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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

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learning curve // Zhongli x Reader (NSFW)

Word Count: ~1.7k

Notes: gender-neutral reader, Zhongli/Reader, established relationship, half SFW/NSFW -- lots of dirty talk, overstimulation, praise kink, voice kink, cockwarming, soft dom!Zhongli, sub!reader, mentions of switching

Summary: As your lover, Zhongli learns what makes you happy and finds out in the middle of all of it how much he enjoys being able to please you-- both romantically and sexually.

In everything Zhongli does, he practices patience and focus. In all his years of living as an adeptus, a god, and a mortal man, he has willingly accepted his role as a student as he continues to learn and discover new things that the world has to offer. In many ways, learning is his passion, for his expansive knowledge of all things Liyue and beyond is something of value to him whether it has a function or not.

Zhongli is a meticulous man-- thorough and precise, leaving no stone unturned in the pursuit of knowledge, and that includes learning how to best please you as your companion, and as your lover.

You like it when he presses kisses onto your hands. He knows this because each time he does, you always hide your wobbly smile behind your other hand, laughing in embarrassment before flashing him a smile. You also like it especially when he kisses your forehead when you arrive home from commissions because all the tension in your body seems to leave the moment his lips touch your head, your hands already reaching out to hug him after a long day.

For the walks along Liyue Harbor, he intertwines your fingers into his, clasping palm upon palm, because he knows how you adore his affection in public, a subtle demonstration that the two of you belong to each other. You love the smell of glaze lilies, the taste of violetgrass, and the look of a silk flower bouquet on the dining room table; and he loves the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile, and the way he can make you happy by paying attention to your preferences. When he gets a new cologne-- a mild but masculine one that was recommended by Ying’er, your hands are all over him, whether or not you’re aware of it, attracted to his scent and his presence alone. But, oh, he also adores when you are aware of it, your voice as low as a purr when you can smell his cologne, call him ‘irresistible’ and tug him into the bedroom by his tie.

You take good care into loving him too, in the little ways-- rubbing circles into his temple when he comes back from a long day of work, brewing him tea with the scent of Qixing flowers in the early mornings. But in the bedroom, you are much like the veteran adventurer of Teyvat that you are, zealously finding out what he likes best: licking stripes up the vein on his cock, kissing at the space behind his ears, and pulling at his nipples with your teeth. He is at your mercy when you ride him, milking out his orgasms until he’s gripping his nails into your thighs (much to his embarrassment and much to your delight when he leaves noticeable marks afterward).

Zhongli is by no means experienced (not that you were particularly either), but he makes up for the lack of experience by doing what he has done for the past millennia.

He learns.

He is sensitive to your reactions, noting every gasp or moan he can elicit from you, and how your body responds to each of his ministrations. He adjusts how hard he presses, where to touch you, how fast to do something-- how to make you feel good because out of the many songs of beauty that have graced his ears, your voice crying out his name is by far the most melodic. You are his lover, his beloved, his dove-- surely, he need not explain that he would want nothing but the best for you, and if he can bring about your happiness, be it by gifting you with flowers or by making your back arch in pleasure, then he would surely do it.

But just when did he begin seeking out your pleasure-- your words of praise-- so voraciously?

"Zhongli, ah!" He would hear you gasp when he finds that one spot that makes you lose your inhibitions about showing your expressions. You grasp at his arms and tell him to do it again, words of praise spilling from your mouth as he repeats his actions dutifully to bring you closer to the peak. "You feel so good," you moan. "Zhongli--!"

Making you cry out his name louder and higher until you reach your peak and fall, and he builds it back up again almost ruthlessly. The more he hears from you, the better. He's ardently pounding into you harder, faster until you're sinking into the bed, or using his tongue until you have made a mess on his face, legs shaking from overstimulation and mind unable to fathom how many times you felt waves upon waves of pleasure course through you.

He's learned what you like, what has your nails digging into his flesh and what makes you say his name until your voice grows hoarse. And he's liked how he's also learned a new side of you, for whenever you are pliant under him, at the mercy of his actions, you respond well to his voice.

Zhongli would be a fool to not take advantage of that.

He thrusts into you and listens to you keen, calling you eager and telling you how much he's enjoying watching you fall apart. The phrases he tells you are almost elegant-- poetic, even, with the way he weaves praises into his words and describes in the finest detail how he feels about you. It's a perfect juxtaposition to when he speaks the dirtiest of things into your ears-- of how well you're taking his cock, how tight your walls are clenched over him, and oh, you like it when he talks to you like this, don't you?

"Can you come with just my voice alone, do you gather?" Zhongli asks you, his voice reverberating through you as a shiver. "You're twitching.” He observes with a hint of amusement, making you hide under the darkness of your hands in embarrassment. He chuckles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Is that something you desire, my love?”

When your breath hitches, he says lowly into your ears, “I’m more than willing to see it through if that is what you please, having me sheathed inside of you while you come untouched--”

Zhongli takes a sharp intake when he feels you clench over him in response, and with a grunt, he buries himself inside of you again.

"Ah, Zhongli," you call out, tugging at his hair with a grip that has him seeing stars. "Zhongli, Zhongli--"

And his name on your lips sounds like words of praise.

"Tell me what you want," Zhongli asks. He kisses at the juncture of your throat, knowing it to be unfair since that spot has never failed to make you breathless. "Tell me what you want, and I shall provide." He chuckles when you let out a whine, your hands clawing at his back, wordlessly begging him to continue. "It will be your reward," he says, "for being so good for me."

"Zhongli--"

“So obedient,” Zhongli continues, trailing kisses down your neck as his hand reaches up to pinch your nipple. “So shamelessly loud, so full of want for me with your legs urging me to thrust inside of you and your arms making marks on my body. Tell me, my little songbird, do you want the entirety of Liyue to know that I am yours?"

"I'm yours," you cry out, and it takes everything in Zhongli not to bottom out inside you again. "I'm yours, Zhongli; please move! Fuck me--"

You keen again when Zhongli sucks onto the skin at your collarbone, leaving a mark that's sure to turn a deep purple by tomorrow. And without further delay, Zhongli tangles his hand with yours and gives you what you want, his cock thrusting into you at the angle he knows will have you seeing stars, and it does not take long for you to rise to the peak again.

When you fall, Zhongli catches you with a kiss, swallowing your moan and letting you roll your hips as you ride out your orgasm. He finishes soon after, with his forehead pressed against yours, his cum splattered on your stomach.

He always murmurs soothing words as the both of you come down from your highs, pressing gentle kisses onto your cheek until he feels your arms wrap around him.

You respond well to praise, he catalogs as you slide into the bath after him. It is truly a windfall for you to be so compatible with him in this way, for he loves to praise you as much as you love receiving them. Or is it that you simply respond well to his voice in general?

"Will you respond like that each time we make love?" Zhongli asks afterward when the two of you bathe in the rose-scented water, and he watches you lazily play with the water.

You turn your head to him grasping onto his thigh so you don’t float away. “Because of what?” You reply teasingly, “You’re going to have to be more specific considering the fact we did so much.”

Zhongli fights down the blush to no avail as he clears his throat at your familiar ribbing. You have always made him grapple for words, so in a way, he would be more than pleased if he were able to render you speechless on a repeated count. “On the… words of praise. You seemed quite receptive to that.”

He hears you laugh as you turn around, making waves in the water. "You really do have a way with words, huh,” you comment. “You’re very good at that.”

“That is because I always have praise for you, my love,” he teases, hearing you laugh again although albeit shyly. “If you liked that, I would not mind having a repeat performance, so to speak.”

You hum thoughtfully, sneaking your hands into the water to grasp his. “Well,” you begin, and he knows you well enough to know that there is a shine to your eyes. “Only one way to find out!”

And Zhongli continues to learn with you.

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact zhongli #genshin smut #genshin zhongli #zhongli/reader #dom zhongli supremacy??

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entishramblings · 4 years ago

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It’s Not That Bad [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: I’m so sorry I have not been writing as often. I’ve had zero time. But anyWaYS...here is a fic that has been requested by someone who has always been into my writing so thank you for supporting me and here is a fic for you! Additionally, I did some research on herbs and stuff so I could make this at least a little accurate!

Request: @quilledinkpen — Hellooo i hope you're having a good day ^-^ I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader? Something like she's travelling with the fellowship and is kinda the unspoken "mom" of the group, like she's always doing her best to make sure everyone's safe, and reminding Pippin and Merry to be careful and stuff like that. Just an all-around motherly person lol (mainly to the Hobbits bc they're her babies but she looks after the other guys too) I think it'd be cute ^^ Thank you!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N), a healer, travels with the fellowship. She takes care of everyone and is basically “the mom friend.”

Word Count: 2, 510

Warnings: battle wounds that are kinda graphicish?

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule.....well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.

(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.

“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”

The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”

Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.

“Let me have a look.”

The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”

The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.

(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.

She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”

He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.

(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”

He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”

A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”

He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”

She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.

The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.

“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”

His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”

She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.

“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”

They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.

“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”

“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”

“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”

(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.

The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.

Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.

(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.

“Legolas?” She questioned softly.

He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”

He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“

She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”

She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.

“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”

“(YN)—“

She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”

The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.

“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”

Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc....” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “...who—who slashed downward.....with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.

(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.

She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.

“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.

(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.

Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.

(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.

During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.

Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an oppenent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.

As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.

“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.

Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.

Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.

(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.

“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”

Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”

“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.

Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”

......

As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).

It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.

“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men....and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”

A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”

(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“

“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”

These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”

“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”

(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”

A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.

The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”

Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“

“(Y/N)...” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”

The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“

“(Y/N),” he whispered.

Something about his tone made her freeze.

Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”

Oh....

Now she understood.

The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.

.......

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @wellfuckmyexistence

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years ago

Note

Valentine’s Day with Zach I BEG

Words: 1300 ~ Warnings: leaving baby with a sitter for the first time; breastfeeding, fluff. Pairing: Zach Wellison x OFC Jade Yuan, from my full-length fic, Fighting Blind

*****

“Zach! Emma’s here!” I called up the stairs.

“One sec, baby,” he called back.

Emma swept in the door and held out her arms for baby Mae, who lurched forward out of my grasp, towards her aunt.

Emma grinned. “Yeah. You know who your favourite Aunt is.” She cuddled Mae close, kissed her explosion of black hair.

I rolled my eyes. “That baby does not know which side her bread is buttered.”

Emma leaned forward, kissed my cheek. “Happy Valentine’s. You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” I smoothed my hand down the front of the new pale gold dress, nipped in at the waist, striped with caramel. “I felt something new was in order, now the twenty-four hour breastmilk cafe is shut.”

Emma laughed; narrowly dodged a poke in the eye from Lin Mae.

Footsteps on the stairs made me turn, and, as he often did, my husband took my breath away.

He wore an open suit jacket over a crisp, storm-grey shirt, open at the neck. He’d paired it with dark jeans that hugged his legs, and the leather ankle boots I’d given him for his last birthday. His hair was just a little scruffy, and his patchy beard was growing in nicely, just how I liked it.

He stopped on the last stair. “Hi, Emma. Thanks for coming.”

Then his gaze lingered on me.

“Wow.”

I turned a full circle. “You like it?”

“A lot.”

We gazed at each other for a long moment before Emma cleared her throat. “So, are you going out, or what? Mae and I have stuff to do.”

I blushed, leaned down to kiss my daughter. “Mummy and Daddy will be back tomorrow, okay, sweet pea?” I levelled by gaze with Emma. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yes, mum. I’ve babysat her before, you know.”

I worried my lower lip with my teeth. “But not overnight.”

“It’s okay. If she doesn’t go to sleep, I’ll spike her milk with whiskey. How much do you give? One or two fingers?”

At Zach’s look of abject horror, Emma cackled and kissed Mae noisily. “We got them good, didn’t we? Didn’t we?”

Mae laughed uproariously.

“Say bye bye to mummy and daddy, baby girl,” Emma encouraged as Zach held out my coat,

I leaned down and kissed her soundly, breathing in the sweet baby scent she still had at eleven months. Her hair was soft as down, her skin like the finest silk. “Love you, my little babe.”

“Mum-mum,” she squealed. At least I chose to believe that was what she said. Most of her “words” were still unintelligible.

Zach took my place and gathered Mae into his arms. Seeing him, so unspeakably gentle with her, made my heart squeeze. “Be a good girl for Aunt Emma, okay, mija?”

He’d said once that Pero would have called a daughter mija. Those tiny things, little threads of connection to my husband from another lifetime, never failed to warm me from the inside out.

Zach kissed Mae’s forehead, and then her tiny mouth.

She giggled. “Dun-a!”

Which we assumed meant: Dada. Who knew. Zach chose to believe that and I encouraged it.

Emma took the baby back. “Come on. How are we supposed to crack out the face masks and talk about boys if you’re hanging around? Parents are such a drag.”

“We’re going!” I tugged Zach’s hand.

He gave Mae’s cheek one last stroke and then - we were free.

The door shut behind us.

Zach pushed open the letterbox. “Don’t forget you can call if you need anything! Anything at all!”

“I can’t hear you, you’re meant to be on a date!” Emma yelled back.

I took Zach’s hand and tangled our fingers. “You okay?”

“Hard to say. I think so? I don’t know. I wanna go back and hold her again. Is this normal?”

I leaned into him. “Pretty sure it is,”

Our Uber pulled up just as he glanced back at the door. I tugged his hand.

“Big, bad Marine missing his baby already?”

Zach huffed, but held the car door open for me. “Marines never leave a man - or daughter - behind.”

I kissed him as we buckled our seatbelts.

“Bootcamp was a breeze compared to this,” he muttered.

We made small talk with the cab driver as he ferried us to Babylon Restaurant in Kensington. Perched atop Kensington Roof Gardens, it boasted beautiful views, and, thankfully for us, price tags that didn’t make my eyes water. Much.

The owners had decorated tastefully for Valentine’s, a squat vase of big, fat roses on each table, small heart balloons, helium filled, covering the ceiling, candles placed strategically to avoid sleeves and waitstaff.

“Whoa,” Zach murmured. “When they said it was fancy, I didn’t expect - do you like it?”

I squeezed his hand as we waited in the doorway. “I do like it, but what I like most about it is that I’m here with you.”

Our table overlooked trees strewn with tiny fairy lights that glowed gold in the dark, chilly evening.

When we weren’t eating or drinking, we held hands. Did we spend the whole evening talking about Mae and looking at pictures of her?

Yes.

Did Zach text Emma a dozen times to ask how his daughter was?

Also yes.

Her most recent reply: “You’re interrupting me teaching her how to do tequila shots.”

But... was it perfect? Undoubtedly.

We fed each other bits of dessert - a cloud-soft tiramisu sprinkled with rose-gold petals of the thinnest chocolate - and lingered over the post prandial coffee and mints.

The street lamps were all on, and my breath formed clouds in the air as we walked to our hotel.

“Feels like playing hooky,” Zach laughed as we walked. “Do you think she misses us?”

“Of course she does.”

He gave me the side-eye. “Am I pathetic? Am I that crazy dad?”

“You didn’t wear sleeveless vests in Summer. Much,” I clarified. “You’re a great father, Zach. The best I could wish for.”

He paused under a streetlamp. The soft golden glow caught on his face of planes and angles, illuminating his soft brown eyes, the stubborn curve of his nose.

“What do you think he’d have been like?”

“Pero?” I reached up and cupped his scruffy cheek. “You tell me.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve taken this from him. You know? Taken you. But I can’t feel guilty about it,” he added, scowling. “I won’t.”

“I would never want you to.”

“Good.” He pulled me into a kiss, one hand in my hair, cradling the back of my neck. “I love you so much, Jade. Enough for a thousand lifetimes.”

“I love you, too.”

He lifted my hand, kissed the leather bracelet around my wrist. He wore a matching one, leather bonded with the ribbon bracelets Mae’s namesake had gifted Pero and I, in another life. “Let’s go do things we can’t do with a baby in the house,” he whispered, cheekily, his dimple flashing. “Wanna see what’s under this dress.”

“We have to get back to the hotel first,” But still I pressed into him, feeling the hard line of his erection flush against my belly, and desire pooled between my legs, hot and urgent. A taxi pootled past us, music drifting lowly from the half-open driver’s window, and across the road,

He nipped at my neck, the scruff tickling. “You’re no fun.”

“You can revise that statement when you see what I’m wearing under my clothes.”

And he did.

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

Zach Pit and regular tag lists: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

@mouthymandalorian @lannister-slings-and-arrows @aeryntheofficial @pedro4ever @soldade @miulola @lunaserenade @lunarthoughts

#zach pit #zach wellison x ofc of colour #zach wellison #ofc of colour #epilogue #fluff

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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When the World Goes Boom (Part 8B)

Here is the rest of Part 8. This fic definitely has a life of its own. I was seriously stuck this morning but with a pile of help from Bri, I managed to get writing again. So much for a quick fic for Alan’s birthday on 12 March. It is a matter of an hour before 12 April at the moment and every brother has his finger in the pie now ::sigh:: I hope you enjoy whatever this is ::hugs::

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three, angst, hurt/comfort, brothers and family, 4007 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 @onereyofstarlight and @i-am-chidorixblossom for putting up with my crazy and reading this at random moments. Also the extra plot help from @onereyofstarlight when I was all wibbly and stuck earlier today ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

Jeff continued to stroke his eldest son’s back, ever aware of the tense muscles there. Those shoulders supported so much. So much he should have been here for.

Scott’s head rested on the edge of Virgil’s bed. His breathing was quiet, but his face held a frown, even in sleep. Jeff hadn’t missed the grey hairs at Scott’s temples, or the worry lines faintly creasing his forehead. The last eight years had been the worst in Jeff’s life, but the worst of it was what he had done to his sons.

Scott’s fingers lay intertwined with Virgil’s.

He couldn’t think too hard about Virgil. Dark hair, pale bruised skin, white sheets.

Life support machinery.

If he thought too hard, he would lose it.

From the moment he had stepped foot on Thunderbird Two in the depths of space, Virgil had been there, hovering and worrying.

His engineer, medic, musical and artistic son.

One hand on Scott’s back, Jeff reached out his other and lay it gently on Virgil’s leg.

Please.

He closed his eyes.

Only to fling them open again as the door was thrown open. A doctor and nurse burst into the room, urgency in their expressions. Jeremy and Brie followed them in.

The room was suddenly crowded.

Jeff pushed himself to his feet, both hands suddenly signalling quiet. Scott’s sleep was precious.

Both of the medical professionals eyed the sleeping pilot. The doctor’s lips thinned, but her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Mr Tracy, we’ve identified the drug that your son was attacked with. We have an antidote. We would like your permission to administer it.”

The woman was virtually bouncing.

Jeff’s eyes darted to Jeremy. The security guard nodded just once.

Oh, thank god.

He turned back to the doctor. “You have it.”

“Thank you.” The woman moved over to Virgil and began running a series of obs. “Mr Tracy, according to your son’s medical records, he has a medication sensitivity.”

Jeff nodded.

The doctor fiddled with Virgil’s IV. “The dosage currently in his blood stream is a large dose, but a man of his size should not have reacted in the way he has. Consequently, we have minimised the antidote and will increase the dose if necessary. The last thing we want to do is overdose him on another drug.”

Jeff nodded again mutely.

Scott shifted where he sat and Jeff reached out to resume the circles on his son’s back. The nurse glanced at their interaction, but Jeff ignored her.

The doctor administered a hypodermic to the IV and took a step back.

The room fell silent and the tension climbed.

“How soon?” The words fell from his lips unbidden.

“Response times vary, but we should see a change very soon.”

As she said it, the heart monitor beeped quietly several times in a row and he watched as his son’s heart beat flickered a moment before switching from stimulated to self-sustained.

He sucked in a breath.

Virgil’s heart rhythm held strong, the pattern regular and a wonderful sight.

Oh, thank god.

It wasn’t everything, but it was a step in the right direction. Jeff’s sight blurred.

“Mr Tracy?” The doctor’s voice was gentle. “We will be monitoring Virgil’s progress closely, but you should know that the prognosis is good. The antidote is a proven foil for the drug your son was attacked with and your son received excellent first aid.” A glance in Jeremy’s direction. “The prognosis is good.” Her lips curved in a small encouraging smile.

Jeff straightened his spine. “Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor Harris.”

She held his eyes a moment longer before backing up a little and gathering her equipment. A glance and the two medical professionals slipped out of the room.

Jeremy stayed.

Jeff’s eyes flickered to the man.

A worried frown as he stared down at his gravely ill charge.

“Thank you, Jeremy.” Jeff’s voice was rough. “You saved his life.”

The man swallowed and continued to stare at Virgil. “Shouldn’t have had to.”

Jeff had no answer to that. His soul was baked dry. He had no comfort left.

Instead he sat down again beside Scott, a hand falling gently to each of his sons.

He would call his mother shortly. His sons.

The heart monitor’s quiet beep echoed his own heart as if it was keeping him alive.

He waited.

-o-o-o-

Gordon found John on the roof exactly as Eos had told him, Tane standing beside him. What she hadn’t told him was what his astronaut brother was doing.

Still wearing his tan-coloured gravity support shirt...and people claimed Gordon had a bad taste in clothing, John took the cake...his red-haired brother’s head was buried in guts of the hospital’s communication satellite dish.

“John, what are you doing?”

His tall brother startled and whacked his head on an overhead metal bar. “Ah! Gordon?”

“Sorry.” But Gordon wasn’t feeling too gracious at the moment. “What are you doing?”

“Tracing communications.” He pulled out his tablet and tapped it repeatedly. “Eos needs a little more bandwidth than this ancient piece of tech can provide. I’m providing it.” Red brows frowned at his tablet screen. “I haven’t been able to identify how our suspect was receiving information.”

“You reckon this will help.”

More taps of his fingers. “Definitely.”

The big question. “Authorised?”

Turquoise flickered in his direction. Hmm, obviously not.

“Scott?”

“With Virgil...injured...command is left to me.”

“What about Dad?” It was a question that had to be asked.

John didn’t look at him, continuing to stab his tablet. “Dad authorised GDF access to our files. Virgil was almost killed within hours. I don’t believe he has the knowledge required in this instance.”

“It was Dad?” Gordon’s shoulders tensed.

With that John did straighten up. A sigh. “My fault. I didn’t give him the information he needed to make the correct decision.”

“But he knows of our history with the GDF, the spy?”

John turned away, but shook his head.

“What? Johnny, he needs to know.”

“I told him and he didn’t give it the credit it was due.”

Gordon frowned. “When?”

“The day Virgil was injured.”

“What? That recently?”

“It was just...he isn’t long out of recovery and we thought a gradual re-introduction to International Rescue was warranted. I was forced to tell him without preparation and I didn’t have time to follow it up with a situational report. Aunt Val was demanding information and Dad made the decision.” His brother turned back to the dish and dove in head first again.

“So, what are we going to do?” Gordon was sure he knew the answer. John wasn’t one to beat around the bush. The astronaut, if anything, was direct and to the point.

“We…” His brother emerged and grabbed his tablet again. “…are going to find who did this to our family and…prevent…them from hurting us any further.”

Gordon held his brother’s gaze. There was so much unsaid in those eyes. Calm though John appeared, he was anything but, and while Gordon might scream at the nearest target, John would simply act.

Lips thinned, Gordon straightened his shoulders. “Count me in.”

-o-o-o-

Someone was stroking his cheek.

Sensation.

Followed by pain.

He groaned.

His throat screamed at him.

“C’mon, honey, I know you’re in there.” The stroking continued and he became vaguely aware of someone holding his hand.

“Virgil, c’mon, bro, you can do it.”

He frowned and found his face aching almost as much as his chest and throat.

Another groan.

Ow, shit.

“Virgil?”

Dad. That was Dad. They had found Dad and he was safe and home and, thank, god.

“Open your eyes, Virgil.”

Scott.

His big brother.

Augh, his face hurt.

“Hurts.”

Shit, that was his voice? He coughed and everything flared up in pain.

The hand on his cheek moved to his hair, fingers combing through it. “Virgil, dear, let us see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Hurts.

But he was always one to do what his grandmother asked of him.

He found his eyelids and forced them open.

They dropped immediately, the blur and the glare, harsh and painful.

“Shut off the lights, please Jeff.”

His eyelids grew dark and he relaxed a little. Sleep would be nice.

“No, Virgil, you need to wake up, dear.”

Don’t want to. Tired.

“I know it is hard, but open your eyes for us.”

He gave it another go and the darkness became a dim blur. He blinked and the blur sharpened into his family.

Grandma stood beside his head and was the one responsible for the hand in his hair. Scott sat beside her and was holding Virgil’s hand. Allie was on his own bed and at an angle to the bed Virgil was lying on so he could see clearly. Blue eyes sparkled and grinned at him. “Virgil!”

Allie.

Allie was being attacked.

“Al-an!”

“No, you stay put, young man.” His grandmother was holding his shoulder. “Alan is safe. You saved him. He is safe.”

Safe.

Allie was safe.

Oh, thank god. Memories flickered in and out and his right hand clenched.

And screamed at him.

The sound that issued from his throat wasn’t remotely English, but it said everything he felt.

And there was Dad, worried grey eyes staring down at him. “Dad…”

A hand gripped his leg gently. “You’re safe, Virgil.”

“Alan…”

“I’m here, bro, thanks to you.”

Thanks to him. Memories swirled again as his arm throbbed in complaint at the movement. His eyes closed involuntarily and he found he had no strength to open them again.

-o-o-o-

Scott’s vision blurred as Virgil slipped back into sleep and he had to blink his eyes to clear it. His fingers spasmed just a little tighter around his brother’s hand, ever grateful for the warmth there.

“He needs his rest.” Grandma reached an arm around Scott’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “He’s going to be okay, Scotty.”

All eyes in the room immediately turned to him and he swallowed. His voice failed him, but he sat straighter.

“Now I want you back in bed. You’ve been sitting here for hours and you have your own recovery to consider.”

“Yes, Grandma.” He didn’t have the energy to protest. Virgil was going to get better.

His eyes didn’t leave the bruises on his brother’s pale face.

“C’mon, honey.” She helped him to his feet and he stumbled, turning and reaching for his bed. “You need rest almost as much as Virgil. Sleep is the only thing that is going to fix your head, so give it all it needs.”

“Yes, Grandma.” The bed felt lovely to roll into as gravity took its pressure off his weary body. Sitting hunched in a chair for hours wasn’t good for anything.

He rolled onto his side so he could see Virgil.

But he wanted to see Alan as well. His little brother was having a rather intense discussion with their father as to whether he needed more sleep.

“But Dad, I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“You need rest, Alan.”

“I am resting!”

“Alan.” Scott’s voice cut across the room. “Do as you are told.”

Blue eyes glared at him for a moment before dissolving into a more familiar pout.

Their father frowned at Scott.

“Dad? Can we leave Alan over there? Allie, can you stay there?” He wanted to keep his two injured brothers in sight.

Alan’s eyes narrowed. “So, you can keep an eye on me.”

“Yes, for that very reason. Do as you are told, Alan.” But the message was there, he could see the vulnerability in his little brother’s eyes.

“Fine. But only because I want to be able to see Virgil as well and if I’m stuck in the corner, I can’t see beyond your big head.”

“Alan.” Their father’s voice was full of warning.

“He’s bossing me around, Dad!”

“Because apparently you need it. Now, I’ve asked you to rest and so has Scott. Do I need to wake up Virgil and get him to nag you as well or should your grandmother come over here?”

Alan opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Wow, Dad. Scott just stared.

Alan may be an adult, but he was still technically a teenager and every now and again he regressed.

Said teenager glared and with an exaggerated pout, curled up in the bed on his uninjured side. Their father reached over and squeezed an ankle. “Rest, son. You’ll feel better for it.”

Alan’s expression just grew grumpier.

“Virgil is getting better.”

And that hit the nail on the head. Alan relaxed just a little bit more and the frown lessened. Another squeeze of his son’s ankle and their father pushed the bed gently into dock on the other side of the room, opposite from Virgil’s bed. Alan stared at his sleeping brother, still attached to monitors and multiple IVs.

“He’s getting better.”

Dad’s voice was reassurance itself.

Grandma, who had obviously elected to stay out of it, brushed Scott’s hair off his face. “Go to sleep, Scotty. You need it.”

A sudden thought. “What about John and Gordon?”

She snorted. “You let your father and I worry about the vigilante brothers. You worry about yourself.”

Vigilante? “What?”

His grandmother sighed. “Relax, Scott.” She began stroking his hair.

He couldn’t remember the last time he combed his hair. He probably looked awful.

But that one word stuck in his head.

Vigilante.

What the hell were his brothers up to?

-o-o-o-

Gordon had to admit that having Eos on the team was a great advantage despite the situations that resulted.

He could almost hear Virgil’s snort at that comment, followed by the inevitable ‘situations you create, Gordon’.

God, he missed his brother.

But Virgil was improving. His dad had been adamant and Gordon clung to that. Apparently, he had even woken briefly. He wished he had been there, but this was important.

Tin walked beside him, her pace one he had to keep up with. She was not happy. But then neither was Gordon.

Using the wider bandwidth John had jimmied into the system, Eos had been able to swoop into the network and gather information much faster. She dove straight through protected systems like a phantom. Or so John described the process. How she did it, Gordon did not have a clue, but he was ever so grateful she could.

She was able to crunch all the communications data that had occurred in and around the building for the entire time the Tracys had been resident. It had been a massive task, but one she was uniquely suited to. The majority was civilian comms traffic hooking into the hospital network due to the communications restrictions around medical equipment, but there was a small portion that was GDF flagged. None of that had appeared suspicious, but John as particularly interested in the traffic around the time Aunt Val had been in the building.

One anomaly had been found.

Aunt Val entered the hospital with Foster and two aides.

She left with Foster and only one aide.

Tracking down what had become of the second aide had proven difficult. Hallway security cameras located Foster speaking to the missing aide and that aide leaving the corridor outside the Tracys’ hospital room, but from there the aide vanished.

She did not exist the building.

Both John and Gordon agreed that it was likely this person was the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.

The question was did Aunt Val know?

“I’ve called in Jack Dunning. We may need a lawyer to keep Virgil’s attacker out of the hands of the GDF.” Tin’s voice was matter of fact, but underneath he could hear the boiling pot of anger she was keeping under control.

Gordon grunted. His anger was much closer to the surface. It was cold and it made him sharper. The perpetrator – his mind spat the word – was currently being held by New Zealand police, but Aunt Val was moving for global extradition due to the Tracys being the Tracys.

They couldn’t let that happen.

John had called the elevator down and taken off for Five. He wanted to be hands on hunting down the details of the explosion, even if that called for shifting Five into an orbital path contradictory to GDF directives.

If there was a way to discover what had actually happened up there to injure their brothers, John would find it.

Ignoring the GDF was quite liberating.

Until they found out.

Jack Dunning was good. Gordon hoped they didn’t have to find out how good.

Aunt Val had retreated to the local GDF base after his ‘words’. So, this time he had to go to her for a meeting.

Iz hovered as they crossed the gardens at the entrance to the building.

It was always amusing to flip out his International Rescue ID. The expressions on the face of security was always worth it and these guys were no different. Yep, there was the surprise, followed by the starstruck expression.

“Thank you for your service, sir.”

Gordon blinked. Wow, a devotee. He nodded once. “You’re welcome. We’re here to see Colonel Casey.”

The guard was still staring at his ID. “Gordon Tracy…so you fly Thunderbird Two?”

Blink. “Sometimes.” He wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

“Aw, great. Thunderbird Two is the coolest Thunderbird.”

Gordon’s flat-eyed stare at that comment got a confused reaction.

“Excuse me, we are in a hurry.” Tin’s cold voice cut across the silent conversation. “Colonel Casey’s office?”

The guard jumped and hurried to lead them where they needed to go.

The colonel lacked her usual smile when they entered and Gordon wondered how many bridges he had permanently burnt.

At this point he didn’t care.

“Kayo, Gordon, what can I do for you?” Her tone was cool and curt and she eyed Iz as she slunk in behind them.

Tin didn’t waste one moment, deploying an electronic security net with one hand. The subtle hum was unnerving, but it created a bubble around them that secured all transmissions in and out of the room and blocked all audio-visual equipment.

Casey eyed the gadget, but didn’t comment as Tin slapped it down on her desk.

“Colonel, we would like your assistance in identifying this person.” Tin’s phone flickered up a hologram of the missing aide.

They had already identified the woman as Brede Williams, a New Zealand born GDF administrative aide. John had even located her address in Auckland. Eos had infiltrated the apartment block and found her room’s electronics undisturbed, including the locks, for several days.

John feared for her safety.

The perpetrator in custody was definitely not Brede Williams.

The colonel eyed the hologram with an arched eyebrow. “That is Corporal Brede Williams, one of my executive assistants.”

Tin didn’t react. “When did you last see her?”

“She called in ill a few days ago and has been on personal leave since.”

Tin took a step forward, her entire body whip sharp with potential energy. “Colonel, when was the last time you saw her.”

Aunt Val blinked and frowned. “She was with me at the hospital, but had to leave due to a family…what are you implying?”

Tin switched the view to the incriminating scene where Captain Foster spoke to the woman outside the Tracy’s hospital room. They watched as she walked off.

“She never left the hospital.”

Aunt Val’s mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Gordon took the opportunity to state the obvious. “We believe she wasn’t who she appeared to be. That she was in fact the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.” He drew in a breath. “You brought a killer into the hospital and Virgil nearly died.”

The strict military officer he expected to turn around and rip him a new one melted in front of him. Aunt Val sat down hard on her desk chair, shock on her face.

Still nothing came out of her mouth.

Gordon was caught between distress at the devastation in her expression and anger that she had been so easily fooled.

“We advised you that you had a spy in your ranks quite some time ago. What has been done to identify the person or persons responsible?” Tin was sharp and no nonsense.

Aunt Val found her voice, but it was uncharacteristically uncertain. “I reported the issue to my superiors. There was some shuffling of staff and I was assured the problem had been negated.”

“Assured.” The word fell from Gordon’s lips with a snarl.

Dark eyes glared up at Gordon. “I had no reason to disbelieve the assertion.”

“Colonel, you were once disposed by those superiors and an infiltrator replaced you. The result of those actions nearly cost us Thunderbird Two and several innocent lives at Saad Madina. Yet you’re telling me that you trust them?”

She stared up at Gordon and some of the more familiar steel returned to her expression. “Not all of us have the luxury of complete trust, Lieutenant. As you should well know.”

His eyes narrowed at the barb obviously referring to his past in WASP and the end of that career. He ignored it. “You can trust family, Colonel.”

She stood up slowly. “Easy when you have choice.”

“There is always a choice.” A huff of exasperation. “C’mon, Aunt Val, dump this outfit and come work with us.”

Brown eyes flickered with the briefest of fondness and his heart clenched.

“You know I can’t do that, Gordon.”

“Why not?”

“I can do more here.”

“The system is corrupt!”

“And it is one person less corrupt as long as I’m here to fight it! Do you think International Rescue would last very long without me here, Lieutenant? I stay for Lucille, for her family, for you and for the smallest chance that I can do some good and prevent this damned organisation from taking the world with it!”

It was Gordon’s turn to have his mouth drop open and nothing come out of it.

The anguish returned to his aunt’s face. “I’m sorry Virgil…I didn’t think we were that vulnerable. I thought my office was secure. Please, I would never want to hurt any of you. How is he?” The plea was an honest one.

It was Tin who answered. “An antidote has been found and he is recovering slowly.”

“Oh, thank god.” The woman wilted. “Scott and Alan?”

“Also recovering.”

Alan might have nightmares for the rest of his life, but Gordon kept that to himself.

Tin straightened. “We believe Alan was the target of the attack. Virgil got in the way.”

Aunt Val frowned. “They think he remembers something.”

A single nod was all Tin was willing to give her.

“So, if you find who was responsible for the explosion, you’ll find who ordered the attack.”

“That is the plan.” A considered gaze. “We need everything you have on the incident.” Tin threw a drive onto the desk.

The colonel eyed them a moment before reaching down and picking up the drive with the IR logo wrapped around its edges and plugging it into her terminal. A flick of her fingers, a breath, and she unplugged it again. “It’s not much, but if there is a mole in my staff, the data may not be comprehensive.”

“We are aware of that.” Tin slipped the drive back into her pocket. “Thank you for your assistance.” She turned to leave and Gordon took a step to follow.

“Gordon. Kayo. Be careful.” She knew they weren’t going to play by the rules, he could see it in her eyes. “And give my love to your family…and my sincerest apologies.”

Gordon found he couldn’t answer. The Colonel he could yell at, but Aunt Val had always been a part of his life, a cherished reminder of the mother they had lost.

Tin answered for him. “Yes, Colonel.”

The use of her rank struck hard and her shoulders bowed just a little.

Gordon said nothing. He grabbed the electronic net and turning, followed Tin out the door.

It hurt, but GDF and International Rescue relations could never be the same.

-o-o-o-

End Part Eight

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Kayo Kyrano #colonel casey #Val Casey #John Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #Alan Tracy

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wedreamedlove · 5 years ago

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[FIC] A Classical Night

Rating: Explicit Characters: Xu Mo/Reader Word Count: 4657

Tags: Sweet and soft. Emotional. PWF (F for Feels). Oral. Fingering. Multiple orgasms (Reader). Slow sex.

A/N: Denoted actual lines in the ASMR with 『』 brackets (my translations). Also, the song that plays in the ASMR is Chopin’s Nocturne Op.15 No.2. I did NOT use that as mood music for the spicy scene LOL.

Summary: An alternative take to Xu Mo’s ASMR “Nightmare’s End (噩梦终点)”. There’s a lot of ways to help someone fall asleep again... like tiring them out.

It’s the whimper that wakes you.

For a second, you think you’re still dreaming or that it’s a stray outside making that noise. But then it happens again, closer and clearer, and you recognize Xu Mo’s groans.

You turn around in bed to see that at some point Xu Mo has rolled away from you onto his back. He’s still asleep but his brows are furrowed in distress and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his pale face.

Unable to help yourself, you reach out with concern but your fingertips only manage to graze his cheek before he inhales sharply and snaps his eyes open. His hand catches your wrist in a tight grip, holding it still. In his eyes terror and helplessness bleeds into a vicious, cold look.

But then he recognizes you and the surging emotions still.

『You…』 He breathes out.

“Are you OK?” You ask, not moving your hand despite the ache.

『… It’s nothing.』 He murmurs. His gaze slides to his hand and he releases you before flinging his forearm across his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the bed. He exhales hard and you think you see a shudder run through him. 『It was only a nightmare. It’s nothing.』

You watch him quietly, trying to decide if you should ask him for details or if that will make it worse.

He seems to sense the weight of your stare though because he removes his arm to turn his head to you, and you see that his eyes have returned to their usual calm.

『I’m sorry. I woke you up. 』 He reaches for your hand and rubs lightly at the place he gripped. 『 You don’t have to worry so much. I’m not a child who would get scared by nightmares.』

You know he’s only keeping his tone light to reassure you, so you don’t fall for it and instead you slip your hand out of his to brush at the dark circles underneath his eyes. “Did you get any rest at all?”

He closes his eyes at the touch of your fingers and gives a low hum. 『Mm, I just feel… that my sleep was a bit exhausting.』

Xu Mo allows you to stroke him for a little longer before he catches your hand, presses a light kiss to your palm, and then sits up. You shiver at the cool air that sweeps into the opening of the blankets made from his movements while he checks the time at the small table on his side of the bed.

“What time is it?” You say this through a yawn.

『It’s still early. You can sleep some more.』

“What about you?” You frown, catching the fatigue that lingers in his shoulders.

『I’m not drowsy anymore.』 He gives a soft laugh at your concern and strokes your head once before he moves to get out of bed. 『It just so happens that I haven’t finished reading a section of that report from earlier yet—』

Before you know it, you’ve already acted and grabbed his hand.

His eyebrows jump up. 『Hm? You’re not letting me go?』

You mutely shake your head.

Xu Mo laughs again, the gentle sound carrying his affectionate resignation. 『Haha, I won’t go then and I’ll keep you company. Look, my hand’s being held this tightly by yours. Even if I wanted to go, I wouldn’t be able to.』

He settles back down into bed and his smile deepens, the corners of his eyes creasing, when you pull the hand you’re holding closer to yourself until you’re basically hugging it. If he tries to slip away after you fall asleep, you’ll be able to know immediately. He wriggles his trapped hand with an amused look but leaves it there.

『Now, can you be good and close your eyes to sleep? 』

You open your mouth to confirm, but then a thought occurs to you. “Actually…”

Xu Mo doesn’t have time to react before you drop his hand and then throw yourself over to wrap your arms around him and bury yourself into his chest. 『What—? It’s foul play if you suddenly come over and hug me like this.』

“Ehehe.” You shake with your laughter, knowing you caught him off guard. But then just as you register the second part of his sentence you find yourself tipped over onto your back with Xu Mo ending up above you. His forearms are beside your head, caging you, while supporting his weight.

『Originally, I really was going to let you sleep peacefully.』

He says this in a light, lilting voice and you nearly miss the helpless undertone that’s present, taken in by the rhythm of his words. Xu Mo has always had a way of speaking that intoxicates you and this time’s not an exception either. Even before his lips touch yours, you’re half-dazed.

The cool sensation of his mouth disappears into warmth as you two kiss. He tilts his head, opening your lips with his tongue, and tastes you with an intimate familiarity. He slips his tongue deeper inside, sweeping through the hot space, sliding against the roof of your mouth, and then sucking at your tongue. The wet sound of this kiss is drowned out by the pounding of your heart that grows louder and louder as the seconds pass. Pleasure blinds you in flashes beneath your closed eyes, like fireworks going off, every time he moves his head, changing the angle of the kiss.

By the time Xu Mo pulls back and looks down at you, your chest is already heaving with the need for air. But still, the kiss felt all too short. One of your hands has found its way to clutch at the shirt he’s wearing, wrinkling the thin fabric, and you burn with the desire to kiss him or be kissed by him again. However, you don’t move and instead you appreciate the sight in front of you.

Like he mentioned earlier, it’s still early and the slivers of sunlight, mixed with moonlight, peeks in past the curtains to highlight the angle of his cheeks, creating a contrast of light and shadow. The dim light catches at the glimmer of purple in his ink-black eyes, making it look like stars reflected on the still waters of an endless ocean.

Xu Mo sketches out the sight you make with your flushed cheeks, damp eyes, and parted lips with his gaze before the corners of his lips rise in a slow smile. “Not doing much, are you?”

He punctuates this rhetorical question with a quick kiss.

Just like you know him, he knows you, and normally at this point you would be kissing him enthusiastically. Instead though, you haven’t done anything apart from responding to his advances. You know he catches the mischief in your smile. “Exercise is supposed to help you sleep, so…”

Xu Mo stares at you, dumbfounded.

And then he tilts his head back, revealing the elegant line of his throat, and laughs without reserve. This isn’t anything like his quiet chuckles, it’s a full-bodied laugh that makes his shoulders shake, and you can’t help but break out into giggles yourself at his genuine delight.

“I’ll work hard then.” The smile he gives you is wide enough to show his teeth.

He dips his head down to kiss you again, languid yet consuming. He moves his mouth over yours, catching your bottom lip to nibble and suck and then stroke his tongue over before he moves on to caressing your lips with his. He welcomes your tongue into his mouth when you reach out and you feel firsthand the rising heat in him. Each time he pauses for air and turns his head to brush kisses across your chin and jaw, you feel his scorching breaths graze your skin. There’s a haze of warm air between the both of you, softening the sharp lines of his features.

But, even though you’re being swept away by these pleasurable sensations, you still feel it when he shifts his weight onto one arm and frees a hand to slide it down your body, palm flush against your skin through your pajama top.

He kisses you deeply as his thumb teases at the edge of your panties, brushing the strip of skin exposed between your top and underwear, and you reflexively squeeze your legs together in anticipation. But then he slips the rest of his fingers underneath your top instead and moves his hand up to your chest.

“Xu…” You break off the kiss to call out his name, wanting to direct him elsewhere, but you only get out the first syllable before the rest trails off in a pleasurable gasp when he starts to knead and fondle a breast, squeezing, pressing, and dragging the pad of his thumb across the hardening tip.

Xu Mo smiles, the curve of his lips a clear sensation against your jaw. “Mm, yes, dear?”

“Don’t just—mngh…”

Your words are cut off again when he lightly pinches your nipple and pulls at it. Your back rises slightly, arching, at the zing of pleasure that races from your chest down to the dip between your legs. Cracking open your eyes, which you don’t remember closing, you turn your head to give his lips a quick pinch with your teeth, expressing your frustration.

He kisses the underside of your chin in return, letting out a breath of inaudible laughter, before he sits back and says, “Up.”

After you raise your arms obediently he pulls the rest of your pajama top off. His own shirt follows in being dragged over his head and tossed to the side and you stare unabashedly at the reveal of his solid muscles. Your eyes curve together with your satisfied smile when you reach out to splay a hand on his chest, appreciating the fine tremor that runs through him before his muscles tense into steel beneath your touch.

“I’m jealous,” you say as you slide your hand down to poke at his abdomen, feeling how the skin there doesn’t give way at all.

Xu Mo tilts his head. “Oh? I quite like how soft you are.”

And then he brushes the back of his fingers down the swell of your breast. You jerk at his touch, making a smile bloom across his face at your reaction to him.

“Shameless,” you scold as you bring up a leg, intending to push him with your foot.

But he reaches down to catch your leg and pulls it over the dip of his Adonis belt, perfectly slotting his own leg between yours, and you shiver when his hot thigh presses against the ache of you. You can’t help but move your hips a little, creating a pleasurable friction. The surface of his eyes ripple and darkens.

“Only in front of you,” he demurs, “Be good and stay still now. I believe I’m supposed to be doing all the work.”

He settles a hand beside your head to bear his weight and, for a second, you feel like there’s a great, big panther looming over you, contemplating the best way to eat the delicious morsel beneath it.

Then he leans down to kiss you deeply before proceeding to trail his mouth down your jaw, neck, and collarbone, where he swirls his tongue in the hollow of your throat. You sigh at the warmth that floods through your body, spreading from every spot his lips land on, and a hand clutches at his hair while the other twists into the sheets below you.

He kisses his way to the breast that was neglected from his earlier touches and, even though you’re expecting it, a gasp still escapes you when he closes his lips around the nub and sucks. His free hand reaches over to play with your other breast, pressing and prodding the sensitive tip before he starts to roll it between his fingers. You clench the hand that’s in his hair, unconsciously tugging at him due to all the stimulation, and when he hums in response with his mouth still around your breast a moan is dragged out from you this time.

“Xu Mo… stop teasing…”

You squirm against him impatiently.

“I’m teasing you?” He releases your nipple with a wet pop and you feel a gush of slick heat at the way those dark eyes glance up from underneath long, black eyelashes. He rests his chin on your chest and smiles slowly. “How come I don’t think that? If I was really teasing you…”

He stops the actions of his hand and then drags his nail around the tip of your breast… unhurried… tantalizing… but maintaining a distance that builds up frustration rather than satisfaction.

“Xu Mo,” you growl, fisting the hand you have in the sheets and pulling at his hair with the other.

He follows the direction of the pull, laughing softly, and then replaces his finger with his tongue, tracing the same path he took earlier, before he finally closes his mouth over your nub. He flicks his tongue up and down, wetting it thoroughly, and then draws back to blow air.

You cry out at this combination of hot and cold pleasure and squeeze your legs around his thigh. But this just presses him against your core harder and you tremble from the sheer want that opens up within you.

When you look at him, eyes blurry with desire, he pauses and then, before you can say anything, he’s already rising up to brush aside your bangs and lay a kiss on your forehead.

“Mm, I know. Don’t worry, I always want to give you what you wish.” His voice comes down gentle, solemn, and he uncurls your leg from around his hip before he shifts back enough to drop a kiss on your stomach. He curls his hands under the edge of your panties and requests, “Raise your hips.”

You do so and he slides your underwear off. But just when you expect him to use his finger he lowers his body against the bed, positions his head near your entrance, and strokes you with his tongue. You let out a choked gasp, not expecting that scorching wet sensation, and you try to clamp your legs shut automatically, jerking your hips away from this electric shock of pleasure.

However, Xu Mo already has an arm holding your waist down and his other arm is curled around your leg, hand splayed against your inner thigh to keep your leg spread open.

He services you with his mouth; at times lapping at you like a giant feline, at times tracing your folds with the lightest of caresses like butterfly wings skimming across petals, and at times pressing the flat of his tongue flush against you and tasting you like he’s trying to catch every drop but it’s never enough.

It isn’t long before the surging heat of pleasure threatens to bring you over the edge. Both of your hands are fisted in the sheets below you and you moan out his name in warning, unable to do anything more than that.

Xu Mo doesn’t say anything but he concentrates his efforts on all your sensitive spots, and it’s right when he slides the tip of his tongue into you that you climax.

Your back arches off the bed as your mind goes blank, a white-hot rush of ecstasy flooding your body, and your legs tense hard around Xu Mo trapped between them before you settle back down, boneless and quivering from a tingling warmth.

It takes you a few seconds to come down from your high and for you to realize that he’s been running his hand up and down your side in a soothing motion, head propped against your leg and watching you with tender eyes.

“Once more?” he asks, and before you can say anything he reaches down with the hand that was caressing you to push a finger into you.

“Mmgh!”

You clench down on the intrusion, feeling the lingering embers of pleasure get fanned back into flames.

“… Don’t squeeze so hard or I won’t be able to move,” Xu Mo tells you in a suddenly hoarse voice.

You see him press his head harder against your leg, his jaw somewhat clenched, and there’s beads of sweat on his forehead. You push down with your other leg, digging your foot into the sheets, to raise and roll your hips against his finger. “That’s because of you.”

“Oh? You’re blaming me?” He slides another finger into you as he asks this.

“Mhm!” You moan out your answer, shuddering when he starts to move these fingers lightly.

“Then I suppose I should take responsibility.”

He puts his words into action immediately, lowering his head to cover your soaking entrance with his mouth. He licks around his fingers as they scissor within you and stretch you. But when his tongue moves up to gently play with the sensitive bundle of nerves there and he curls his fingers to rub against a spot at the top of your walls, you reflexively buck your hips and cry out sharply, feeling another rush of slick heat come out.

Xu Mo gives a low grunt at your actions and you feel him smile around your clitoris before he continues his torture of it, prodding and sucking. His fingers start to slide in and out and, even though your heartbeat is deafening loud in your ears, you can still hear the squelching, wet sounds down there.

But you don’t have the leisure to be embarrassed. You’re writhing under his ministrations, panting for air and moaning, and before long the familiar surging tide of pleasure comes to drag you under.

You climax with a shout of his name.

Sinking deeply into the bed, your chest heaves as you desperately try to catch your breath.

Xu Mo brushes the inside of your thigh with light kisses as he waits for you to calm down before asking, “Once more?”

You stiffen and then shake your head vehemently. “No more! If you keep going I’m going to pass out.”

He laughs, “Now that won’t do. After all, you have to accompany me until I fall asleep. Right?”

Xu Mo sits up and wipes at the wetness around his mouth with the back of his hand, and the contrast between that rough, careless action with his usual elegance makes you clench your inner muscles with a low, throbbing ache.

Before you think more on it, you’re already reaching for the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. But he grabs your hand and shakes his head, admitting, “Not this time. I’m afraid I wouldn’t last.”

He must have seen something in your smug smile because his eyes darken before he leans forward to give you a hungering kiss that leaves your toes curling for more. And then, while you’re still dazed, he makes quick work of his sweatpants and opens the drawer of the side table to grab a condom to prepare himself.

Xu Mo soon settles himself over you again, aligning his tip to your entrance, and then takes one of your hands in his and places it above your head, intertwining your fingers together there, before he asks, “Ready?” His other hand places itself on your hip.

You nod and, even though your eyes flutter with the urge to close at the filling sensation of him sinking into you, you keep your gaze fixed on his face. He stares back, just as intently, as he continues to enter you slowly, like he’s burning every single change of your expression into his mind.

A pleased sigh slips out of you when his entire length finally ends up inside you.

“Good?” His voice is low and hoarse.

His only warning is the gleam in your eyes before you reply with a double entendre, licking your lips, “Very good.”

Xu Mo stills and then swallows hard, the bob of his Adam’s apple clear to your eyes. “Little vixen.”

He emphasizes his words by withdrawing and then thrusting back in a bit hard, making your laughter catch in your throat and turn into a breathy moan. His next thrusts return to being gentle though, and he sets a slow pace that lets you feel exactly how his tip pushes you open and how his member drags pleasurably against your walls.

Because of how sensitive your body is from the consecutive climaxes you had, you appreciate this change of pace and the gradual build up of warmth.

There’s a damp sheen of perspiration on his body and the beads of sweat you had seen earlier on his forehead have now slipped down to his jaw, tracing the throbbing vein in his throat, and following the lines of his rising and falling chest to disappear into the happy trail on his abdomen. His hair is sodden and drooping down into his eyes and you find yourself reaching out with your free hand to brush the strands back before you cup his cheek.

Even in the dim lighting you can see his pupils dilate at your touch and his eyes shake. But then he leans into your palm and turns his head, still watching you, to brush his lips against the hollow of your wrist.

The burst of love you feel comes along with you squeezing down on him. He gives a guttural groan and then leans forward, dislodging your hand, to cover your body with his and, pressing his forehead against yours, your sight is filled by dark purple eyes that burn with an inner flame.

He pulls your hip up with the hand there, changing the angle of his measured thrusts, and you feel the warmth in your body ignite into a sea of hot pleasure. Moaning, you dig your toes into the sheets to push back and match his movements, and this time you grab onto his shoulder for purchase, feeling the shift of his muscles as he moves.

It only takes a few more thrusts before you reach completion. You shut your eyes with a soundless cry as an eruption of fireworks happens in your mind and it feels like every nerve in your body is buzzing with an electric heat. You clutch hard at the hand that’s holding yours and your legs shake with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Xu Mo follows soon after, his orgasm marked by the shuddering breath that’s drawn out of him, and you can feel his length inside you pulsing as he releases himself.

Both of you take a few minutes to compose yourselves but Xu Mo recovers first and pulls himself out of you. He rakes back his sweat-sodden hair and then caresses your cheek with his thumb before he cleans you and himself up, disposing of the condom and wiping you down. He also picks up your pajama top from where it was tossed to the side.

“Here, put this on before you catch a chill.” He helps you into it when he sees your sluggish movements, unable to hide his smile.

You puff up with mock anger, sensing how he’s the one with a smug smirk this time. But his smile just deepens.

Then Xu Mo gets up to pour a glass of water and drinks it all at once before he fills it up again and returns to sit at the edge of the bed. He takes a mouthful of the water and then leans over to press his lips to yours, passing the cool liquid through a kiss. You greedily suck at his lips.

“More?” he asks.

Your response is to open your mouth again in obvious demand. He laughs, giving your hair a stroke, before he answers your wish and gives you another drink of water with his mouth.

After you’ve had your fill of water Xu Mo sets the glass aside on the side table and then slips back into bed. You cuddle up against him, nuzzling your face into his solid chest.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” You ask through a yawn. Drowsiness lurks at the edge of your awareness now that all of your needs are met.

He hums, and the sound is a gentle vibration beneath you. “Hmm, I suppose I’m tired enough for that.”

Tilting your head up, you reach out to trace the corner of his eye with your fingertips. He watches you quietly as you do that, letting you touch him however you wish.

Xu Mo looks more relaxed than he did at the start, so it looks like some of the tension in his body was released, but he still carries the air of someone with chronic insomnia.

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” You ask suddenly.

He blinks at your question, the only sign of his slight surprise, before he takes on a thoughtful expression and turns a distant gaze towards the window. 『… Let me think.』

You wait patiently until he turns his attention back to you. He lifts his hand and plays with a lock of your hair as he starts to speak slowly, working through the memory.

『One time, when I was studying in England, I spent months finishing a particularly tricky piece of my dissertation. After I sent it through the mail, it was already nine in the morning. I was a bit tired and planned on sleeping. The weather in England is often rainy, so it was also raining that morning and it was dark. The sound of the rain striking the windowsill was clear and it sounded soothing too. Then, there was the sound of a piano from below. It was Chopin’s Nocturne, and played very well. Every note mixed in with the sound of the rain… unhurried drops, pitter-pattering. All was quiet, as if I was separated from the world. I stared at the curtains that were being lifted by the wind and, before I knew it, I fell asleep.』

You think about his story for a moment and then sit up to grab your phone from the side table. Unlocking it, you open a few websites and then before long the gentle notes of Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 15 No. 2 start to play in the room together with the sound of rain in the background. “Like this?”

Xu Mo’s eyes widen before he smiles and nods. 『Mm, it was just like this sound.』

You turn the volume on your phone up to the max and then set it down again before settling back into bed. But this time you pull Xu Mo over to you, much to his bemusement, until his head is pillowed on your chest.

The delicate sound of the piano surrounds both of you and Xu Mo is so silent that you start to think he’s fallen asleep until he speaks up again in a quiet voice.

『Although I don’t remember it at all anymore, I dimly feel that when I was small I also experienced a night like this. The sound of the rain, the sound of the piano.』

During his pause, you start to comb your fingers through his hair tenderly. He exhales heavily at this action and rests more of his weight onto you, as if the remaining tension in his frame was leeched out.

『… Outside the window, it’s very, very cold. I can hear the sound of the wind striking the window. And in my half-awake and half-asleep state, I’m put into a warm embrace…』

His breathing deepens.

『Closing my eyes like this… I’m able to sink into a deep, deep sleep… Just like… this right now…』

The rest of his breaths smooth out into the peaceful rhythm of sleep. You continue to run your fingers through his hair some more, wanting to make sure he was securely sleeping, before you carefully lean down to kiss the top of his head.

Good night and sweet dreams, Xu Mo.

#mr love queen's choice #mlqc #mlqc xu mo #mlqc lucien #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #tbh i wanted to push the beginning of the spicies further back #but then i felt guilty for using chopin as bedroom music LOL #the last section of quotes are not in chronological order btw i skipped a section #i feel like i'm tagging a situation cd

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there-must-be-a-lock · 7 years ago

Text

Heart Of Gold

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2980? I have no idea how that happened, this was supposed to be ~1k.

Warnings: Angst. Somewhat sexy but not super-explicit stuff. Sam being called a cupcake. No, but seriously, it’s sad.

A/N: For @impala-dreamer‘s Titles Are Hard Challenge! Thanks to the amazing @atwistoffate for her angst expertise/brainstorming help.

The title is from the Neil Young song. It’s referenced obliquely, but it also just sorta sets the mood.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the summer they met. He was fourteen and she was thirteen, and he remembers thunder and the taste of salt and the thin cotton of her pillowcase under his cheek.

Her dad drops her off in the junkyard and she stomps away, and Sam gets a quick impression of a skinny little thing with her backpack slung over her shoulder and holes in her jeans. He tries to introduce himself as she passes him, but she rolls her eyes with a fury that makes him cringe, and he lets her go.

They circle around each other for the whole week she stays there. Sam has trouble looking at her for too long; it feels like looking straight into the sun. Sometimes he finds her staring at him like he’s a puzzle, something to be analyzed and put back together, but when he meets her eyes she always scurries out of the room before he can try to talk to her.

One day, when the rain comes down thick and hard and chases him inside, he goes upstairs to retreat to his room. He’s tiptoeing past her open door when he sees her, curled on her bed, her cheeks covered in tear tracks.

He slides in silently, not sure what to say, worried she’ll shatter or maybe just scream if he makes a sound. He sits down at the foot of the bed and waits, and when she doesn’t immediately tell him to fuck off, he lies down, facing her, watching another tear bead in the corner of her eye and roll over the bridge of her nose.

“My dad didn’t even tell me where he was going this time,” she says, and in spite of the tears, her voice is steady and furious.

He remembers watching a sitcom, one of those syrupy-sweet ones, and in one episode the little girl had fallen off her bike and skinned her knee, and the mother had smoothed a band-aid over it gently, and then kissed it, even more gently, “To make it all better.”

She looks like her world is one big skinned knee in that moment, and so Sam leans forward and kisses her, butterfly-soft, tasting the traces of tears left on her lips. He pulls away as soon as he realizes what he’s done, and she’s staring at him, smiling, like he’s shocked her out of her brokenness.

“What was that for?” she asks.

“Trying to make it better,” he mumbles, and it sounds painfully stupid when he says it out loud, but she’s still smiling, radiant and dazzling. He kisses her again, and the way her lip pillows between his makes him finally understand why kissing was invented in the first place.

Her dad picks her up the next day, of course, before Sam can work up the courage to suggest they keep in touch.

The next time he sees her is two years later. She’s sitting on the steps of Bobby’s house eating a popsicle, and her lips and teeth are stained blue when she grins up at him. Sam can’t breathe for what feels like a very long time.

It takes them a few days of circling nervously again, one ducking their head when the other smiles, trying to hide the way they’re blushing, but Sam eventually kisses her again. They curl into each other on the lumpy twin bed and kiss until Sam is dizzy and breathless, and a few days later, they lose their virginity together on that same narrow bed, fumbling and touching and exploring until Sam feels like there are lightning bolts in his stomach and crashes of thunder in his ribcage.

He scribbles his number down on a scrap of paper and slides it into her hand when he hugs her goodbye. She calls him, sometimes. They’re always shy at first, not sure what to say, and then words come easier and easier until Sam can’t get them out fast enough, and they always end up talking for hours, sharing more words than Sam says in the rest of the month combined.

The calls happen less and less, though. And then he tells her about Stanford, about getting out, and there’s not much left to say, then, because they both know it’ll be goodbye.

He thinks about her, sometimes. Sometimes he sees a smile that reminds him of hers, and his heart jumps into his throat. But mostly he’s busy, and he has Jess, and then Dean comes along and there’s the whole thing where they’re busy sorta accidentally causing the apocalypse… Besides, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to him. She would’ve called, otherwise, right?

It doesn’t surprise him, though, when he walks into Asa’s and sees her. It startles him, makes him go hot and cold all over, but it doesn’t surprise him, because some part of him always figured they’d find their way back to each other. It feels inevitable.

She’s standing by the stereo, flipping through the CD collection, when Sam walks in. It takes him a few seconds to connect that smile, those lush curves, with the girl he’d met and her popsicle-stained teeth and her skinny arms, and then something in his stomach swoops like he’s missed a step going down the stairs. Someone is trying to talk to him but it sounds like the buzzing of a gnat, and he can’t take his eyes off the way she’s tilting her head, eyeing one of the CD cases with her bright eyes in a way that reminds him of a bird. The lamp just behind her illuminates her hair in a little halo of gold.

She shifts her weight from side to side as she puts in the CD, and Sam can’t help but stare at the soft curves of her hips, the grace in the way she moves. She puts on Harvest, and he can remember the day she first introduced him to Neil Young; Sam had made some comment about how terrible his voice was, and she threatened to break his nose.

When she turns around and catches him staring her eyes go wide and shocked, and for a long moment Sam is scared she’ll just turn back around and pretend she hasn’t seen him. Maybe she doesn’t want to see him. Maybe she really has forgotten him.

Instead, though, she smiles (and still, after all these years, it’s like staring into the sun) and walks over to him slowly, and before he can think of anything to say she’s hugging him, molding herself against his chest, and they still fit together so perfectly, and he would swear her hair smells like summer rain.

They sit down and catch up. The words don’t matter so much; it’s more about the expressions that flicker across her face and the way she squeezes his hand when he talks about Bobby’s death. He’s in love with her all over again by the time the album is over. Later, after the ordeal with the demon and the awkwardness of introducing her to his mother, he kisses her goodnight. Her arms twine around his neck and his thumb rubs gentle little circles in the hollow behind her ear, and they make plans to meet up again the next day.

Maybe it’s the history between them, the innocence of those first clumsy kisses in the thick summer air, but when they spend the night together again it’s so pure and sweet and breathtaking that Sam feels like he’s sixteen again. He wants to spend hours just touching her, trying to relearn the contours of her body, feeling this new way they fit together, all her curves melting against the planes and angles of him. He wants to spend hours kissing her, soft and languid, parting his lips to let her lick into his mouth while his hands cup her cheeks reverently. But she rocks forward against him, reminds him how achingly hard he is already, and the kiss deepens into something blistering-hot and needy, and everything sort of just speeds up and goes hazy. When she’s finally naked there’s none of the shyness he remembers, just her eyes fluttering closed and her ragged breath and her hands gripping his shoulders, silently asking him for more.

In some ways, everything’s different. He knows what he’s doing, now, knows the mechanics of how to touch her, but none of his experience could ever prepare him for the reality of what she looks like when he touches her, the rosy-red O of her mouth and the way she shakes and shudders when he crooks his fingers. She’s so goddamn beautiful, and Sam feels the same way he did that first night, his head spinning and his nerve endings singing, so overwhelmed he can barely see straight when he slides into the incredible slick heat of her.

Sam remembers her often, whenever he’s reminded of love or how things could’ve been.

Dean and Donna finally get married; took them long enough. Sam’s happy for them, so fucking happy it almost eclipses every other thought, but when he listens to the vows he gets choked up without warning. She’s still the only person he can imagine saying those words to.

When he closes his eyes he can almost see her there at the altar. She would want sunflowers in her bouquet, he knows that much. She might not go for the traditional white dress; she always refused to wear white, because she was so damn clumsy it never stayed white, and she was never much for tradition anyway. He can almost smell her, too, but smell is such a strange shifting unreliable thing to remember, and he always gets her perfume mixed up with the smell of summer rain falling on the dusty ground outside Bobby’s house.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the little things. He remembers slow-dancing in the kitchen because her favorite song comes on while they’re making dinner. He remembers the way she sleeps, sprawled starfish-style across the bed, taking up every inch of space. He remembers going to the pet store together and making hopeful plans to get a dog.

Sam used to think he’d fall in love again. He figured it would happen eventually. It never really does, though.

Sometimes he meets someone, and something sparks, and he thinks maybe. But it’s not the same. He knows it’ll never be the same, he’s not expecting anyone to be like her, but he never feels anything remotely like what he felt with her. There was something magical about their time together. It was warm and bright and glowing, the way he felt with her, comfortable and shaky-scary-new all at once, and comparing other women to her is like holding up a candle to the sun.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers calling her “sunshine.”

They’re in a diner with Dean, one morning, a few months into their relationship, and when she slides back into the booth, he says, “Ordered for you, baby.”

She glares at him, and he raises an eyebrow back. “I don’t like that,” she says bluntly. “Baby. It’s belittling. Nicknames should fit the person. Pick something else?”

Sam sorta gapes at her for a moment while Dean makes a face into his coffee, but she’s looking back at him expectantly, so he considers it.

“Sunshine,” he says eventually. She smiles.

“Why?”

“When I first kissed you. Remember? It was raining, but the way you smiled at me… well. Yeah. Sunshine.”

Dean snorts.

“I like it.” She grins, and yeah, that’s it, that’s exactly what he means; he sees her beaming and he has to avert his eyes.

“What’s mine, then?” he asks.

“Cupcake,” she says promptly. Sam splutters. “Cause you’re so fuckin’ sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth.”

Dean snort-laughs so hard he almost chokes on his coffee, and she turns to him with a vicious little smirk.

“I’ve got one for you, too,” she says, all sugary in a way that Sam knows means trouble.

“Shoot, kid,” Dean says.

She makes her eyes go big and her voice go high, and calls him “Senpai,” in such a dead-on impression of an anime character that Dean actually does choke this time. Sam laughs until there are actual tears in his eyes.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the way they found her.

The bunker is quiet, and he drops his duffel and strides through room after room, so excited to see her, to tell her all the mundane details of the hunt, to hold her again. He can’t find her in the library. He can’t find her in the kitchen. He knows she’ll be here, though. She promised she’d always be there waiting.

She’s starfished across their bed the same way she always sleeps, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and she’s cold. He remembers the confusion, more than anything, when he talks to the doctor and he’s saying something about an embolism and Sam doesn’t fucking understand, because he’d always worried about monsters and demons and instead he’s losing her to something he can’t fight.

God, he wishes he could fight something.

But there’s nothing he can do, nothing to be done, except keep moving, even though it feels like there are jagged broken edges inside him that could cut him to shreds if he moves the wrong way. For months, after, he can’t move through what used to be their shared space without feeling something catch and slice. There are so many open wounds where she used to be.

He tries not to remember that, though. He remembers all the other homecomings, instead.

She goes on hunts with them, sometimes, but mostly she stays home. The first time they’d tried it, working all together, Sam had been so worried about her he’d almost gotten himself killed; he was too busy watching her to notice the stupid rugaru creeping up behind him. Sam promises it won’t happen again, but the next time, she volunteers to stay home, and he’s secretly glad about it.

One day they come home and she’s not there. Her car isn’t in the garage. When he calls her, it goes straight to voicemail. He looks in every room twice, and she’s just not there, and in spite of himself he can feel the panic building in his throat, feel this cold steely thing clenching around his ribs, and he has to press the heels of his hands into his eyes to fight back the tears.

“It’s okay, dude, she probably just ran out for food,” Dean says, mystified. Sam nods tightly and goes to their room. He double checks their dresser, just to make sure; everything’s there. She hasn’t packed her bags. Still, Sam’s breathing has gone shallow and painful, and it’s not any better by the time she gets home.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, dropping her purse immediately and wrapping her arms around him.

He can’t get the words out. It makes no goddamn sense, of course. It’s fucking stupid, he should know better, but it’s all twisted up in his head and he can’t spit it out in any way that doesn’t sound pathetic.

“I should’ve left a note,” she whispers into his chest. “Fuck, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry.”

“My dad- people just-” he says, strained.

“Leave,” she finishes.

“I never get to say goodbye, and-”

“I promise I’ll always be here when you come home,” she says fiercely. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

She holds to it, from then on. He texts her when they’re getting ready to head back, and she’s always there, without fail, welcoming him home with that too-bright smile. She hears the roar of the Impala and she comes to the garage door to meet them, leaning against the doorframe. She’s always so happy to see him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

Turns out he won’t have time to get used to any of it, but those are still good memories.

Sam’s starting to feel the years, now. He’s starting to ache, starting to feel like maybe the next time he dies it’ll actually stick, and he doesn’t mind that too much, but for now there’s still work to be done. Dean and Donna moved out when they were getting ready for their first kid, moved to a real house with an honest-to-god picket fence where Dean cooks dinner every night. So Sam has the bunker to himself now. It would be lonely, but there are usually a couple visitors coming and going. Hunters pass through. Cas stays, when he feels like slumming it with the humans for a while. Jody comes to visit more often, now that she’s retired, and sometimes Dean drops off his kids for a weekend so that he and Donna can have a real date. Every time Sam thinks he’s child-proofed the place, they find a new stash of weapons somewhere.

But he’s taken on the work Bobby used to do, research and answering phones and passing along his wisdom, or whatever, to the new generation of hunters. He’s busy. He’s helping. He doesn’t usually feel lonely.

Sometimes, though, he remembers her. He’ll see someone in a crowd who has her posture, or her hair, and he’s choked with memories before he can even process why. Sometimes when it smells like summer rain he can close his eyes and feel her there, feel her fingers grasping at his shirt, feel her lips, feel her velvet-hot skin under his palms. Sometimes he’ll hear that Neil Young song she loved and he could swear she’s just in the next room, cocking her head to the side all bird-like and graceful, waiting for him to come dance with her.

He knows he’ll find his way back to her again, someday. He knows she’ll be there waiting for him.

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Tag time: @thinkwritexpress-official @mandilion76 @winchesterprincessbride @carryonmyswansong @ultimatecin73 @mrswhozeewhatsis @ridingmoxley @mogaruke @happy-bun-bun @geekgirl1213 @laurafloradora @babypieandwhiskey @internettrashbag @superapplepie @tardisandtalisman @sleepless-sin @bambi95-blog @dalikah3

#dreamer's title challenge #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x y/n #supernatural reader insert #supernatural angst

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zmediaoutlet · 8 years ago

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indolence

(read on AO3)

Sam gets up and takes a piss around four in the morning, a slow stumble in the dark, not opening his eyes. He gulps cool water from the sink to ease his dry mouth, hands cupped below the faucet’s stream, and then goes right back to bed, slipping under the blankets and rolling back up close to Dean’s warmth. It’s silent, and most of the lights in the bunker are off because they didn’t throw the main switches when they got back, a few hours ago, and so it’s easy to bury his nose in the soft-sweet smell of Dean’s hair, and to let all his muscles go slack into the stupid memory foam mattress, and to completely ignore the world for a few more hours.

When he wakes up again, it’s more slowly. He’s a little overwarm—when isn’t he, really, but Dean likes sleeping in his room more often than not. Sam endures the heat-sink of the memory foam to get the other benefits of sharing Dean’s bed. Dean’s still in the same position, tipped forward onto his side, hugging a pillow and dead to the world. Sam pushes his half of the blankets down a little and stares at the pale span of Dean’s back, letting his brain come online slow. It’s dim, but the constant half-light from the hallway filters in through the grate above the door. Enough to see by, once he’s used to it. He reaches out and traces the big curved bruise where Dean got tossed into the fence post with a single, light finger. Dean doesn’t even flinch. It was a long hunt—most of a week, sleeping light and moving fast, taking out the whole pack of adlets, and then the drive home, all the way back from the northernmost corner of Vermont. Just awake enough when they got back to the bunker to shower, get the blood off, and then tumble directly into bed.

Sam turns onto his back and stretches, as much as he can with the footboard in the way, and then settles back down into the mattress, feeling himself out. A little achy, from the running and the fight, and he’s tired but not unbearably so. The clock on the bedside table says it’s just a few minutes until six, and he could maybe sleep more. He scratches his chest. Lets his hand drift down a little further and scratches at his balls, and then cups the weight of them, lets his fingers curl up over the mostly-soft shape of his dick. Mm. He pulls one knee up, a little, makes some room while he idly rubs himself, lazy. Feels good, and he’s not exactly drowsy but he doesn’t feel like getting up, either. Just wants to stay here, in bed, comfortable, where it smells like them. He wraps his fingers all the way around himself, tugs gently at the swelling weight, and—okay, yeah. He glances over at the solidly asleep shape of his brother, drags a thumb up the sensitive underside of his shaft. He could just get himself off, right here, but.

He rolls onto his side, settles a hand on Dean’s hip. God, Dean’s warm when he sleeps. He presses an inquisitive kiss to the hollow of his skull, nose brushing through the soft buzz of hair, lets his mouth drag down to the side of his neck. He tucks his fingers under the stretched-out waistband of Dean’s old boxer-briefs, grazes soft giving skin. “Hey,” he says, quiet, “you up?”

He gets a grunt, for that, low-down-deep and barely audible. Dean shifts, tilts forward more and rubs his face into the pillow he’s strangling. Sam smiles, mouth tucked against the curve where Dean’s shoulder meets his neck. Yeah, Dean’s not a morning person. He rolls closer, kissing along the line of his shoulder where it’s too dim to see the freckles, rubbing a slow firm circle into the curve of his hip, and Dean mumbles some nonsense into the pillow, doesn’t budge.

Sam didn’t bother with boxers when they went to bed and the lube’s at easy access in the bedside table. He peels the blankets down, careful, so Dean’s almost-bare to the cool air, and it’s a bit of a challenge to get the boxer-briefs down but he’s slow enough about it that Dean doesn’t seem to wake up much—lets Sam turn him more onto his belly, dragging the fabric slowly down the thick muscle of his thighs and out from under the weight of his body, until they’re off and Sam can see all of him, pale and solid and pretty in the barely-there light. His hair’s a soft muss, his ass plush when Sam palms at the high curve of it, tracing down the sweet slope to his back. Dean sighs when Sam pushes his right leg up higher, but he just—allows it, smacks his lips and sinks down into the bed, lets Sam do what he wants. So lax, and easy. Sam loves this.

Dean doesn’t stir much at one finger, though he makes a soft little hmm into the pillow at two. That’s usually enough, when he’s awake. Sam props his head on his hand, watching the side of Dean’s face, and slips his fingers out, smears lube around the slick hot space. He’s hard all the way, now, nudging up against the back of Dean’s thigh, but—this is good, too. He slots his thumb inside, easy where it’s soft and open, and pulls, stretching, just feeling the heat and give of it. Dean’s eyes open, just a little, at that, and Sam pulls out his thumb and pushes in three fingers instead, a lube-slippery bundle, breaking through the muscle slow and steady, and Dean’s lips part. Sam leans down and kisses his temple, his hair swinging out from behind his ear, and Dean tilts his face into it but his eyes close again, obviously trying to stay asleep, and Sam thinks, okay, his stomach glowing hot. Okay.

He gets another grunt when he pushes in, scooped up behind Dean’s body, holding him close and warm. He slips his lube-sticky hand over Dean’s belly, shushes quietly against the back of Dean’s ear, but he spent so long prepping Dean that it can’t be painful—Dean’s used to it, for one, no matter how big he complains Sam is. Dean shifts his hips, though, with a sigh, and Sam pauses, just a few inches in. “Too much?” he says, keeping himself quiet. There’s a little pause, Dean shakes his head, once, still mostly-burrowed into his pillow, and so Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s hair, closes his eyes, rocks his hips slow and easy. Dean’s slippery and so-hot inside, familiar, and when he’s sleepy like this he breaks open even easier, muscle relaxing around Sam, letting him in deep. He doesn’t have much leverage in this position, and sex on Dean’s bed is always harder because of the memory foam, but right now that doesn’t matter. He spreads his hand out wide over Dean’s stomach, nudges deep and just rests there, for a long minute, pulsing his hips just enough that he can feel Dean, tight warmth all around him. God, it feels good.

Dean’s breathing slow and Sam matches it, stroking his thumb idly over the gentle curve of Dean’s stomach. He could fall asleep like this, all wrapped up, together. They’ve only done that a few times and they woke up separated, of course, but it’s something fun to imagine—coming out of sleep already inside, Dean wet and open and ready, so all Sam would have to do is fuck forward and then—mm. Sam rocks his hips, just thinking of it, and okay, no. He doesn’t want to fall asleep, not at all. He keeps rocking, easy rhythm like waves coming in to shore, and he slides his hand down Dean’s belly to where the soft short hair starts, reaches and finds Dean practically soft, his dick small and warm in Sam’s hand. God—Sam shivers, shoulders to hips, and gathers up all that vulnerability in his palm, propping himself up on one elbow again to get a better angle. Dean frowns a little, squirms his ass back into Sam’s hips, and oh, yeah. That. Sam rolls his balls, careful, and Dean sighs, edge of a groan to it. “S’my,” he mumbles, sounding almost like a complaint, and—and fuck, okay, Sam can’t take the gentle pace anymore.

Dean blinks when Sam pulls out, and Sam shushes him again, kisses a little sloppy at his temple, at his cheek. He sits up and shoves his pillow in closer, rolls Dean back onto it so that he’s cushioned, and Dean lets him, of course he does. Sam feels way too hot, now, his face so warm he knows he’s flushed all over, but Dean just lolling onto his back for him is—fuck, it’s so gorgeous. He kneels up, weight sinking oddly into the stupid bed, but he pulls Dean’s legs open anyway, knees up between them and lifts Dean’s hips with one hand, tugging the pillow out of Dean’s hands and pushing it under the small of his back with the other, so that once he’s ready Dean’s hips are tugged up into his lap, his thighs sprawled out wide and loose over Sam’s where he’s knelt in close, and that means Dean’s cozy and comfortable and still circling around the edge of sleep, and that means that when Sam cups his hips in both hands and tugs him forward, slots in easy where Dean’s broken-open, Dean only groans out another soft little noise, his head tipped back and his mouth barely parted, eyes closed, one hand curled up on his chest and the other loose on the bed. Sam lets his own head tip back on his shoulders, fucking forward leisurely. It’s quiet, beyond his own breath, with Dean mostly-silent and the giving mattress unable to creak, and so all that’s left to focus on is the feel of it—the perfect glide in and out, finally able to get really deep so that he’s pressed all the way up into Dean’s spread soft ass, the heat of him intense.

They’ve fucked like this before, of course, though Dean’s usually more awake—and, when he checks, Dean’s not asleep, of course not, but he’s also not really with Sam, despite the flush rising up in his cheeks. Sam can feel himself dragging along, inside, the angle perfect to hit Dean’s hot spot, and yeah, Dean’s eyelids flutter, his chest rising in a deeper breath sometimes when Sam pushes in, but he’s still trying to keep his eyes closed. “Lazy,” Sam says, quiet. Dean does slant him a sleepy-eyed look, at that, and Sam laughs, soft, and gathers up Dean’s dick again, maybe half-hard now, plump but not straining, not even close. He drags his thumb back and forth over the base, the skin delightfully giving, and Dean squirms, full-body, plush ass lifting up for a moment into Sam’s thrust in, and—oh, more. “Do that again,” Sam says, on half a breath, fingers cupped loose around Dean’s softness.

“You do it,” Dean says, mumbly, and squirms again, stretching his arms up above his head, pure laziness. Sam wants—for a second, everything, wants to turn Dean onto his belly and nail him into the mattress, wants to pull out and eat Dean out until he’s moaning and crazy, wants to suck his dick and make Dean suck his and also wants to kiss him, soft, until both their lips are sore and bruised—and, well, that he can do, without moving too much, and so he says, “Fine,” and curls forward, crushes himself up deep into Dean and brings his hips along, too, and Dean groans but then Sam’s on his mouth, licking in where he’s sour, plush lips and his tongue lazily slipping against Sam’s, his jaw relaxed, and god, Sam grinds forward, reaching down blind and catching one of Dean’s thighs, pinning it up against his waist so he won’t slip out—and then he snaps his hips, once, sharp, and then again, and Dean groans into his mouth, flinching.

“Awake now?” Sam says, mumbling against his lips, and Dean makes a little nuh-uh, the stubborn shit, but his thighs clutch up around Sam’s hips anyway, and then Sam’s free to fuck forward into him, braced on his elbows, curled forward and close and tight together, Dean’s dick slipping against his belly, still not-quite hard, and Dean—he doesn’t care, he just sighs and lifts up into what Sam’s doing, takes what Sam’s giving him. Fuck, he’s not even touching Sam, his arms still just carelessly tossed up above his head, knuckles grazing the headboard, and the mattress isn’t giving any bounce-back and so Sam has to nail him with all his own strength, pulling out just an inch or two before shoving in again and again, buried up close in the clutch of Dean’s body, sweat growing between them, and he puts his mouth just under Dean’s ear and goes as fast as he wants, as hard as he wants, kissing randomly at the soft freckled skin, and it’s almost a surprise when Sam comes, his balls giving it up all at once, clutching up tight and unloading. Oh, god. Yeah. He keeps moving, hips working through it and burying it deep in Dean, only stilling when his hips spasm, held up tight and close into the vague heat. He hums, brushing his lips over Dean’s throat, and gets a grumbly groan back. So good. When he sits up his back pops vaguely, cool air whooshing between them. He slides his hands up along Dean’s thighs to keep them in place, close against his sides.

Dean blinks at him, licks his lips. Sam’s balls pulse, a little, and he rocks forward again just to make Dean’s eyelids flicker. “Feel good?” he says, smiling.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t be cocky,” he says, but it’s still rough, still sleepy somehow underneath, and Sam pulls out, finally—cold air, ugh, but it’s worth it to fill Dean up immediately with three fingers, slot them in where he’s sloppy and see the shock widen his eyes. “Oh, okay,” he says, breathy, closing his eyes again, and Sam eases out from underneath him, knees cracking and his thighs sore, but that’s easy to ignore in favor of shoving in deep, scrubbing up hard against the slickness of his insides, slipping in on lube and his own mess. He leans in and sucks a kiss to the base of Dean’s dick where it’s finally, finally hard all the way, wraps his other arm around his hips, shoved between him and the pillow, and works him slow, hard, dragging his fingers over and over that spot, making his dick jerk under Sam’s tongue. He groans, long and low, and Sam kisses the base again, pulls back and looks along the line of his body where he’s pink and flushed, his teeth digging into his lip, eyes squeezed closed.

“More?” Sam says, and watches Dean nod, and watches still when he tucks his pinky in, stretches Dean out wide and slow and unstoppable, his thumb dragging up the lube-slick tight skin, and Dean’s thighs quiver hard around him, the muscle jumping and Dean’s hips flinching away, but Sam flutters his fingers and sucks careful at one of Dean’s balls and it only takes a few deep, careful thrusts, knuckles tucked up close against the rim, before Dean gulps air and cringes his hips up and comes with a drawn-out groan, just like Sam wanted him to. Sam keeps his fingers where they are, pressed up hard, watches Dean’s dick jerk with it as he unloads onto his own belly, until finally Dean’s gasping and he fumbles clumsily down to Sam’s shoulder, clasping, saying, “Okay, okay.” Sam lets his fingers slip out, gleaming wet, and when Dean’s hand tucks into his hair and tugs he follows it, crawling up awkward over Dean’s boneless sprawled-out body and finding his mouth and kissing him, slow, sloppy, tired all over again. Their bellies smear together and he can’t quite stop petting Dean’s trembling thigh, but Dean’s hands are twined up in his hair, pulling a little as Sam licks into him, biting soft at the plush curve of his lower lip, and so, maybe they’re even.

After a while Dean sighs, into his mouth, and tugs sharply enough at his hair that he pulls back a few inches, leans up on his elbow. Dean licks his lips (reddened, and wet, and Sam feels a tug low in his belly, even now) and tips his head back against the bed, stretching out beneath Sam’s weight. They look at each other for a few seconds.

“You owe me a cup of coffee,” Dean says, finally.

Sam snorts, and tips a little to the side so he isn’t crushing Dean so much. He keeps a thigh tucked over Dean’s, though. “I’ll make some,” he says.

Dean groans. “This is the problem,” he says, and continues when Sam raises his eyebrows: “Doesn’t really feel like a repayment when you make your weak-ass coffee.”

Sam raises up higher on his elbow. “Oh, sorry, I guess it doesn’t really count unless your spoon can stand straight up in it,” he says, dry.

Dean nods. “Dark as a black steer’s tuchus on a moonless prairie night,” he says, but he closes his eyes again and covers Sam’s hand where it hasn’t left his side.

It’s too warm, but the bed really is comfortable, and Sam curls down again, rests his head against his bicep and watches Dean’s still profile in the dim light. It’s almost eight and normally he’d have taken a run by now, would be working on one of his projects—scanning possession files, maybe, or working on the Elamite translations—but, well. They did a lot of running over the last week, and the possession files aren’t going anywhere. He draws a circle on the side of Dean’s belly and watches the corner of Dean’s mouth curl up, then closes his eyes. Another quick nap can’t hurt anything. Dean sighs, and turns in against Sam’s chest, their legs tangling together. Sam slings his arm over Dean’s waist and settles in, Dean’s breath coming warm and slow against his chest. Maybe he’ll let Dean make the coffee, when they wake up. He doesn’t mind the black-tar kind, so much.

#wincest #baronsamediswife #wetsammywinchester #chiisana-sukima #themegalosaurus #winchestersinthedrift #withthedemonblood #i don't know #i'm kinda throwing darts #somnophilia #it's what's for dinner #(or breakfast i suppose)#plz enjoy #my writing

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btsfanficss · 8 years ago

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Stay Professional! Part 6

Work AU! Fluff, Angst and Suggestive smut: Jungkook x Reader

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Summary: Your boss Jungkook asks if you’d like to accompany him to his cousin’s wedding in Greece, Santorini. Tonight was the supposedly the rehearsal dinner but it felt more like a business meeting. This was the largest rehearsal dinner you’d ever been to and quite possibly the longest, too. But the real question is why did he ask you? What’s up with the 180 degree change in personality?

A/N: My computer’s been broken so I haven’t been updating at all- and these days I’m running really low on inspiration, please forgive me. Also some frickady frickle doodly doo might occur (take note of suggestive smut)!

The sunrise dawned over the sky in beautiful gradients of pinks and purples. “Are you ready? I’m outside your apartment right now.” Jungkook’s voice sounded slightly husky from being up so early. He unbuckled the seatbelt that hugged his toned muscles with a simple ‘click’ and swiftly closed his car door with a silent ‘thud’.

He looked up to see you waving down at him from your apartment, a bright and cheerful smile that made him almost lose his composure. You were beyond grateful that he’d ask you to accompany him to his cousin’s wedding- but even more grateful that he had personally come to pick you up for the special occasion.

You’d noticed that Jungkook had changed drastically over the time you’d gotten to know him- first getting the impression that he was a typical cocky rich kid that then later developed to be a complete gentleman, you couldn’t resist no matter what. At first, Jungkook had no plans of getting attached- he found you interesting since the first interaction and didn’t plan on associating his feelings whatsoever but as it turned out- he couldn’t resist either. His original plan of just toying with you was burned to crisp after spending time with you and developing a sense of satisfaction from being next to you. You made him feel companionship, love and warmth that he’d never experienced before as you gave it your all as his personal assistant.

“Thank you so much for this, sir.” He instinctively cringed at the formalities, being reminded of the gap in social status between you and him- A beam painted over his gentle features as he attempted to take the suitcase that was tight under your grip.

“No please. At least let me carry my own luggage.” You brushed off his hand gently and showed him a smile that overflowed with charms. You had pulled on his once stern heartstrings and at that time, he struggled to hide his indefinite attraction towards you as he continued to stare into your eyes for what seemed like an uncomfortably long amount of time.

“Are you okay?” You waved a hand over his face to check of his presence. He snapped out of the trance you had put him in previously and let out a quick puff of air from his cheeks. “Yes I’m great, let’s get going then.” He swiftly turned around, leaving you confused at his weird behaviour. He took quick and long strides in-front of you, completely forgetting that you were carrying heavy luggage. His mind was in no state to think about about chivalry after your smile had rudely “attacked” him.

“I hope you don’t mind first class, Y/N. It appears that mother had taken the family jet before I could.” He let out a smug chuckle. He knew that you’d be astounded from having the chance to fly first class and that fuelled his ego to continue his taunts and teases.

Before you could open your mouth to reply to his bewildering question, he continued to further blow your mind with his humour that you didn’t want to put to the test.

“I can buy a jet right now if you don’t want to fly first class. Would that be better, Y/N?” He laughed, his loveable eyes crinkled due to his wide smile.

“Are you crazy? I’d have been fine with budget tickets. You didn’t have to get first class tickets, sir.” You stared at him with your jaw slack, almost hitting the floor.

“I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m thankful enough that you’re coming all the way to Santorini with me so I have to make sure you’re comfortable for the entire trip.” The two of you checked in within a flash due to Jungkook’s superior status. You noticed that when the two of you walked past, people had politely bowed their heads to show their respect towards Jungkook despite his young age. He politely returned the bows with a small smile.

The two of you arrived on the plane, the luxurious atmosphere was hard to take in as you weren’t used to it at all. You were lost for words at the way everything was set out, each ‘seat’ was more of a room with personal TVs and fluffy beds. Jungkook analysed your shocked expression and a smile naturally spread across his face. He loved watching the way your eyes twinkled in amazement and the way your mouth stayed opened due to shock.

“This way please, Sir and Madam.” The gorgeous stewardess lead you to your seats which were directly next to each other. You smiled at him, grateful and unable to express your thanks.

Jungkook glanced over in your direction half way through the flight and found you sleeping soundly, snug comfortably on the seat that stretched out to be a bed. He found it impossible to look away from your sleeping face and he chuckled to himself, completely aware that he certainly developed a soft spot for you. He closely examined the way your chest would rise and fall with each inhale and exhale of your breath. Oh, if only you knew how much he fantasised about your warm breath against his raw neck and you whispering profanities into his ear. The fire in the pit of his stomach was hard to tame but as always, Jungkook managed to stay professional. He got a grip of himself and slept off his burning desire to plant kisses all over your body.

Infatuation was something Jungkook had never experienced before... and all these foreign feelings had his stomach flamed with butterflies and head spinning with countless fantasies.

The moment you opened your hotel room to reveal the final look hit Jungkook like a truck. You remembered his face, mouth slightly open in fascination as he held out his hand for you to take. It was a similar reaction for you, to see him decked out in another one of his terribly good-looking suits (fit for a good-looking man such as himself). He had his hair neatly combed and parted to the side and wore a dashing smile on his face- The fascination the two of you found in each other was mutual and contagious.

For the first time in his life, he could confidently say that he was mesmerised. The off-shoulder sleeves showcased your highlighted collarbones that would reflect light off at each different angle and a diamond necklace sat in between, framing the overall look with complete bliss. For a good 5 minutes, all Jungkook could do was stare. He took your hand and gulped noticeably before recomposing himself.

“Spin for me, Princess.” He spoke instinctively, unable to filter out the new nickname that had you weak to your knees under his charm.

You spun rather slowly, having to be extra careful in your 6-inch monstrosities that were your heels. Jungkook’s eyes trailed down your back and took in the view that had him hungry for what was beneath that stunning dress. You smiled at him innocently, holding onto his hand with a gentle grip as though it was completely natural. He suddenly felt the need to sweep you up off your feet and carry you bridal style into the bed-room to do lord knows what sinful activities.

His lips felt dry and he was speechless at the view of you all dolled up just for him.

“Do you like it?” Your voice was soft, a little flirtatious and had brought Jungkook’s mind back to planet Earth.

“I love it.” He smiled widely all the way up to his ears and rubbed small circles on the back of your hand to reassure you of his words.

Jungkook sat next to you inside the limousine, smiling at you once again, reassuring you of the toxic worries that clouded over your self-confidence. He reminded you just how beautiful you looked, dressed in a ball-gown fit for a princess that he had purchased for you. It was a purchase he had no regret for and made sure that you knew of it. Endless compliments rolled off his tongue and all the flattery from him was all smooth butter to hear but- that didn’t stop the boiling sensation of worry. His comforting voice wasn’t processed properly inside your head.

You looked blankly at the reflection on the glass window from across you with clouded thoughts of mass confusion. You could hardly recognise yourself due to the drastic alterations made to your appearance. Professionally done makeup and hair that took Jungkook’s breath right out of his lungs. You were wearing a black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places and Jungkook made sure to pick out a dress that would have a long skirt that draped gracefully down the floor and past your feet to further emphasise your natural elegance.

The limousine car opened with no warning and you had no other choice but to step out with a dazzling smile.

“You’ll do just fine, there’s no need to be nervous. We’re just meeting a few relatives and mainly business partners. It’s meant to be a rehearsal dinner but I doubt that we’d want to eat after eating so many appetisers and talking to people.” Jungkook hopped off first and reached out his hand for you to take. You took his hand and decided to just wing it. (Do you see the pun there)

Your eyes sparkled at the sight, the beautiful hotel was the venue to one of the weddings of the century. It was located near the coast so you could hear the distant waves crashing in the background of murmurs and giggles of the guests, all dressed in equally extravagant dresses. Your grip on Jungkook’s arm was unnaturally tight and he found it irresistibly cute at the way you clung onto him for the beginning of the night- the introductions and first impressions.

“It’s good to see you here, Jungkook.” An unknown voice approached from behind. Jungkook shook the man’s hand firmly and smiled at him, lowering his head in politeness. You imitated his actions and also smiled at him, genuine and charming.

“It’s good to see you too, Sir. Please continue to guide us with your expertise.”

You took note of the way Jungkook spoke with caution, signifying the importance of the man that stood before you both.

“It’s my job to make sure your company runs smoothly, no need to thank me. Also..” The man adverted his gaze to you, analysing the small beam spread across your tinted lips.

“May I ask who this lovely lady is?” He spoke in a sultry voice, his eyes roamed up and down your body without a single blink of interruption and stared quite obviously at your curves. Jungkook seemed to notice, and he didn’t like it a single bit.

“Oh yes how could I forget to introduce my very own date.” His voice stiffened slightly, making sure to emphasis on the fact that you were his. And his only.

“This is Y/N. Y/N, this is senior Namjoon. He's an experienced consultant that our company trusts. We’ve been working together since.. I don’t even remember”. You shook his hand briefly and bowed your head before shooting him another smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir.” Your voice was surprisingly gentle, despite the fire that were raging within your stomach due to nerves.

“The pleasure is mine. Do enjoy yourselves tonight. Excuse me, I must go greet the others.” Namjoon said in a deep-tone before casually grabbing a glass of champagne and excusing himself from the two of you.

“That wasn’t too bad. Did I do okay?” You softened the grip around Jungkook’s left arm and looked up at him with a childish smile.

“More than okay. Keep it up.” He smiled back at you before swiftly taking 2 glasses of champagne from the well-dressed waitors that roamed the venue. He offered you a glass and you took it with no hesitation. After-all, a little alcohol can bring out a little boldness, right?

The champagne tasted divine on your tastebuds. The flavours danced on your tongue and it was certainly the best that you’d ever tasted. Before you knew it, there were more people approaching your direction and the two of you repeated the process of greetings and introductions. You couldn’t remember the exact number of people that you’d been introduced to that day but it was rather quite a large number.

As the night grew a little darker, you grew more confident with each new interaction and more glasses of champagne. Jungkook was impressed at the qualities you possessed as a desirable partner to the event that was supposedly a wedding, but seemed more of a formal business gathering at that point. Either way, he found that you were a perfect fit for both. All of the confidence disappeared when one particular lady made her way through the crowd.

“Jungkook, my darling!” She spoke ecstatic at the sight of him, opening her arms out for a loving hug. He unlinked your arm for a moment to return the affectionate action. It had you confused at to who this lady was, for him to be so loving.

“It’s so good to see you all dressed up like this.” She kissed both his cheeks with an audible ‘mwah’ and rubbed the side of his arm lovingly.

“It’s good to see you again, mother. Forgive me, it’s been very busy for the both of us these days.” He held her hand and smiled at her with a gentle glow he usually did not possess.

“My my, you’re awfully polite today. I’ve noticed you’re a lot more affectionate these days- which I appreciate very much.” She laughed, staring into her son’s eyes that shifted from her to behind him and towards you.

“And you must be the reason!” Jungkook’s mother let go of his hand and walked over to you in a quick huff. To your surprise, she gave you equal love and kissed both of your cheeks before embracing you in a tight hug.

“What lovely hair, my dear. And this dress.” She gasped. “You look stunning! Are you the one that’s changed my cold-hearted Jungkook into a total softie?” She giggled, whispering the last sentence into your ear.

“O-oh.. I-I’m not sure about that. It’s very nice to meet you, Madam. I’m Y/N... I’m currently working as Jungkook’s personal assistant.” You bowed your head politely and much lower than before. You didn’t think that you’d meet the CEO of the company you were working at like this.

“But for tonight, she’s my date.” Jungkook interrupted, returning to his previous position to link arms with you. A crimson blush crept up your cheeks and you found it hard to look at anywhere else that wasn’t the floor.

“Ah I see! That’s lovely to hear dears.. and I’m sure Jungkook is more than thrilled to have such a gorgeous lady by his side. But I’m sorry to break the mood, Jungkook darling, you’re going to have to go and introduce yourself to my current business partners. It’ll be a great opportunity for you to meet your future partners too.” She spoke rather quickly, scanning the room in a hurry to look for the person she wanted her son to be introduced to.

“Yes mother, I’m already greeting some of them with Y/N.” He explained.

“I understand but I’d like it if you came with me for a bit, for professional sake. It’ll be better for me to introduce you rather than yourself.” Her voice turned a little more serious. She was always like this, very professional and business-orientated when she knew she had to be.

“I’m sorry Y/N darling, I hope you understand. I’ll make sure to finish things up with Jungkook rather quickly and give him back to you as soon as I can.” Her voice changed again, back to the high-pitched and loving tone that she had used previously.

“I understand, ma’am. Business is business.” You beamed at her, trying to figure out in your head how exactly you were meant to survive alone for a couple of hours.

“That’s right love, it won’t be long.” She made sure to sugar-coat her words even though you already knew the truth.

“I guess I have no choice then.” Jungkook sighed, unlinking his arm from yours. He looked at you reassuringly and whispered in your ear softly before walking off with his mother. “You’ll do just fine.”

You paced nervously around the venue for the past hour. You had no idea what to do to occupy yourself besides drink and snack on expensive appetisers. So much for quick. Jungkook was right, despite the event being a rehearsal dinner, you found that not many people sat down properly to eat. Everyone one was talking about each other’s companies and business progresses that it’d driven you to a brink of insanity. You had decided to go on an adventure alone, to see all of the venue that was beautifully decorated with luxurious bouquets of roses and gold-accented candles that were lit at every corner. It was merely just an excuse to go see what Jungkook was up to. You often walked into people whom you’d had recently met with Jungkook previously and had small-talk with them. In between all the small-talk was the now uncountable glasses of champagne you consumed in an attempt to keep yourself occupied.

If the venue is decorated like this for the rehearsal dinner, what’s the wedding going to look like..?

More time passed as you roamed around the venue and finally, you were really feeling the alcohol hit at that point. Maybe drinking whenever you were nervous wasn’t such a good idea, knowing that you would be nervous pretty much for the entire event. And worse especially since you were an emotional drunk- you couldn’t control your actions and spoke with no filter- certainly things you shouldn’t do at such an event like this. But you hadn’t reached that stage yet, you tip toed around the grand halls in your heels that felt like hell on your feet.

In the corner of your eye, you had spotted Jungkook with his mother, linked arms and a gentle smile that seemed to charm the young lady he was talking to. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but you couldn’t help yourself. You tip-toed over to the champagne area and poured yourself another glass- mainly to get closer to their conversation.

“If they were to marry, it would be beneficial to both of our companies, wouldn’t you agree?” The man that stood beside the beautiful girl spoke with confidence, beaming towards the CEO and her son, Jungkook whom had taken the girl’s hand and gave a swift kiss on the back of it.

You couldn’t believe you eyes and ears. Here you were, thinking that there was some kind of connection between you and Jungkook and there he was- kissing up some rich girl’s hand for business?! You tried to think straight and not assume the worse of the situation but you found it incredible hard to do so as Jungkook kept smiling at her and complimenting the way she looked, sucking up to her completely, similar to the things he had said to you before.

There was a battle of logic fuelled inside your brain, one side debating that he was doing it just for his mother’s sake whilst the other side laughed at yourself for ever thinking that he would be ever interested slightly in you. It wasn’t long before your glass was overflowing and a random man next to you startled you by informing you of it.

Embarrassed, and infuriated at the sound of Jungkook’s smooth voice that continued to further charm the girl, you shoved the overflowing glass in the random man’s hand before picking up your dress and storming off, heels clacking noticeably loud.

Jungkook’s sharp eyes noticed the small scene and a pit of paranoia ignited in his stomach. But he could do nothing about it. He continued to smooth talk the girl, just as his mother had planned him to do- for nothing more than business reasons. He was afraid that you’d misunderstood but he knew that, that would be the case.

More time past and after successfully charming multiple people, Jungkook felt drained and a need to get out and find you. As each second passed since he saw you leave in fury, his thoughts worsened. He played out multiple scenarios of what could happen next and his mother could tell that something was bothering him.

“I’m sorry this is taking longer than expected. I’m sure Y/N will be fine, she looks like an independent woman.” Jungkook’s mother pat his shoulder and that had left him in a slightly better condition.

After he was finally done and free to go, he wasted on time on finding you, asking around if people had seen a “gorgeous girl with a long black dress” but that was bound to be a difficult task considering the amount of people with similar attires.

You sat yourself down at the beach, closing your eyes to take in the scent of the salty sea as you listened to the sound of waves crashing- music to your ears. The constant chatter and murmuring of people was driving you insane and it was nice to finally get some peace and quiet- to escape from what felt like hell. The alcohol in your system was working it’s magic as you felt your body heat rise in temperature and your reflexes slow down by the second. At that point, your mind was too full of angry thoughts to worry about your dress that was collecting sand in-between the creases.

You walked around the beach, holding your pair of heels in one hand and untameable hair in the other from the winds that blew at the coast. You lost count of how many times you had walked up and down the beach despite it being very long. It was long enough to have Jungkook on edge- completely panicking. He had no idea where you’d gone and it was driving. him. nuts.

He had rushed in and out of the great halls multiple of times, his hunt for you becoming more important by the second. He asked around but no one knew of his descriptions and he was once again reminded of the different social classes the two of you were in-- you had no status and name that was significant enough in a gathering that was considered a normal occasion for him. Jungkook tried to stay calm and convince himself that he would definitely find you before the night grew any older.

“She has to be in here somewhere.” He mumbled, angled eyebrows painted a frustrated look over his face.

You had completely forgotten about how he flirted with the girls and you had caught him as the fresh air you were breathing in managed to erase all the toxic thoughts. You’d gotten tired of walking up and down the coast so you had decided to seat yourself amongst the soft sand once again staring into the vast ocean that sung songs of crashing waves as the stars twinkled majestically up above the sky. Your time of peace was interrupted by the sound of rushed footsteps and uneven breathing.

“There.. you are.” You looked behind to find Jungkook almost crouched over completely, his lungs blazing with the need for oxygen. It wasn’t long before he caught his breath back and took you by surprise with his attitude.

“Why are you here? Do you know how much time I spent looking for you?” His tone was cold and harsh- it reminded you of how your original encounter with him.

You paid him little attention and resumed watching the night sky with a heavy heart and intoxicated body.

“Y/N, why are you acting like a child? We don’t have time to be like this. Let’s go back in and-”

“And watch you flirt with other girls?” The words had slipped right off of your tongue, unintentionally.

“What? You..” He adverted his gaze to the sand below him.

You got up from your seat and looked at him with a distasteful smile, ever wondering why you would ever think anything else of him besides a playboy.

“I was wrong about you, Sir.” You walked closer to him, the alcohol was clearly not holding you back about your words.

He replied with nothing, so you continued. “Of course you wouldn’t flirt with them.. at least not in front of me.” A dark chuckle that didn’t sound anything alike your normal giggle escaped your painted lips.

“You’re misunderstanding, Y/N. It’s all for business. Everything I say and do is to make my company more commendable.”

“You’re right, I suppose I’m only here for business reasons too.” You stared into his eyes that froze at your ridiculously blunt words.

“I.. well.”

“I’m a massive idiot for ever thinking that you were something more than just.. a playboy boss. Can you tell me why you chose me then, Sir? Was it because I happen to be your personal assistant and it was of pure convenience? Because you think I’m easy..?” You sighed.

He stayed silent, praying that he’d soon come up with something reasonable to say. Jungkook didn’t want to mess up but- not saying anything was definitely going to lead him to that path.

“I want to know why you were so keen on me attending. You seem to have multiple other options such as your ‘business partners’ for you to come with.”

You words were hurting him. He didn’t know what to say back but he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire... he wanted you to stop talking. He wanted to say that it wasn’t as you thought but his throat was tight and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I have no status to be angry at you, Sir. I apologise for my behaviour but I hope you understand that you shouldn’t toy with people’s feelings like this.” And deep down he knew that- he had been told that previously multiple times but none of the words hit him until they came out of you- The one he got emotionally attached to. He couldn’t take it anymore, so he did the only thing that seemed to be his favourite replayed fantasy.

His cold lips crashed onto yours and his arms trapped you into a passionate kiss, a tight grip on your waist. A similar sensation reminded you of your first encounter with him- a similar situation of a heated kiss and a similar taste of alcohol on your tongue. Jungkook couldn’t think straight- not because he was feeling a little tipsy from the champagne but because he was so intoxicated with the scent and taste of you that he had dreamed of relentlessly since the beginning, never understanding why. Despite you being unwilling at first, you couldn’t pull yourself off of him- the taste of him was addicting as always and made you hungry for more.

Jungkook trailed his hand up your cheek to caress it lovingly, an action you wouldn’t dare to have dreamed of. He broke the kiss with a small exhale of his breath and stared at his piece of art- your lipstick smudged and lips looked a little swollen. You mouth was slightly open from shock as you examined the way your lipstick transferred onto his lips. He couldn’t help but continue to kiss you, a burning desire in his stomach to explore every nook and cranny of your body grew as he continued to kiss you passionately.

This was definitely one of Jungkook’s many talents- passionate kisses. You were lucky enough to experience it before but you didn’t think that it’d happen again so suddenly. His lips were soft and you felt his hands ghost up your back before settling them at your waist again, pulling you even closer to his body. You ran your hands up and rested them on his broad shoulders, one hand rubbing at his back whilst the other was tangled in-between his dark locks.

It felt like time had momentarily stopped. It had always felt like that when you kissed him- and it was bloody addicting. No matter what kind of bad thing Jungkook had done, you knew you couldn’t push him away as soon as he started kissing you and you hated yourself for not pushing him away.

He broke the kiss again to inhale the cold air that seemed to burn the heat inside of him. “I’m sorry.” An inaudible whisper caught you off guard, as you kept your arms on his broad shoulders. You acted as though you didn’t hear it and just continued to look into his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He repeated, this time very stern and firm.

“Will you forgive me?” He asked, taking your hand from off his shoulder to press his lips onto it.

Was that really all it took to have you weak at your knees again? Obviously it was the alcohol, you repeated to yourself countless times, but you knew that you were too attached to Jungkook to stay mad at him for long.

Without thinking, you crash your lips onto his, teeth almost clashing at the sudden movement. He kissed you back, gentle and passionate as though you would crumble at any given time. You were surprised at the way Jungkook swiftly swept you off your sore feet, carrying you in his strong arms- bridal style. He continued to kiss you, and he could feel a small smile spread across your lips that he loved so much.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” He asked, a playful tone that suited him much more.

“You’re going to need to do much more than that.” You whispered seductively into his ear. The sensations of your sultry voice and hot breath drove him to the verge of insanity.

“Let’s continue this in the hotel.” He stated, stern and almost commanding as he walked, you in his arms towards the limousine you’d previously taken. You clung onto him tighter at the sound of his words, the fire in your body burning intensely at the core.

There you were, hair sprawled elegantly across the bed as Jungkook continued to plant small kisses up and down your neck. He loved the taste of your skin- and you, loved the feeling of his lips on your raw neck. You opened your legs slightly to give him more access to your body and he fit right in between. You felt something hard rub on your inner thigh as he continued to smother you with the scent of his cologne that you found irresistible. You laid on the fluffy bed, in complete ecstasy under Jungkook’s masculine body, small whimpers of pleasure escaping from your lips.

He moved down your neck and onto your collarbone- kissing the supple skin roughly to leave trails of purple and blue galaxies that reminded you that you belonged to him. He took a moment to stop and look at his work he was so proud of before cupping your face and looking into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was soft, sweet and sounded like dripping honey. He admired the way you smiled at him as you caressed his cheek with the back of you hand he had previously kissed.

“I want you Jungkook.” You stated bluntly. You felt hot and stuffy inside the tight dress that hugged your curves and it was evident through the crimson blush on your cheeks, whether it be from countless glasses of champagne or Jungkook’s actions. You knew that you had wanted him- even if it wasn’t without the influence of alcohol.

Part 7!

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