words and you're talking pretty serious.

“If you want me to come back, I want you to leave the club. I want you away from Emily, from the Cartel, from all this shit. I'm not gonna live as your mother did. I love you, but this life is not for me, Ezekiel”.

“You can't ask m—”.

“Yes, I can. And I'm doing it. I've been with you for the last eight years. Unconditionally. Always by your side. But I can't. I can't anymore”. You sentence about to cry, gesticulating with one hand to cut the air between both. “I'm leaving Santo Padre tomorrow. You have until noon”.

You're hating Bishop right now more than you thought you could ever hate someone in your life. But that man is wise like a damn rat. And sometimes, he knows you better than yourself. Even so, you're fucking up EZ so bad that he's about to break into pieces when he watches you getting up from the sofa. A lot of bullshit dances in your head. His mother's murderer, Emily trying to get him closer, Angel living happily in his ignorance. You're sure that your brain is going to explode from one moment to another, when a strong and firm hand grabs your left wrist. Bowing down your orbs to the fingers clinged around your skin, you raise up your gaze to the man with his eyes filled with tears.

“I cho—choose you over everything”. He says with a broken thread of voice, shaking like a scared kid, slowly pulling you closer.

Surprised and stunned, you let him sit you on his lap. Sinking his face in your neck, he finally lets go of all those things that were oppressing his heart, turning them into tears. His tensed arms surrounding your waist, making you know that he doesn't want you to go.

“Isn't it enough to asking him to do it?”

“Querida, words will always be words. And words are gone with the wind”.

“I'm gonna destroy him”.

“Didn't he do it first? I want his kutte on my table”.

Doubting, you bring your hands to the back of his head. As soon as he feels your touch again, his cry gets louder staining your shirt holding you stronger. EZ is trying to ask you to stay, to tell you that he's going to do whatever you ask him for, but his voice is so low that you can't hear him well. Your fingers caress his scalp slowly, from his nape to the top of his head, resting your cheek on it.

Ezekiel takes one last look at the leather kutte exposed over the table of the roulotte. Since he came out of jail, the only two reasons he have had to continue his life have been you and this piece of clothes. They're his family. They love him. He enjoys the shit he does in some kind of way, but he can't imagine a life without you. For him it's going to be easy to find a job, start from zero in another city, another country. He knows it well. But he's going to miss riding his bike as much as he has done until now.

Taking the kutte and cleaning his tears, EZ has a deep breath before stepping out of the trailer, guiding his steps through the alley towards the clubhouse. Every member of his charter is sitting at the table inside the templo, without understanding what's happening when they watch him coming in with the vest in a hand. No one, except Bishop and Angel. He's devastated, having his heart divided in two. One of them falling into pieces. But that feeling is taken to the background because of the confusion that tours through his body, when he finds you there too behind Bishop's chair, resting your back on the dark wall.

“I just… want to thank you for… welcoming me here, as one more of you. For letting me be part of this family, but…” Ezekiel leaves the kutte over the table with trembling fingers, running his hands through the fabric to wipe out some small wrinkles. “I leave the club”.

“What?” “Brother, the fuck?” “Bishop, what is that?”

All the members talk in unison, while Angel looks at his brother in silence. Actually, he's feeling proud of what he is doing. Yes, he's leaving the club. But Ezekiel is showing that he cares about his family, more than anything.

“I don't know if I have to do… something before… leaving”. He says then, clearing his throat and tangling his hands behind his back.

“Wear that fucking kutte and place the boxes of beers that came this morning”. Bishop just says, while you take some steps to put your hands on his shoulders. “See? I told you, kid”.

“Listen, querida, I would leave the club too if you asked me to do it. You're the kind of person that could put out the flames of hell”.

“But… I don't want him to do it”.

“He will do it, if he loves you. If he truly considers you his family. We're always with this shit about ‘club goes first’, but that's not true. Blood. Blood goes first. No matter how bad your true family treated you, it's in our DNA. I will not let him go, it's just a test. And if he chooses the club over you, I'll fuck him up”.

“If you cross a single world, again, with Galindo's wife, listen to me, Ezekiel”. El Presidente gets up from his chair, placing one hand over the table to use the other to point at him. “I will cut your body into pieces, keeping you alive all the time possible, to spread it all over the desert. Don't play dumb, prospect, I am not kidding”.

The crew are still confused, but they know that as soon as you leave the Templo, Angel will explain to them what was the conversation between Bishop and you.

“And about you, querida”. The man turns a little, twisting his neck. “Look where you drive by. Creeper was shot some months ago, don't run him over too”.

“Yeah! Exactly! I'm fucking fragile, mami”.

“Like a Fabergé's egg”. You say rolling your eyes.

“If you say that because of what I'm thinking… I'm not bald, I like to shave my head”. He replies making fun of you, watching how you walk closer to EZ.

“Oh, c'mon! Isn't that bad to be bald, Creeper. You save money on shampoo”.

The laughs flood the Templo, in the meantime that you grab the kutte to help a confused EZ to put it on.

“Let's go, prospect, you have work to do”. Palming his shoulders, you accompany him to the bar, after closing the glass door.

“I… I… Wha—What hap…” Your boyfriend isn't able to form a sentence, rubbing his face with both hands. “Did you… Did he…?”

“We did” You reply, crossing the bar to grab some beers. Opening both, you offer him one. “I didn't want to reach the extreme of watching you hand over the kutte, but Bishop wanted to push you to your limits”.

“But, then… What happens with us? Are you leaving? Are you leaving Santo Padre? I did what you ask me to, you ca—”.

“Sometimes, I really think that you're not this… smart as you used to, Ezekiel”. Drinking from your bottle, you shake your head with a fleeting smile. “It was just a test, EZ. I'm not going anywhere. Bishop had the… brilliant idea of makes you proof me your love over the club”.

“So… You're staying?”

“I'm ready to punch you in the face, if you ask me again”.

Leaving his beer away over a table, he takes three big steps towards you, clinging his arms around your body. For a second you're sure that you're running out of air, before he starts to kiss your face all over it. He was truly fucked, and now is when you're seeing it. Surrounding his back with your arms, you push him closer to you, shortening all the possible distance between both.

“I promise I'll not keep any other secret from you. Never. I swear to my mom, baby. There's no one in this life over you, over what I feel for you”. Ezekiel assures you, sinking his face in the space between his forearm and your neck. “I love you. You're gonna see it every fucking day, mi amor”.

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