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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh holy holy heck this chapter is SO DAMN EXCITING hehehe I had sosososo much writing and doing all the research!! please let me know if there is anything factual/cultural that I need to fix! I tried the best I could although I most def am not an expert in Egyptian culture so I appreciate it a lot :) hehe i hope ya have fun reading this chapter teehee oh! also I love hearing what you thought of it too! :D

Four

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, several mentions of food and alcohol as well as getting tipsy/drunk that good, good making out, suggestive themes

CWs: mentions of guns, mentions of knives, themes of jealousy (expressed by the reader)

Word count: 7.5k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

“Well, we’re in Cairo alright.”

Two tugged the amazed young stow-away-student, Seungmin, by the hand of his backpack to keep him from running into one of the palm tree planters decorating the terminal. The young man had nearly slept the whole flight due to the length as well as the exasperation that he had just been through. While his eyes were still darkened from his nap, his glossy pupils still wondered all around him.

“I take it back. I’m so glad that I almost died so I could end up here with you guys.”

Jeongin slapped him from the backside of his head. “Never be thankful for almost dying. Life is a lot more fucking fragile than you think. This isn’t just some joyride--”

“--Ease up F.” You interrupted your partner as you shouldered your bag. The kid had already been through enough already: he didn’t need accosting on top of it all.

The dashing prince sighed out and stretched his arms. “Ahhhh Cairo. It’s been a while; too long actually.”

The airport was humid: the kind of sticky warmth that dripped down your neck in a matter of seconds to then get caught above your lip. It wasn’t much help to the anxiety that already had seeped into your veins. The closer you got to a gun the more comfortable you would be. You and the other two guards created a formation around the prince with two in the front and the other in the flank. While each of you were dressed in regular street clothes, your responsibility of his detail still hung over your head with a severe air.

Chan threw his arm over the young student with an obscene grin. His hair had become a little disheveled from the plane seat and his hoodie, but he didn’t appear to mind. Seeing him so normal was somewhat of an odd change to your previous unbreakable impression of him.

“Seungmin my friend, you’ve never lived until you’ve been to Cairo. I’ve never seen another place so enriched in history in my whole life...it puts my kingdom to shame. It’s almost like...you can just feel the time here: hundreds of thousands of years...beauty, art, food, industry...I’ve got a thing or two to learn.”

Seungmin nodded at the prince’s grandiose gestures in the terminal with an enamored smile. “I can’t wait to see it!”

Your partner put a firm hand on the prince’s back to guide him to the baggage claim. “We won’t be here for long, so, don’t get too excited. We’ve come here for one reason and we shouldn’t dally otherwise.”

The young boy appeared to frown, and Two bit his lip with a little chuckle. “Way to crush the kids dreams F.”

“You know the mission, J.” Jeongin gritted his teeth with the words. “Everything is set, there will be a car waiting for us in the garage, and at the hotel we’ll have anything we need.”

Prince Chan lulled his head back with heels clicking on the flooring. Rogue strands of his hair hung over his sunglasses where he threw a look back at you while pulling them down.

“Don’t forget our little deal Bee? We’ll have time for a little pleasure.”

The white haired agent rolled his eyes with gusto then adjusted the royal’s glasses over his face. “We’ve still got to be careful, you Highness. We never know where they could have eyes.”

“I know where I’ve got mine...” He turned back once more to throw his cockiness in your general direction.

“Listen to F, your Highness...if you want to live.”

“Oooo. Feisty as ever, Bee. I love it when you bite back.” Chan turned to his new pet, Seungmin, “She’s really something isn’t she?”

The young man nodded, but not necessarily because he agreed, but it just seemed like it better to agree with a prince than to disagree with him.

The air appeared to turn even thicker in the summery and arid city and your group approached the parking lot half shaded. Outside of the cement lot, iridescent waves of heat wiggled on the horizon, and further, the astonishing urban sprawl of Cairo, and just over it, the stretch of the Nile and Giza. Palms and other varieties of plants spotted the landscape and above it all, a perfectly crystal blue sky streaked with thin clouds. Had the circumstances been different, you really would have wished to have been there for pleasure.

“This one. Right here.” Jeongin announced upon spotting the black armored sedan. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicle, but you were prioritizing safety over aesthetics. Your partner touched his index fingerprint to the car door’s invisible panel, and it flashed blue just as the lock had at the safehouse with the ticking clock insignia.

Two whipped his head around to make one last check of the surroundings before taking off his sunglasses and reddened eye. “Get in. Both of you.” He urged the prince and the student. He popped the drivers side open to find a different pair of glasses in the storage compartment: gold framed aviators.

“Huh,” He said happily while putting them on. “This is more my style.” He rummaged around a bit more to find a new pair of black framed glasses there too. “Fox! Think fast!” He threw them over to your partner who sighed out with relief.

“Thank god.”

The trunk opened with a mechanical sounding creek, and you lifted up the trunk bed to find your whole arsenal: Heckler & Koch MP5′s submachines, Remington 870 shotguns, and Glocks complete with thigh holsters. Among the pile of metal, various knives and other weapons were held in foam holders.

“They’ve got knives back there?” Two asked while pulling the rearview mirror to see.

“Oh yeah. What? You more of a knife guy?” You teased while looping your thigh holster over your cargo pants. It fit just right.

The illusive man popped his gum with a shiny smile. “‘Don’t ever have to reload them...that’s what I’m saying.”

“Thank you Carroll.” Jeongin sighed upon seeing the thick laptop among the weapons. “Finally I can do some real work. That kid’s damn Chromebook was killing me. I nearly short circuited it trying to connect to our network.”

“You what?!” Seungmin was suddenly much more interested.

“Dont worry yourself too much, its still fine.”

“Are there cameras in here?” You quickly asked your partner.

“Agency should’ve fried them a long time ago. Why?”

From the trunk bed you sized up the Glock to feel its weight and how cool it settled into your sweating hand. You unloaded the magazine to see that it had already been filled.

“Carroll. She really is too kind to us.” You slid the magazine back in then, pulled back the slider to lock it once more, catching Chan’s adoring glance.

“Something interesting pretty boy?”

The prince appeared to shiver a little, but brushed it off sighing, “Oh, nothing.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Either it was Carroll or the King, but someone had spared no expense on the young prince. The sun set upon the sparking Nile where you had arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel Cairo at Nile Plaza.

Anything for His Royal Highness The Prince.

The towering and gleaming building was a sight to behold in and of itself. It was nestled right into the riverside anchored with several leisurely sailboats bopping in the evening breeze. As day crept into night, the city grew with a swell of lights washing as far as you could see. Extensive bridges and roadways glowed with headlights and every building appeared to be illuminated along with more boats strolling down the river in a rainbow of colors and music.

The prince craned his head as close to the window as he could and rubbed together his hands excitedly. He looked from you to your partners, finally making a disapproving scoff.

“Come on. You’re not just a little excited to be here?”

“We’re here on business, how many times do we have to explain?” Jeongin typed away at his computer from the front seat.

“Bee?” He looked back to you with a hopeful little glint to his eye.

“Like Fox said...tomorrow is our appointment with White Rabbit, then we’re on the first flight back home for you.”

The young prince frowned, but this quickly faded once he had seen the golden brass doors to the magnificent hotel. Seeing the state that the four of you were in, it was a bit comical that you had rolled up to a place such as this. Immediately a valet and bellhop jogged up to the car wearing perfectly pressed uniforms and spotless shined shoes. Little did they know you had no belongings to your name...the rest was waiting in your suite: the royal kind.

Seungmin cranked his neck to take in the scale of the building in all of it’s regal glory and let out an airy laugh his with his backpack straps snapped tight.

“Holy shit.” He exclaimed with a giant smile

Two rose a “no thank you” hand to the valet, and asked him where the garage was in perfect Arabic. The gesture surprised you...as many things did with that man. Jeongin gave a little nod in appreciation to the bellhop and expressed with his own broken version of Arabic that you group had no luggage. The young man was confused, but still gladly took the bills that Jeongin had slipped into his hand for the inconvenience.

“We’re staying here?” Seungmin wondered while he followed you in.

“When you travel with The Prince, it comes with some perks.” Chan tore off his glasses with a particularly prideful grin.

“I feel like I need to pay for just...breathing in here.”

Indeed, it was a luxurious and grand place. The atrium was patterned with various plush lounge chairs and benches and the path was made of emerald green marble tiles with swirling designs of beige loops. Thick, round columns also supported the ceilings in the lobby, and crystal glass chandeliers sparkled. On several tables, massive floral arrangements had been freshly placed, and you wondered how much the hotel must've paid for them to look that good just to have them replaced the next day.

A couple formalities were exchanged with the worker at the front desk, and soon the keycards to the royal suite were placed into your hands. Seungmin held his piece of plastic as if it were a gold bar in his hands whereas Chan shoved it right into his front pocket.

“Everything that we should need should be up in the room.” You told the group who were too distracted to hear what you had just said.

Just before you had entered the elevator, a tug at your sleeve stopped you in your tracks. Jeongin pulled you back, nodding at Two to go with the others up first.

“Remember what we talked about before?” He muttered in the hollow and stone corridor. “About the prince?”

“I need to stay beside him?”

Your partner nodded with a furrowing brow. “We’re out in the open here, it’s a big city...anyone could be watching us. No distractions, no messing around, no anything. We see White Rabbit and we leave. Hell, I’m even inclined to make sure he doesn’t leave the room...”

“Jeongin...” You squeezed your partner’s shoulder which felt stringy and tense under your fingertips. “I got it. Trust me. He won’t leave my sight. I promise.”

“..Okay.” He said with a nervous brush to his hair, then he pressed the elevator button with his knuckle.

“You...okay?”

The young man appeared to snap out of a trance. “What? ...Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m keeping it together fine. It’s just...there’s a lot riding on this mission. I don’t...”

The gold and reflective elevator dinged to the ground floor.

“We can’t disappoint Carroll with this one. There’s too much riding on it...I can’t disappoint Carroll.”

You invited your partner into the marbled and mirrored interior of the small space.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Even without the help of his royal helpers, Chan managed to clean himself up nice...provided, only the finest clothes had been sent for him to wear. While they weren’t the usual designer labels that he was used to, it was clear that they had been picked out from the finest markets and boutiques in the area. Chan, as he always was, was a prince to the full extent of the word. After a shower and some perfume to his chest, he was the same man that you had been introduced to.

A loose linen shirt swayed from his frame with little regard for the usage of buttons. He wore slacks that had been pressed made of a kind of fabric that you had never seen before, but looked airy and comfortable. As always, there was a small assortment of shoes for him to choose from as well. He picked brown leather loafers, then tucked up his sleeves to reveal his arms; scratched as they were, but still strong and spiderwebbed with thick veins.

Arrangements had been made for you to share one of the bedrooms with him--as much as you had fought it at first. Chan was thrilled with the idea, and gladly let you settle into his room with your small assortment of sidepieces and modest set of clothes by regulation of The Agency. While it had mostly been denim button downs and several kinds of functional trousers, they had sent an evening gown.

The silky white fabric was not unlike the dress that had worn for the gala, but it appeared to be even more sultry once you held it to your frame. The thin spaghetti straps barely held to your shoulders and the back dipped nearly halfway down your back.

Knowing the man that you had an appointment with, you figured the dress would make it just a little bit easier to talk to him. Along with it, there was a matching set of diamond earrings and a necklace that glinted with the same sheen of the sea.

“You’ll look gorgeous in that.” Chan said while slipping on a wristwatch. “I’m sure that it will suit you perfectly.”

The wooden bedside nightstand creaked when you put your holster and Glock in with a matching matte black knife. You had to be careful with that one, as it had nearly cut your finger upon inspection earlier.

“Hm. I think the both of us know that you’d prefer it on these lovely marble floors rather than on me. Correct?”

The confident prince strode across the room in the dim lighting of a couple lamps with stained glass shades. Outside of the balcony attached to your room, the sheer curtains blew in the night air and distorted the city lights across the river. Further, Cairo Tower surged with a pink light wrapping around the length were the cylinder pierced the sky.

“Maybe.” He tutted, then crinkled the king-sized bed where he sat. The prince’s disposition was alluring, there was no denying. He tiled his head to inspect you further, jaw clenching with a sharp angle and a testing glare to his brown pupils. The man smiled slightly while rubbing his index and ring finger down the sleeve of your considerably less scratchy blouse.

“I hope that during our time here Bee, I’ll get to know you a little better. I’m...really looking forward to our drink later. I made reservations for us.”

“Reservations? When did you do that?”

“Oh. When you were showering.” He smirked at his sneaky plans unbeknownst to you.

“If you think that I’m letting you go anywhere else besides this hotel--”

“--Bee?” The young royal grew quieter, softer, careful even. His hand cascaded from your arm down to your waist where he tentatively went to grab at your hip and squeeze lightly there.

While your first reaction was to swat him away, your second crept up on you unexpectedly, and swelled with a kind of confused euphoria feeling the pressure of him on your body. You let his hand linger there, thumb pressed into your hipbone.

“You don’t need that dress to be beautiful.”

His words snapped you back; sickly sweet, and sticky in your chest. You cast his hand off of you.

“You’re crossing the line, your Highness. Don’t...don’t touch me again.”

The royal sighed as he rose, then inspected his face in the sizeable mirror. Each of his cuts and scars had been skillfully covered with makeup the best he could manage.

“Bee, I’d cross multiple lines for you. I thought you knew?”

“THIS BED IS FUCKIN’ AMAZING!!” Seungmin called from the opposite of the suite.

The prince smiled, then followed you to the door.

“I’ve already got enough on my hands, your Highness. I ask that you not distract me.”

“Distract you?”

As soon as you had said it, regret bit at the tips of your ears. You couldn’t meet his teasing glances, but rather slid one of your more discrete sidepieces into your crossbody bag--as if guns as such could be such a thing.

“I-I...I’ll sleep on the couch.” You then resolved out loud, however the prince chuckled at your sudden break.

“As you wish Bee.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“I think that this is the best meal that I’ve ever eaten in my entire life!!”

Seungmin kicked his legs under the table to the embarrassed glances of both Jeongin and Chan. Before you, the prince had ordered a variety of both cold and hot mezzah dishes with a couple main entrees for you to share. While he was the only one to drink, he indulged in the most expensive wine that the hotel had to offer. Granted, everything would be paid for in cash from The Agency, however the Prince swore up and down that anyone could order anything that they wanted and that The Agency would be paid back in full. You and your partners ate modestly, however the young student didn’t hold back. As the boy shoved his face, it appeared to make the prince happy to see him eating so well.

You were still an odd group, and garnered curious glances from other restaurant guests. While they were only glances in passing, they still didn’t make you feel any better. You had already drawn enough attention to yourself with you being an odd mix of foreigners who each held themselves differently. You could sense that you partner felt it too while he sipped at his seasonal soup with eyes up to scan the room as he did so.

Chan threw his arm behind your chair to take in the rest of the room: perfectly decorated with jade green chandeliers and perfectly symmetrical wallpaper and furnishings. It was as if he felt somehow content with your strange little group; like he was the ringleader of it all or some king of the round table. For a moment, he paused to watch the way that the boats passed by on the river from the window nearest to him and sighed. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying running for his life in this way.

Two cleared his throat and unbuttoned his fashionable suit jacket as the waiters came to clear the table for dessert.

“So. What are the specs for tomorrow?”

Jeongin fiddled with his glasses, then dabbed away at the corners of his mouth. “He’s invited us to come around 11pm. He wants us to dress up too--as I’m sure you’ve all seen the clothes that have been provided for us. He apparently loves his formalities, but, anything to make him feel more comfortable I suppose. His men will meet us in the front and take us to him, then we try our best not to fuck it up.”

“--Which we won’t.” You soothed your partner.

Seungmin perked up, “I’m coming too?”

“How else are we going to look after ya, kid?” Two ruffled up the young man’s hair.

“W-wait. Didn’t you say that it’s a club? Will they even let me in? I’m not like, 21 yet? I mean, I will be in a couple months--”

“--Ahhh you’re so cute.” Chan beamed. “If you’re rolling with us that doesn’t matter.”

Seungmin blushed and played with the condensation of his water glass. “Oh.”

Your partner shifted in his seat. “Speaking of. Considering that you’re “one of us” now. We need to discuss something important with you. Your identity.” He looked over to you to finish the rest of the speech that had been pushed off for just a bit too long.

“Your name...is your most valuable asset. It’s the only thing about yourself that you can keep for yourself. No one else should know it besides you...and, well, us. If they know your name, they know your family, they know where you live, where you go to school, even that girl that you had a crush on in the fourth grade. Got it?”

Seungmin gulped dry with blown out eyes. “I-I think that I understand.”

“What do you want us to call you from now on?”

He paused, considering towards the ceiling. ”Well...if you’re B, and he’s F...and he’s J...I could be S? Simple enough right?”

“S it is then.”

The waiters arrived with every dessert possible: chocolate cake, Crème Brule, fruit cheesecake garnished with mint, as well as traditional desserts like Om Ali and Mehalabiya--a type of milk pudding dressed with delicate, pink, edible flowers.

Seungmin--now dubbed S--made happy little eating sounds while he tried a little bit of everything.

“Thank you.” You finally spoke to the prince, who now smelled strongly of Lotus and Jasmine.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind treating my friends.”

The word hung in the air, and you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Friends.

“Where is this reservation that you mentioned?”

He took a swing from his crystal glass with finesse. “Hm. That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Jeongin told me that I need to keep an eye on you, you know that? It would be best if we didn’t leave the hotel at all--”

“--But what would be the fun in that?” The prince nearly pouted.

From the others side of the table, Two in his aviators brushed off his lap before standing. “I’m going to get some sleep, if that’s alright with you? I’m feeling pretty jetlagged and I want to be prepared for tomorrow. Excuse me.”

The slender man bowed to you at the table, then even deeper to the prince.

“What was that about?” Jeongin muttered while he poked at the thin caramel layer of his French dessert.

“Actually, I think I want to head to bed too, I’m stuffed.” Seungmin rubbed his belly in his contentment. “Also...I think I might have homework due...heh. I don’t know...I’ve got to figure out all these all these time differences and stuff.” He pushed in his chair then gave the prince a deep bow. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“My pleasure.” Chan said with a tiny bow back. “Rest up, kid.”

With the empty holes at the table, the silence was deafening.

“And then there were three.” Jeongin yawned. “Bee? Wanna do some laps in the morning? I saw that they had a pool? Wanna see if you can beat my record...again?”

“Psh. I was coming off that biochemical cocktail the last time we tired. You had an advantage.”

“Then you’ll beat me? Hm! I look forward to that.” Your adorable partner flashed the first smile that you’d seen in a couple days. You missed it, you realized.

“Sleep tight Bee. Goodnight your Highness.”

“Thank you Fox.” The prince mirrored his warm smile.

Knives and forks clinked on china in the dining room, and music softly payed the soundtrack of the evening. A low hum filled the space where the tourists and patrons chatted among themselves. It was peaceful and normal amidst everything that had been pricking your skin and plaguing worry over your mind. The prince merely sighed, sparking eyes reflecting the candles dying out on the table.

“And now it’s just the two of us.”

“Seems like it.”

“Can I whisk you away now?”

“Whisk? Who said that I would allow any whisking?”

“Come on...Bee. Just this one time? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

You laughed out incredulously at the comment. “You out of all people can’t promise something like that.”

“I guess you’re right about that. But...still, I won’t try to make a scene or anything.”

The royal placed his napkin on the table with his knife and fork respectfully tilted off the edge of his plate.

“Follow me?”

Chan held out his hand. It was pink with heat and scraped a little from the glass that had pierced the fragile flesh. In some way, you had felt a twinge of guilt seeing the small injury knowing that you couldn’t have protected him well enough then. You allowed him to lace your fingers with yours, and felt the rough cuts of his scars in your palm.

You had promised to yourself that he would never know such pain again.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Annnd...this is it!”

You had taken all of twenty paces outside of the hotel when Chan gestured with open arms to the riverfront. Just at the riverbank, a steamboat was anchored with open doors for hotel guests to enter. The massive, multideck, white steamboat shone like the moon peaking at the ocean’s horizon. Each of the semi-circle windows were lined with white lights and from the inside, the delightful sound of laugher and live music spilled out to the glossy water of the Nile.

“W-what is this?”

“Well…it’s a dinner cruise but I just signed us up for the bar part. Are you...surprised? I thought that it must be pretty safe considering that we’re on the water and no one can drive up and shoot at us.”

“I mean...it’s a bit closed off, but nothing that I can’t handle.”

The prince held out his arm for you to lead the way, then took your hand to help you watch your step down the stairs. Chan provided his name to the conductor in elegant sounding Arabic, leaving you shocked.

“Y-you speak Arabic too?”

Chan chuckled once more, taking your hand in his to bring you down the creaking wood deck with swinging with lanterns above your heads.

“As a royal and diplomat, it’s best for me to know how to communicate if I might need to.”

“I must say your Highness, I am definitely impressed.”

“What? You thought I was just another pretty face?” The charming prince escorted you to a room within the steamboat that was lined with red velvet carpets and small bar tables with tea candles and water lilies floating in a shallow dish. He pulled out your chair before his own, then settled with hands folded in his lap. “I’m trained in hand-to-hand too, although I could use a refresher; that was so long ago, back when I went to school.”

“Hand-to-hand? Well! You really are full of surprises.”

The prince appeared smug and faintly amused by the compliment as he crossed his legs under the table and leaned in with his dizzying floral scent.

The waitress appeared and Chan flexed his language skills once more while he ordered a Hemmingway Daiquiri for himself and a French 75 for you. Somewhere off in the distance or perhaps a different part of the boat, louder and more excitable music played along with the echoing claps of those who listened along. Here, it was much quieter, and the loud sound was replaced with a jazz song that you had heard before--likely from your more formative years.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Chan began, “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me. I know that I’ve been a bit forward, but, I appreciate you entertaining me.”

“If I had said no, what would’ve happened then?”

“Well, maybe I would’ve dropped it, but...knowing you...I don’t think that I would’ve given up easily.”

The waitress returned with the drinks on a silver platter: his grapefruit pink and yours the color of a lemon drop.

The royal rose his glass for you to clink with yours, “To...adventures.”

“To adventures.”

With a resounding sound, the glasses met, and you watched the way that the shimmering liquid ripped across the prince’s nose.

The two of you sat for several moments more, saying nothing, but sipping and soaking in the night breeze and the humidity that made your whole body feel blanketed with a sense of calm. You had felt this way before back at the safe house, and it snuck up on you once more. Simply exisiting with the prince provided you with a sense of solace that had long since faded from your life. The sense of responsibility that you felt for the man was noticeable, but you couldn’t help but notice how he provided for you the same sense of safety that you did for him.

Perhaps it was the loneliness of the job and the solitude that came along with it. Was that you craved to be touched? Listened to? Admired? You had distanced yourself from irrational things such as love and other feelings of attachment. In your line of work, people died often, and you had to move on just as fast as their lives had been taken from them. You supposed that you had become unfeeling at this point...but this prince, so full of himself and focused on the material...there was something about him that reminded you how to feel.

“Bee? What are you thinking about?” He asked carefully.

“Oh...nothing.”

“You looked kind of lost here.”

“Was I?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’m fine. Maybe the drink is just...getting to me.”

“Just one drink?” Chan giggled a bit, “I didn’t take you for being a lightweight Bee. I thought that they gave you like, drinking lessons or something back at that agency of yours.”

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have more than one drink anyway.”

The prince nodded, understanding. “So, what will you tell me about yourself? Is there anything that you’re allowed to tell me? Or...will you always be this mysterious, beautiful, enigma?”

“Me? Enigmatic? Ha! Hardly.”

“Well? What then?” The prince sucked at the lime garnishing his glass. “Since I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your real name, I’d love it if you could tell me something.”

Over the stereo, the muted trumpet played along with the twang of thick upright bass strings,

“I suppose I could tell you how...” Chan leaned in, “I didn’t want to join The Agency. At first.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It felt like a bit of a last resort and anything that is a last resort is something that can’t come easy.”

Chan titled his head as if to say, I’m listening.

“Life...fucking sucks sometimes. Sometimes...you’re left...living with your sleazy uncle with a letter addressed to you post mortem telling you to carry on the family name if you want to feel some connection to the parents that you never knew.”

The royal cast his eyes down, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“The Agency has been everything I’ve known since I was a teenager. This life...it’s everything. I think in a way I feel obligated to it...since it was what took my parents from me...I owe it to them to do a job that they spent so much energy on so that it wasn’t in vain.”

You stopped, realizing the weight of your words in the air and how they cut like the blade of the knife that you kept tucked in your waistband sheathed in a leather cover. Once the sharp metal was taken from it’s confines, there was nothing to protect those from the damage it could do.

“Bee...I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like to loose your parents and have been thrown into this life...no one deserves that.”

“Its okay.” You sighed. “I did it to myself. Now, it’s of no concern. I can take care of my own, and I have a new family. I try not to look back.”

As he had done numerous times before that night, Chan’s hand reached out for yours under the table, brushing up against the white cloth.

“I can’t say how much I appreciate you enough for what you do; risking your life for me...I owe you everything Bee.” The prince softened, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand.

The chug of the steamboat hissed softly behind you in that back bar room, and just through the windows, you could see the stars dotting the sky just as they did in any corner of the world. They were a reminder that while some things changed, others didn’t.

The echo of footsteps on the deck clicked, causing you to turn a careful glance back to the direction of the sound. The man who entered was dressed in a casual cotton button up and navy slacks. On the white of his breast, he wore a pin holding the symbol of a crest.

“Lee Minho?” Chan gasped.

“Your Highness!” The handsome man bowed immediately with a startled little smile.

The friendly prince stood immediately upon seeing the other royal to shake his hand. “What a coincidence that we meet again!”

Lee Minho shied with a polite smile while fiddling with his hair that looked to be masterfully styled. “Must be...fated. Or something like that.”

“Are you alright? Last I saw you was at the shooting at the gala. I’m so glad to see that you’re safe. You didn’t get injured I hope?”

This close, Lee Minho had oddly cat-like eyes that were as intense as they were alluring. He was just as you had remembered him to be--put together and polished like a true royal, dastardly handsome with all the right curves to his body, and just enough mystery to him to pique the interest of anyone who had sensed his air--just as the prince had.

“What are you doing in Cairo?” Chan asked, gesturing for the stranger to pull up a chair.

Lee Minho swatted away the question with an annoyed cringe. “Royal stuff, you know how it goes. Everyone is always trying to poke their noses in places where they shouldn’t be...unless they’re looking to get themselves killed. That's why they send me. I’m dispensable.”

“Oh, I’d hardly say that.”

In seconds the prince’s entire body had shifted towards the direction of the other man, and hung onto each of his words as if they were a siren song.

“When you’re not as high up in the ranks as you are your Highness, royalty starts to feel more like servitude than a legitimate position.”

“So, where are you poking your nose?”

Lee Minho’s eyes nervously flicked to you, and Chan realized that he had skipped right over introductions.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce the two of you. Minho, this is Bee, my--”

“--I’m a member of his detail.” You spoke for him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally Lee Minho. I recall seeing you at the gala.”

Minho bowed slightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

It was obvious that you had made the man uncomfortable, just as you had liked it to be. While you could see what the prince had seen in him, you had the disposition to be much less trusting than his Highness.

“Which royals are employing you? I’d love to know! It’s always exciting for me to learn about who is plotting what. The royal drama keeps me really entertained.”

Minho sat up straighter, then waved a hand for the waitress to come scuttling over.

“Some of my family members. You wouldn’t know them, we’re all dreadfully insignificant to be honest. They heard all this business about those men with the red crests and they’re starting to get scared. After they targeted...you, they’re wondering which royal family might be next...if any. I’m here to find out who they are, their whereabouts, anything else.”

“Wow! That’s actually what we--”

“--And where are you planning on getting this information if I may ask?” You hushed the prince’s loose lips as quickly as you could.

Minho leaned in over the flickering candle to lower his tone, “I heard that there’s an informant here in the city who might now something about this group. They’ve been popping up on national news too as of late. I’m looking to talk to him tomorrow evening. Luckily, I was able to make an appointment but it was no small feat. I had to bribe him to high hell to get him to speak with me.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” You mumbled.

Chan’s eyes widened, then he looked back to you to ask for permission. You gave him a nod.

“It seems like we’re here for a common purpose my friend.” The prince leaned in to bridge the gap between them, his hand notably reaching to rest on the other man’s thigh below the table’s surface. “We’re seeking similar information and I think we might be speaking of the same informant.”

“But your Highness, isn’t it dangerous it you to do something like this?”

“Not when I’ve got her around.” Chan threw a sly grin to you across the table. “I’m well protected. And you? Where’s your detail?”

“I’m afraid that I’m out here alone. Like I said, when you’re as low in the ranks as I am...”

“What? That’s terrible!! They aren’t even protecting their own? Bee!!”

“Yes, your Highness?” You already knew where this was going.

“Let’s bring Minho along with us tomorrow! We know that there’s safety in numbers--”

“Your Highness, in case you haven’t noticed, our hands are already a bit full...”

“I can fend for myself.” Lee Minho suddenly piped. “Travelling alone, I’ve picked up a few things about protecting myself. You don’t have to protect me, but, I appreciate the offer.”

“Nonsense! You should come with us! I would feel more comfortable if you did rather than went by yourself.”

Lee Minho gave the royal a smile in his thanks, it was pure and a little adorable you had considered...but that was likely the champagne going to your head.

“Really? I appreciate it, your Highness.”

While you were distanced, you nearly could’ve sworn that the prince had squeezed the other’s leg reassuringly, and you were willing to bet he had rubbed it with his thumb too just as he had done to you.

After long, the waitress returned with Lee Minho’s drink, and the two men chatted like old college buddies while you slipped away at your drink in an attempt to make it last as long as you could. While Chan did try to engage you in conversation, it would never last for long until he would become puppy-eyed over the stranger again. In the end, you wondered if the tipsy prince would’ve also confessed to this man if he had one too many drinks.

The table bumped with their jovial and restless legs, and you could only imagine what wandering hands sought to discover.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The hotel was quiet save for the click of heels on the marble floors from ladies who had just gotten off the steamboat and clung to their husbands in their drunken stupor. They cackled in the empty and golden lobby, then pressed hasty kisses into the stuttering mouths of their husbands who’s mouths then smeared with hot pick lipstick. Chan giggled at the sight while he tripped over his own feet too.

“Ahhhh. Being in love is so cute.” He adored them once you had entered the elevator.

“You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?”

The prince hiccupped, then shook his head. “Unlike you I know how to hold my liquor. I’m fine. Just a bit sleepy I think. Must be the jet lag.”

The tones for each floor beeped in the compartment, and Chan lulled his head back and forth.

“So. Lee Minho huh?” You said, not even able to help yourself. The alcohol had brought you a bit of an edge...so you thought.

“Lee. Minho.” He sighed out dreamily. “What do you think of him?”

“I think I can’t trust anyone as long as I haven’t ran at least three background checks on them.”

“Awww, Bee, you’re so thoughtful of me.”

In the empty hallway, the prince with squinting eyes leaned against the doorframe to the royal suite, reaching out to brush up against your blouse once more. You let him, excusing his drunken state. After he did so, his eyes hazed over with something much different, while he looked exhausted, it was laced with something else: something much more longing.

“Bee...fuck, I really want to kiss you again.”

“Hm. That’s ripe coming from you who was just viciously flirting with Lee Minho.”

You could see his head spinning in his dilated pupils. “What?”

The door clicked open and you less than gracefully lead the prince through the dark to your shared bedroom.

“B-Bee, what are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “I’m not blind, you know.”

“A-are you...jealous?”

“W-what? Fuck no. I’m just...you can’t just...toss people around thinking that they’ll all bend to you.”

Chan sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his temples when you turned one of the lamps on.

“I-I was doing that?”

You tore a pillow from the bed as well as the throw blanket at the end. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Good evening, your Highness.”

“Wait! Bee!” The young prince stumbled after you, stubbing his toe against the bedpost in the process. “Ah-FUCK!” He grunted.

“What?” You growled back to him, half shrouded in the darkness of the suite living room.

The royal stumbled out, eyes blank and backlit from the bedroom. While you couldn’t see him fully, you later could assume that there was something in him terribly torn and ripped in that moment that made little sense to him, as it did to you to.

Arms reached out, bodies softly illuminated by the lights of the city, and the prince leaned himself fully into you, pressing bitter tasting lips to yours with a heat and desire that only seemed amplified the breather he had gotten. While he tasted of lime and grapefruits, with a twinge of alcohol. He was just as addictive as any vice. You wanted to feel him. As infuriating as he was, and oblivious, your abhorrence to him was just as strong as your attraction.

“Mm, Bee--” He moaned directly into your mouth while shuffling both of you back to the bedroom.

The prince’s trembling breath floated from his mouth to yours where he used both of his large hands to pull your face closer to his. You knew that in some way, there must have been something ingenuine about the whole scenario, but you didn’t care too much, not when kissing him felt like something. Maybe he had kissed you out of pity, or because he really had wanted to kiss you. You broke for seconds before both of your tangled limbs hit the bed.

“Before...you said that you wouldn’t kiss me.”

“I didn’t make any promises...but, how come...you said that you wouldn’t hesitate...? But you kissed ba--”

You silenced the prince’s words with your own heated kisses that made little sense, only that kissing him as such felt good. You straddled the man while his hungry fingers traced all the way down your back. The prince’s hips sunk into the cushiony mattress, and you screwed him down even harder into it with your own heated hips grinding into him with as much pressure as you could muster.

“This is what you want, right?” You pulled at his lip with your teeth to hear him groan from it.

“Is it...what you want?” Chan got out between more kisses.

You could blame it on loneliness or lack of touch all that you wanted, but it wasn’t even close.

“Wait. Wait.” Chan suddenly interjected.

“What? What is it?”

The prince looked up at you, that haze in his eyes now fading to something much different that wasn’t covered in the lust that he held before.

“Bee...I-I don’t know if I want it to happen this way. It feels...it’s not...”

“Not what?”

He brushed his hand upward now to caress your face, lingering on the side of the peach fuzz on your cheek. “You deserve better than whatever the hell this is.”

“Oh, so when I finally want to fuck you, you’re saying it isn’t right?”

“I’m saying, I’m drunk, it’s late, clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you, and I want to know what it is before we do anything else. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

It might’ve been Lee fucking Minho, or it might’ve been something else much stickier for you to admit, but seeing the prince like this, it was too much. He was gorgeous under you, practically angelic looking.

“I-I’m...complicating things.” You whispered out, and the prince softened even further.

“That’s what it is? Bee, I told that you don’t have to worry about--”

“--Yes. Yes I do...your Highness. I-I can’t feel...”

“Bee--let’s just talk about--”

The prince might’ve said more, but his words faded into murmurs once you closed his door behind you, then crawled onto the couch in Jeongin and Seungmin’s room, locking their door too.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Show Them I’m Yours

A/N: Everyone knows there ain’t no party like a SAMCRO party. Imagine you’re Jax Teller’s girl and you want everyone to know, so he savagely takes you at one of those parties and puts on a hell of a show. (@itsme-autumn suggested that I write this and I was like um hell fucking yes)

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, sex with an audience (Jax owning your ass and showing off that fact in front of all the Sons – they all get to watch but ONLY JAX can touch), featuring gifs of pretty much everyone

Word Count: ~2.9k

“Excuse me, sir?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. Appalled at the audacity of what this stupidly attractive bastard just dared to suggest. “No, I did not fuck up my car on purpose.”

The Prince of Charming smirks at that, hands on his hips, tongue flicking out between his suckable pink lips. “You sure about that, princess? Third time in a week that you’ve come by to get it serviced...”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping track?” you sass back at him, flattered as fuck that he has, though your pride demands hiding that fact. Of course you’ve been screwing around with your engine all week just to have an excuse to hit up Teller-Morrow and check out his ass, to be honest. But fuck him for calling you out on it. “You’re not even the one who fixes shit. My visits here are not your business, and I’m not your fucking princess.”

His leather-clad shoulders lift up in a shrug, like he couldn’t care less. “Suit yourself. Name’s Jax,” he says with another long drag of his cigarette. “Jax Teller. Knew a stuck-up little bitch like you would be too proud to ask.”

Fucking shit. He knows you well. And hearing him call you a bitch just got you wetter than you would like to admit; you hope to hell that he can’t tell. “Maybe this stuck-up bitch just isn’t fucking interested.”

You flip him off and drive away—your car is really functioning just fine, needless to say—but you’re inevitably back by sex-o’-clock the very next day.

It’s been barely a month since you first moved to Charming, and you’re still not really used to feeling so damn new. It’s honestly alarming, just how shamelessly the men around town gawk at you. Don’t even seem to realize that it’s rude. You’re well aware you’re super cute, but till you moved here, you had never felt so... coveted. So viewed.

Nowhere more so than right here at Teller-Morrow. Home of the infamous biker club known as SAMCRO. The way the crew here always ogles you like heaven’s gift to men is quite a big boost to your ego.

“Know what I think, darlin’?” Jax taunts, sauntering toward your car as you pull in. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing. Know that every man in Charming wants a piece of that sweet ass.”

“Well, Mr. Teller...” you step out of the driver’s seat, standing to face him, close enough to feel his heat. “This ass ain’t up for grabs.”

Jax takes that as a challenge: as an open invitation, as he should. Slowly moves closer, feeding all your deepest hungers—God, he smells so fucking good—then wraps one hand around your back, the other sliding toward your ass... to show you just how wrong you were. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Jesus Christ—you want this man to fuck you up against your car, savage and hard, right fucking now... but he has something else in mind. Invites you to a party tonight, at the SAMCRO clubhouse. Who are you to deny?

He approaches his crew, as you drive away, fading from view. All the Sons stand in awe of their President—stunned that he just fucking conquered you.

“Dude, you gonna hit that?” Juice effuses, unable to hide his excitement. “Hot damn...”

Jax Fucking Teller stands tall like the king that he is and has always been, flashing his signature cocky grin. “Hell yeah I am.”

***************

You have no clue what you are about to walk into. Of course you were shameless enough to choose your most provocative outfit: a skimpy excuse for a dress that covers very little of you, paired with your favorite fuck-me-now shoes. Jax had offered to pick you up from where you live, the Prince Charming he is—but as much as you’d kill for a ride on his Harley, you wanted to ride on your own dime, show up at your own time, keep up the illusion that you’re in control of your shit. You’re all decked out and ready to go nice and early, but hold off on heading out yet—figure you should play hard to get, keep the guy waiting a bit.

Your self-restraint lasts for a solid two minutes.

There’s no hope of fighting how desperate you are for his dick. The thong that you’re wearing is made of some thin flimsy lace, so your pussy is leaking all over the place, and the seat of your car is all sticky and slick. That’s real fucking classy, Y/N, you think, quite ashamed of the nasty-ass slut you’re becoming.

By the time you arrive, every cell in your barely-dressed body feels so damn alive at the thought of Jax taking you home once the party is over and railing you all fucking night...

You don’t yet know it then, but waiting till the party is over is not what Jax Teller intends. No, you’re gonna get fucked good and hard long before it all ends.

Parking your car outside, you try and fail to steady your nerves with a long horny sigh as you shut off your engine. Preparing yourself for whatever is coming tonight. Finally stepping out, struggling to pull off a smooth sexy strut as you head toward the clubhouse. All right. Let the party begin.

From the second you walk in, you feel downright soaked in pure sin. All you can see are half-naked strangers slobbering all over each other, bodies pressed together, a blur of sweat-slick skin and old worn-out leather. The place stinks of sex, smoke and liquor, and you couldn’t possibly feel any sicker. Oh God, this is straight up disgusting—fuck this shit, you think, regretting having ever decided to come...

But before you can turn and head straight out the door, you lay eyes on the king, and remember exactly why you had accepted the invitation into his fucking kingdom. And all of a sudden your senses go numb and your slutty ass feels... right at home.

“There you are,” he greets you with a ravenous growl in his voice that resounds over all of the noise. “Now the party’s about to start. Glad that I got you to come, sweetheart.”

The gorgeous motherfucker’s lips curve up into a smirk, as he utters that sinful little word, and it has got to be the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard.

“Don’t get too cocky, Jax,” you tease him back, as his piercing blue eyes devour your entire figure, clearly pleased to see that you’re practically naked. “Still gonna have to work at that... I haven’t come just yet.”

He snickers, lustfully biting his lip as he reaches around you to grab at your ass through your dress, rendering you a dripping mess just at the touch of his fingers. “No, but already soaking wet, I bet.”

Oh God, yes... those are the only words that come into your head, a silent gasp for air, as his big strong frame slams you up against the nearest wall and holds you there, one hand upon your ass now as the other tangles roughly in your hair.

“Darlin’, you got any clue just how bad I’ve been wanting to fuck you?” he snarls, breathing heated against your skin, making your pussy clench and your toes curl. “You know, ever since this fine ass came to town... all those times you would come around... Christ, all I’ve wanted to do... is just pin you the fuck down... and show the whole fucking world who you belong to. Claim you as my dirty girl.”

Every word from his mouth has you spiraling down into some sort of sex-drunk submissive daze. Lost in a haze, everything else around you fades... until you realize, in a split second, that you and Jax are the focus of literally everybody’s gaze. Looking over his shoulder at the whole rest of the room, you are beyond surprised to find all fucking eyes on you and him. You feel the blood drain from your face. This seems like honestly too much to take—and yet you can’t deny, something about the spectacle of all of this has got you feeling... well, some kind of way...

“Yeah, they’re all watching, babe,” Jax devilishly taunts, reading your mind, lips on your neck and hands groping your tits and God that feels fucking divine. “Like the attention? Kinky little thing, I know it turns you on. What’d’ya say we fuck in front of them and give ‘em what they want?”

It’s not as if you have a choice, when Jax Teller is talking in that motherfucking mouthwatering voice. At this point you are nothing but his filthy fucking toy.

Now that your fate has been sealed as exactly that, he’s gonna give you the most epic sex you’ve ever fucking had.

Handling you like a damn rag doll, Jax swiftly shifts off of the wall, then throws you down over a pool table conveniently nearby, with your back pressed against the surface as he stands between your open thighs and effortlessly rips your dress to shreds. Strips off your thong next, tattered lace lost in a heap down on the floor between your legs. The look on his breathtakingly beautiful face with every move he makes is just pure fucking sex.

And just like that, here in a room packed full of people most of whom you’ve never met, you are stark fucking naked, legs spread, soaking wet and loving every goddamn minute since apparently you’re seriously fucked up in the head.

Staring straight up into his blazing bright blue eyes, as he so proudly claims you as his prize, you’ve never felt so damn alive. But also dead.

“Mmm, look at that...” he hums, teasing your wet cunt with a cruel flick of his thumb. “Who fucking owns this pretty pussy, hmm? This nice tight ass you got?”

Oh, God—how is it even possible for everything he says and does to be so fucking hot...? Though you can barely speak, needy and weak, you know this bastard has demanded that you answer. So you tell him what is so painfully true. “You do, Jax. All you.”

He growls in pleasure, and you couldn’t possibly get any wetter. You’re officially the property of Jackson Fucking Teller. And he wants to hear you say it, which is just about the hottest fucking thing ever. “Tell ‘em, whore. Tell the whole room who fucking owns you. Wanna hear you tell ‘em who.”

And so you do. The words fall freely from your open mouth. You say it loud and proud. “Jax Fucking Teller owns my ass.”

The room responds with raucous shouts and cheers, resounding in your ears. You barely even notice, though, because now Jax has started stripping off his clothes—everything’s happening so fast—and as you lay eyes on his downright godlike body you are not sure just how much longer your slipping grip on sanity can last. He hasn’t even taken out his cock yet, but the moment that he does... you’re pretty sure you won’t even be conscious anymore.

So you form words, while you still can, beholding this god of a man. “Want you to show ‘em, Jax. Please. Show off how you own me. Fuck me like just what I am, your dirty little whore. Show them I’m yours.”

Jax doesn’t need to be asked twice. Next thing you know his massive cock is finally free, the fucking perfect piece of meat standing so tall and proud and hard between his strong muscular thighs, and he wastes no damn time at all giving exactly what you need. He takes a firm hold of your knees to spread your legs out even wider to receive everything that he has to give... and then he drives his cock inside you in one swift soul-crushing thrust and Jesus Christ, as every fiber of your being dies, you realize that until this moment you had never truly lived.

You barely register anything else that’s happening around you, but on some level you do. It’s even hotter knowing just how much the whole crew is enjoying this amazing fucking view.

“God, that’s so fucking hot...” Juice mutters from his front row spot, stupidly hoping no one else will notice as he scrapes your tattered thong off of the floor and stuffs it quickly in his pocket.

Tig snickers loudly from where he’s standing nearby. “You little pervert. We all saw that.”

Juice points his finger at the guy. “Pervert? Seriously? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black...”

In the meantime, none of that got past the king. Jax doesn’t miss a thing, and he’s possessive of his property, beyond belief. He promptly shoots a sharp glare at the thong thief. “Think you can try and take what’s mine? I’m gonna be needing that back.”

The look on Juice’s face, at that... you cannot help but laugh, and have a little pity. Something about this whole dynamic with the audience around you has restored a little sanity and dignity, and you’re able to string words together, even while you’re still getting completely fucked to pieces by Jax Teller.

“Aw, let him have it, Jax. Poor guy’s just picking up scraps. You’re the one who still owns my whole ass.”

Chiming in with his distinctive accent, Chibs echoes your laugh with an approving clap. “Now would ya look at that. So generous! Jackie Boy, you got yourself there one hell of a lass.”

You smile at him with a playful wink as Jax keeps pushing deeper in, his cock seemingly harder with every thrust, bigger the farther it sinks. “Fuck yeah, he does. You jealous?”

“Aye, as if you have to ask...”

Jax doesn’t like it when you spend more than two seconds with your eyes on anybody else. Although he knows no one’s an actual threat, that fact still doesn’t change how possessive he gets. He takes his hands off of your legs now to powerfully grab your head, keeping your face in place just where he wants it, your gaze fixed on him alone as he keeps fucking you dead.

You can still hear the chorus of indistinct voices:

“Fuck her up!”

“Own that slut!”

“Pound that pussy, Pres!”

And so he does, making you moan and beg him for more, spouting out filth like a two-dollar whore, as his huge monster cock brings you closer and closer to climax. “Fuck yes—Jesus Christ, holy fucking shit—destroy me with that dick—God, you’re so big—fuck, Jax...!”

It feels like you’re about to burst. Happy, for one, seems to want that to happen. He’s more into the action than the words. “Just shut her up and fuck her harder. Till it hurts.”

You didn’t think that it would be humanly possible for Jax to fuck you any harder than he has been, in these past however many fucking minutes... but apparently it is. And the mind-blowing pain that it causes is pure fucking bliss. All of a sudden he picks up the pace, hips ramming into you so hard the table seems about to break, grunting and groaning out with every move he makes and leaning down to suck the screams out of your mouth, drilling deeper into every inch of your body and drowning you in his delicious taste as he devours your face.

Fuck if that’s not a one-way ticket straight to subspace.

Although your consciousness is all but gone, you try to stay afloat now as Jax pulls back from the kiss to ask one last question. “Who owns this fucking cunt?”

You couldn’t give less of a shit just how insane you sound right now. You’re honestly just proud that you can speak English somehow. “You own this cunt! You own my whole entire ass! You fucking own me, Jax! You... fucking... unghhhh...”

The whole entire room knows what’s about to happen. And as you come undone, some part of you can hear them jeering, cheering, every one of them so damn proud and supportive of their king...

But for the most part you can only hear and see and feel one thing: Jax Fucking Teller all around you, deep inside you, splitting you right fucking open, filling you up with his white hot cum until it feels as if your whole goddamn existence served the sole purpose of leading up to this one perfect moment, to this epically earth-shattering explosion...

There is no better feeling in the world than being owned by him. You know it now, and so does everybody in this room. Damn did he show them. Just as you had asked. Jax Fucking Teller went off and did that. Showed off ow utterly and undeniably he owns your whole entire fucking ass.

You end up spending just a few more lazy minutes making out, tongues halfway down each other’s throats. “Mmmm, glad that I got you to come, Y/N,” he gloats, again, smirking in smug satisfaction now that the task is finally done.

But the night is still young. So you tell him. “Well, Teller—you should know that your dirty girl has three fuckable holes... and you’ve only fucked one.”

***************

Thank you for reading!!! Writing this was TOO MUCH FUN. Hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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dickspeightjrs · 3 years

Text

Better Than Regretting (au / 2.5k words / secret relationship / arranged marriage)

ao3 link

“You marrying a woman? Now that’s something I’d like to see,” Dean laughed from where he was stretched out on Castiel’s bed.

Castiel stopped his pacing across the room to glare at Dean. “This isn’t funny, Dean. My family are trying to arrange a marriage that I want no part of.”

Dean’s expression didn’t change and Castiel rolled his eyes. He wished his boyfriend would take things seriously sometimes.

There was no logical reason why Dean and Castiel would even know each other, let alone develop a relationship. And yet, here they were.

Castiel and his family came from old money. The wealthy life was all he ever knew. Though he would never call himself spoiled, Castiel knew he was privileged in more ways than one.

Dean, however, was orphaned at sixteen and was now helping to raise his younger brother, Sam, and send him to college in the fall.

They’d kept their relationship a secret from Castiel’s family from the beginning. Old money meant old traditions and Castiel knew his family wouldn’t approve of his sexuality or his choice of partner.

It worked for them for two years. Until now.

Upon him turning twenty-five, Castiel’s parents decided it was time for him to get married and they’d lined up a nice girl, Daphne, from a family that they knew from the country club. It just so happened that Castiel’s father also wanted to go into business with Daphne’s father. A coincidence that was not lost on Castiel.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean implored, “this is crazy. There’s no way you’re gonna marry this girl. I don’t care how much money her family has.”

Castiel was quiet, a million thoughts racing through his head. He was carefully avoiding Dean’s gaze.

“Wait,” Dean sat up straight on the bed. “You’re not thinking about actually going through with this?”

Castiel looked at Dean’s confused expression and quickly looked away again. “We could still see each other. It wouldn’t be any different to what we’re used to,” he murmured.

Dean stood up to come face to face with Castiel. He forced Castiel to make eye contact and looked into Castiel’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Cas, I love you,” Dean whispered. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. And I know you love me. You can’t do this.” He reached out a hand to hold Castiel’s.

“But my family.”

“Fuck your family, man.” Dean hissed. “They don’t care about you. If they did, they wouldn’t be doing this.”

“You know I can’t tell them about me, about us.” Castiel begged.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas. I’m not saying you gotta out yourself or tell them about us. I know how dangerous that could be for you.” Dean sighed. “Just stick up for yourself and tell them you want to live your own goddamn life!”

“It’s not that simple! I don’t see why we can’t just carry on as normal. You know I’ll never feel for her what I feel for you.”

“I know that. But to everyone else, everyone you know, she’ll be yours. And I don’t want to be the reason someone cheats on their wife.” Dean shook his head sadly. “That’s what my dad did to my mom, and you know how that ended. That poor girl you’re gonna marry doesn’t deserve that.”

“What are you saying, Dean?” Castiel asked, heart beating hard against his chest.

Dean sighed wearily. “I’m saying either tell your family to go fuck themselves, and come be with me and Sam. Or you stay with them and we end this.”

Castiel didn’t know what to do. He truly loved Dean more than anything. He wouldn’t take back one second of his time with him.

But he didn’t feel strong enough to leave his family. Castiel couldn’t imagine his father’s reaction if he said he wasn’t going to marry Daphne.

Castiel knew something like this would happen. His relationship with Dean was always too good to be true. They were too different. And those differences would always find a way to tear them apart.

Looking into Dean’s eyes as he made the realisation of Castiel’s decision was the most heart-breaking thing Castiel had ever witnessed.

Dean nodded to himself. He tried to avoid Castiel’s gaze but Castiel could see the tears forming in his boyfriend’s eyes.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Dean cleared his throat and looked back to Castiel. He took a deep, steadying breath and walked towards Castiel.

Castiel held his breath and stayed still.

Dean lifted a shaky hand to Castiel’s cheek and wiped away a tear Castiel didn’t realise was there. He looked lovingly into Castiel’s eyes before pulling him in for a soft kiss.

It was the most gut-wrenching kiss of Castiel’s life. It was a goodbye.

When Dean pulled away, he looked one last time into Castiel’s eyes, gave him a sad smile and moved away.

Castiel watched as Dean collected his jacket and keys. He watched as Dean walked out of his bedroom and didn’t look back.

Castiel remained frozen on the spot, tears now flowing freely down his face. He only moved when he could hear the deep rumble of Dean’s car starting up outside and fading into the distance.

Then he was left in silence.

* * *

Castiel felt sweat drip down his back under his shirt and suit jacket.

He hadn’t wanted to get married in the height of summer, but time had clearly been of the essence. The deal Castiel’s father made with Daphne’s family would only be complete once the wedding was over so Castiel’s father was eager to rush through the marriage. The wedding was set for a Saturday in late July – only two months after the initial engagement.

Which also meant two months since Castiel last saw and spoke to Dean.

He sighed a little in relief when the doors to the church opened, letting in a waft of air that, though wasn’t necessarily cool, was cooler than the oppressive heat of the church. Standing at the altar waiting for the ceremony to start was starting to feel like a lifetime in the sweltering heat. The doors were left wide open, along with the windows, to get an airflow through the building.

People were starting to arrive and take their seats. Castiel couldn’t say he even knew most of them. They all seemed to be associates of his father. Castiel didn’t have many friends and the only friends he did have he made through Dean. He hadn’t seen them for months either. Though, he didn’t blame them for staying with Dean.

He felt a wave of sickness go through him at the thought of Dean. He truly did miss him.

The feeling of a soft hand on his shoulder made him turn. It was his brother, Gabriel, the only person in the church who knew what Castiel was going through.

Soon into the beginning of their relationship, Dean and Castiel had been caught in Castiel’s bed by Gabriel.

Castiel had thought they were alone in the house. His parents had just left for a vacation and Gabriel was meant to be visiting friends. It turned out that those friends cancelled, and Gabriel came back to the house to hang out with his brother.

Castiel had panicked for a minute before Gabriel just laughed and held out a hand to Dean who had shaken it awkwardly, painfully aware of his near nakedness. After a little teasing and promising not to tell anyone, Gabriel had eventually left them alone.

Gabriel gave Castiel a reassuring smile and patted his shoulder. “Hang in there, bro.”

Castiel smiled nervously in response. He couldn’t muster the energy for anything else lest he break down and cry right in front of everyone.

He didn’t want to do this at all. He regretted what happened with Dean ever since it happened. But he knew he had to be loyal to his family. And Dean would never take him back now anyway. Castiel had thrown away any chance of that.

The priest walked up to Castiel. “The bride is here. We’re ready to begin.”

Castiel simply nodded and got into position. They’d rehearsed the wedding countless times so everything ran smoothly. Castiel had felt it a little unnecessary but he wasn’t going to argue with his father.

The music began and Castiel looked at the entrance to see Daphne walk down the aisle. She truly did look beautiful in her dress. Castiel felt another wave of nausea hit him at the thought of dragging her innocently into this mess.

The ceremony soon began. It was quiet around the church as the priest went through his sermon.

Castiel muted the words. Again, he hadn’t been involved much in the content of the ceremony. It all felt fake. Like if God was really looking down on them now, he’d curse Castiel for making a mockery of marriage.

Sweat once again dripped down Castiel’s back. He was sure he might just pass out from the sheer exhaustion of the heat and the thoughts rushing through his head. He hadn’t been right ever since Dean left.

Zoning out from the sermon completely, Castiel let himself drift to some of his favourite memories with Dean.

The sticky heat on his skin reminded him of last summer with Dean. He’d managed to convince his parents to go to their summer home without him. He’d had three whole months of summer without his parents and spent all that time with Dean.

Castiel remembered the warm smell of Dean’s skin against his own one night after they’d had sex. Dean was laughing at something Castiel had said that Castiel didn’t even intend to be funny. But Castiel never minded. Dean’s laugh was beautiful.

Dean had whispered against Castiel’s ear, as he placed delicate kisses along Castiel’s skin, that spending the summer with Castiel had been more than he could ever dreamed.

Castiel hadn’t understood at the time. He loved spending the summer with Dean too, but all they’d really done was hang out with his brother a little and take long drives in Dean’s Impala.

But now, he got it. It had been the simple things that Dean had treasured most. Castiel would give anything to be back in that car with Dean at his side, singing along to whatever rock album he’d put into the tape deck that day. They’d pull over, after a while, to a deserted area and trade lazy kisses until the sun started to fade in the sky. Then Dean would drive them back, this time with only the sound of the engine to accompany them.

Castiel was sure he could still hear the sweet rumble of the engine.

He blinked back to reality when he realised the priest had stopped talking and was looking past Castiel and frowning.

Castiel knew then that he wasn’t imagining the sound. The Impala could be heard roaring in the distance. And it was getting closer.

Frowning a little in confusion and barely daring to hope, Castiel turned and faced the same way as the priest. Daphne and many of guests also shifted to see what could be causing so much noise.

The frown left Castiel’s face when the shiny bonnet of a sleek black car pulled up onto to curb directly outside the church doors.

Castiel was frozen in place and held his breath as he saw Dean get out of the car and walk around to lean against the side door. He made eye contact with Castiel but otherwise made no move to enter the church.

Castiel could feel eyes start to turn back to him. No one knew of him and Dean but Castiel’s demeanour must have clued them in that Dean was there for him.

In his peripheral vision, Castiel noticed Sam in the backseat of the car. Boxes were piled up next to him.

Then it clicked.

Sam was going to Stanford for college. Dean was taking him and probably not coming back. This was Castiel’s last chance. Dean was giving him one last chance.

Castiel finally unglued his gaze from Dean and turned to Daphne next to him. She just gave him a small reassuring smile. Perhaps Castiel hadn’t given her enough credit when he’d thought she was just a naïve girl.

He turned to look at his brother stood behind him. Gabriel just grinned wildly, slyly, like he may have had something to do with this.

The priest cleared his throat and it spurred Castiel into action.

Regaining eye contact with Dean, he stepped down hesitantly from the platform.

The movement was tracked by Dean whose face went from one of determined nonchalance to one with a slight flicker of hope. It was a change that onlookers might not have noticed. But Castiel did. He knew Dean better than anyone.

It was the smallness of hope in Dean’s eye that made Castiel know he had all the information he’d ever need.

Without a second’s more hesitation, Castiel broke into a run, not looking back. He only kept his eyes on Dean as he saw the man’s face turn into an ever-widening grin.

The intense heat of the Kansas sun hit Castiel as he flew out of the church doors, but it was nothing compared to the sheer strength of the arms that immediately came up to wrap around Castiel’s body.

Castiel put his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, taking in his scent and reassuring himself that this was really happening.

Dean squeezed him again and breathed in Castiel’s scent too.

They were only broken apart by the sound of the window being lowered in the car and Sam’s voice coming out.

“Um, guys? I hate to break up the reunion, but Cas’ dad is coming, and he doesn’t look happy,” he warned.

With wide eyes, both men snapped out of their trance and turned to see Castiel’s father storming his way down the aisle, his face redder than Castiel had ever seen it. Gabriel was making a feeble attempt to calm their father down but the grin on his face betrayed his attempted determination.

Dean and Castiel quickly scrambled to get into the car.

Just as Castiel’s father reached the car and was about to open the passenger door, Dean turned the ignition and they peeled off down the street towards the highway.

Once they were clear of the church, Dean chuckled. “So Cas, how does California sound to you?”

Castiel looked at Dean and knew he was trying to hide his nerves. He reached over to grasp Dean’s hand. Castiel had let go of Dean once before. He was never going to do it again.

“It sounds perfect.”

Dean smiled and brought Castiel’s hand to his lips, not taking his eyes off the road in front of them. “Good.”

Castiel smiled too. But, despite the sure feeling that he’d finally done the right thing, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaving Daphne like that. She may not have been that happy with the arrangement either, but he felt bad for leaving her without a word. He thought that, perhaps when they arrived in California, he’d write her a letter explaining everything and hope she’d forgive him.

As if sensing Castiel’s thoughts, Dean gave Castiel’s hand a little squeeze and shot him a cheeky grin.

“Not having second thoughts already?” Dean teased.

“Never,” Castiel shook his head. “I’m glad you crashed the wedding.”

A/N: Based loosely on the song ‘Crashed the Wedding’ by Busted

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Note

Your headcannons for a corrupting with the Kuroo one. I was wondering if you would ever do a one shot, Drabble, or another headcannon of what Kuroo does to force his sister into submission? 👉👈

Ah yes, more onee-san corruption. I will probably not be doing a pt. 3 like Bokuto’s (sorry Kuroo stans)

Warnings: incest, gagging (via tie), handcuffs, blackmail, dubcon/noncon, alcohol, smoking, manipulation, abuse

Kuroo Corrupting Onee-san

With the new living arrangements with your brother, Tetsurō, you had life much easier. With the kids having a good role model in their life, you’re free to relax. The best way to relax, in your opinion, is to drink a glass of wine while relaxing in a steaming hot bath. You’ll admit, at first it was rare. A bath to relax in once a week, a glass of wine accompanying you. The bottle hidden under the bed in the guest room, away from Tetsurō’s eyes. He didn’t like drinking, nor did he like it when you drank.

Then it changed. A glass of wine per week turned into three glasses per week, the it became a glass per day. You didn’t bother hiding it from Tetsurō. He wasn’t your boss, your father, or even your older brother. You controlled your life, not him. Even if he was kind enough to let you stay at his luxurious house, there was no reason for him to make you feel like you needed to hide stuff. You had some extra money, after all, since Tetsurō dealt with the bills and funeral costs.

Tetsurō, on the other hand, believed you to be acting out because you’re too free. With your life of being controlled for so long, it’s no wonder why you’re suddenly drinking freely and sneaking a smoke at night on the porch or balcony. After Tetsurō goes into his room, 30 minutes later you exit your given room and slink outside to light a cigarette. It disgusts him how much you’ve changed from the sister he remembers. The one he loves, the one he wishes never left. His decision to prevent you from going down the same path as everyone else in the family was to set in restrictions.

“No more alcohol? Smoking? Tetsurō, I’m not a child,” you argue. With the blanket of darkness upon the house, both of your daughters had already been tucked in and were sound asleep.

“You may not be a child, but you need to be responsible. I won’t be able to help you if you act like this,”

“Tetsu, this isn’t what I signed up for. I needed help getting back on my feet. If you’re gonna to act like my ex, I’ll leave,”

“Your- You think I’m like that piece of shit?” The anger in his voice freezes you to the spot, glare directed right at you. “I’m trying to help. You’re damaging your relationships and yourself,”

“Tetsu, you’re controlling me. If you’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna leave. You and Kouki are one and the same. I don’t need my children to deal with another pathetic excuse for a-”

Your sentence was cut by a sharp slap, the noise echoing loud in your ears as blood rushes to your face, hot where he touched. The stinging residue of his slap brought tears to your eyes, betrayal evident in glossy orbs.

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not the bad guy,” his voice is low, cracking as he tries not to let his face crack. You grit your teeth, anger boiling through your blood.

“How dare you fucking-!” You’re once more shut down, Tetsurō‘s hand on your mouth as you struggle. He’s much stronger than you, not to mention larger and more broad. He’s able to easily maneuver you down on your knees, vulnerable as he drags you over to his desk. Your struggling helps to loosen his grip a bit, but his hand stays on your mouth. Once he shuts a drawer, your mouth is free as he secures you to the drawer. “Tetsu, enough! Stop!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” His voice gets louder as he loosens his tie and wraps it around your mouth. The fabric is quickly soaked with your saliva and your screams are muffled. “Fucking finally. This isn’t what I wanted, you must understand that. This is the best for you, making sure you’re not setting a bad example for your daughters!”

A muffled response is all he gets as an answer, your noises of struggling and squirming making his guilt worsen. As he starts to regret his decision, panic settling in as he realizes that he is, indeed, acting like your abusive ex. He knows he’s doing it for the best results, he’s doing it for your own good, but the gnawing feeling of knowing he’s no better is still there. The intention is different, the actions are the same. As you struggle, he comes to that realization.

But there’s another voice.

You’re helpless before him, the sister he’s been in love with since before she left him. As your skin shows more and more underneath the blouse, he notices the darkened marks. The only signs of an affair. The evidence makes his blood boil again, knowing you’re out whoring yourself instead of being a good mother. You’re just as bad as you were when you were 17, sleeping with random guys just because of the thrill. If he had known...

“This is poor behavior and you need to be properly reminded you have other responsibilities. If you wanna be a slut so badly, then so be it. You wanna do harmful things, then so be it,” his voice is shaking, but his hands are not. Popping open the buttons on your blouse, you struggle once more. With the handcuffs around your wrists, keeping you chained to the locked desk, you’re completely helpless as he undos the shirt. Once he gets it off and down your arms, he realizes the position you’re in. It’s a bit hard to have access to your body when you’re chained standing up to a drawer.

The handcuffs are released and forgotten, falling to the floor as he keeps your hands behind your back. “You make so much as a peep, I’ll make you regret it. Starting with your precious brats,” he sneers, halting your movements. You don’t struggle, letting him lead you from his office to his bedroom. It’s not far, but you pass the hallway where your children’s rooms are. It’s tempting, the urge to scream and beg for them to call the police or get help from a neighbor, but you don’t. Tetsurō may be family, but he isn’t a liar. He doesn’t bluff. He’ll do what he needs to do to get what he wants, even if that’s covering up a crime. The hallway fades from view and in place is Tetsurō’s bedroom, the door opening only to shut and lock.

“This isn’t how I expected my teenage fantasies to come true, but there’s no going back,” he pulls you towards the bed, letting you fall and bounce on the mattress. It’s a luxurious king sized bed, Western-styled, similar to the other beds in the house. Red silk sheets paint a romantic scene, your bra-clad chest for his viewing pleasure as he strips down. With each piece of clothing stripped from his body, you’re free to admire how much he’s changed since you last saw him. With the three year difference between you, he was just beginning high school when you left. Now he’s toned and tall, muscles flexing and rippling with each movement until he’s down to his boxers.

When his hands go to stripping you down, you don’t fight back. Your will to fight was stripped from your previous resistance. With the looming threat of your daughters getting hurt, you can’t find it in your body to put up even a bit of resistance. When you’re down to nothing, you shiver as his predatory gaze lingers on the evidence of your recent affair, a man you met over a dating app that happened to be a pathetic excuse of a man and a lousy lay. With a growl in his throat, your legs are pried open to Tetsurō’s heavy gaze, a sickening feeling in your stomach as he licks his lips. The boxers he wears are discarded, the fabric useless as he palms his hard cock. You’re staring, you know you are, but he’s much bigger and thicker than you expected. With beads of precum bubbling at his slit, he moves it to rub against your pussy lips.

“Tetsurō, please, don’t do this,” you shiver, covering your chest as you move your legs. He’s quick, pinning them to your chest as he applies weight. The feeling of being crushed is all you can think about, knowing he’s keeping you restrained in a brutish way. He doesn’t answer you, glare on the way his cock looks between your folds. Once he feels a bit of slick build up, he pumps his cock with your slick, sticky translucent strands covering his shaft and his hand.

It’s sudden, his cock slipping right into your heat. It has a moan slipping out, toes curling as he sinks into you. His own groan had you clenching around him, a sexual sound that you’d never expect from your brother. Hissing, he rocks his hips into yours until each inch disappears into your cunt.

“Tetsu, please,” you beg, hands gently pushing at his shoulders. “You can still back out,”

“If you’re so desperate for a fuck and some dick, then I’ll give it to you. Disciplining is the first step in obedience,” he grunts, keeping your knees to your chest as he thrusts into you. Your head is thrown back, the feeling of him rubbing every sensitive spot inside you has your orgasm building faster than you expected. “I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, taking back what was taken from me. Thinking you can go off with whoever, not anymore. Not while I’m here. You’re mine, all mine,”

With his confession ringing in your ears, his thumb goes to your clit and has your vision dotting. A muffled scream of his name, your hand covering the noise, comes as you cream on his cock, sticky white fluid on the base of his cock. He doesn’t stop nor hesitate in his thrusts, putting more force behind each pump as tears stream down your cheeks, lungs burning from the position.

“One more. Come on, nee-san, give me one more,” he encourages, fingers swirling around your clit and pinching the sensitive area. Legs tense as they shake, vision going black as your eyes roll with the force of your second orgasm. With a groan, Tetsurō finishes himself inside. His seed swishes inside you, coating your walls and spurting our when he pulls himself free of your hole. He’s not aiming to get you pregnant, oh no. He wants obedience.

Best way to do that is assert his dominance in your life, he thinks, as he positions himself to enter you once more.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #BB.Kinky #BB.Dark #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #Mr. Tetsurō #Kuroo.Spice #kuroo x reader #BB.Requests #tw.incest #tw.alcohol #tw.smoking #tw.blackmail #tw.manipulation

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sylvain-writes · 3 years

Text

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

“All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

#Raphael TMNT #Raphael x gender neutral reader #raphael #gender neutral reader #this was left in my drafts for a long while #i don't think i've posted it #enjoy it's got some cute shit in there especially toward the end #my writing

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coffeebeannate · 3 years

Note

hi nate! 12 - Finally home after a hard day + 13 - “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.” for kaysanova please 👉👈 (dearpatroclus)

Hello Courtney~! Absolutely! @dearpatroclus (Sorry I totally forgot to actually include your username before kasjnsjadk)

Two-Part Drabbles

Joe sighs heavily when he drops their bags atop the dull green carpet of one of the endless motel rooms they’ve called ‘home’ for so long.

They do have other more permanent locations about the globe, but more often than not, it is this. Some temporary station that may or may not have running water, or heat. A dingy television that may not get all channels, if anything at all, and the uncomfortable springs of a bed with origins and body histories best not considered when so exhausted even blinking feels too monstrous. Too impossible. Too taxing.

Despite it being the 21st century, the motel has neither wifi, nor internet of any sort. The old radiator style heater is long yellow from age, and Joe eyeballs the dark brown cover of the single double bed wearily.

Still, it promised a shower, with hot water. A shower Joe is too damned exhausted to take.

Nicky’s hand is on his back, wide and steady, where Joe’s barely moved from the doorway.

“What is it?” He asks, in low Italian, though Joe knows it’s more courtesy to rouse him than anything else, “Do you just want to sleep?”

Joe tips his head back, accepting the shoulder that greets it. His ears still ring distantly from the gunshots, his head feels foggy and heavy with smoke.

“Would be no good.” As tired as he is, he knows showering at the very least is the better option, “But a quick one.”

A routine done thousands upon thousands of times before and there is no ease in the adjustment of it. Even if firing a gun, or holding his scimitar is done with the same physical memories no more complex at times than holding a fork at dinner, there’s an endless calling of ‘why’ and ‘maybe this time, do not.’ Something to trip him up, something to spark that brief second of hesitation.

There’s smudges and streaks in the small oval shaped bathroom mirror, and Joe stares himself dead in the eye, exhausted and tense, with each piece of clothing he removes while Nicky works to bring the stubborn old pipes to temperature.

Being fast healing, his muscles look little different than they did so many centuries ago, but having more continual nutrition allows a glow to his skin, a shine of health that had never truly been present the first five hundred years of his life.

His hair, though sodden and sticky from dirt and smoke, retains a healthily robust shine that Nicky comments on whenever he has an opportunity. There’s a spark of clarity in his eyes, and blood that flakes from his cheeks and leaves nothing but fresh, perfect skin beneath.

He’d not lived long enough as a mortal to develop the firm, obvious wrinkles he can barely remember his father or grandfathers having had. But there’s a definite crinkle to his forehead and the corners of his eyes where such things had slowly been starting to develop.

Until it was determined he’d be eternally 33.

Nicky would tell him, running his hands over the fuzz of hair against his chest, the looseness of a stomach well fed and unstrained, that nobody who looked to them could possibly guess what they’d been through. How they appeared so often in perfect health, still young and new to the world.

“Are you finished college?” Nicky had heard, more than once. “Have you kids?” Joe had heard to them both. “What do you do for a living? Where are you from? Have you got any plans for the future?”

“They cannot help it.” Nicky told him, curled up together later, “We look just like them. They can’t possibly comprehend.”

But they were just like them. The man Joe stared at in the mirror was him. A human. A human that just happened to heal really fast and could not retain death.

Was that not like them?

He held no super strength, no mystic abilities brought about by some fantasy element. He did not contain secrets. He was human. He just didn’t die.

Nicky didn’t die either. Nicky, who now once again was slowly trying to pull Joe from his thoughts. Nicky, with his careful, penetrating gaze of pure green concern, the vaguely hard, semi-chapped lips Joe so loved to kiss and new so well he could trace their shape in his sleep.

There’s dark black dirt on his cheeks, and ash on his nose. There’s the smell of weakening gunpowder on his fingertips when they run down Joe’s beard. His lips taste like soot when they come to Joe’s, his mouth pliant and willing when Joe pushes for more.

The shower water is hot and won’t be for long, the burning makes Joe yelp when he’s guided inside, slow, sluggish pressure not enough to soothe but good enough for cleaning. Nicky’s strong, sure hands finding soap and massaging into Joe’s hair.

Water turns grey beneath their feet, Joe tries to breathe through exhausted, small tears.

Nicky lets him cry, thumb pads gently pushing them away, encouraging Joe to breathe with him when there’s too many, when he can’t see and his eyelashes cling.

Hummed songs in Italian, gentle whispers in Joe’s ear.

The hands Joe fists into Nicky’s hips that clutch and burn, that bring him closer to himself in the need to know that there is something that stays the same. That there is something in this ever-turbulent world that feels identical.

The towels are scratchy, the fabric loose, Joe cannot be bothered to find anything more exciting than faded blue boxers, sitting on the bed with Nicky only after he’s dried his own hair of the worst dampness, ancient black sweats loose on his hips.

He’s heavy in Joe’s lap and blissful in his patience.

“Rest,” Nicky says, kind, sweet, nose brushing Joe’s.

If sleep came now Joe’d only be subjected to terror. Nicky knows and puts a finger to his lips. “Only rest, not sleep. Not until you’re ready.”

Under the blankets, Nicky’s chest is a comforting pillow, Joe’s eyes watching the muted colours of the TV without registering a single thing that happens in the program.

Joe must fall asleep, for he’s sure he notes the room darkening, the distant television sound ceasing, and Nicky’s sleep-heavy voice in his ear, “Good Night, my love.”

And he knows nothing after that.

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 14: A Bounty of Hours of High-Flying Birds is up! The boys’ first night together in Skyros, from Patroclus’ POV. Smut, cuddles and feels galore :)

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

For a long while, I simply held him.

I wrapped my arms around him, hid in the hollow of his throat. Felt his lungs, the way they swelled with every breath. Listened to his heartbeat, the way it pulsed in his neck, in the dark. I traced the channel of his spine with my fingertips. It was hidden under layers of fabric, but I knew the subtle dip between the shoulder blades, the curve of the lower back. I knew it, better than my own. I had followed it countless times; I could have done so in my sleep.

Achilles’ fingers smoothed up my back, caressed the back of my neck, threaded through my hair, mirroring my own movements. We had only lit a single lamp and left the window open, and in the moonlight that streamed in he was silver-bright and luminescent, a flame flickering in the dark. I gazed at him, and wondered how I had spent a single moment, a single breath without gazing at him; it all seemed so far away now, incomprehensible. A nightmare that disperses upon waking, yet its echoes still leave a trace of bitterness, of fear, behind.

None of that mattered now. Nothing mattered, not when he was breathing, his pulse beating, the moon shining upon him while I held him in my arms. I breathed deep, the deepest I had breathed in days, weeks, months— I breathed like I never had before, like all the air around me had been sucked the moment he’d been taken away, and it was now given back to me in abundance.

I breathed. We breathed.

Achilles did not speak. He hadn’t spoken a word since we’d walked into the room and closed the door behind us. He leaned back to look down upon me, his eyes searching my own. He would do that, every so often, as if he could not believe I was there, as if to convince himself that it was truly me, and not some ghost, some mirage, some half-formed dream. Long, delicate fingers traced the sides of my face, as if to make sure.

“Patroclus,” he whispered.

I took in a shaky breath. I did not take my gaze off him— I do not think I could, even if I wanted to. I watched his eyes the whole while, the way they gleamed beneath his eyelashes, the way his pupils widened like a hunting cat’s in the night. His fingers moved lower to trace the line of my jaw, smoothing down the column of my neck. He caressed my collarbone with his knuckle, then followed its line until it let him to the clasps of my tunic.

An intake of breath. The whisper of fabric as it fell loose over my shoulder.

“Patroclus,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss the skin he’d exposed. I shivered, my head falling back on a sigh when I felt his petal soft lips on me, his breath warming me.

He moved on to the other clasp to unfasten it, his lips following where his fingers had touched. His palm smoothed down my chest, pushing my tunic down. When I was standing before him in nothing but my skin, he undid the laces, clasps and sashes that kept his own dress in place with quick and sure movements. It was swiftly discarded in a pile on the floor, next to my own clothes. Then, he drew me flush against him, holding me so tightly I thought my breath would leave me, his lips gliding over my own, his hands roaming, roaming.

“Patroclus.”

“Achilles—” I gasped when I was suddenly lifted off the ground. I laughed despite myself, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms coming around his shoulders. My nose was buried in golden curls, rich with the smell of him, the taste. Rose water and sandalwood, pomegranate, him. His scent suffused me, filled me to the brim— my lungs were close to bursting, yet I wanted more. I needed more. I needed to breathe him in, to drink him in, to keep him safe within me, forever.

“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, squeezing my eyes shut when I felt them burning.

Don’t leave me.

With his arms around me, keeping me aloft, he walked me to the bed. I held on to him tightly as he lay me down, with my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms locked behind his neck, feeling his lungs that swelled and his heart that beat against my own. He felt so solid, so real against me. It was as if we’d never been apart, as if the last two months had been but a blink of an eye, while at the same time I could still feel the hollow of his absence as if he was not there at all. I thought of all the nights that had gone by in an endless, dizzying stream, nights that I had spent dreaming of him, wanting him, aching.

“Achilles,” I whispered into the soft hollow of his neck, and I was aching still.

Stay with me.

He spoke my name again, I think. He was kissing me everywhere, whispers interspersed, warming my already flushed skin, lips and hands mapping every inch of me. Our kisses, from slow and gentle, had turned fierce, exploratory and possessive, as if in the span of a single night we could make up for all the lost time, like we could unwind those shimmering threads and wrap them all again around us, for us.

It wasn’t long before his deft fingers slid down between us, quick and agile like watersnakes. I gasped when I felt them wrapping around me in a firm grip. He knew the rhythm I liked— oh, he knew it well— and his eyes were on mine now as he stroked me, faster now and faster.

I might have spoken then, perhaps. I might have said something —I missed you, I missed this, I need this— but words were slipping away from me, like so much sand through my fingers. I surrendered myself wholly, unable to hold back. I reached down too, past his chest, past his stomach, past the soft tangle of golden curls at his navel. He was hard and slick with dew and ready already, and I watched him, drinking in the sight of him as every stroke of my fist brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“Patroclus,” he moaned, thrusting in my hand, “Patroclus—”

Release was quick to come, for both of us. He came with a gasp, spilling messily over my stomach. The beads of his seed shone all over me, pearlescent in the moonlight. I wasn’t far behind, riding the crest of that wave while he kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me.

“Achilles,” I sighed against his lips, drawing his breath into my lungs, dizzy with the sweetness of his mouth. He was smiling when he collapsed on top of me, his arms coming around me to hug, to hold, to keep. Weak shivers were still running through me when I hid my face in his hair.

Never leave me.

Sleep was just at arm’s reach.

Later, the chill breeze that blows through the window stirs me awake. Achilles is sprawled over me like a blanket, like the fox furs we would throw over us in Pelion to keep us warm in the heart of winter. He is smiling in his sleep. My eyes fall closed again, and I think:

Don’t leave me.

He stirs, still asleep. His lips press against my cheek as if by instinct, and I think:

Stay with me.

“Patroclus,” he breathes, still reaching for me, even in his dreams, and I think, I think, I think-

Don’t leave me. Stay with me. Never leave me.

We slept for a while like this, tangled in each other’s arms. Legs under legs over legs, arms beneath necks, hands going numb and tingly from the weight. When we finally peeled away, we were both sticky, sweaty; we laughed at how little we cared. A brass bowl of water with strips of clean cloth had been left for me by the servants before I came in, and we washed ourselves hastily before moving back to the bed.

The moon beyond the window was bronze and full now, slipping sideways, dipping towards the west. The Pleiades were twinkling, in the far away.

Achilles lay on his back on the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. The oil in the lamp was almost gone, and in the light that was fading he looked hazy and indistinct, his outlines blurring in a soft, shimmering halo.

I lay on my side, watching him. I let my gaze sweep over his smooth brow, his sharp profile, the bridge of his nose, his bow-shaped mouth. He swallowed, and I reached out to ride the tiny motion with the pad of my finger. That made him smile.

“It tickles,” he said. His fair eyelashes fluttered, revealing sleepy jade green eyes.

I shifted closer to him, pressing against the length of his body, and he lifted his arm to hold me. I felt safe there, wrapped in his undulating warmth, in the heat that always seemed to emanate from him. It was because of his divine blood, he’d explained to me once, that his skin was so warm.

I had nodded then, but it still made little sense to me. Thetis was as frigid as the dark waters of bottomless oceans. I could not imagine her bone white skin being warm to the touch. Achilles radiated like the sun; Thetis was as cold and distant as the moon. He was honest and direct when she was scheming, golden and resplendent when she was sharp, cold, cruel to the core.

It mattered not. He was Achilles, and he was beautiful, and he was there. He was my light, my life; Thetis would readily take both from me. I had never feared, nor hated, anyone as much as I did her, right at that moment.

Sullen determination sparked within me. I would never let him go, regardless of how little she thought I deserved him. I would defy the gods themselves, if I had to.

“What are you thinking about?” came the drowsy, sleepy question.

I stayed silent for a moment. I did not want to share with him the acid of my thoughts, and I did not want to lie to him. I simply said, “Your mother was trying to hide you from the war?”

Achilles’ eyes cracked open, when they had been half closed, and he shifted to face me. Sleep was gone now; his attention was entirely focused on me. “She does not want me to go to Troy. It’s too soon, she says. I’m too young. There will still be wars to be fought, she says, and Troy should not be it. I think...” He paused for a moment, considering. “I think she wants me to be safe, and you with me.”

I frowned. Thetis had always wanted him to fight. If there was something I had come to know about her, was that nothing she ever did or said was simple or straightforward. I wondered where the knife lay, amidst the flowers.

“So it was not because of me? This…” I gestured at the remnants of his disguise, his hair that was still hanging in its womanly curls.

“Deidameia was because of you, I think. But the rest was the war.”

I struggled to understand it. Achilles could explain it no better than I could, so we simply stayed silent for a long while. The wick in the oil lamp was sputtering softly when Achilles’ fingers smoothed gently up my arm.

“I missed you,” he sighed.

His touch made my skin prickle. Desire sparked readily within me, just with the feel of his breath brushing my cheek as he shifted closer to me still.

He flattened his palm down my sides, following the curve of my hips, brushing down my thighs, claiming every inch of me. “I missed you,” he said again, more fervently, urgently.

I kissed him in response. There were no words to encompass the depth of my need for him while we’d been apart, the hollow that his absence had left behind. I touched him as he touched me, following his movements, like a flower follows the sun.

“I thought about you.” His breath was shaky when he rolled over me, washing over me like riptide, waves that rolled over a golden shore only to retreat again. His jade eyes were blazing through his golden lashes, and his lips were flushed and glistening. “I thought about you all the time.”

His words warmed me and I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillows as I looked at him. The tips of his curled hair caressed my face like feathers.

“You did?”

“Yes. I thought,” he whispered in my ear, his voice raising the hairs all over my body, “of holding you like this. Touching you like this.” His hands moved ceaselessly, endlessly wandering, as he planted kiss after kiss on my lips, my eyes, the angle of my jaw. “Did you think of me?”

I blushed; I could feel my cheeks catching fire. Of course I had thought about him too. All those nights that had seemed never ending, when it felt like the ship would never reach the shore, and I feared I would remain trapped in the interstice between darkness and the unknown, I always thought of him. I would summon his image in my mind, like a talisman to ward off every terror. The way his hair looked in the bright sun, strands of molten gold heavy with water, clinging to his skin when we went swimming in the stream or in the sea; the droplets that glittered on his curved eyelashes and in the space between his full lips like beads of morning dew.

“I did,” I said, a touch strained, when his tongue flicked over my earlobe. I felt alive, vibrant; more than that, I felt bold. I tilted my head to the side to give him better access to my neck as I asked, “What else did you think about?”

Read the rest on AO3!

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #achilles x patroclus #patroclus x achilles #tsoa fanfic #achilles #patroclus #high-flying birds #tsoa fanfiction #johaerys writes

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tae-cup · 3 years

Text

Have a Merry Christmas :) - Yoongi

For: @yoongi-sugaglider, Eommaaaaaaa

From: Marria

Pairing: Musician!Yoongi x Author!Reader

Summary: The littlest of gestures have the biggest impact <3

Genre: Neighbors to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

Warnings: Your heart may burst from the fluff, like a little language here and there.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3.8k Words

A/N: I am not Christian, but I have a lot of holiday spirit, okay? Also, Eomma I loved writing this for you. Honestly, it’s so cute and I love you and everything you do. You’re doing great and I hope this is what you were hoping for! Alexa, play All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Other: Masterlist

Moving was a long and laborious task. Your arms felt like jelly as you clutched the heavy box of dishes. You kicked open the door of your new apartment as it began to close behind the line of movers going in and out.

“Need some help?” A low voice grumbled. Assuming it was your father, you just groaned and nodded.

“God, I didn’t even know I had so many dishes! I’m pretty sure I just use the same ones. I should give some back to you and mom.” You complained.

“That’s great, but I’m not your dad.” Ah, shit.

In your defense, the box blocked a majority of your line of sight and you were a bit preoccupied. What you didn’t expect was to see a handsome man staring at you through narrowed eyes. A small smile tugged at his lips.

He wordlessly held open the door for you to get into the apartment and you didn’t say anything out of embarrassment. You set down the box and when you turned around to say thank you and apologize, he was already gone. The door next to yours clicked shut.

Great. It wasn’t the first impression you had wanted out of your next door neighbor. You pulled your hair into a ponytail and swiped at the building sweat. You needed to do something to get on better terms with your neighbor. Or maybe you were overthinking things way too much. You began to unpack the dishes while the movers brought in the couch.

After the dishes were put away, you went back out to help the movers. On your way out, you glanced at the heavy oak door that was close beside yours. You bit at your lip and turned back to head downstairs. You had wanted to knock, to apologize or just say something.

Something something something. You were always doing something. They called you quite the ‘fixer’ in your house. Being an author was not usually a great career choice, but one thing did stand out about you; when something was wrong, you fixed it.

Min Yoongi ended up being quite the enigma, as you were soon to find out. Ever since your first meeting, he had been cordial with you. In all honesty, though, he rarely left his apartment. You did figure out that he was a musician and studying in the music department at the local college. How did you find out? Well, you weren’t a stalker, okay, but you did overhear conversations from time to time. The walls were thin.

You had noticed how he rarely had any visitors, even during holidays, and a few times you had wanted to ask if he wished to join you for celebrations like New Years or Christmas, but you never did. You found out why he was alone about a year into living in the building. You didn’t speak to him, but there was some attraction to the unknown.

It had been Christmas. You were packing and preparing to leave your monotonous life to spend time with your family. It was your favorite time of the year. Warm fairy lights were hung all around your apartment and the smell of cinnamon candles was in the air.

You shoved the last of your clothing into the bag. You were decked out with ugly Christmas sweaters, beanies, and boots. Just as you were about to leave, you heard the shouting of muffled voices from next door.

Neither of those were Yoongi. You knew because, well, he just never seemed like the type to yell in an argument. In all your interactions with him, leaving in the morning, riding the elevator, you knew him to be a quiet and introverted man.

The shouting grew louder and you wondered if you should go knock on the door and check in. You exited your apartment and walked the few steps to stand in front of his door. Hesitation filled your mind and you bit at your lip. After a few more moments, you decided against it. You turned and started walking down the hall to the elevator.

Suddenly, the door to his apartment opened and closed with a loud slam. You felt yourself jump at the loud noise and you twisted your head to look at the door. Yoongi, with his faded blonde hair, you had noticed he was into dyeing his hair a different color every month, was exiting his room. He took brisk steps, mumbling something about getting some fresh air.

You glanced at him as he strode into the elevator with you. He was running his hands madly through his hair in a constant rhythm. Then he took in a deep breath. The elevator already held winter’s frigid air and you could see the lightest of breaths puffing out from his mouth.

“My parents.” He said simply. You nodded in understanding, connecting the dots.

“I’m sorry about that.” You said softly. He finally looked at you. You remained still, watching as the numbers ticked downward.

After a few moments of his eyes roaming your face, he turned back to look at the metal doors.

“It can’t be helped. Most parents wouldn’t want their child throwing away their life on trivial pursuits.”

“Trivial pursuits, hm?” Your heart thumped quietly in your chest. You remembered the look your parents gave you when you told them about your wishes to pursue writing.

“I want to be in the music industry. You know, like those kpop producers?”

“I see.” You hummed in acknowledgement.

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slowly creaked open. You hurried out, shouldering your duffle bag. The lobby was cold, the doors opening and letting a cold breeze in every time a resident entered or exited. Yoongi stepped out with you. This was the longest conversation you’d had with him for a year, it was oddly calming.

Yoongi was a listener and he took his time with his words. You reflected this in a way, but your support system was stronger. When you looked at his tired face, the way his lips pulled into a natural frown, you felt concerned. How was he holding up?

“I think you should do what you want, Yoongi.” You said, walking to the entrance for the underground parking. He watched you go.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I am.” He said simply and turned on his heel, leaving for the regular entrance.

A few years passed like seconds. Your life was just flashing by your eyes. Schoolwork, your job, everything was the same. Each year you led a comfortable lifestyle, you even managed to get your book into the editing phase. More and more, your life and fascination with your neighbor had intertwined.

The words you wrote in your book became based on the intrigue of your mysterious neighbor. Who was he really? What did he do besides schoolwork? To you, it seemed he just sat inside and played piano until the early morning hours, just like he was doing now.

Christmas Eve was around once again and you were packing, once more, to go see your family. You wanted to leave extra early in order to spend more time with your grandma, whose health had been shaky lately.

The sweet melody of silent night echoed through the quiet building. You glanced to your far left wall, trying to imagine him sitting at his piano, playing such a melancholic song such a happy day.

That’s when it really began; the notes. It started with a simple message scrawled messily on a sticky note.

Have a Merry Christmas, yoongi. :) - Y/N

You kept at it. Notes upon notes, everyday, 365 days. It gave you something to do and it was always a nice routine. You were sure he threw away each note and he never mentioned them when you stood in the elevator together either. It wasn’t anything bad.

They always just said simple things like Hope you had a good day today. Or Are you alright? Or, your personal favorite, Have you had anything to eat? The questions always ranged based on how you heard him enter his apartment. You tried your best to plan ahead, so you kept at least two in your pocket in case you forgot sticky notes.

You often thought over your feelings for him. He was nice, sweet, and on top of it, extremely handsome. You lazily wrote I like you one day on a sticky note and then crumpled it up, stuffing it into one of your pockets. Someday, someday. You told yourself.

“Whatcha got there?” You asked, eyeing the white grocery bag in his hand.

He stood next to you, as per usual, on the elevator. The elevator itself was old and slow.

“Just some dried squid.” He said.

You were quiet, which prompted him to continue.

“They’re taking them out of stock this week and I don’t know how long until I can get them again. I don’t have time to go anywhere else. So I guess I’ve just got to stock up.” He explained quickly. You nodded, logging the information away into your brain.

“Personally, I like Kyoho Jelly.” You said.

“Ah, that’s good too.”

The next week, you went to another grocery store, and even though you weren’t a particularly big fan of dried squid, you bought several packages. For the next few weeks, you delivered your notes with a bag of dried squid.

Both you and Yoongi had rather...solitary ways of life. He spent his time holed up playing piano and you spent your time hiding in your room writing. In fact, you mostly had the same schedule as each other. It felt nice to have a companion on your short trips to and from school. Even if you didn’t say much, it was enough.

You ran into him on the elevator once more. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement and even managed a smile. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly. Who wouldn’t be flustered to speak to him?

Yeah, he had that nerdy, introvert, kind of look to him, but he had this mystery in his eyes, a coldness that could only be found through years of immense strength and resilience. You knew him to be dedicated. Your way of supporting him was by not knocking on his door when it was 1 A.M. and he was practicing the same piece for the hundredth time.

Yoongi held a folder of sheet music in his arms and you held your manuscript. The blonde looked at your arms.

“You’re a writer?” He asked.

“You could say that.” You shrugged and hit your floor number. You stayed still as he stepped in after you.

“That’s...really cool.” He said awkwardly.

You were a bit surprised. You had expected him to be cool as a cucumber, very put together, but he seemed almost nervous as he stood beside you. He fidgeted quite a bit and averted his eyes away from you.

“I guess.” You said softly, a warm feeling growing in your stomach. Then you bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“I wanted to apologize about uh, the way we met.” You chuckled. “I didn’t know you weren’t, achem, my father.”

He looked away and you saw his shoulders shake with a silent laugh. Then he turned back to you. You saw a ghost of a smile left on his lips and he slowly let his face fall back into a neutral position.

“It’s no problem.�� He said stoically, then he broke character, “I found it quite...humorous and you’re cute so it’s no big deal.”

Then he flushed bright red and stumbled over his next words.

“I mean, I-nevermind, this is awkward.” He rushed and took a deep breath. He released a sigh and you smiled at him.

“Thanks.” You said gently.

The elevator dinged and you stepped out, waiting for him. Did he know about the notes? Why hadn’t he said anything? You glanced at his flustered face and decided against questioning him. He stepped out and began to walk with you in silence to your door.

You finally made your move.

“Hey, I know I usually leave these on your door, but since you’re right here...I’ll just give it to you, okay?” You reached into your pocket and picked up the first crumpled piece you found. You handed it to him sheepishly and he took it, holding it carefully in his soft hands.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

He opened his door. “See you around.”

“See you-” the door shut. “-around.” You finished quietly.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the other piece of paper. How’s your day? It read. Your face paled. Oh god, no. The only other paper in your pocket had been...I like you.

Your book had been slipping away from you. The editing process was tedious and time felt like it was getting away from you. Yoongi didn’t know about your book, he didn’t know how you wondered if he was alright, like some weird infatuation. It was normal to be worried about your neighbor, right?

On the subject of notes, you had gotten a rather harsh wake up call from your publisher. He had explained, in simple terms, that your book wouldn’t be successful.

“The writing is okay, I guess, but what happened halfway through? I was sure the main character was going to end up with Brandon, so why does it so suddenly change? I think this will throw off readers looking for a cute romance novel.” He said, as if reading off a script.

“But it’s realistic. You can’t fall in love and expect to be with the first man you lay eyes on.” You argued.

“Look, Y/N, this is just supposed to be a ditzy romance novel. Don’t get into your head with metaphors and realism. That’s not what you’re good at and not what we signed up for. Thanks.”

And the call had ended just like that. Distressed was an understatement. You set your phone down on the counter and collapsed on the couch that lay next to the wall that connected Yoongi and your apartment.

He was playing Nuvole Bianche, a rather sad song, and it pushed you to the edge. Everything was going wrong. Yoongi hadn’t even looked at you since you got the notes mixed up and you were sure he was purposefully avoiding you.

The tears began to stream down your face, painting your cheeks. The piano rose in intensity and a sob tore out. Years of work, and for what?

The disappointed looks on your parents’ faces, the raised eyebrows of your professors, all the words they had said to you in subtle jabs at your character, your career choice...were they true? Were they right? You curled in on yourself, sobbing loudly. You didn’t even notice the piano music halt.

The only sound were your sobs, the hopelessness that settled in your bones. Maybe you should just stop. Then, there was a melody. A soft tune that had waited for a quiet moment. You’ve got a friend in me.

The joyful piano contrasted that of your own despair. You lifted your head. Had he heard? Did he know? You swiped at your eyes as the tune grew louder.

You got troubles, and I got 'em too. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. We stick together and we see it through. 'Cause you've got a friend in me. You've got a friend in me. The melody swept you up and carried you away.

You could breathe again.

The TV was turned up loud, blaring the message that had you sitting on the couch this Christmas instead of with your parents.

“A large avalanche occurred late last night, blocking a major roadway from Seoul to Busan. Officials say no one was injured in this disaster, however this will prevent hundreds of people from returning home this Christmas.” The reporter said.

You watched the screen, mind blank and eyes open. The screen itself was blurred to your vision and you were currently pushing away the harsh reality that threw a wrench in the happiest day of the year for you. You had no one. Still, in your misery, you blinked and stood. You had to do the one thing you knew how to do; write.

So you wrote. You wrote well into the afternoon. You wrote until your fingers cramped and your stomach growled with hunger. You wrote until you could hear Yoongi slamming his apartment door at the end of the day.

Your misery was on display on this blank white page. Wasn’t this supposed to be a good day? You bit your lip and looked to the far wall. Yoongi was silent. No piano music was heard.

In a split second decision, before your inspiration vanished and your mind became numb from writing all day, you jotted a few words down onto a sticky note. You surveyed the yellow paper. It was such a small square, but the words on it meant something. It was weird how words can mean so much.

You left your apartment, stretching out your back which had been hunched over your computer. You swallowed thickly and stuck the note down on the ground. You knocked and waited. No response.

You sighed and left, opening your door and slamming it shut behind you. You felt angry tears pricking at your eyes. It was stupid, trying to understand your handsome neighbor, trying to connect to such an obviously closed off person.

The sound of his door opening softly and closing made you stop. You checked the time. You had three hours to midnight, three hours to Christmas.

Yoongi hesitated, staring down at the little note. Have a Merry Christmas :) - Y/N

He bent down and picked it up, the note reminding him of the first note last year. Of course he noticed the notes everyday, of course he felt grateful, happy that someone cared. It had been a long time since that happened. He flipped over the note. Nothing on the backside, yet the simple words seemed to taunt him.

The notes had made him feel...funny inside. Yoongi wasn’t all too great at figuring out what was going on in his head, he just plowed through life as fast as possible. He spent his time lost in work, piano, or sleeping.

Your notes felt like a time when he could calm down and stop for a bit. How are you? I hope your day was good. Little things that made the biggest of impacts on his world.

He needed to do something. The blonde, now mint haired, couldn’t understand how he felt about you. All he knew was that he very desperately wanted to make you happy. He had gone radio silent for a while, unsure of what to do when he discovered your note; I like you. What was he supposed to do with that information?

Maybe you like her back? His conscience said.

He thought of the crumpled notes in his desk, the replies never sent. He knew what he needed to do next.

30 minutes to midnight. You were sprawled on your bed like you were making a snow angel. A soft rapping on your door made you sit up. You glanced at the time and then you stood. You made your way to your closet in an attempt to throw on something other than your pajamas.

In the end, you just chose leggings and a random christmas sweater in your half packed bag. Looking at the open bag made you frown and your mood dampened. The knocking sounded again.

“Coming!” You shouted, pulling on socks and walking to your door.

Upon opening the heavy wood, you saw no one. Then, on the ground, was a sticky note.

Have a merry Christmas :) - Yoongi.

You picked up the note, heart thumping wildly. You turned to look at his door. It creaked open slightly and All I Want For Christmas is You began its lilting melody.

You folded the paper up and stepped towards his door. You gripped the note tightly, hope blooming in your chest. He sees you. The little voice in your head pushed you to continue you into the apartment.

“Yoongi?” You called. The piano continued playing. Your heart thudded in your ears and you glanced down the short hall.

A board was propped up at the end, illuminated by hazy yellow Christmas lights. You stepped quietly and quickly towards it. You noted the similar layouts of your apartments.

It was like all the pieces of an apartment (a hallway, a room, a bathroom, etc) but in a different order with the same dimensions. As you walked closer to the board, you could finally make out what was on it. Your breath caught in your throat.

Notes. Little sticky notes were pressed all over the board. You leaned closer and the familiar scrawl of your handwriting came into focus. All of your notes. Every. Single. Note. You had ever sent him, was on this board.

You felt tears spring to your eyes. He had kept them. You managed to hold back the flood as you read over each note with fascination, because beside every note, was another note in Yoongi’s handwriting.

How are you? I’m okay, how are you?

Did you eat today? Yes, there’s no need to worry.

They were in various conditions. Notes, you realized, that he had intended to respond to you with. Each one was crumpled slightly, as if he’d thrown them out and then decided against it.

A bag of dried squid sat next to a bag of Kyoho Jelly. You smiled a little, remembering your gesture of goodwill. In the very middle, however, you caught the note you were sure he had thrown away.

I like you. I like you too.

Time froze. The tears were down your cheeks in an instant, the overwhelming emotions flooding you. The note’s words played over in your brain, like his soft breath in your ear.

I like you. I like you too. The music came to a stop and you were pulled from your thoughts, twisting around to face the mint haired man. His eyes were soft, a gummy smile on his face.

“You didn’t think I would let you spend Christmas alone after all of this, hm?” He teased.

You let out a little chuckle and walked towards him. He stood from his piano and met you in the middle of the room. He took your hands in his and squeezed softly.

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

“No, I should thank you.” He glanced at the board of notes. “You didn’t need to do all of this.”

“It was just a silly infatuation.”

“There’s nothing silly about it, Y/N.” He pulled you closer ever so slightly. Then he looked up pointedly and you followed his line of sight. Mistletoe.

Without a second thought, without a doubt, which was a surprise since you had many, you tilted your head and met his lips with yours.

He pressed into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving his lips in time to yours. Yoongi had an aloof and cold demeanor oftentimes, but he found he was only ever warm when he was with you.

You pulled away, breathing a little harder than before. His cheeks were tinged pink and yours were as well. You were flustered, captivated by his chocolate eyes. The clock on the wall chimed midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi.” You breathed.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Then he leaned in once more and gave you a soft kiss on the lips.

#bts #bts x reader #Min Yoongi #Castlebangtan #castlebangtan friends #ily eomma #yoongi x reader #Secret Santa #fluff #strangers to lovers #stl #neighbors to lovers #bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #kpopuniversenet #PG #Marria is in the holiday spirit

111 notes · View notes

venusandromedadjarin · 3 years

Text

Darling

Alive, part two

18+, soft!Poe if you squint, drinking, fluff, dom!Poe, smut... a whole lot of smut, light bondage, edging, begging... Poe is just a hot husband and his wife pissed him off so now it’s payback time, 3.5k words

The cantina erupts in shouts and whoops the minute the two of you step inside, Poe's hand wrapped tightly around yours as he flashes his dazzling smile. You feel the heaviness in your chest lighten marginally as you see everyone you took off with from the base this morning, all of them smiling at the two of you. General Organa’s words echo in your mind, no one was lost today. She was right, and you hadn’t even let that sink in until now. No one’s picture was added to the wall today, and you glance at it, the heaviness lightening a bit more when you see the number of frames hasn’t changed. Poe squeezes your hand, and you glance up at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

Red-Ten’s voice booms over the room as he lifts a bottle above the crowd, “To the Damerons!”

You can feel Poe’s chuckle as his shoulder’s shake with it, his hand tightening as he surges forward. People clap their hands to your backs, throwing out compliments about your flying and his leadership. When you see Red-Six, you break away from him to hug her tightly. She returns the hug, nodding as you thank her for saving your life today.

“Just doing my job, Sergeant.”

You slap her shoulder, “Don’t Sergeant me, Numa. We’re drinking tonight, come on.” You clamber up on a stool, stepping onto the bar and reach a hand down to her. Taking it, she follows you, throwing her head back to laugh, her Lekku swaying with the movement. Poe’s eyes find yours from below, and they shimmer in the low light as he watches you live. Something he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it suddenly strikes him, too, that everyone came back today.

General Organa strolls into the room and crosses her arms when she sees the two of you on the bar, both of you stilling as the bar grows quiet, waiting for her to say something. She slowly shakes her head, a grin spreading on her face as she comes through the crowd and announces, “Orson, first round is on me. The squadron deserves it. Congratulations on a successful day.”

The whooping that breaks out is so loud it drowns out her words as she slaps Poe on the back, Finn laughing beside him at whatever she says. You see her nod towards you before quietly exiting as the shots begin to be passed around. Two of Orson’s six large, green hands reach up to give you and Numa the small glasses, filled with clear alcohol. Once everyone has one, you wink towards her and lift yours up, “To the Rebel Scum!”

No one misses a beat as they echo you, laughter ringing out once everyone has downed the liquid. It burns down your throat and you grimace, swiping your lips with the back of your hand.

The evening goes on like that more or less, rounds of shots being passed out as you all eat at varying times before drinking some more. While Poe and Finn wager against some other people in a game of Sabacc, you bid Numa to cover for you as you slip out of the cantina. Technically, going outside at night is frowned upon, but you risk it and slide out the vented doors into the cool air. The base keeps the doors slatted open to improve air circulation and temperature at night, since D’Qar cools down significantly when the sun drops. The air is a welcome presence after being inside the humid bar. For a few minutes, you just stand outside the doors and look up, staring at the planets you can see in the sky. Finally, you push yourself forward towards the field that the base uses as a tarmac. The sight of your X-Wing makes you groan as you walk towards it, the sticky fire retardant still sliding down the sides of it. With hesitation, you decide to climb up the ladder, shuddering when you see the inside is full of the light colored goo. Hopping down, you walk around the ship and survey the damage. The entire left engine is gone, having blown up and all, and the left wings are severely damaged. Luckily the body and right side is mostly intact, though the canopy is cracked. It would take weeks for you to fix it, maybe less if Poe helped, which you’re sure he would. Sighing, you walk over to Poe’s X-Wing to asses his damage. It’s definitely less severe, but the right side is charred and cracked, the wings bent enough that they don’t match up properly. At the very least, it’d be easier to fix than yours.

You climb the ladder to his cockpit before sliding down into his pilot’s chair, the canopy open so you can sit back and look at the sky. It smells like him: leather and oak mixed with a slight hint of gasoline. It’s a scent you would never grow tired of having in your senses. Looking around his cockpit, you notice a fading picture tucked under the edge of one of the control panels. You gently pull it out of the metal it’s wedged under and study it in the dim light. Smiling, you realize it’s the picture Rey took of you and Poe the day you got married. On the back, it has your’s, Rey’s and Finn's initials signed on it. You wipe a tear from your cheek, realizing how fiercely you miss your best friend, before tucking it back into its spot.

“You’re always right here with me,” Poe’s voice makes you jump, your hand flying to your mouth as you yelp.

“Maker, you scared me,” your eyes close as you try to calm your heart beat. He just chuckles and smooths your wavy hair down, his hand gentle on the crown of your head. “What are you doing out here?”

He looks down at you, humor dancing in his dark eyes, “I’m checking on you. What are you doing out there?”

You smile and point upwards, the stars lighting up his features as he looks up. You’re struck by how handsome he is, especially with the grey hair starting to streak his dark curls. The scruffy beard he’s growing makes him look older, but in the best way possible, and his smile makes your smile grow.

“I don’t know why General Organa ever doubted your ability to be a pilot when you first joined the Resistance, you always have belonged among the stars,” he whispers, still looking up.

You duck out from under his hand and grasp it with your own, bringing his wrist to your lips. He lets out a low sound when you kiss the sensitive skin, your tongue darting out to taste him. “If I remember correctly, you also doubted me,” you whisper against his wrist.

Poe chuckles and looks down at you, “I never doubted you, darling. I had never met anyone as bright as you and I was terrified of how quickly this lifestyle can dim that light.”

You catch his eyes, gazing at him through your lashes, your breathing hitched. Even after being with him this long, it takes you by surprise when he speaks about you like this. You and Poe never had the luxury of a slow and sweet romance. It was frantic and intense because of the Resistance, the constant fight, the constant fear of everything good coming to an end. When you both realized you felt the same way, that was the end of it, nothing was the same. It was quick and fiery, at risk of ending before it ever got the chance to start. But at times like this, after a successful fight, after the hope of the Resistance being rekindled, you are reminded of the reason you fell for him in the first place. He’s fierce, stubborn, and rough around the edges sometimes because of his cocky nature… but underneath all of that, Poe Dameron is a romantic, kind man who had to become tough in the face of adversity. This is a man who wore his mother’s wedding ring on a chain, waiting until he could give it to his life long partner. Somehow, the Maker allowed it to be you.

“I love you,” you whisper up to him, scared of breaking the silence too harshly by speaking. He grasps your hand in his and pulls you up gently, kissing you gently before climbing down the ladder and looking back at you.

“Let’s go home,” he smiles up at you and you nod, scrambling out of the cock pit and down to him so you can take his hand again. “I love you, too.” You squeeze his hand as the two of you begin the short walk back to the main building.

The sweet talking is forgotten the moment the lock bolts your bedroom door closed, one of Poe’s hands palming at the key pad to dim the lights while the other is cupping the column of your throat as he kisses you. You only see two other people on the walk back, by some mercy everyone is either still getting drunk or in bed, which meant the two of you are finally, finally, alone. A soft whine escapes your lips when Poe’s other hand meets your hip, his fingers digging into you as if he’s afraid he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on for dear life. You shudder at the thought of finding your husbands fingertips bruised into your skin in the morning. He slowly pushes you back towards the bed, his tongue dipping into your mouth to twist with your own. As the back of your thighs hit the mattress, he pulls back just enough to mumble against your lips, “You drove me insane today, woman.”

Biting his bottom lip, you tug slightly before smiling against his mouth, “What are you going to do about that?”

You bite back a groan as his large hands slides under your leather jacket, slowly pushing it off your shoulders and down your arms. His mouth works on your neck the whole time, hot and heavy against your skin as he nips and licks you. You sigh when he removes himself from you completely, blinking up at him as you watch him walk over to the desk and open the bottom drawer. Poe pulls out a belt and turns toward you, gazing at you with his brown eyes as he folds the leather into makeshift cuffs. Your pulse jumps as you watch him, heat pooling between your legs, and you fight to not press your thighs together. His voice is low when he breaks the heavy silence, rasping against his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “Lay down.”

Crawling up on the bed, you follow his instructions, waiting for him to tell you what to do next. Instead, he comes over and grasps your wrists, pulling them above your head and positioning your hands in between the headboard slats. He slides the cuffs on you, pulling on the belt to tighten it before checking to see if it’s too much. You nod up at him, and he checks the headboard, making sure it won’t move too much and hurt you. Poe steps back, watching you as your breathing picks up just by being restrained. The way he’s looking at you is almost feral, his eyes darkening as his pupils dilate… and neither of you are even undressed yet. You’re vaguely aware that he can probably see your nipples hardening under your thin t-shirt as he moves to the end of the bad, slowly untying your boots and pulling them off, followed by your socks. His large hands grasp your ankles, pulling you towards him and making your arms strain against the bindings. The tension makes you worry at your bottom lip, the heat in your core intensifying. He slowly slides his hands up your legs, the callouses on his palms catching on the heavy fabric. By the time he actually reaches your waistband you’re trying not to roll your hips, searching for some sort of relief to the dull ache spreading through your body. His thick fingers quickly undo the buttons before dipping below the waist band, pausing as he looks up at you and you crane your neck, and then he’s pulling. Ripping the fabric down his legs like it might burn you if he doesn’t get it them off quick enough. He nearly chokes when he sees the lacy black underwear you’re wearing, licking his lips before he’s tearing those off you too. You lift your hips to make it easier and you shudder when the cool air hits your clit, the wetness on your thighs and pussy becoming shockingly cold, making the ache in your core even more intense. And Poe… Poe just watches as you squirm, your forearms straining as you pull at the belt.

Finally, he starts undressing. His boots clunk as he kicks them off, his leather jacket makes a soft thud as it lands next to them. His shirt is haphazardly tossed across the room by one hand as he unbuttons his pants with the other. He strips his socks and briefs next, his eyes never leaving yours.

You’re a wreck and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Finally, he’s back on the bed, kneeling between your thighs as he parts them roughly, his hands gripping your knees and pushing them apart. Your chest is heaving at this point, the fabric of your shirt sending bolts of heat down your spine as your nipples rub against it. Poe leans over you, his cock dragging across your stomach and your back arches off the bad, chasing the feeling of his tip and the pre-cum that’s glistening on it. He just smirks down at you before gently pushing your shirt up, his fingertips barely brushing your skin as he bunches the fabric until it’s halfway over your head and covering your eyes. The more you squirm, the more your arms pull at the shirt and the more it darkens your vision. You huff in frustration and he tsks, “You’ve been walking around the base all afternoon with your tits on display underneath that thin fabric?” You smile, your top teeth dragging over your lower lip as you bite it, and he groans, a low rumbling sound that is heavenly and turns you on even more.

Then you’re yelping as he tugs at your nipple with his teeth before moving on to suck a hickey into the meat of your breast. He repeats it on the other side, your back arching as you try to chase the pleasure it brings. You feel him lay down between your legs, kissing down your stomach before nipping at your hips. He hooks your knees over his shoulders and then he stills. He just lays there, his lips pursed as he blows on your clit and makes you shudder, his hands digging into your hips and holding you down so you can’t lift your them to meat his mouth.

You’re breathless as you beg, the words coming out in between your groans because the waiting is just too much. “P-poe, please. Pl-lease do someth-thing.”

That’s all it takes.

He licks you, moaning as he drags the muscles through your folds and tastes you like he’s never tasted anything sweeter. His tongue dips in and out of you, circling your hole and making you squirm. Then he flicks it out against your clit. And you pull so hard at the belt you think you might pull a muscle in your arm, but his hands never leave your hips and you can’t chase his mouth for more of that beautiful feeling. All at once he’s sucking, sending shivers through your body as your thighs tense up and you do your best not to squeeze his head. You’re so close, teetering on that edge, the pressure coiling in your abdomen, pulling taught and tight and ready to snap-

Then he stops.

You think you must yell, or at least throw a curse word out at him, or something.

Before you can even stay mad that he brought you to the edge and refused you, his finger is inside of you and your hips come of the bed, pushing it in deeper. He curls it against the spot that makes you see fucking stars, and then he’s fucking you with it before adding a second. Curling and thrusting and sending you towards that edge again.

Right as you start to tremble, a soft whine escaping your parted lips, he stops again, your walls fluttering around his fingers, searching for the slightest movement to send you careening off that edge. You feel tears prick at your eyes, the coiling pleasure in your abdomen raging so hot that you think you might actually cry.

But instead of tears, you cry out as Poe simultaneously adds a third finger and sucks on your clit. Your walls clamp down around his fingers as he fucks you through it. Your eyes flutter closed underneath the blindfold, and you’re sure they roll back, as your hips jolt off the bed, chasing his mouth and that hot tongue that sends electric shocks down your spine and through your limbs. You’re trembling, definitely squeezing him in between your thighs, but you can’t bring yourself to care as the coiling, tight rubber band of pleasure snaps so hard that it feels white hot.

When you finally come down, he’s still drinking you up, lazily licking you and moaning into your folds. When he stops, he leans his head against the apex of your thigh, his facial hair tickling the already sensitive skin, as he watches his fingers slide in and out of you, shimmering with your juices. Even though you can’t see him now, you’re well aware of his fascination because he’s done this before. You gasp when he finally drags his fingers out of you fully and crawls over you, leaning down to kiss you as he pushes the t-shirt all the way up to your wrists. His tongue dips into your mouth, both of you moaning as you taste yourself on him. When he breaks away from you, you look up at him with big eyes, “Let me touch you.”

He smirks, kissing you once more before moving back between your legs and positioning his dripping cock so that the tip rubs your clit. “No,” Poe watches you as he slides his dick against your clit, making you pull at the belt and throw your head back, biting back a moan. Then he’s moving again, positioning himself before sheathing his cock in you with on thrust, his hips snapping against yours. You cry out, the pain and pleasure mixing low in your torso and coiling into the start of another orgasm. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles behind his back and he palms your knees, spreading you and using your legs as support as he pounds into you. The way his hips dig into you with every thrust has you seeing stars already and you can tell by his furrowed brow and heavy breathing that he won’t last long but he reaches down to thumb at your clit anyways, pushing you towards your release again. “Cum for me.”

And you do. It overtakes you before you even have the chance to fight it, coursing through you and firing every synapse in your body at once, it overwhelms you so much that you barely make a sound as you squeeze his cock. Your eyes close and you pull at the bindings, your wrists aching under the pressure and all the while, he fucks you through it, his pace never faltering as he continues to hit that spot inside you that makes you feel like you might be on fire in the best way possible.

He doesn’t cum until you start to come down, your walls finally letting up just enough for him to tense inside you and paint them with himself. He collapses against you, shuddering as he nips at your nipples, low groans bubbling from his throat as he finishes pumping himself into you. He shakily reaches up to loosen the belt as he pants against your chest and you immediately pull your hands out to reach for him. You rub your hands through his hair, trace your fingertips up and down the curve of his spine, knead his shoulder muscles… you do all of it, just reveling in the afterglow of orgasms and in the fact you can touch him now.

Poe finally turns his head so his cheek rests against your sternum, whispering against your skin, “Don’t get tired on me yet, darling. I’m not done with you.”

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

Wangxian: The Autumn Chrysanthemum

Post-Canon, Rated G, 1.5k - read on AO3

Background Info: The Chongyang Festival, or the Double Ninth Festival, is a lucky date for longevity, celebrated with customs such as climbing mountains and drinking chrysanthemum wine. The word for 'nine,' jiu, sounds like the word for 'long (time),' creating a link between the meanings.

* * *

Wei Ying raised the jar of liquor to his lips. The sweet, floral liquid swirled inside him, sending a rush of heat, then coolness through his chest. A small, sticky dribble slid down to his chin. He wiped it off.

“The chrysanthemum wine is good,” Wei Ying said. “Very rich.”

He turned to the man beside him. The sight of the gentle curves of his face, his tall, steady frame draped with light blue robes—this image filled Wei Ying with warmth that met the unique coolness of the flower’s liquor, the currents flowing into each other and relaxing his entire body.

He smiled. “Lan Zhan, do you remember the first time we shared a drink?”

Lan Zhan stirred a bit. His lashes lowered as he glanced toward Wei Ying’s feet, raised as their eyes met for a brief moment. Then he looked back out to the landscape stretching before them, a vast green valley beneath the mountain they had climbed, dots of the autumn’s scarlet and golden colors reflecting in his eyes.

“I remember that you used a talisman to coerce me.”

Wei Ying choked on the wine a bit, until his coughing melted into a syrupy chuckle. “Of all things you could’ve chosen to reminisce about, you had to pick that.” He drew in a breath of crisp air and sighed. “Why must you incriminate me so? Tell me that you secretly felt exhilarated by breaking the rules, or that you wished you had let me play with your headband, or that you liked calling me Wei-gege. Don’t leave me to say all the sappy memories myself.”

A flock of geese flew overhead, their wings stroking the morning sun and blending with the sound of the mountain breeze.

“All these things, I remember fondly,” Lan Zhan said.

“So do I.” Wei Ying swirled the jar of liquor, watched the pale, honey-colored liquid encircle itself. “You know, the Chongyang Festival is the only time I would drink chrysanthemum wine over Emperor’s Smile.” He shot a grin at Lan Zhan. “Otherwise, I would always prefer this one splendor I know from Gusu.”

The corners of Lan Zhan’s mouth crept upward. “Flattery will not bring you more to drink.”

“Aiya, you see right through me.” In one swift movement, he locked arms with Lan Zhan and nuzzled his cheek into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Lan Zhan’s breath slowed, a comfortable swell against him. “I already have too much of one certain splendor from Gusu. Better not to have more.”

Lil’ Apple hummed quietly behind them. The donkey was tired after long months of wandering with Wei Ying, until finally meeting with Lan Zhan at the halfway point to Gusu. And actually, Wei Ying was tired too, for they had only returned from their travels a few days ago.

He sank deeper into Lan Zhan’s side.

“When I was traveling with Lil’ Apple, I kept dreaming about our days in the Cloud Recesses. I…I miss it. Back then. How we were all so young. Not even as old as A-Yuan is now.” He lifted the jar up to eye level and shook his head at it. “You know, I think this wine is making me a little too nostalgic.”

Lan Zhan’s arm softened in Wei Ying’s hold. “Chrysanthemum blooms in autumn when other blossoms are fading.” He tilted his chin up slightly, looking out over the trees changing colors in the valley. “Naturally, upon drinking, one would remember moments passed.”

“Mm, you’re right.” Wei Ying lifted his head from Lan Zhan’s shoulder to join him in admiring the scenery. “I shouldn’t forget the meaning of Chongyang, should I?”

“Jiu yue, jiu ri,” Lan Zhan said.

“The ninth day of the ninth month.” Wei Ying waved the jar farther out in front of them, lifting it higher, as if offering it to the valley. He called out loudly like a proclamation. “Two nines—two jiu’s—two long times—just like the two long lives we will share together!”

He smiled, his eyelids feeling heavier as he lowered the jar and leaned against Lan Zhan once more.

“I am happy you have returned,” Lan Zhan said, his voice quivering a bit, like a pond suddenly overcome with ripples at the final entrance of a skipping stone. “Wherever your future takes you, I am happy for it.”

Lan Zhan had never been one to repeat himself. But this sentiment, he had said more than once in the days since Wei Ying returned from his travels, always with that slight tone of turbulence. Listening to these words might have done more to move the soul than drinking chrysanthemum wine.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chided. “My future takes me to you, and nowhere else.”

A warm stillness spread through them, passing from one man to the other through their intertwined arms.

“You’ll have to help me with that, though,” Wei Ying added. “I need to build up Mo Xuanyu’s golden core so I can cultivate to immortality with you.” He chuckled. “Who would’ve thought that after everything, I’d wind up as a student at the Cloud Recesses yet again?”

Lan Zhan’s bangs blew in the breeze, waving gently over his cheeks. “At last, you come back to Gusu with me.”

Comfort bubbled inside Wei Ying at those words. He let it fill the cavern of longing that time had dug deeper and deeper into him.

“I am. I am so, so glad to come back to Gusu with you.”

They watched the morning sun rise higher over the valley. A splotch of golden color from a small field of chrysanthemums lay below them, glowing brighter, almost caramelizing, as the sun’s rays strengthened.

“Have you heard of the poet Tao Yuanming?” Wei Ying asked.

“Tell me.”

Wei Ying paused, suspicious that Lan Zhan knew of the poet already and was just pretending. But perhaps he would be content to listen anyway.

“Well, he wrote a lot about the beauty of chrysanthemums. He appreciated their noble nature, their power for healing.” Wei Ying swirled the jar of wine again. “He was a lot like me, really.”

“You have written chrysanthemum poetry?” Lan Zhan said with a small smirk.

Wei Ying laughed sheepishly. “Ah, no, no, I haven’t. Sorry to disappoint.”

Lan Zhan gave him a fond look that said, I know. Continue.

“Okay, let’s see.” Wei Ying stroked his chin, making a show of thoughtfulness. “As Tao Yuanming was growing up, he was surrounded by hardship. Clans were fighting with each other, overthrowing each other, wreaking violence and betrayal at every turn.

“He joined the civil service to help his people, but all he met was hypocrisy. Scheming, thievery, wars.

“Then, his sister died.”

Lan Zhan’s frame grew tense, as did Wei Ying’s own body.

“The death of his sister was too much for him, and the government officials had only ever abused his good intentions, so he decided to flee public life. He went to the countryside to become a meager farmer, and started a new family.

“Generals came by and asked him to rejoin the civil service, but he refused. He could not compromise his principles by returning to that world. Instead, he lived in poverty, for the single richness in his life was the ability to admire nature and write of its beauties.

“Sometimes he felt lonely.”

Wei Ying breathed in the mountain air, along with the calming scent of tea leaves and pine. This scent usually filled the Cloud Recesses, but now it hung from Lan Zhan beside him, steadying him.

“However, there was a visitor who would come to Tao Yuanming’s farm. This visitor would bring him liquor, and simply sit with him, enjoying his company.”

The faint surface of a low wooden table seemed to grow in the space between them, the chatter of guests at a restaurant, the sting of spicy peppers on soft tongues, the crinkling sound of A-Yuan playing with a toy butterfly.

“So Tao Yuanming grew fond of liquor, and he drank it in front of the chrysanthemum blossoms. He found peace and gratitude where one would have thought he had nothing.”

Having concluded the story, Wei Ying looked to his side.

After a long silence, Lan Zhan said, “In these things there lies a deep meaning. Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.”

“Wow!” Wei Ying’s eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. “So profound! You should be a poet like Tao Yuanming, Lan Zhan.”

A terse, barely-audible huff escaped Lan Zhan. “You speak highly of the artist, yet do not recognize his words.”

“That’s Tao Yuanming’s poetry?”

Lan Zhan’s only answer was to gaze back onto the sunny valley, an air of amusement floating in the breeze around him.

“Oh, well. I suppose that’s what I get for trying to impress you.” Wei Ying took another sip of liquor, felt its heat and coolness rush through him.

“Here, you can have the last bit.” He held the jar up to Lan Zhan’s lips. “Hanguang-Jun should drink the chrysanthemum wine of the Chongyang Festival, so he has a long life with me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes twinkled, the same golden color as the wine.

Wei Ying tipped the jar of wine between Lan Zhan’s lips. Then he placed his own lips on Lan Zhan’s to savor the chrysanthemums a little longer.

* * *

What is there I can do to assuage this mood? Only enjoy myself drinking my unstrained wine. I do not know about a thousand years, Rather let me make this morning last forever.

-Tao Yuanming, "Written on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month"

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

I am not of Chinese descent, so feel free to inform me of any cultural missteps.

#i wrote this so long ago and forgot to post it. here it is #my writing feels so different looking back lol #mdzsnet #mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #cql fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #cql fanfiction #wangxian fanfic #wangxian fanfiction #emilu fics #emilu creations

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soulwillower · 3 years

Text

long way home • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: please please please do a richie x reader about long way home by 5sos

warnings: nothing really, some mentions of canonic trauma but its really vague and underaged drinking

i was happy to write this bc it def got me out of my slump! lmk if yall want more fics

(also i loved 5sos so much back when the self titled album came out in like 2014. i was such a huge fan in middle school so this was so nostalgic to write!!)

[reader + losers are in their first year of college, set around early summer 1995.]

2.9k words

♡

"i don't really know what else to do. we have an hour and a half until we meet everyone." you say, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen upon the car after bev had climbed out the back. you hum, settling back against the passenger seat, head lulling to meet richie's gaze.

you can't help but smile. he's looking at you - just staring, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. he hums, too, turning his head, arm grabbing the shoulder of your seat as he backs up the car. "i have an idea. let's just go - what?" he asks, smiling with a chuckle as he catches you staring at him.

you blink as you flush, "i don't know. just really missed you." you say with a laugh, shaking your head as memories flood your mind. his face flickers for a second and he shakes his head, hair bouncing slightly in his flattery. "gee, i missed you too. it kinda sucks that we all went to opposite sides of the country."

you blow air from your lips gently in agreement as richie starts to drive somewhere east. "yeah. not seeing you for six months is, surprisingly, pretty shitty." you say, causing richie to snort. "you could barely handle it." he says, hand shifting gears as he stops at a stop sign.

you roll your eyes, but you don't tell him the truth: he's right. "let me tell you, when i got the bear last, i sure wanted to forget all about you." you say, kicking your feet up on his dash.

you and the other losers all split ways after graduation. of course, you all still kept in touch with phone calls, letters, and that of the sort. but you all had found a favorite way to all still feel close together: a toy canvas bear bev found that you all signed and drew on, shipping it around the country and letting it stay with each person for a week.

you'd all been printing photographs of the bear with yourselves at various places around all your campuses and sending them along with the bear as little post cards. the most recent from richie had the tattooed-bear propped next to him at a party, smirking with the bear in a vulgar position that had made you roll your eyes so hard you almost got a headache.

that was in april, and you spent the month and a half after that missing richie and your other dumbass friends so much it hurt.

richie smiles, "oh, yeah. that bear had some fun times with us up in the ol' N-Y-C." "-don't call it that." "-anyways, i did miss you guys, i wish you could meet my roommate, charlie, he's a hoot. i almost wanted to stay up there and have you come to me, y'know?" you nod, all too familiar with that feeling. "yeah, i wanted to do that too. there was some kind of-" you stop, frowning. do you really want to admit this to anyone? will they think it's weird? but then you remember it's richie. "-i don't know, some kind of dread i felt at having to come back here."

it's quiet for a second, and you think you said something wrong, but richie's knuckles tighten slightly and he nods, "me too. i have...bad feelings from this place. i didn't want to say anything, but- i don't know. i feel like something's..." but the thought seems to swim away from his voice, getting lost in the dredges of his brain.

and then as if on cue, the old car bumps its way over a speedbump and you cross past old neibolt street near the tracks.

a sick shiver runs down your spine as your eyes fall on the long road, fading away and extending as far as your eye can see...almost into a foggy dark haze, the train tracks running parallel making you feel desolate.

clouds suddenly move to cover the sun in the sky and you feel cold - you feel like something happened here, something important - but you have no idea. it makes you anxious, so you just swallow, saying nothing and instead looking ahead. richie does the same, and his knuckles are pale against the wheel.

"the only reason i came back was so i could see everyone." you say. it's quiet, but you know richie's agreeing with you.

the car rumbles on, eventually pulling past your old high school. you perk up, pointing to the glass and laughing. "wow, look at that shithole."

"swore we'd never go back there, didn't we? when we left?" richie says, amusement lacing his tone. you're clearly both relieved to have changed the subject, and you nod, chewing your lip. "yeah. you know, i know it was really terrible and stuff, but i have some pretty fond memories from that place."

humming, richie nods and slowly pulls into the parking lot. “remember those days?” he says, “kickin back in the ol’ schoolyard during lunch.”

you do remember those hot days, richie, bill and bev smoking cigs while you and eddie play a game of marbles or scramble to copy richie’s math homework. ben reading a book, mike eating stan’s sandwich. the heat barreling down on the eight of you...

he stops the car next to the football field and you snort slightly at its misery in the dying purple and blue of the summer twilight. "remember those bonfires that were always over in the woods right there?" he points a chipped nail towards the dense trees on the other side of the field, and you can see it.

the crackling of the wood, the orange glow reflecting the light strands of stan’s dark curls. there’s a sea of students from your class and the class above, everyone rowdy with drunken fun. there’s laughter drowned out by the boombox placed on the outskirts, blasting a salt-n-peppa song that has eddie bouncing around with some kids from track. over to the side, you can nearly see bev's lips curl around a note as richie strums on someone else's guitar, putting together some surprisingly pleasant chords while mike throws twigs into the fire, singing softly with richie and bev.

you can almost smell the smoky hot air from those nights and you remember the odd sensation of feeling invincible back in those days, when your greatest fear was nothing more than coming across your parents when you were too hungover to remember anything the next morning.

it’s almost melancholic, the realization that you’ll never have those years again. you’ll never have your friend group in the same way as you did in high school, and it was barely over a year ago. it hurts a bit, until you realize you’re here, in the car with richie.

but still, despite the feeling, you grin. “why did we think it was a good idea to party so close to the school?”

richie chuckles, “it was safer. for some reason.”

it makes you smile, "i wonder if those pabst cans are still hidden in all those hollow logs." you muse, a gentle smile splaying over your lips. richie huffs a small laugh at the memory of jorge garcia drunkenly stuffing the empty beer cans quickly into the log when the cops came.

a car pulls into the vacant lot behind you, and richie takes the liberty of driving away again, still not really sure where you're going.

the trees roll past, and soon you're passing through the downtown section of derry, causing the two of you to fall silent as your eyes flick up and down the nearly desloate streets. the aladdin passes by quickly and you remember going to see so many films with the others for less than five bucks a pop, richie slipping an arm around your shoulders and whispering in your ear about the weird worker who always gave you the eyes.

you smile lightly as your eyes fall to look ahead, passing the corner store. you remember how many times you and richie and stan stopped there after classes or during lunch to grab slushes while the workers weren’t looking. you remember the sticky fingers and bright blue tongues.

then as you stare more at the ugly front of the store, memories from middle school scratch the surface of your brain. "didn't the boys..." you say, perking up as you turn and watch it pass, richie looking at you attentively. "-eyes on the road, rich." you say absent-mindedly, "...didn't they... steal stuff from there? i can't remember why... it was for ben. tissues?" you ask, tilting your head. richie's brows furrow. "i had to stay outside with him, all i remember is bein' pissed i couldn't go in. dunno why, though." he mutters. you hum, sinking back in your seat.

"crazy, how quickly you forget your childhood." he says quietly.

the town slowly fades away before your eyes, and its just then that you realize you're going the opposite way from bill's. then it's plain grassland and marshes, dipping into the barrens. your lips twitch and the silence, while pleasant, makes you feel nervous.

you look to richie, all nervous slowly releasing from your body.

you feel stupid for thinking it, and you don't dare say it, but there's something really sweet about being in the middle of nowhere with him.

you feel like driving along this ugly, terrible road on the outskirts of a truly ugly and terrible town with someone as beautiful and captivating as richie is such an important moment; as if the roads along here are a place only you and richie share to yourselves.

"i kind of like taking the long way home with you." you let slip instead, instantly feeling hot and panicked as the words leave your mouth. "y-you know, because i just really didn't want to- er, i don't like being-"

as you stutter out some excuses, he leans forward towards the wheel, face turning to you with a smirk. "oh?" he asks. you feel flustered, your hands sweating and heart tingling as you stare at his handsome face.

"god, sorry." you say, feeling flushed, "i don't know why i keep rambling. it's so awkward."

"y/n, you could talk about anything." he says with a laugh, and you look at him, trying to ignore the sheer zoo of animals parading around in your stomach and instead escaping this moment with a sarcastic, "even dead squirrels?"

he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, his hair glinting in the light. "yeah, whatever baby. i just don't wanna be wasting my time alone when i could be here with you. that's what i'm trying to say."

and the stupid pet name almost makes you snort but you also get butterflies, the words that he's said making you smile so wide you're almost embarrassed. "yeah, well." you say bashfully, "i guess spending my time with you is, like... the best part of coming back home."

you avoid eye contact, staring out the window as you pass the house of your junior year bio partner. "hey," richie nudges your jaw and you almost jump at the feeling of his cold ring against the warmth of your skin. he speaks softly. "i'd never let you down, you know." he says, mischief in his eyes. you smile against his hand and look at him, his blue eyes warm and inviting and looking like home.

your eyes fall back towards the windshield and you see a sign up ahead. shifting, you look at richie again to find him still staring.

he's got such a terrible habit of watching you instead of the road (he has since high school), and that combined with his lead foot (also since high school - wentworth tozier was a menace on the streets) has you conditioned into reminding him of every obstacle that he may run into while driving.

"stop sign, richie." you mutter, knowing in his ramble he won't notice it (it happened way too many times as high schoolers). he seems to not really hear it, and you say again, "stop sign!"

just before it's too late, the car lurches as he slams the breaks and you just barely hit the white line, your hands bracing yourself against the dashboard. "oh my god." you hiss, shaking your head. richie's laughing.

"we've been hitting every red light. can't i just have one pass to not stop at one of these things?" richie says. you roll your eyes with a slight head shake. you can't believe him.

"you'll be the death of me, tozier." you mutter. richie's still laughing quietly and then he takes a big sigh, hand reaching out. you lean forward, hand reaching for the volume knob on the stereo just as richie does the same, and your hands brush by accident. you feel warm and instead of pulling away, his hand covers yours and he gently turns your hands, bringing up the volume of a green day song. it's seemingly just in the background as you watch your hand in richie's, then slowly turning your gaze up to his face.

he just stares at you as you stare back, wanting so badly to kiss him but wondering if he feels the same.

"hey." he whispers, quiet for the first time possibly ever. "hey." you respond softly, watching as he comes a bit closer. his hand is still in yours. "i am so happy to be home. with you." he says sincerely, his eyes wide and honest behind his glasses and his smile soft. your breath catches slightly and you smile, "me too. i always feel like this is the way it's supposed to be. u-us."

something in richie's eyes change, a light of sort, and then he's leaning into you and you're kissing.

his hand that isn't in yours falls to softly rub your thigh and you're taking a shuddering breath as your lips touch his. he tastes like mint chapstick and those stupid red-hots he was eating earlier, his lips slightly cold but his tongue warm as he slowly pulls you closer to him.

your mind almost falls blank as the world melts away, the only thing in your mind is how long you've missed out on this - richie is kind of unexpectedly a fantastic kisser. you pull him closer by his hair as his tongue grazes yours, his thumb tilting your jaw for a better angle.

but suddenly a horn honks loudly behind you and you both spring apart, your stomach panging with anxiety at the noise.

"shit." you hiss as you remember you're at a stop sign. richie snorts slightly, a smirk on his face despite the blush on his high cheekbones, feet going back to the gas pedal and clutch. his hand leaves your thigh as he drives forward and you clear your throat as the car turns behind you at the intersection, leaving you two back in the middle of nowhere with just you two.

it's tense for a few minutes, neither of you two really talking and you can tell the tension is going to kill richie, his hand twitching on the shift and his leg bouncing.

you break the silence after a couple more moments, "did you want to pull over-" "-yes." he says quickly, car almost swerving as he pulls off the road near the quarry. you laugh and grip the handle of the car as you slide to a stop and he laughs too, the feeling of glee unmatchable.

you both unclick your seatbelts after gaining a few breaths, and then you're leaning over the console to kiss richie hard enough on the lips that he falls back towards the window. he holds your face with his hands and he laughs a bit into the kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip before tugging it. "goddamn, you're eager." he mutters into your mouth.

you smirk, pulling back. "fine, i don't have to kiss you. we have to be at bill's soon, anyways." you say, feigning a fake dismissive voice.

"wait, no, no. we've still got 20 minutes." richie defends after glancing at the stereo on the dash. his eyebrows raising in a plea. you giggle, leaning towards him and bringing your arm over. he's beaming as your face nears his and he moves to kiss you but you turn your head, instead letting his lips graze your neck as you lean to turn off the headlights.

"tease." richie mutters hotly against the skin of your neck before biting down softly, kissing over the skin. "i thought you said i was eager?" you say with a teasing smile. he hums, "y'know, it's pretty unfair to be teasin' me, toots. i've been eager to kiss you since we were seventeen." he says, and you can't help but smile, pulling him in to a kiss as his hands slide up your thighs and yours tangle in his messy curls.

you pull away slightly, "you want to get in the backseat?"

taglist: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @trashedfortozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @oceandog13 @chl0bee @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @screammin @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @five-motherfucking-hargreeves @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter

#richie tozier x reader #losers x reader #losers club x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #ben hanscom x reader

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voltagesmutter · 3 years

Note

Hey there, just want to say first that you are damn amazing at creating the NSFW stories! I'm very into Mystic Messenger & I adore Saeran. Would you consider creating a NSFW story with him & MC wanting to have sex while she's on her period? Like, they are both really turned on because of it but she's afraid it might make him grossed out. Eventually, he talked her into it & it ends up being the best sex they've had so far. I'm sorry if it sounds unappealing, it's just a secret fantasy of mine.

Hello, Hello, Hello. This is my first time writing for Saeran, I hope I did you and your fantasy proud. [NSFW Content]

Nights like these were your favourites. Blissful walks in the serene silence of the garden, nothing but the soft chirps of crickets and a warm glow of fireflies paired with the iridescent shimmer of the moonlight; each plant and vegetation illuminated casting a gentle shadow upon the ground. ‘The magenta’s are really coming into bloom’ Saeran had whispered so softly, his hand never breaking away from yours as you stopped to witness the beauty of the deep pink flourishing amongst the green stems. You continued to walk hand in hand, Saeran on your left side, you always walked or sat on his right side. Even when outing with Saeyoung. The routine and safety being a comfort blanket to Saeran. Once you reached the double french window doors, opening them to let the scent of the soba noodles you had cooked wash over you both. A pillow fort set up in the living room, a light-hearted comedy ready to be played as it waited for you to take comfort in it. The childlike smile on Saeran’s face to watch the kernels popping, a shared batch of sweet and salted popcorn filling the marble bowl. Moments like these he savoured, giving him a glimpse of the childhood he had missed out on but with the ability to appreciate them now with you. As you sat in the thick waves of blankets, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm slowly came from behind to hold your shoulder, a content smile on your face to feel your fingers brushing over his as you both reached for the same piece of popcorn; nights like these were your favourite.

The lingering build up started the minute your hands touched. Saeran turning with a faint blush on his cheeks, the popcorn taken from your outstretched legs to be placed on the floor. His other palm fanned out across your cheek, minted green eyes fading as he shut his eyes, leaning closer until you could feel his breath hovering just above your lips. The glow of the screen reflected off his hair, the rest of the world standing still as he pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss. One kiss turned into two, turned to three, turned to fleeting ones which grew slowly with deeper passion.

Intimacy was nothing new to your relationship, it took time to get to this stage where he could kiss you, touch you, love you without fear of harming you. As your relationship developed so did these small gestures, the first day he took your hand in his as you walked side by side caused tears of happiness to prickle in your eyes. Whilst intimacy was on the cards, sex was a different subject… Out of your year long relationship, you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d fully done the deed. Not that this was an issue or bothered you, sex only happened when Saeran felt comfortable and initiated the first movements. As well it didn’t help that Saeyoung was only a few doors down from your room, none of you wanting him to hear Saeran and you amidst the passionate throes of your love. But tonight, Saeyoung was out, ‘I must dash! The defender of justice is needed, I shall be back upon the morrow… or sometime soon I don’t know’ he had yelled whilst grabbing his keys. There was just another issue at hand…

“Saeran I-” Pulling away gently from his embrace, amongst the kiss deepening his tongue gliding over yours- a movement he had recently began to do with his growing confidence, a movement he knew had you wet in seconds, you had ended up lying upon the floor. The weight of his body hovering over yours, a hand trailing down your torso to play with the edge of your shirt. The graze of his fingertips against the skin on your stomach had been enough for you to realise where this was heading and that you needed it to stop.

“Did I hurt you?” Eyes widened in horror as he pulled back quickly, slender fingers buried amongst the pearly white of his hair as he rested on his knees. Panic, fear and dread quickly overcoming him.

‘No, no!” Gasping and sitting up, pulling him into a tight embrace of reassurance. “I- It’s just.. I’m on my period…”.

The soft rock of his hips against yours was enough to ease any doubt you were still facing. Doting affections and sweet whispers of ‘I love you’ pressed to the crook of your neck, one hand intertwined with his fingers to the side of your head.

Period sex was something you’d never indulged in, guys often disgusted at the thought of it and prompting ‘You can your mouth instead’. So when Saeran wanted to continue, that he found no shame or disgust in it, that this would be something new you could both try together. That you accepted every part of him and that he was willing to do the same with you, it stirred emotions in you that sent tears rolling down your cheeks. Love, trust and acceptance, the foundations of a perfect relationship, one of pure love and true soulmates.

Taking your time to prepare, a towel placed down on to the bed as you moved from the living room to the bedroom, wipes ready at the side and lube on the bedside table. The ripped condom wrapper lay tossed onto the floor, unmoving as the bed only a few inches away rocked in a slow, creaking manor.

Far more sensitive than usual, the desire between your thighs aching with need by the time Saeran pressed his covered cock against your folds. You climaxed twice before he found his own, fists twisted in the sheets as pleasure took every your body, unwilling to leave marks of scratches upon his skin in fear they might trigger him. Both of you far more vocal, giving into each others touches and kisses, letting primal urges take over as you lost yourselves in the heat of your passionate dance.

Bliss was the only word in your mind, in-coherent panting as your chest fell and raised quickly. Sore muscles still quivering, mind blanked and overloaded from pleasure. Never had sex been this good. It was almost spiritual, mind’s, bodies and souls connected as one.

A docile smile graced the corner of your mouth to feel the softness of Saeran’s palm running up your spread legs, wipes ready to assist with the sticky mess.

“It’s okay, I can-” You started but a gentle shush, jaded eyes staring love into yours as he pressed a delicate kiss to your knee.

“Let me look after you,” Turning words you had told him time after time onto you.

A tender moment to forever be held in your heart, Saeran slowly unraveling and blossoming each and everyday into a gentle being. And as he wiped the apex of your thighs before taking your hand and guiding you into the shower, one thought ran through your mind. Moments like these were your favourites.

#bella asks #mysme #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #mysme smut #mystic messenger smut

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essentially-writes · 3 years

Text

Do we fall apart?

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader (f)

Genre: Oneshot; Angst; slight fluff; melodramatic (?)

Length: 1,628

Warnings: swearing; kissing; alcohol/drinking/clubbing; slow burn

A/N: this is my first time writing angst and one-shot! I tend to write series that I never finish so I thought I’d challenge myself with more oneshots. Inspired by ‘Good Things Fall Apart’ by ILLENIUM, Jon Bellion

disclaimer: the characters in this work are fictional and its content does not reflect any real events.

The summer air was thick and humid, cigarette smoke lingered all around the street lined with clubs and bars, busy with loud chatter and muffled music from the different establishments.

“Hey, are you getting the taxi with us?” she looked at her friends gathered in a bunch, hair matted to their faces from the sticky heat inside the club they had all just stumbled out of.

“No, you guys go ahead” she replied, waving a hand to catch a separate car. The street was lined in an organised chaos of orange taxis awaiting the club-goers to filter out.

The girls shrugged, perhaps they had noticed after-all that she had been acting off all night. Soon enough she got herself in a car and directed the driver back to her flat, letting out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding, she searched her bag for her phone.

1.29am.

1.30am. *ping*

“Where are you? Come meet me by the river bank.”

Another sigh, she squeezed her eyes patiently and re-opened them again, asking the driver to change the route.

The air was cooler by the river, a breeze brushing by her exposed neck to the back of her head giving her a slight shiver, sobering her up even more than the short night drive had already done.

She walked down towards the bank, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, the chains on her boots jingling at the pace of her steps.

At the bottom, leaning on the railing of the riverbank, she spotted a slender male figure, wearing a black bucket hat, a navy and white windbreaker and matching basketball shorts.

The figure looked tired, shoulders slouched, head hung down. He lifted his head and looked up at the clear moonlit sky, mixed with the city lights and the blinking of cars running past the overhanging bridge.

He stayed like that for a few seconds more, and just as she finished the stairs, he turned around, searching the area for passers by, finally spotting her.

“Y/N, babe!” he called out, she lifted her hand to acknowledge him, still in the pocket of her jacket.

He noticed her reluctant steps, dragging her slowly towards him, and she wasn’t looking at him, instead her eyes low trained on the pavement as she closed the distance between them.

“What’s w-” his concern quickly disappeared, “have you been drinking? You stink!”

He couldn’t hide the disgust and annoyance in his voice, even if his features were covered by the black mask he was wearing.

His sharp eyes watched her expectantly, taking in her short outfit, the gold hoop earrings and the fading of her heavy make-up, he already knew the answer, he just needed to hear it.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice slightly hoarse, “we were in Hongdae, it was Mina’s birthday.”

“Did you have to go looking like that?” he spat the words with the sound of a brewing fury. Perhaps he didn’t mean to do so, his expression was still hidden and her eyes still avoided his, but the words stung right where she had this heavy weight upon her chest.

Perhaps she didn’t mean to either, she could only react to fire with fire, her shouting was sharp and pointed.

“Looking like what?! What exactly do you want to say Doyoung?? Tell me, what do I look like to you?!”

“What the fuck is your problem?! You’re the one showing up drunk and stinking of alcohol and sweat, dressed like a-” he hesitated.

“I DARE YOU TO SAY IT! I DARE YOU!” her face was red now, her breath was fast, chest puffing up and down. Finally she was looking straight at his eyes, dark and wide, checking all around for other late night strollers.

They remained silent, the heated tension keeping them from their next words. The one who spoke first might be the one to make the first mistake.

She turned around to sit on the large concrete steps usually occupied by visitors watching the river flow, perhaps during a break in their walk or a stop for a spot of lunch in the sun.

The cold concrete was a sharp contrast to her heated body, she could feel the rough edges and dirt on the back of her thighs as she sat. Elbows on her knees, she rested her head on her hands, tears escaping down to her chin.

Doyoung stood still for a moment, feeling indignant at the situation. He’d had such a crappy long day, things had been so frustrating with work; he barely had time to eat and catch up with sleep between his schedules and so when he finally finished for the day, he wanted to see her, even just for a few moments to get some consolation. He did not expect to have his girlfriend show up, after a week of not seeing her, drunk and less than welcome, much less screaming at him in the middle of the night.

He joined her by her seat a moment later. Her tears had already cleared up, a small sniffle barely audible before she spoke again.

“You know, if it’s so difficult to be with me, maybe we should let this go.”

“What?! What are you talking about Y/N?” Whatever annoyance, anger or any other feelings he had before were gone. His voice was in panic, his head now rushing to understand the words.

“I- I just think I’m no longer good enough. I’m not good enough for this relationship.” Tears threatened to fall again.

He turned to her and held her hands in his, leaning close and searching her eyes, he pleaded,

“Y/N please, tell me what’s wrong. What’s gotten into you?”

“He didn’t deny it” she thought fearfully, taking in a breath to gather courage to speak again.

“I’m either a bad friend for lying to my friends about being single and then not hanging out and going out clubbing with them, or I am a bad girlfriend to you if I do and don’t show up at your beck and call in the middle of the night.” She shook her head gently, “I don’t know if I can keep this up.”

Meeting and dating Doyoung had been a dream, he was her perfect man. He was sweet and bashful when they had first met. She was so captivated by his laugh and smile, and the way he looked at her from across the table at the wrap up party. She made the first move, knowing full well he was a famous idol but you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take and she had nothing to lose in letting him know she was interested in him. They got to know each other over the next project, finding excuses to sit one to one, pretending to talk about work in the café of the office.

Their first private date had been a car date. She was excited and full of butterflies, her nerves causing an uneven breath as she thought about kissing him for the first time. And sure enough, it was as magical as she had imagined it would be. Doyoung leaned over to reach his hand around her neck, brushing her hair away and settling his warm hand at the back of her neck, pulling her in gently towards him.

His eyes were dripping in want as he watched her gulp nervously, licking his lips subtly he leaned in further and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss felt soft and hot, parting and pressing for more, their feelings for each other exchanged in the gentle suckling of each other’s lips. It felt heavenly in Doyoung’s arms.

As time passed, their time spent together fluctuated between as frequently as daily to as far apart as a month in between. They had worked through it, but almost a year later, it seemed that it was finally taking its toll.

She tried to move her hands out of Doyoung’s only for him to hold on tighter.

“No, Y/N, no, it’s me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you have to feel that way, I’m sorry I can’t give you a normal relationship.” He kissed her hand as the tears ran down her face again.

“But I need you Y/N. I need you to make my days worth it, I need you in my arms, to smile for and laugh with. Isn’t it the same for you?”

“It doesn’t have to be me”, her insecurities revealing themselves.

“It does. For me, it has to be you.” Doyoung used his fingers to gently lift her face so that they could look each other in the eyes. His thumb stroked lightly across her cheek, rubbing away the tear stains. With his other hand, he removed his mask, his plump pink lips were dry in a slight pout.

“Y/N, I love you. I mean it, and I promise to do better. Okay?” His gaze had softened, his expression neutral, waiting for her response.

She was taken aback. Though she expected he would resist and deny her before really giving things a deep thought, she hadn’t expected his first “I love you” to be delivered right then and there.

And though she knew it would be hard to change things, she also knew he was right. She needed him too, she needed to be his and she liked wanting him too.

On a night like this, she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, she had missed him so much she’d mistaken it for being frustrated at him.

She looked back at him, leaning into his hand feeling the warmth of his skin against hers and she nodded slowly.

“I love you too Doyoung. I need you too.”

#doyoung x reader #doyoung x you #doyoung x y/n #doyoung fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct127 x reader #nct127 fic #doyoung angst #nct angst #nct127 angst #nct oneshot #doyoung oneshot

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