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junicai · 3 years

Text

not working.

| summary | With swimming walls and tablets that don’t work, who’s better suited to take care of a feverish Aria than her doting older brothers?

| word count | 3k

| warnings | illness

| era | circa. November 2018

31. "This is the third time I've had to put you back in the bed. Why the hell do you want to lie on the floor so bad?"

a/n: cassia: “127 doesnt call aria baby that often.” also cassia: “babybabybabybaby-”

Aria got sea sick easily. The combination of the waves that had a boat rocking back and forth and back and forth over and over again had her stomach rolling in tandem. The floor would wobble beneath her feet and her vision with it, the grey water lapping against the small window in the belly of the ship.

It was an unnerving experience - and one she’d never like to repeat after the first hour-long boat trip she took aged eight, that had her hanging over the stern and gagging, face as pale as the seafoam that clapped against the sides of the small boat.

The minutes crawled by and the only real memory Aria has of the trip is how she stumbled off the boat and onto the pier, legs like jelly and hands outspread to catch herself when she inevitably pitched forward onto the cobbles.

It was not an experience she ever wished to repeat.

And yet, with her bedroom walls seemingly swimming around her head and her stomach rocking like a dinghy in a turbulent sea, Aria couldn’t imagine being on a boat was much worse than this. Hell, she’d take standing over the barriers over lying on her back in sweat-soaked sheets, tossing and turning in an attempt to keep the left side of her body tucked beneath the blankets and the right side exposed to the cool air.

She felt like she was being baked alive, yet simultaneously like she was resting beneath a block of ice. Her flushed cheeks paired with her dazed eyes made it hard to focus on anything, and for the third time in the last minute, she found herself flopping over angrily to try and find the cool side of her pillow.

She landed on the ground with a heavy thunk, and if a whine left her lips at the impact then that was between her miserable self and the walls.

And apparently Taeil, who had peeked in his head at the exact time she’d rolled herself out of the bed.

He sighed heavily, eyes pinched as he set down the blue mug he was holding on a pile of books on the desk, the steam fogging up the small mirror behind it.

“This is the third time I’ve had to put you back in the bed. Why the hell do you want to lie on the floor so bad?” He scolded with no real heat behind his words, hands already slipping beneath her knees to heave the slight girl back onto the bed.

Aria only whined again, rolling over to face the wall when she was safely placed onto the bed. She jerked lightly when her back twinged with the movement, but refused to turn back around when Taeil placed a comforting hand on the exposed skin of her lower back from her thin t-shirt riding up.

“Doyoungie’s gone to get the pills you need, okay? He’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops, and then we can get you an ice-pack,”

Aria shook her head.

“A heat pack, then,” Taeil compromised.

Aria huffed, biting her lip to stop the pained whimper from breaking out from between her lips as Taeil’s fingers pressed ever so slightly into the tensed muscle.

“I know, baby, I know.” He soothed, his gentle massaging not ceasing. “It hurts, right?”

She nodded, curling over into herself.

“Ah, no no. Don’t do that,” Taeil leant over to straighten her back up. “You’ll strain your back even more like that, and then where would we be?”

Aria swallowed her protest that told Taeil in not-so-nice-words that it was more comfortable than whatever weird pencil position she was currently lying in; knowing that he was only trying to help, and her being difficult was only going to make him upset.

But god why did it have to hurt this much?

She knew that coming down so hard off the stage was going to put her out of action for a while, but it had been eight months and she was still getting flare-ups of pain after every second practice they held. She was getting sick of needing to take a break every hour and sit against the mirror with an ice-pack cradled to her back.

With the low-grade fever that she was now running because the universe hated her and wanted her to suffer, the world sucked and Aria was content to believe that every living thing had it out for her.

Except for Taeil. He was lovely.

A tear escaped the tight hold Aria had on her tear ducts and despite the hand she shot up to cover her nose, the sniffle she made was still obvious to Taeil’s attentive ears.

He leant over slightly, looking for her face and sighing lightly when she only turned to bury it in the singular pillow that had escaped her earlier thrashing and hadn’t ended up on the floor. It was a nice comfort, and she shoved her nose further into the cotton when Taeil bent over further.

“Baby no, it’s okay. It’s okay to cry, that’s okay. C’mere,” Taeil paid no heed to Aria’s soft cry at being moved again, and ever-so-carefully tugged the girl into his lap where he could still rub a hand over her locked muscles while using his unoccupied thumb to swipe away the tears that threatened to spill over her waterline.

Aria blinked up at him for a moment, his hair falling in to his eyes but not masking the concern that blew his pupils wide and the way he was so gentle with swiping underneath her eyes knowing that they were strained because she hadn’t been wearing her glasses recently; and promptly burst into tears.

Taeil only tugged her closer, letting her hide her face in his stomach this time as he pet through her hair that hadn’t been washed in three days and was really full of tangles that caught on his fingers as he tried to comb through it without disturbing the crying girl in his lap.

He resumed his careful massaging of her back - well-versed with the act with Taeyong, a dongsaeng possessing the same crippling inability as Aria that left them unable to see a 'time to stop sign' if it hit them in the face - but paused when he saw the bruises creeping up her lower spine and past the edge of the t-shirt.

Eyebrows knitting together, he looked down at Aria, who’s cries were slowly beginning to peter out.

“Ari,” He began softly, “I thought the medication was helping?”

She stiffened beneath his hand, and Taeil recoiled slightly, if nothing but to make her feel a little more at ease.

At a closer inspection, the colours were a myriad of different colour; some a reddish-purple, and others a yellowing brown, spreading far over her back and onto the tops of her arms that were visible through the loose neck hole, meaning that they were far older than Aria’s first tumble out of the bed - an event that had only occurred that morning.

When Taeil brushed his fingers lightly over the bruise, Aria jerked away.

With her back pressed onto the wall, she paid no mind to the short stab of pain that fired up her spine as her wet eyes met Taeil’s, deep concern only growing behind them.

“Ari, what’s that? Are they not helping?”

She shook her head.

“You should have told us, baby, we could have brought you back to get you tested again-”

“No!” Aria’s shout startled both herself and Taeil.

Doyoung’s head appeared in the doorway. “Why’re we yelling?”

Aria shrunk back against the wall, knees curling up to her stomach. Doyoung tutted, moving forward to unfurl her legs. “Don’t sit like that, you’ll only cause yourself more pain.”

It was true, that position had sent electric shocks up her lower back but she was too stubborn to admit that to him, so instead she settled for looking down at the sheets, fingers fumbling with a loose thread.

It had snagged on one of her rings a couple of weeks ago, pulling the jewelry away from her finger in such a way that it scraped against the skin - leaving a shallow, but still painful, cut on the top of her finger.

Aria had slapped a band-aid on it without giving it much thought after rinsing the blood off of her hand underneath the tap, but when the band-aid had inevitably slipped off nearly two hours later during a dance practice, the tiny cut was still oozing blood slightly.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to ask hyung?” Doyoung came to sit down on the bed beside her, hand seeking out hers to stop her pulling at the thread. “Don’t pull on that, you’ll make it worse.”

“Sorry.” Aria mumbled, not looking at him.

A silence filled the room for several seconds, broken by Doyoung’s clearing of his throat.

“Well?”

Aria’s lower lip trembled slightly. “It’s nothing, really, Taeil oppa was exaggerating slightly,”

“I wasn’t.”

“It’s just that - it’s nothing, it’s not a big deal, please don’t freak out, I promise if I was in pain I would have gone to someone, you or Taeil oppa or Yuta or someone -”

“Baby, you need to breathe.”

She hadn’t even noticed that she was hyperventilating.

With a choked gasp, Aria cut herself off and inhaled greedily, hands grasping at her throat as she coughed. Doyoung knelt forward to pat her back as Taeil came to sit down on the other side of her.

She stayed silent for the next minute, working on getting her breathing back under control as Taeil murmured soft encouragements and Doyoung coaxed her lungs back into working order with a gentle hand rubbing over her back.

It was comforting, right up until Doyoung sat back and fixed her with another look. Something that said you’re not getting out of this one and something that Aria hated with a passion being on the end of, because she never once got out of it.

It’s the reason Donghyuck got in trouble for accidentally breaking Jaehyun’s favourite mug. She just couldn’t lie.

“What’s going on, baby?”

Aria sniffed. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

Doyoung and Taeil exchanged a look. “Promise, baby. We won’t be mad, but you have to tell us what’s going on, okay? The whole truth, not a part of it.”

Breath stuttering a little bit, Aria twisted her back as much as it would allow her without pain to tug up the end of her t-shirt and show Doyoung the bottom ends of the bruises that amassed her back and shoulders.

They were crude colours, and honestly, Aria wouldn’t blame a person if they saw them and thought she had been beaten with a stick. The deep purpling, almost black colour was offset by the sickly green and yellow tinge the healing bruises had taken, only to be covered yet again by fresh contusions encroaching on the skin.

By the sharp intake of breath, Doyoung agreed with her.

“Baby,” His voice was anguished. “No, baby, you told us the medication was helping?

The medication. It had been four months since she’d been to the hospital to get the seemingly-endless bruises that appeared out of nowhere checked out. The sterile walls were cold to stare at as she was poked and prodded and asked indirect questions that were actually meant for her manager to answer, and the conversation that they’d had over her head made her feel small.

She’d been given a pat on the head for her troubles, and sent out of the ward with a prescription for PROCRIT, a small tablet that was - she was told - made of epoetin alfa, designed to treat her condition.

Having been cautioned against the side-effects, and being told to take them once a day in the morning, Aria had fitted the tablets into her morning routine; right after the multivitamin she was also instructed to take daily.

And, after a month of downing a tiny white pill each morning; nothing had happened. The bruises were still appearing at an alarming rate, barely healing before another one could take its place.

But the members had looked so relieved when Aria had come back into the dorms with an orange bottle clutched in her fist - so very relieved that there was something that could help, that yes, they knew what was wrong and there in those tiny white pills lay the answer that had been alluding them for so long.

Aria hated those tiny white pills.

Hated everything about them.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t bare to see Yuta look at her with such worry in his eyes again, couldn’t bare to see the flicker of panic that brushed Renjun’s face as he’d catch a glimpse of a mottled bruise over her collarbone.

She’d kept it hidden from most of the members, but unfortunately, some were more perceptive than others.

Taeyong, Yuta and Donghyuck were amongst the first to notice, with Renjun, Mark and Doyoung coming close behind. The other 127 members had been filled in when Aria had been sent to the hospital for her checkup, but the decision had been made to not tell the Dreamies until there was a prognosis available.

Anemia, was what they’d called it. Her blood cells just, went AWOL. Called it a day, and took the evening off.

So, taking it all into account, Aria couldn’t see the harm in keeping it all under wraps. She wasn’t in pain, and it wasn’t like anemia could kill her, even if the medication wasn’t doing what it was designed to do. It meant that she could stop taking the little pills, and if she had a stash of them buried in a cup in her bedside locker that she hid them in; then that was her business and nobody else’s.

Well. Until now.

“It did help! At the beginning!” Aria insisted, the lie spilling off her lips easily in an effort to sooth the upset that was building in the room.

A hand on her thigh had her looking over to Taeil, the man appearing grim. “You don’t have to make the truth pretty for us, baby. Tell us what’s going on. Why haven’t they been helping? Have you been taking them daily?”

“I- I stopped.”

“When?”

“A couple of weeks ago - I didn’t see the point in buying them when they weren’t helpful so I, I didn’t tell anyone when they ran out.” She hung her head slightly, focused on the flooring.

“Oh, baby.” Doyoung extended an arm and Aria all but flung herself into his chest. He ran a hand over her head and held her there, just breathing together. She really felt like crying again, even though the last time was only a couple of minutes ago. Everything was piling on top of each other; her back feeling like someone had tried acupuncture and failed miserably, the fact that she could probably sear a steak on her forehead what with how hot it was, the fact that she still couldn’t see because her glasses were on her locker, and now this?

“You know, we’re going to have to talk about this secret-keeping, right? Like it or not, you’re our maknae, and that means you don’t lie to us.” He pulled away to find her eyes, fixing her with a stare. “Especially, about important things like your health.”

“Had we known that they weren’t helping, we would have gone back to the hospital, seen what they could have told us. You didn’t need to hide this from us baby.” Taeil interjected, hand finding Aria’s.

She shook her head. “Don’ wanna go back to the hospital. Don’t like it there.”

Doyoung ran a hand through her hair. “I know baby, I don’t think many people do. Would you feel better if oppa came with you?”

That’s how you know Doyoung was really worried. If he referred to himself as oppa, in any context, then it was never really a question in the first place.

Aria forwent a verbal confirmation and chose to nod instead, pushing herself back into Doyoung’s warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her loosely, still mindful of her back.

Speaking of, Taeil had disappeared midway through the conversation, now re-appearing with a glass of water and a painkiller tablet in the palm of his hand. His face was apologetic, but non-yielding as he pushed the pill into Aria’s palm and held up the glass of water for her to swallow it with.

The water was nice on her throat, and she realized how thirsty she was as she held onto the glass and drank the water, not caring of the little bit she spilled over her lower lip.

Taeil wiped it away with the end of his sleeve, folding up the now damp material before extending an arm and leaning back onto the pillow on her bed.

And Aria was weak, but even more so when she felt like the world was out to get her, so she went willingly into his embrace, letting him settle her in a position that wouldn’t strain her back.

“Heat or ice?” Doyoung called from the doorway.

“Heat?” Taeil looked down to check on an already dozing Aria. She nodded sleepily and, Taeil relayed the message to Doyoung, who disappeared through the door frame.

Aria snuggled deeper into Taeil’s chest, and the man pressed a cool hand to her forehead, frowning a little at the head.

“If I leave you to get a fever reducer, will you try to roll off the bed again.”

“No promises.”

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kaepop-trash · 3 years

Note

I finished Unintended Consequences two days ago and I still can't get it out of my head. How do you do it? How do you make him playful and funny one moment and sexy the next? I can't get the Epilogue out of my mind!!! This might be too much to ask since you mentioned that you've been working on a few WIPs, but I've been reading your fanfiction for a long time now and I know you sometimes answers asks with small bits of extra plot. I need Daddy Johnny, I can't stop thinking about it.

Please! Ask anything, I love doing these. Finding out someone wants to see more of characters makes me giddy because I focus on characters the most in any story. You can ask about any character from any fic at any point of time in any situation and I will gladly write it. This is maybe on of my favourite things to do, like an excercise in character. If you have more please don't hesitate to ask. But for now, here's daddy Johnny. Enjoy!

Her bottom lip puckered and she look at her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Johnny laughed softly, changing the gear as the traffic light turned green.

"What has gotten into you today?" He was still chuckling to himself.

Her eyes traced the rain covered streets as they passed by slowly. Taking in the sight of her city, her home.

She turned to face him, devilish intention in her eyes. "A lot of things. Unfortunately, none of them were you." She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She took pleasure at the sight of the humour dropping away from his eyes.

She looked out through the windshield, her voice turning back to conversational. "I appreciate that you came to the airport. Though I'm not sure I enjoyed how blatantly Isabelle was eyeing you." She frowned, remembering her colleagues shameless giggles and elbow touches.

"I thought Isabella was married?" He said off handedly.

She resisted the urge to smile, noticing his deliberate effort to mispronounce her name.

"All the more reason to dislike it. Isabelle should laugh at her husband's jokes." Her forehead creased together.

She sighed as they stopped at another red light. New York traffic aged a person more than the pollution.

Johnny turned to face her as he turned off the ignition, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I thought you weren't the jealous type?"

"I am the possesive type, remember?" She pointed a finger at him. "I don't doubt you for a second. But I still don't see why Isabelle needs to stroke my Daddy's arm." She saw his nostrils flare, a sudden fire in his eyes. On her part, she bit back a smile.

There was a moment when he just watched her like a predator sizing their prey up while her breathing hitched with every passing second.

Then a horn blared behind them.

Johnny peeled his eyes from her, looking back at the road. His jaw set tight.

She turned back to the road as well, going back to filling him in on her work trip. "I did manage to squeeze in an amendment in the budget bill. Though I had to corner a senator in a bar for it. How was your week?" She questioned.

It took more than two hours, but they finally drove into the garage. Johnny got out and took out her suitcase, still mostly silent.

She tapped her feet on the ground as they waited for the elevator.

"Is there any food? I'm famished." She sighed as her stomach growled.

His eyes widened the smallest bit, "There's some cold pizza on the counter. I think there's an orange in the fridge." He thought over it.

She sighed, her head falling. "I leave for seven days and you've already given up food? Johnny Seo I've told you to at least have a decent dinner." She shook her head.

"I missed you too, (Y/N)." He said it absent-mindedly, practically fluent in her habit of missing what was really bothering her.

She was so deep in love with this man.

"What are you in the mood to eat?" He asked as the elevator dinged open. He lifted her suitcase and placed it inside as the elevator closed them both in.

Without too much of a malicious intent, her lips tugged at the corners.

"Jesus fucking Christ, baby." He huffed, "You need to stop." He warned.

"Why?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "I can say what I want to you. You're my boyfriend." She smiled at the word, still not used to the butterflies it gave her after almost three years.

"Wait till we get home." He sighed.

"But this is more fun." Her lower lip puckered up again, "Look at how impossibly red your cheeks are right now. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What should I do to your cheeks when we get back then?" He raised a brow, a flick of a switch for heat to pool in between her legs.

"Kiss them lovingly." She smirked, ignoring the intentional play on words.

His lips tugged on one corner, shaking his head as a chuckle slipped out his lips and looking away to the screen as they rose through the floors.

"Cold pizza is fine." She spoke, earning a distracted hum from him.

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he looked down to lock his gaze on hers. She sat on her knees at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with big, eager eyes. Wearing lingerie he once bought for her, the sight milking every last reserve he had.

The delicate cream-beige silk was thin despite being opaque, teasing his senses as her nipples currently stretched against the fabric.

He knew she wore it on purpose.

"Did you enjoy it? Constantly saying things that almost made the car crash?" He clicked his tongue.

"You aren't crashing any cars at 12 miles an hour." She mumbled.

His fingers grabbed her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. Humour dancing in his eyes, but a deliberate frown on his face.

"Look at me when you speak, princess." His voice impassive. "We're feeling very brave today, are we?" She blinked, batting her lashes in a slow deliberate move that made him groan.

"You always have more self-control than I do." She pouted. "All week I craved you. I just wanted to see some of that in your eyes."

His thumb brushed against her lower lips, pulling on the skin and letting his gaze linger on the plump flesh, before bringing it back to her eyes. "I'm always craving you." He bit the inside of his cheek when her lips parted to wrap around his thumb, flicking small licks against the pad of his thumb.

He clasped her jaw, "Wretched girl." He groaned.

"I missed you so much." She whined against his thump, letting it fall from her now wet lips with a soft 'pop'. "I was even sitting in a conference room before a meeting looking at your pictures. That bitch Isabelle peeked in and then would not stop asking who you were." She frowned.

His eyes danced with amusement. "What did you do then?" He dragged his thumb down her throat, dragging his wet finger down the skin.

"I told her exactly who you were." She sounded indignant.

"And what is that?" His fingers brushed over her breasts with a feather light touch, enjoying the sensation of the soft silk under his knuckles.

"Mine."

His eyes snapped back to hers, his lips parting.

She continued like her words didn't knock the ground from under his feet, "She looked like she didn't even want to believe me." She rolled her eyes.

Johnny raised a brow, "Is that why you grabbed my ass in the middle of the airport?" The smirk that lifted the corner of her lips drove him insane.

"Maybe." She bated her eyelashes. "Isabelle needs to pay more attention to her own husband." She frowned again.

"Can we not talk about Isabelle in our bed?" He snapped.

She gave him a soft nod, looking to the floor. Johnny grazed his lower lip with his teeth till the skin broke.

He lifted her chin to look at him, "Say it again." He demanded.

She scoffed, "You just said–"

"You know what I mean, princess." He narrowed his gaze at her. Her lips tugged. Otherwise patronising nicknames sounded like filthy praises when they came from his lips.

She looked up, unfaltering ease in her eyes. "You're mine."

"Again." He growled, his breathing down to a shallow mess of strong effort.

She sat up on her knees, coming up to make her eyes level to his, "Johnny Seo you belong to me."

He presses his lips to hers. She wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to grab his sweater, pulling him till he was over her.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips still pressed on hers, "Turn over." He ordered.

She obeyed, lying on her stomach on the mattress, looking back to watch him do quick work of undressing.

"Did you miss me?" She questioned, knowing the answer already.

"Every fucking hour." The words filled her with pride anyway.

"Hmm. You don't seem like it. Telling me off like you are." She hid her smile in the pillow. He dragged a stray finger down her spine, the air in her lungs stuttering on it's way out.

"You've become a little tease do you know that?" His fingers lingered on the curve of her ass. She pressed it further up in the air, enjoying the sound of his soft exhale.

"Learning from the best." Her voice was softer.

When the first smack landed on her ass she gasped from shock. He rubbed the flesh softly, soothing the sting from a second ago.

"Anything else to say?" He questioned. She pictured the raise of a single brow, the challenge in his eyes. She sucked in her breath and parted her lips to speak.

The second smack landed on the other cheek, making a moan leave through her lips instead. She buried her face in the pillow, feeling like she'd go mad with desire.

"That's what I thought." He hummed, "My precious brat needs a little encouragement once in a while, doesn't she?" He kneaded the flesh of her ass. "Speak." He demanded.

"Yes, Daddy." She spoke through her teeth.

The third made her wince, his palm landing in the middle, impossibly close to her increasingly wet hole. She jumped, burying her face further and whining.

"Are we good?" He questioned, stroking her behind again.

"Yes." She lifted her head to gasp out.

Johnny was so good at pushing her till the very brink of desire, but never pain. His touch was stern but never harsh. And he was foremost gentle.

She turned her head to press her cheek into the pillow instead of her face. "I love you."

"I love you too, (Y/N)." His voice was soft. "I'm crazy about you." He huffed.

Two of his fingers stroked down her clothed slit. When he pressed her folds right above her clit she bit down on her lip.

"You're so wet." He growled, pressing a finger through the silk of her underwear into her.

Her leg jerked at the sensation.

"Absolutely soaked." His voice was dangerously low, "Turn over." He took his finger away too quick.

She turned over, lifting her torso on her elbows to look at him.

Her lips parted as she finally realised that he was completely naked. She was certain she could see it everyday and still not get used to how he looked without clothes.

Johnny bit his lip, "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? Flushed and needy for me. In that beautiful lingerie that I'm trying my best not to tear off of you." He groaned, eyes drifting all over her body.

"Johnny." She whined, his breath caught in his throat at the plea, "Come here. Touch me, please." She shivered.

He gave her a gentle smile, one full of love. That one thing, she thought, despite everything else at hand, could move her to tears.

He crawled up to her, eyes meeting hers as he cupped a cheek in his hand. "I don't know what life would have been without you, my love." He whispered.

Her heart picked up so fast that she was sure she saw spots in her vision. Her face turned red and she covered her face in her hands, groaning.

Johnny laughed, kissing her fingers. "That makes you blush?" He chuckled.

Unintended Consequences

#nct johnny #johnny smut #nct smut #nct scenarios #miscellaneous #unintended consequences #nct #johnny #nct 127

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simon-egg · 3 years

Text

Benthan Week Day 1 - Hurt/ comfort

Title: Digging In

1873 words fic with art. TW for blood, torture and injury. Physical hurt followed by comfort with a happy ending. Benji is taken and physically tortured in an unusal way.

~○~

Benji lurched forward as something connected with his torso followed by another sudden movement which caused pain to shoot up his side. His eyes snapped open.

“Get up.” Spat a voice from above.

The agent realised he was on a cold, hard floor in a dimly lit space. His chest was bare and he shivered with short gasps. With no recollection of how he got there and a dizzying feeling, he realised he had been drugged. The last thing he remembered was driving home after a long day writing up mission reports which could have been minutes or hours ago. Before his mind was clear enough to fully assess the situation he was in, he was roughly dragged to his feet. Whatever drug they had given Benji had sapped his energy and he sagged, unable to control or defend himself. Benji registered one person holding him firmly upright while another, a man with thick clothes and gloves, began to unwind a roll of barbed wire. Without hesitation, one of Benji's arms was pulled forward and the wire was pulled over his palm and roughly bent around his wrist. The barbs began slicing into his skin and Benji let out a shout of agony to which seemed to spur his captors on. Over and over again, the wire was roughly twisted around his arm at various angles, each coil bringing more barbs puncturing his skin. Grimly, Benji noted that the drug which kept him from fighting back did nothing to stop the pain. As soon as Benji thought the pain was growing too much to bear, the wire was looped through a ring bolted to the ceiling and his other arm was subjected to the same torture. This left him standing upright with his arms trapped above his head. By now whatever drug he was given had worn off enough that he could hold himself up straight. The two men stepped back and in front of Benji, seeming to gleefully eye up the state that they'd put him in.

Benji recognised the men as members of the Apostles who had not yet been tracked down. The one who had used the wire began to speak.

“You're going to die here.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Whether it takes hours or days, it doesn't matter. Just know that all you'll know until you die is pain-“

Benji tried to kick at the men which only caused himself more pain. “Why would you do this?” he choked out.

“You and your friend, Ethan, shouldn’t have tried to stop us. We may not have been able to cause mass suffering but If Ethan finds you strung up here, dead, knowing there will have been nothing he could have done to save his precious friend. That. That is enough for us now.”

Before Benji could think of a reply, the men turned and left.

He could smell his own blood which coated his arms and dripped down past his elbows, some splashed onto his chest and further to the floor with a barely audible wet sound. As time passed, his vision adjusted and he understood from the corrugated iron walls that he was in an old, rusting shipping container but with little light and no windows, he had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. All the while, the barbs caused searing pain and his muscles began to ache as he was forced to hold himself in position.

Light coming through cracks in the door and walls had brightened gradually, indicating to Benji that the sun was rising outside of the box. Some of his blood had dried to a brownish crust while fresh blood occasionally oozed. Hours continued to pass and the only thing keeping Benji from giving up completely was the hope that Ethan might find him. He had to try and stay alive because his captors were right; the thought of Ethan finding him strung up and dead was almost worse than the physical pain he was in. It was peculiar to Benji how those around him, even those he fought against seemed to immediately pick up on the bond between him and Ethan but then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd after all. They had so much faith in one another, kindness, loyalty and shared experiences that Benji found himself growing ever closer to the other agent. In fact, the feelings he had for Ethan had begun to develop past friendship after Kashmir and into something else. Benji made a promise to himself that if by some impossible miracle he was to get out alive, he would tell Ethan how he felt. With his eyes screwed shut against the pain, Benji found comfort in picturing Ethan talking to him, reassuring him, laughing at his jokes and smiling with that kind old smile that he might never see again.

The cruellest part of this torture, Benji came to realise was that despite the exhaustion, blood loss and agony which coaxed him to pass out, he simply could not allow himself to move or relax. He knew that doing so would make the barbs to twist deeper into his flesh. For now, he noted that no barbs were deep enough to hit any major blood vessels or the blood loss would have killed him by now. Despite this, he was still loosing blood and Benji began doubting that he could stay awake and tears began to sting, threatening to spill. Maybe he should give in, even if he died there, at least the dead don’t feel pain.

Benji was jerked from his thoughts by the sound of metal scraping against metal as the door was forced open and light flooded into the container.

“Benji…” Ethan’s voice echoed.

Ethan rushed closer but Benji didn't move, too physically and mentally drained to respond. He simply stared down with dull and unfocused eyes. Ethan’s gaze flicked over Benji's form, horrified at the situation Benji was in. A gentle hand was on Benji's face, and Ethan's thumb caressed his cheek.

Softly, Ethan whispered "Look at me" and after a few seconds, Benji's eyes flicked up to meet Ethan's.

“i'm so, so sorry Benji...” Ethan felt a rush of anger. He wanted to cry but he had to hold himself together for Benji. He was lucky to have found Benji alive. The two Apostles who took Benji did not anticipate just how determined and fast Ethan would be with the help of Luther who had tracked Benji's location by hacking security cameras. Luther was waiting nearby in a van.

"I can't remove the wire from your arms, it could cause more damage but I promise you, this will be over soon. I'm taking you home"

Benji was too weak to hold himself up and Ethan knew that if he simply cut Benji free, he could collapse and cause more injury. Ethan also understood that removing the barbs there and then would only cause more pain and bleeding too.

He used his left hand to steady one of Benji's arms in place above his head, careful to avoid pressure on the wire, then used a pair of cutters with his right to cut through the wire that held Benji's arm up. Ethan then slowly lowered that arm to Benji's side. He did the same to the other arm then awkwardly shuffled closer to Benji's side and manoeuvred an upper arm to rest across his neck, attempting to steady him. After failing to shuffle forwards holding Benji up like this, it became evident that Benji did not possess the strength to walk at all and Ethan didn’t want to put any pressure on his arms.

“I- I can’t, Ethan, I just-“ Benji coughed out.

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you” and Ethan resorted to gathering Benji up and carrying him out. Benji noticed the bodies of the two apostles outside and the last coherent thought he had before he passed out was thinking of how warm Ethan's arms were.

Benji woke up again to find himself in the back of a van. Pain continued to flare up his arms and he groaned, his chest throbbed and his head pounded. A reassuring hand stroked through his hair and realised his head was in Ethan’s lap.

“i've got you, you're going to be okay" murmured his friend. One of Ethan’s jackets had been draped over Benji's upper body to try and keep him warm for the journey and a quick glance up he could tell Luther was driving. “We’re not far from a hospital now, you’re going to be just fine.”

Luther had called ahead to notify the hospital and upon arrival they were met by a team of paramedics. Benji was taken inside and immediately given some strong pain killers along with fluids. The rest of the day passed in a haze, scans were taken of the tech’s arms to determine how close any barbs were to blood vessels, tendons and nerves. Then, Benji was sedated and the painstaking process of removing the wire began.

The next time Benji awoke he was relived to find that the wire had been removed from his arms and hands which were mostly covered in bandages. The painkillers had worked their magic and he mostly just felt subdued and so, so exhausted.

“I’d hold your hand if I could” Ethan murmured, catching Benji’s attention. The older agent sat in a chair next to the bed and Benji could have sworn he looked like he had been crying. The comment and Ethan’s expression caught Benji off guard and he briefly wondered if he had imagined it.

“I’m sorry.” Ethan paused, contemplating what to say. “I’ve just… come to realise how much you mean to me, I care about you so much, more than you know and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realise and tell you that. I understand if you don’t feel the same-“

Before Ethan could continue, Benji quietly interjected “Thinking of you while I was in that place kept me going, kept me from giving up, so yes, yes I feel the same.”

“Are you sure?”

Benji perked up slightly “of course, I’m bloody sure!" He chuckled "I love you Ethan Hunt and can not be more relived that you feel the same!”

Ethan beamed and moved closer to the bed, then pressed his lips to Benji’s gently, a sweet kiss that Benji smiled into and a promise of many more in their future.

When Ethan pulled back he spoke again, “I was thinking, if you’d let me, once you are discharged from here, can I come back with you? To your place? You won’t be able to do much without full use of both arms for a while and I want to help you. I want to be there for you and if I’m with you I’ll be able to make sure you’re safe. Not that you’re not capable of looking after yourself I just-, while you recover which I know will take some time, both physically and mentally”

Benji grinned, feeling a wave of affection for Ethan “of course, I’d love to have your company… and maybe you could stick around with me after I’m mostly healed?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

#benthan #benji dunn #ethan hunt #my fic #my art #I will post this to AO3 later but I am at work right now so can't. i'm not finishing until past 10 pm and want this posted today.#I know it's far from perfect. i've published one other fic in my life and know i'm not a great writer it's okay to not like it I understand #and I don't plan on being a writer or anything #but I did put effort into this and hope people enjoy it!! I just lack writing experiance y'know.#benthanweek2021

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Quite Some Trick.

Dwayne (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: light injuries

Context: this is based off a post that @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic reblogged a few days ago, as well as being a sort of request thing for @browneyes528 , seeing as they mentioned that they would like to see a Dwayne fic about his skating, so here you go!

A/N: I did some research for this, because I'm not the most knowledgeable when it comes to skating terms and that, so I hope it's not too inaccurate.💛💛

Masterlist.

Exhilaration courses through me as I kick off the platform, allowing the skateboard below me to roll onto the sloped surface as I lean with it, keeping my balance as much as possible, gritting my teeth as I try to make myself as aerodynamic as I can in the process. My speed picks up at a high rate as the wheels carry me down the smooth decline, air rushing around me, my hair blowing out behind me from under my helmet as I hit the trough of the half-pipe, transitioning easily into another vert up the other side, my body titlting backwards as the board carries my legs upwards, though I quickly correct myself, triumph flooding me as I pop off the top. Once in the air, I grab the board in one hand and twist, managing to force myself round as the blood rushes to my head, gritting my teeth as I realise I'm too close to the deck to pull it off completely. In a split second, I've righted myself in time to hit the vert again, absorbing the impact by bending my knees a little, feeling a little disappointed as I control the descent, and corresponding ascent again, briefly grabbing the board as I lift off the top again, not getting enough air to do anything properly, before returning to the pipe again, halting on the opposite deck.

Chewing my lip, I try to catch my breath, leaning my skateboard against my leg as I lean back against the railing, waiting my turn again as the other skaters move up into line, a guy on skates taking my place at the front. In my head, I evaluate the trick and where it went wrong, knowing it's all down to height and velocity, deciding on what to do next time round, pulling my gloves on further as I make it known I'm in line. As I wait, I look around the skatepark, marvelling at some of the other tricks being pulled off everywhere, wincing as I see someone bail out of a 180 and land on their back, the impact looking painful despite that fact that they instantly stand and get back on their board. Oddly, I find my eyes drawn to them, their long dark hair unkempt as they skate back up to a deck a little way away, the skater turning so that I can see his face.

Somehow, his dark eyes find mine, an eyebrow raising as I feel my jaw drop: he's stunning. His skin is a warmer tanned colour, his toned chest bare beneath the leather jacket he's wearing, his muscles tensing whenever he pushes off, my eyes following his every movement. He's a very proficient skater, despite his fall a couple of minutes ago, the tricks he's pulling off putting some of the veteran skaters around here to shame in their fluidity, the sight of him skating around the skatepark mesmerising to watch, so much so that I nearly miss my turn.

Rolling my shoulders, I tear my eyes away from the dark-haired skater, balancing on my board briefly as I eye the half-pipe ahead of me, trying to spot any snakes or other lines. Upon finding none, I kick off, being sure to give myself as much power as I can as I speed down the slope, crouching slightly. This time round, I move with the board as it enters the climb, giving myself much more air when I pop off the top, allowing me time to grab the board and completely invert myself I start to drop again. Using my momentum, I pull the board around, my body righting itself again in time to hit the ramp again, triumph and pride flaring up in me as I realise I've just pulled off the trick I've been working on for hours. Unfortunately, this means I'm too distracted to notice I've gone over the top of the opposite side, the board flying away from my feet as I fall backwards, brief dread replacing the triumph as I allow myself to crash back to earth. Pain erupts in my back as I connect, harshly, with the concrete, my helmet and elbow pads cracking violently against the hard surface before I lie still, not trusting myself to get up, even though I know I should move, aware that I'm obstructing another skater.

In my haze, I barely register that someone is offering me their hand until they lean down slightly, face coming into view - the brunette from earlier. Eyes widening in embarrassment, I shoot him a small, grateful smile and take his proffered hands allowing him to pull me to my feet again, catching me when I stumble forwards a bit, still a little disorientated, my face bright red as I search for my board, only to find it lying few metres away, beside the skater's one.

"Thank you." I mumble out, picking my way over to my board, still mortified that he saw me fall like that, especially after finally managing to pull off a 360.

"No problem. That was quite some trick you just did." He compliments, smiling at me as he follows, checking me over for any serious injuries; thankfully there are none, but my cocyx and back will be sore for days maybe weeks, though my pride will recover much more quickly, especially after remembering that my saviour fell earlier on.

"You think so?" I question, surprised at his words.

"Yeah, it looked really smooth. You done it before?" He confirms, offering his hand again after a second, this time for me to shake, "I'm Dwayne by the way."

Gingerly, I take it, his skin icy underneath my bare fingertips, the frigidity seeping in through the fabric of my gloves.

"I'm (Y/n), nice to meet you. That was my first time actually managing to get the full way round. I messed up the ending, though, so it wasn't that much of a success."

"Ah, well, these things take practice. I can help you out if you want?" He offers, lifting an eyebrow in questioning.

"Are you sure? I'm nowhere near as good as you, I'd just be annoying to have around." I muse, recalling the elegant ease in which he skates, as if he's had decades of practice, even though he only looks twenty or younger.

"Of course! I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. And I've seen you skate, you're not half as bad as you make yourself out to be." He confirms, smiling at me as we seat ourselves on the edge of one of the sections of the large bowl, having checked for other skaters before doing so.

"You think so?"

"I do."

"Well, thank you, I guess. I'll take you up on the offer, if you don't mind. I've been trying to get that trick for months." I agree, smiling back at him, realising I'm enjoying his company.

"I look forward to it, but first I think you should rest a bit, especially after your fall." Dwayne advises, gesturing to the rapidly forming bruises on my elbows.

"Yeah, I guess I should." I agree, inspecting the ugly purple marks, "Wanna get something to eat? I think I'm done here for today."

"Sure, let's go." The brunette accepts, climbing to his feet before helping me up again, the two of us swiftly skating from the skatepark. My pace is slower than normal, but I manage to keep up with the taller skater anyhow, the two if us continuing to talk as we go, pulling up in front of a stall selling food just a little way away from the Boardwalk. We order some chips and water, heading over to the wall separating the beach and the pavement in order to sit and eat, the two of us content to just chew our food in companipnable silence. As we finish, we start up the conversation again.

"So how long have you been skating for?" Dwayne inquires, looking over at me curiously.

"A few years now. My parents never really liked the idea of me doing it, so it took some time to convince them." I inform him, picking at the hem of my shorts a little.

"Why?"

"Well, they thought I should do a "real" sport, you know? Apparently skating is not good enough for them."

"They should watch you sometime, they'd change their minds immediately." Dwayne shrugs, my eyes straying to his bare chest as I notice his toned muscles moving under the tanned skin.

"I doubt I could get them anywhere near a skateboard, let alone a skatepark." I chuckle bitterly, sighing in frustration at the thought of my parents and their old-fashioned views, "How about you? How long have you been skating?"

Oddly, he looks a little hesitant to reply, seemingly considering his answer in his head before giving it.

"Since I first laid eyes on a board, I guess. I fell in love with the idea." He finally says, running a finger over the line of his board with a proud smile on his face, "I've had this board ever since I started."

"You've never broken a board?! How?!" I exclaim, recalling the three times I've snapped a board in half after going over a ramp too quickly, or by trying to skate down a flight of steps.

"I don't known I guess I'm just too careful." He laughs, looking over at me again.

Behind us, a few shouts of his name draw our attention, the skater's shoulders visibly sagging as he spots someone in the crowd, my own eyes swiftly finding them.

"You know them?" I ask him carefully, wary of offending him or his group of biker friends, the platinum blonde clearly eyeing me up from across the Boardwalk.

"Yeah, they're my brothers. I've gotta go, but I'll see you at the skatepark again tomorrow? At eight?" He affirms, looking slightly frustrated.

"Sure, I'll be there. It was nice meeting you, Dwayne."

'It was nice meeting you, too." He responds, smiling at me as he gets up, skating away from me with a quick goodbye, a small feeling of excitement rising in me at the thought of seeing him again. Before he leaves earshot, however, I call out his name, making him turn around.

"Thanks for not laughing at me when I fell!" I shout to him, grinning at the brunette.

"Only an idiot would!" He responds, waving once more as he returns to his brothers.

Twisting back around, I continue to smile to myself as I go over the last hour or so, glad to have made a new friend, even if I did gain an injury in the process.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#marko(the lost boys)#santa carla #star(the lost boys)#skateboarding

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catty-words · 7 years

Note

Cheek + Clexa (Don't watch the 100, and given what I've heard in spoilers, probably won't, but I know the pain of wanting prompts with certain pairings and never getting them)

cheek - i want to tell you i love you

can’t be alone tonight; special thanks to my lovely beta, @ravenrxyes, who keeps me writing in active voice and is generally a doll of a human. this is nsfw, btw. (ao3)

Lexa’s sneaking in a quick lunch between her meetings with the head of the Green Party senate candidate and one of the Virginian House members when her phone vibrates.

Taking a too-big bite of her sandwich, she slides her phone out of her pocket and checks the text.

Clarke G: got official business tonight?

Lexa can’t fight the way the corners of her lips tug upward. She takes another bite of food and then wipes her fingers on a napkin.

Nothing official, but I’ll probably work on some proposals, try to get the wording just right. Anyway, I thought you had the night shift for the rest of the week.

She reads the text over and cringes. She’s always saying too much—giving away more than she needs to—when it comes to Clarke.

With a sigh, she sends it off anyway.

“Woods, is that you?”

Lexa’s head whips up from her phone in time to see Ontari Pelletier—her career-long nemesis and annoyingly successful lobbyist for the Azgeda Industries oil company—settling across from her. She plasters a big, disingenuous smile on her face.

“Pelletier,” she greets tightly.

“Please, don’t strain yourself trying to look happy to see me.” Ontari bares her teeth in what she probably thinks passes for a grin and drums her blood-red nails against the picnic table.

Lexa ignores the comment. “I was under the impression you’d be out of town for another week. What was it this time, by the way? Covering up another oil spill for your company?”

“Azgeda Industries cares deeply about the environment and practices sustainability. We’ve never been responsible for environmental harm,” Ontari recites, cocking her head innocently.

It’s such a controlled response, Lexa’s not sure how she can manage delivering it without screaming.

“It’s almost as if you have no idea how oil extraction works,” Lexa says.

“Down girl.” Ontari matches her condescending tone. “I’m not here to talk shop.”

Lexa’s phone vibrates on the table and she resists both the urge to look at the screen and to cover it up with her arm so Ontari can’t read the incoming text.

With a steadying breath, she asks, “Then why are you here?”

“I just wanted to congratulate you on finally getting an audience with Mayor Sessoms about your org’s beach cleaning initiative.”

Ontari shouldn’t know that she’d been trying to contact the mayor, let alone why. The corners of Lexa’s mouth twist down in a confused, infinitesimal frown, but she otherwise tries not to rise to the bait.

“Oh, wait, that’s right,” Ontari says, a sickeningly smug smile on her face. “You haven’t been able to get in touch with the honorable mayor’s office. That was me. Looks like he’s much more interested in what Azgeda has to offer than Ecotrust.”

Lexa feels her nostrils flare and she racks her brain for a comeback. But before anything intelligible strikes her, Ontari’s pushing up off the bench and waggling her fingers.

“Toodles,” she says as she prances away, clearly pleased to have won this round of verbal sparring.

As Lexa stews in impotent rage, clenching and unclenching her jaw, her phone vibrates against her arm—another incoming text.

Clarke G: they over scheduled for tonight and i was more than willing to let Jackson take the shift.

Clarke G: so what would you say to sharing a bottle of wine? 8ish??

Eagerness floods through Lexa’s body, pushing out some of the anger.

That sounds like exactly what I need right now.

~~~

Lexa’s last meeting of the day runs long, so she’s just setting her briefcase down on the dining room table and hanging her keys on the hook by the door when Clarke arrives at her apartment.

“Long day?” Clarke guesses when Lexa pauses just long enough to let her in and then goes back to her after-work ritual.

“You have no idea,” Lexa says, heaving a weary sigh as she shrugs out of her blazer, steps out of her heels, and unbuttons a couple buttons on her forest green Oxford.

Clarke takes off her leather jacket and drapes it over a chair as Lexa moves about the living room, lighting candles.

“Sounds like you need a glass of this, STAT.” Clarke holds up a bottle of red wine.

Lexa lights the last candle and shakes out the match, finally slowing down long enough to appreciate the fact that Clarke’s there.

She’s wearing snug-yet-worn jeans and a thin, v-neck t-shirt that really complements her skin tone. Her hair is twisted up into a sloppy bun, but long strands still fall down to her shoulders. She’s radiant, and Lexa finds herself staring a bit too long.

She shakes her head slowly, trying to banish the haze from her brain, and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Is that, uh, is that your professional opinion?”

Clarke snorts at Lexa’s feeble banter and pushes the bottle into her hands. “It is.”

She nods, accepting the gift, and moves toward the kitchen.

“Hey.” Clarke catches her by the arm.

Lexa raises an eyebrow in question.

“You never said hello,” she says, her voice low and husky.

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat, her lips parting. She doesn’t manage to form words before Clarke’s wrapping her arms around Lexa’s neck and pulling her in for a hug.

She squeezes Clarke back around the waist, tucking her face into Clarke’s shoulder and sucking in a deep breath.

Clarke lets go too soon, a smirk on her face, and moves for the couch.

“Hi,” Lexa breathes, several moments too late. Blood pools in her cheeks and she curses herself under her breath as she walks into the kitchen, wine bottle clutched tightly to her chest.

After stacking some dirty plates to clear space on the counter, she retrieves two wine glasses from the cupboard and pours them both a generous amount. Before joining Clarke in the living room, though, Lexa takes a moment to compose herself. The smell of Clarke’s lotion lingers in her lungs, the warmth of her hug still very much present in the pit of her stomach.

Lexa’s pulse pounds under her skin in a distinctly un-platonic way.

Clarke’s already made herself at home by the time Lexa recovers enough to show her face, looking totally at ease sitting cross-legged on the couch.

Ignoring the wistful tug in her heart, Lexa settles on the armchair. She sets both the wine glasses on the coffee table.

Clarke reaches for hers and takes a sip before smiling brightly right at her. “So,” she says. “What’s got that crinkle between your eyebrows all worked up?”

“Huh?”

“You get all squinty and pensive when you’re upset,” Clarke says, pointing at Lexa’s face. “So spill.”

“Oh, um, work’s just been rough lately.” It’s not exactly a lie, but the face-off with Ontari isn’t what’s got her brooding and thoughtful in this particular moment.

“You wanna talk about it?” Clarke asks.

“No.” Lexa pauses and takes a gulp of wine. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get a hold of someone in the mayor’s office for months.”

“To talk about your clean city initiative,” Clarke says, nodding.

Lexa feels a wide smile overtake her. “Yeah.”

“Still no luck?”

“Not anything even remotely resembling luck. Still, I wouldn’t be too upset if it weren’t for the fact that Ontari—” Clarke makes a disgusted face in solidarity. “—did get in touch with Mayor Sessoms.”

“That bitch,” Clarke says, shaking her head.

Lexa frowns into her glass. “She’s merely doing her job.”

“And being a total bitch about it.”

With a short laugh, Lexa knocks back some more wine. “I suppose. Though all’s fair in love and war, as they say. Politics is pretty much synonymous with the latter.”

“You’ll bounce back from this,” Clarke says confidently. “You’re good at what you do and dogged as hell.”

Lexa raises her eyebrows. “Is that just your roundabout way of calling me stubborn?”

Clarke ignores her and takes a sip of wine before hitting Lexa with a bright, disarming smile. “Besides, who could say no to that pretty face?”

Heat rises in her cheeks, and Lexa ducks her head. After gulping down more of her drink just for something to do, Lexa checks to see if Clarke noticed her reaction.

She’s watching Lexa closely and smirking, clearly pleased with herself.

“H-how’s work been for you?” Lexa asks, trying to divert Clarke’s attention.

She rolls her eyes and flops sideways onto the couch. “The usual. It’s all tiring, long shifts that make me smell funny.”

Lexa stamps down the impulse to tell Clarke she always smells amazing.

“Still,” Clarke continues, swirling her wine around in her glass before taking a drink. “It’s fulfilling. Usually.”

An admiring smile tugs at the corners of Lexa’s lips. “I can imagine. Being a nurse, you’re pretty much on par with superheros in my book.”

“Stop it,” Clarke says, shaking her head dismissively. “I’m not doing anything heroic.”

Feeling giddier and lighter by the second, Lexa sticks her tongue out. “Believe what you want to believe.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow. Feeling her timidity over doing or saying the wrong thing retreat to the back of her mind, Lexa stares steadily back, tilting her chin up and swallowing hard.

Her eyes darkening, Clarke sets her glass on the coffee table. “C’mere.”

Lexa’s mouth goes dry, but she manages to sound flirty when she asks, “What for?”

“I thought we could help each other unwind,” Clarke says, licking her lower lip and making Lexa’s heart jump in her chest.

After a second of hesitation, she stands from the armchair and then slides down the length of the coffee table, stopping to move Clarke’s wine glass out of the way so she can sit right in front of her. “Are you particularly stressed?”

With a soft laugh, Clarke starts tracing tiny circles along Lexa’s knee.

Lexa’s pulse spikes.

“Not particularly,” she says. “I didn’t come here to talk about work, is all.”

Lexa presses her lips together and nods once before letting her chin fall into her chest. Despite the fact that she knows exactly why Clarke had wanted to come over, a moment of stomach-clenching disappointment washes over her. She hates that her heart keeps trying to blur the lines Clarke’s carefully set for them.

“We can watch TV or something if you’re not up for sex,” Clarke says, though her near-pouting tone makes it clear which direction she’d prefer to take the evening.

Lexa bites down on the inside of her cheek, hard, and then relaxes, letting the wine do its job of soothing her overeager heart. When she lifts her head to meet Clarke’s gaze, she’s smiling.

“I didn’t say that,” she reassures.

With a coy smirk, Clarke gives Lexa’s knee a squeeze and sits up. “Okay then. Get over here.”

With the feeling of her heart thudding under every inch of her skin, Lexa tips off the coffee table and straddles Clarke’s lap. As soon as her knees sink into the couch on either side of Clarke’s hips, Clarke’s hands find her back, palms splayed wide and urging Lexa closer. Sharp warmth seeps into the crisp cotton of her shirt.

Lexa shivers and lets out a low, rumbling hum of approval.

“You know, I’ve always been kind of jealous of your job,” Clarke says, her breath fanning over Lexa’s nose and cheeks as their foreheads fall together.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s very hard to make scrubs look sexy,” Clarke says, and Lexa can hear the smile in her voice. “But you always look so hot in your work clothes.”

As she talks, her left hand slides down into Lexa’s slacks, her fingertips dancing up under the hem of Lexa’s shirt.

Lexa squirms, licking her lips before saying, “You don’t have to work to seduce me, you know. We have an arrangement.”

Clarke laughs and Lexa cups her neck with both her hands. “Where’s the fun in seductionless sex?”

Lexa’s shirt slowly comes untucked as Clarke’s palm inches up the skin of her back. Her breath catches in her throat and she nudges Clarke’s nose with her own.

Clarke continues her musing, a single fingernail dragging lightly along Lexa’s spine. “Where’s the fun if I can’t tease you?”

“Clarke,” Lexa whines softly, her fingers flexing around Clarke’s neck.

“If I can’t get you shaking and begging.”

Clarke’s lips feel too far away—miles away—and Lexa’s anxious to bridge the distance. She tilts her chin forward ever so slightly, her lips parting…

At the feeling of something vibrating against her right thigh, Lexa jerks her head back.

“Damn it,” Clarke groans. “I thought I’d turned that off.” She pulls her cell out of her pocket, glances at it, and then tosses it onto the coffee table, where it lands with a clatter.

“Anything important,” Lexa checks.

“Nothing important enough to delay this,” Clarke says, waggling her eyebrows.

Lexa can’t help it: she laughs.

“So long as we’ve been interrupted, though, we should take this opportunity to move to your bed,” Clarke suggests.

With a nod, Lexa slides off her legs and steps aside. While Clarke’s stretching, she tugs the tails of her shirt out of her pants and then quickly swallows down the rest of her wine.

Clarke pauses to do the same before clasping onto Lexa’s hand and leading her toward the short hall.

Once they reach the bedroom, Clarke spins around so she’s facing Lexa, her hands landing on her hips.

“What are you doing?” Lexa asks, breathless—Clarke’s thumbs are rubbing wide arcs along her pelvis, distracting and sexy and leaving Lexa wanting more.

Clarke’s cheeks are rosy and she gives Lexa a toothy grin before dragging them closer together so their bodies are flush.

Lexa gasps, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Making you shake and beg,” Clarke answers in a husky whisper. Before Lexa has the time to react, Clarke’s backing her toward her unmade bed.

When she falls down onto the edge, Clarke steps between her knees. Moonlight curls into the room through the gaps between Lexa’s curtains, making her hair glow white and her eyes shine gray-blue.

She’s so beautiful, it makes Lexa’s heart ache.

“Clarke,” Lexa mouths, voice caught fluttering in her throat.

Moving with deliberate slowness, Clarke nods in acknowledgement and then leans forward. Lexa’s nerves are left thrumming with anticipation, and when their lips finally lock together, she feels a blaze of heat unfurl low in her stomach.

Clarke presses into her, unyielding, and Lexa has to grip onto her thighs to anchor herself upright. As their noses bump and their teeth catch skin, Clarke’s fingers make deft work of the buttons on Lexa’s top. Soon enough, she’s pushing the thin fabric down the slope of Lexa’s shoulders.

When Lexa breaks their kiss to shrug the shirt completely off, Clarke takes the opportunity to tip her back, the overheated skin of Lexa’s back meeting the coolness of the bedspread. She arches away from the shock of it as Clarke drapes herself over Lexa, her lips locking onto Lexa’s neck.

In a mess of limbs and frenzied sucking, they shift a little closer to the center of the bed. Clarke marks up the column of Lexa’s throat, palms firmly planted on the mattress to keep herself hovering so that Lexa can only feel the tantalizing brush of Clarke’s t-shirt against the bare skin of her stomach.

After letting herself get lost in the teasing of Clarke’s rough tongue for a moment, Lexa dances her fingers along the sweep of Clarke’s sides till her shirt’s bunched up around her shoulder blades. She follows the lacy curve of Clarke’s bra from her spine to her chest, knuckles sliding over the soft expanse of Clarke’s tummy.

When she finds the clasp, she unhooks it.

Taking the hint, Clarke sits up and pulls her shirt over her head before tossing the bra onto the floor. Lexa drinks in the sight greedily, smoothing her palms up Clarke’s abs and letting her nails graze the undersides of Clarke’s breasts.

When she’s rewarded with a breathy moan of approval, Lexa cups Clarke more fully, thumbs brushing over stiffening nipples.

“No need to be gentle,” Clarke urges, pushing herself into Lexa’s grip.

“Where’s the fun if I can’t tease you?” Lexa says, smirking.

“No fair,” Clarke says, pouting when Lexa scrapes a fingernail lightly against the dusky skin surrounding her nipple.

“Suddenly I’m the only one who gets reduced to shaking and begging?” Lexa asks and trails her hands back down Clarke’s stomach until she reaches the waistline of her jeans. She pops open the button but then stops to toy with the zipper.

“Please,” Clarke whimpers.

“Please what?” Lexa asks, reveling in her power over Clarke. After all, keeping ever-stronger feelings for her locked in the depths of her heart often makes Lexa feel like the powerless in their relationship.

“Touch me,” Clarke says, her voice wobbling. She thrusts her hips forward, telling Lexa where.

Raising a pointed brow, Lexa drags the zipper down and then pushes the jeans off Clarke’s hips. When she then skims her pointer finger across the elastic of Clarke’s panties, Clarke let’s out an impatient whine.

“Lexa.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you waiting for?”

Lexa chuckles and she sees Clarke’s brow furrow.

“For the shaking, of course.”

Clarke draws in a shuddering breath.

“You evil orgasm withholder,” she says, but the insult lacks bite thanks to the quaver in her voice.

Lexa continues to drag her finger back and forth, dipping just far enough under the fabric to make goosebumps pimple Clarke’s skin.

“There’s a very simple way to get what you want,” Lexa points out.

A growl rumbles in the depths of Clarke’s chest. “You’re right. There is.”

The shift in her tone is striking, and before Lexa can ask Clarke what she means, Clarke’s hand is covering her own and guiding it further into Clarke’s panties.

Lexa readily gives into this new game, gasping when her fingers slide over the slick heat of Clarke. As she guides the pace of Lexa’s stroking, Clarke’s lips part and she starts to pant softly.

Lexa is mesmerized. Gazing, heavy-lidded, up at a heaving-chested Clarke whose skin looks like glistening pearl in the moonlight makes the blaze in the pit of her stomach flare.

Once Clarke is satisfied Lexa won’t go back to teasing, she releases her hand in favor of palming at her own breasts. At the sight, a heady moan rushes out of Lexa and she rewards Clarke by flicking her clit, quick and forceful just the way she likes.

Clarke’s thighs quiver and her eyes find Lexa’s.

“Come down here,” Lexa whispers.

With a grin, Clarke drops forward, catching herself just in time to leave a few inches of space between her and Lexa’s lips.

Tired of drawing things out, Lexa tilts her chin up, searching, and pushes two fingers inside Clarke. Her pleasured gasp fills Lexa’s mouth.

As they kiss, sloppy and erratic, Clarke slides herself along Lexa’s body in time with her pumping. “More,” Clarke pants after a moment. “Please, Lexa. I need more.”

Lexa tries to murmur some kind of affirmation, but she’s only able to grunt with effort—trying to keep up with Clarke once she’s on her way to orgasm is like trying to catch a derailed train simply by running after it—and adds a third finger to her ministrations.

Clarke’s moans get louder and more consistent as Lexa thrusts deeper, and soon kissing is no longer a viable option. After sucking on Clarke’s lip for a moment longer, Lexa moves her mouth elsewhere. She takes a second to nip at the dimple in Clarke’s chin and then cups Clarke’s breast in her free hand, cranes her neck, and guides one hardened nipple into her mouth.

“Fuck,” Clarke says, jolting when Lexa sucks hard, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

A warm rush of wetness coats her fingers and then Clarke’s arms go slack. The full weight of her body settles pleasantly over Lexa, and she hums as she releases Clarke’s nipple with a pop.

“I jus’ need one second,” Clarke says, her voice dripping slow and sweet as honey into Lexa’s ear, “and then it’s your turn.”

“Take all the time you need,” Lexa says as calmly as she can manage while blazing with want. She eases her fingers out of Clarke, who whimpers at the loss, and then shifts so she can rub at herself over her slacks.

“Hey,” Clarke says, shaking her head. “No fair starting without me.” She rolls off Lexa and catches her by the wrist.

“Clarke, I’m-” Lexa starts to protest, but Clarke silences her with a kiss before sliding off the bed.

“Take off your pants and lay back on the pillows,” she demands, stepping out of her jeans.

Lexa does as she’s told and kicks off her pants. Then she slides up toward the head of the bed and looks expectantly to Clarke, who’s already crawling back over to her. She wastes no time straddling Lexa’s hips and leaning in for another kiss. Lexa loses herself in the sensation of Clarke’s lips commanding her own, and a disappointed whine escapes when she moves her mouth away to kiss down Lexa’s body. Her disappointment quickly turns to a thrill of excitement, though, because Clarke settles between her parted thighs.

“I would tease you like you teased me,” Clarke says, her husky voice coaxing a flood of arousal out of Lexa, “but you’re already shaking.”

“Clarke.”

“So eager,” Clarke purrs, ghosting her fingers over the damp fabric of Lexa’s thong.

Lexa cants into her hand. “Please don’t keep me waiting.”

Grinning, Clarke hooks her fingers under the waistband of Lexa’s panties and tugs them down her legs. Once they’re out of her way, she drags her tongue over Lexa’s folds, which makes both of them moan.

Hooking her arms under Lexa’s thighs and holding her hips in place, Clarke inches closer so she can work her tongue more firmly against Lexa.

The fire inside her burns brighter than ever and consumes all coherent thought as Clarke licks deeper and deeper. Lexa’s first orgasm builds quickly and her entire body shudders as she clenches around Clarke’s tongue.

Clarke doesn’t stop, though. She continues sucking and lapping and nudging Lexa’s sensitive clit with her nose until a second orgasm makes Lexa arch off the bed with a delighted yelp.

“Slow down, slow down,” Lexa says, shaking her head as Clarke continues to eat her out with exuberance. “Too sensitive.”

“Spoilsport.” Clarke’s voice is muffled, but Lexa can still hear. “Taking advantage of you in your sensitive state is the best part.”

Lexa laughs and her hips jerk up involuntarily at the potential for more pleasure. She’s firm, though, when she says, “Not tonight.”

Clarke nods, and the loose strands of her hair tickle Lexa’s inner thigh. The she gives Lexa one last, lingering lick before releasing her.

It takes a second for the endorphin fog to dissipate even a little, but once Lexa can form full sentences in her head again, she notices that Clarke’s scrambling to collect her clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Lexa asks. She sits up and draws her legs in close to her chest, hating everything about how she sounds small and pitiful.

“I probably should,” Clarke says, wrestling with her bra. “I promised my mom I’d meet her early for breakfast and errands, and after a week of working nights, I’m seriously exhausted.”

“You’re sure you’re good to drive?”

Clarke cocks her head at Lexa, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. “You and I both know it takes more than a single glass of wine to fuck me up.”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, nodding once.

“Are you okay?” Clarke squints down at her. “You seem kinda down.”

Lexa sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and turns away, not wanting Clarke to be able to see her face when she asks, “Could you stay?”

Silence hangs heavy in the room for just a second too long.

“Lexa,” Clarke starts.

“I know,” she says, jumping in quickly. “We have a rule.”

“Cuddling after sex is too-”

“Couple-y.” Lexa finishes.

“Yeah.” Clarke shifts her weight and fiddles with her bra.

Lexa swallows hard and fixes a smile to her face. “No, you’re right. This is better.”

“Less complicated,” Clarke agrees.

“Of course.”

That should conclude all discussion on the matter, but Clarke remains frozen in place, watching Lexa with a pensive frown.

“Well…what’s one exception, honestly?”

Lexa tries to keep hope from flaring bright in her chest, but fighting it is fruitless. “A-are you sure?” she checks.

“Yeah!” Clarke says, tossing her bra back on the ground. “I’m a total rebel. Rule breaking is in my nature.”

Lexa rolls her eyes at that, but her strained smile grows fond and relaxed. “Let’s not get carried away now.”

“Who? Me?” Clarke asks as she slips under the covers.

Lexa scoots over to give her more room, then sinks down next to Clarke. She hesitates to be the first one to bridge the distance between them, though.

Sensing this, Clarke reaches out and drapes her arm over Lexa’s hip, fingertips grazing her lower back. Lexa snuggles in closer, wrapping her arm around Clarke’s waist.

Clarke hums. “You’re warm.”

Lexa’s eyes drift closed and she tips forward till her forehead rests against Clarke’s. “You’re soft.”

Clarke doesn’t answer, and, after a while, Lexa hears her breathing become deep and even. She pulls back and opens her eyes—yup, Clarke’s definitely asleep.

For what feels like the hundredth time that night, Lexa drinks in Clarke’s beauty, her heart working desperately to memorize every feature. The wispy, baby-soft hair that crowns her forehead. The freckle above her eyebrow and the one near her lips. The delicate curve of her cheeks.

All of a sudden, Clarke heaves out a contented sigh and unconsciously tightens her grip on Lexa’s hip. The resulting tug of her heart is so forceful, Lexa’s left breathless.

Slowly, cautiously she moves her hand from Clarke’s waist and skims the pads of her fingers back and forth along Clarke’s cheekbone. When she doesn’t wake up, Lexa cups her cheek fully in her palm.

Maybe one day she’ll succumb completely to her weakness and tell Clarke how she really feels. Until then, Lexa’s more than happy to hide behind silent I love you’s, easily ignored or misinterpreted.

With an anguished sigh, she squeezes her eyes shut.

She can still see Clarke’s face perfectly.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #! i am no longer accepting prompts for this meme !#touch ficlets #thanks for asking btw!!

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