That is all that has been on Shawn’s mind for the past two weeks— That and of course, perfecting his tour rehearsal.
You know him well, underneath that façade and covering he has presented to the world is a very passionate Shawn, who is also remarkably nervous about getting on the road again.
For the last week, it has been you who has been woken to the feel of delicate kisses to your skin, stirring to the warm touch of his fingertips drawing small patterns on your skin while he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, pleasantly lulling you awake.
Today— You find yourself waking before Shawn, the dull ray of light peeking through the hotel curtains as you tug at the white comforter, trying to wrap yourself in it for its warmth. With a heavy sigh, you give up on the covers, acknowledging how Shawn’s body is holding down the comforter with no intentions of parting ways with it.
You shuffle closer to his sleeping body, his head tilted slightly to the side as he sleeps soundly on his back. You press a few luscious kisses on his smooth skin, lacing his neck with loving kisses. A muffled mumble escapes his lips, his eyes still closed. With a small giggle, you proceed to leave kisses on his surface, your fingers trailing his uncovered skin like his does yours.
He muffles another mumble, your lips parting ways with the softness of his skin, your eyes meeting his whisky coloured eyes. “mmm, hey there.” His voice is deep and sleepy, his tongue licking the edge of his lips,
“Hey,” You whisper, leaning down for a kiss, enabling him to leisurely wake up with honeyed kisses.
“It’s a big day.” He breathes with a small smile coating across his delicate lips. You nod in agreement—A lot of anticipation is likely to be boiling inside him as the day has finally arrived. The day of his first show of his second tour.
story begins at the black mouth of a cave and ends with a strange
dog at the door. With chaos. A hotel in Tucson. Yellow
curtains on the window. A love
letter written as a question:
IF I KISS YOU, WILL YOU SUFFER? In the jaundiced
light of early morning, Elvis is in the kitchen singing
we can’t go
on together, and Katie laughs in the porcelain
tub, drops her head under bathwater and
Says: “Salvation is easy. You just have to die a
with love, mon amour. Same with anything dazzling and
blackness beyond the reach of the lightbulb. The yellow flower
patterned sheets. Our stunned faces, pale with strange relief when we witnessed the unraveling of all things beautifully brief: a love that slow dances. Holds hands when it crosses the street. Remembers to call home. A love killed every night. Resurrected every morning.
Mr. Sedaris wears Comme des Garçons onstage on his reading tours. His partner does not like it.
“There are so many stores that I’m afraid to go into, but I wish that I’d gone in sooner. If you go into Gucci, everybody in there is so good-looking that you think, ‘Never mind, it would just be a joke for me to wear your clothing.’ You could imagine the designer saying, ‘I would pay you not to wear it.’ When you go into Comme des Garçons, not only are the people really sweet there, but you think, ‘I could look as clownish as you!’ That aspect of it is gone, the intimidation factor is gone. I’m not a brand-name person. That never really meant that much to me. But her stuff is always so beautifully made. I have five pairs of culottes now. The pair I wore on my last tour, they’re polyester, and they look like bad hotel curtains. But what’s great is you never have to iron them.”
It was Lafayette who had booked the hotel room, so Alex really should have expected that something like this was going to happen.
He was tired, they had had a long day full of delays, layovers, and missed flights. There was nothing Alex wanted more in that moment than to smash his face against a pillow and fall sleep for several hours. Tomorrow was going to be a slow day with nothing planned until the evening.
John was in front of him, muttering to himself as he tried to get the door to unlock. “It’s not working, what the fuck, the key’s right, just, just, go green.”
Alex knocked against John’s arm and said, “you gotta hold it in longer.”
“Ugh.” John groaned when the light finally blinked green and said, “I hate it when you’re right.”
Alex snorted a laugh. “How are we still friends?”
John looked at him for a second, a weird look in his eyes, and shook his head. “Beats me. You’re an asshole.”
“We’re assholes together,” Alex said, shoving past John and walking into the room, flipping the lights on. He set his bags down and turned into the bathroom.
When he came out, John was standing in the hallway, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Alex poked his shoulder and asked, “What’s wrong, I want to go to sleep, you’re in my way.”
“Ha,” John said, “so, uh, there’s only one bed.”
Alex stepped forward. John was right. “Looks like we’re gonna have to bunk together.” He smirked to himself. “Warning, I’ve been told I get clingy.”
John coughed. “What?”
He rested his head on John’s shoulder and said, “I’m a cuddler.” On the inside, Alex could hear the warning bells going off in his head. This was going to be an issue. It was hard enough being so close to John without trying to start something, but sleeping next to him? He was going to die. Alex took in a breath and walked forward and hopped to plant himself on the right side of the bed. “This is my side.”
“Right,” John said. “Well, I’m gonna change, and then I’m sorry but your insomniac ways are gonna have to take a break for the night, I’m exhausted.”
John disappeared into the bathroom, and Alex took the chance to kick off his shoes and jeans, and peel off his shirt. He put his phone on the charger, took his hair down from its ponytail, and planted his face back into the pillow.
He heard John’s footsteps on the carpet, and Alex must have imagined the whispered, “fuck.” John flipped off the lights and joined him on the bed. “Night, Alex.”
Alex had a plan, and he ignored the voice in the back of his mind telling him it wasn’t worth possibly risking his friendship with John. He turned his head toward John, not being able to see him in the dark, but listening to the sound of John’s quiet, even breaths.
There was one last moment of hesitation before he scooted over and placed his head on John’s shoulder, throwing an arm over John’s stomach. Alex sighed to himself. This was perfect.
It was still dark when he woke up, no sun filtering through the thick hotel curtains. Alex blinked his eyes, confused for a moment. He had shifted during his sleep, no longer next to John, but halfway on top of him.
John moved under him, and he heard a low moan. Oh.
Pepper had been a little apprehensive, almost afraid for her room to be open for visitation. Almost. She didn’t want to see what she’d done, she wasn’t supposed to see how much it hurt them, because she was supposed to be dead. But maybe the fact that she’d changed her mind would mean something. Jordan had ( finally ) taken a break, gone home for a few hours to sleep and shower, and her door was open and suddenly someone was there, and they didn’t feel like a nurse or a doctor. She slowly, cautiously looked through her hair toward the doorway, then pushed it back up where it belonged, over the top of her head so she could see. “–hi.”
Request: The only thought I had was that he decides to grab a coffee in a Starbucks and for some reason he starts a casual conversation with a girl (whom he obviously finds attractive 😆) and both of them lay their phones on the counter. And when they say their goodbyes he grabs her iPhone by mistake and she does his.
A/N: For my lovely @la-fille-en-aiguilles, I hope this is what you are looking for. I made an edit for this story so you know what that means loves - you’re in for a series! Cuz who writes one drabble (not this gal!)
Warnings: Aside from some f bombs and my bad French none. I mean it. I do not speak French at all. I barely can write Spanish soooooooo all my translations are from Google translate. Apologies if they are sloppy!
The early rays of morning broke through the hotel room thick curtains, falling on fine features of Benjamin Barnes face as he lay in bed, his chocolate eyes slowly opening as the city slowly came to life. He had been up for minutes, taking in the soft chatter of people as they roused from their sleep within the hotel, the foreign words falling easily on his ears as the faint sounds of cars as they began their commute to work.
It had been a long time since he had been in the city of love and he was happy to be back again. Even though it was for work - four months to be exact- on a movie he was filming, he didn’t mind. Paris was a place of passion and life and he was eager to drink in the energy of the city to go the role he had taken.
After taking the time to get ready and check his itinerary for the day he debated his next move. He wasn’t expected for anything until around 2 and he could take the opportunity to dive into his script from the comfort of his hotel room. He smirked, grabbing the thick script and his hotel key card, checking his back pocket for his wallet and leaving the room.
He was in Paris. Who the hell stayed in their room when they were living in one of the best cities in the world?
Thirty minutes later, he was walking down the busy streets of the city, watching as the streets became fuller and fuller before he found the hidden restaurant that simply read Cafe on the window. He had almost walked into the Starbucks that was a block away from his hotel but stopped himself. You could drink Starbucks, literally, anywhere in the world. It would be lost on him if he didn’t challenge himself to find something homier. Something more authentic.
He chuckled as he opened the door, shaking his head. Homier and authentic was such a pretentious thought.
He walked up to the counter, scourging the menu before it clicked in his head. He didn’t know French. At most, he could navigate his way to a library or museum. Reading it was just insult to injury and he cursed himself as the waitress behind the counter smiled at him before asking,
“Ce que vous voulez?”
He blinked at her for a few seconds, trying to gauge his bearing. Fuck he really should have thought this through.
“Un croissant with ham? Jamon?” he shakes his head. He was very sure he was mixing his French and Spanish together.
‘Way to blend in Barnes.’ he thought to himself.
“Jambon?” she corrects him.
“Oui! And cafe….. con….” he begins, the uncertainty in his words hanging in the air. More Spanish and French mingled together. Fuck he should have put more stock in his 8th grade French class. She nods, eagerly happy to help him through his struggle as she asks,
“Crème et le sucre dans votre café?”
He thinks it through. Did she ask if he wanted cream?
“No….no creme. Ahhh dulce et cafe??”
She raises an eyebrow and he kicks himself mentally. So much for that homey and authentic experience. How could he forget that he didn’t know a lick of French.
“Il aimerait avoir de sucre dans son café” a soft voice says from behind him and a young woman smiles at the waitress across the counter, repeating his order in fluent French. She looks up at him and asks,
“Would you like anything else?”
Ben is floored. To say that she was beautiful would be doing her little justice. Her hair was pulled back in a simple coiff yet few strands danced around her face. She had a full mouth that was tugged into a smile, exposing two deep dimples on either side of her cheek. She had a pretty frame, it was full and curvy and he tried his best to not allow his eyes to linger. Her eyes, though kind were eager and taking him in, probably trying to understand why the idiot she was helping was speaking three languages poorly.
“Do you not speak English?” she asks, her accent circling around each syllable and he shakes his head, nodding before saying,
“I do I- sorry about that. Yea, um….I’ll cover whatever you are buying.”
This time she frowns at him, her eyes knitting together and he smiles back at her,
“Please - I insisit. Its the least I can do for you helping me out with my order.”
The woman nods slowly, turning to the waitress and easily telling her order.
“Of course. Please, would you mind joining me for breakfast?”
She eyes him skeptically, before she shrugs.
“Why not. You bought my breakfast - the least I can do is enjoy it with you.”
You watched the tall handsome man stride confidently to a table by the window, pulling out your chair for you before taking the seat across from you. You slide it into yours easily, placing your bag at your feet and your phone on the table. He mimics your movement, placing his phone beside your own and leans back into his seat.
“How does a handsome Brit like you find himself speaking Spanish in a French restaurant?” you ask, trying to gather a gauge on him. When you had walked into the awkward conversation, you had told yourself not to get involved. You were already late for work and had spent most of the night fighting with your ex boyfriend, who had found the time to drunkenly call you.
But you were charmed by the dark haired, British man who fumbled his way through making a simple breakfast order and couldn’t help but step in. No one else was.
He chuckled, dipping his head low as he mumbled,
“Caught that did you? Was it really that bad?”
You nod, a smile on your face as he sighs.
“I just moved to Paris for work and thought I’d immerse myself in a French restaurant. Then forgot that I don’t speak French. At all.”
He smiles back at you, his dark eyes glistening with amusement,
“I swear beyond my limited language skills I’m a pretty intelligent guy.”
“Of course you are,” you sit up more as the waitress drops your order and you wait until she’s gone before saying,
“Because if you weren’t, you’d also notice that there are about five Americans in here that have been speaking English to our waitress the whole and and she was just pulling your leg, enjoying watching you struggle.”
His eyes furrow together, getting a bearing of the room as you sipped your coffee thoughtfully. He really was handsome, his chiseled jaw quenching as he listened intently to the same waitress speak to a table of young Americans in perfect English.
He groans though the smile never leaves his face as his eyes meet yours again.
“….I’m charming?” he finally says before taking a drink and you laugh, nodding.
“Now that I can believe.”
He chuckles again, taking a bite out of his croissant before looking up at you, mouth full of food.
“My name is Ben, by the way.”
“Observant, charming and so mindful of manners he talks with a mouth full of food. How lucky to have met you Ben.”
You tease, surprised at your angst. Maybe it was because, at this point in the year, you had just about given up on anything good happening in your life and Ben was refreshing. You watch as his face grows rosy, dipping his head down and you shake your head, taking a large bite into your similar croissant. Without shame you say,
“Y/N. Pleasure to have met you.”
He liked you. He couldn’t put his tongue on it, but there was something about you that wanted him to know more. Perhaps its was the bold way you answered his questions or teased him, causing him to wonder if he was as smooth as his friends would say.
He learned that you were a linguist for the UN and not a native of France, which explained the easy way you fell in and out of the language. He learned that you lived for mornings in Paris - that you enjoyed the smell of fresh baguettes being baked and the slow sound of a busy city coming to life as it had probably done for centuries. He took it that like himself you were probably a romantic but you’d never admit it to him and he liked that you wouldn’t. You were insistent to give him suggestions on restaurants that were off the grid, places that tourist catalogs or hotels wouldn’t suggest but would make him die inside because the food was just that good.
When he asked for what you loved best about Paris, you gave him those teasing eyes he had grown to fall for and shook your head.
“Once you have lived here long enough, we can compare. Until then, you need to experience it yourself.”
He had been enjoying his time so much that he had almost forgotten what time it was. Until the church bells rang and you looked up, checking the cafe’s time and jumping out of your chair.
“My goodness! Its almost ten. I’m late for work.”
You hastily grab your bag and snatch up your phone off the table, sticking it in your bag before turning to you.
“I’m sorry, so very sorry. I’m very late for work. It was great speaking with you and I hope you enjoy living here. It really is a great city.”
And before he can get a word in you’re gone.
He watches as you maneuver your way into the busy Paris streets, already a blur and he sighs, kicking himself again.
How did he go a whole two hours without asking for your number?
If his mother was here, she’d remind him that if things were truly meant to be as he hoped they would connect another way. It wouldn’t matter to her that he was in a city where there were thousands of people - she was a romantic at heart and believed paths crossed when they needed to.
If his younger brother was here he’d say he was a dumbass and deserved to lose out on a great girl like her.
Jack was probably right in this case.
His phone vibrated and he groaned, knowing it was probably his manager asking if he’d gone over his script and his eyes furrowed at the screen saver. It was of a fountain and three girls posing in front of it, big smiles on their faces. He grinned at the foreign language of the text previews staring back at him.
She had grabbed the wrong phone. Which meant that he’d have to return it back to her, gentleman that he was.
He put money on the table, standing up and whistling as he left the cafe, getting lost in the sea of people.
Should’ve known better than to think his mom wasn’t right.
I wonder if, right now, Jensen’s lips are pressed softly against the back of Misha’s neck. A soft kiss while they’re both half asleep. The hum of the air conditioner droning through the hotel room. Thick curtains, with a faint glow, hanging heavy to the floor. A long day awaiting them. But now, in the quiet aftermath of enjoying themselves too late into the night, they lie back to front. Exhausted. Remembering the lost sleep is always worth it. Because Rome is, and always will be, theirs.
Jensen draws a steady breath, sinks deeper into the wrinkled sheets, his knees pressed against Misha’s calves. There’s a soft snore. Barely audible over the monotonous fan. He smiles, drowsy.
Half his body is bare to the room, having been damp with sweat when they finally collapsed. Now, his skin prickles with a growing chill. He could rearrange the blanket, but Misha’s a light sleeper. Jensen doesn’t want to wake him.
For a suspended moment, he focuses on the rise and fall of Misha’s breath. Feels the softness of his skin and the remnant heat radiating from within. He’s pulled closer, feeling needy. Jensen kisses him again, hears a contented sleepy moan.
Yeah, Misha is definitely a light sleeper. It’s not that chilly, he decides. No need to move the blankets just yet. Because moments like this are rare. And the lost sleep is worth it.
so good 2 - sub!jimin drabble series (smutsmutsmutsmut)
The busy street storeys below your hotel room finally roused you from your slumber, settled by the warmth surrounding you almost lulling you back to sleep. The idea of it was too inviting but upon better judgement and the stilted breathing beside you, you decided against it. ‘Still here’ you thought as you brazenly turned over, coming face to face with Park Jimin. The sun peeked through the gap in your hotel room curtains, illuminating his face in a way you deemed unnecessary. Jimin emits his own glow, he’s warm and inviting. He’s good.
“What time is your check out?” Unsure what to say to him, you really didn’t expect him to still be here. He turns over to grab his phone from his jeans pocket on the ground before responding.
“A few hours.”
Was he planning on waiting those out here? You knew the real reason he was still here. Last night wasn’t his usual hook up, it wasn’t a quick in and out with false promises of no awkwardness. It was new and new wasn’t always good. Sometimes it was great. He must have questions, or at least requests if anything.
“Look Jimin, it’s no big deal I won’t say anything to anyone, it’s not a thing I go around promoting. I’m not ashamed or anything I just– I’m trying to say–”
What were you trying to say? That you’re entirely unashamed? That you understand him? You don’t. It’s hard to comfort someone for something you spent a real long while hating about yourself. Your constant displeasure with guys, your distaste towards yourself. How you’re constantly accepting less because that’s what everyone was offering.
“I’m done settling. I get this is new to you but this is me. I’m done settling. You were really into me and I knew this was how it’d turn out. You utterly baffled and maybe a bit disgusted. It’s not your fault, you’re not alone, trust me. It’s cool though.”
He still hasn’t said anything he’s just lying down watching your back as you rant. It’s not that he doesn’t have anything to say, he has too much to say, so much that if he starts spouting things off the top of his head he may send you further down your rabbit hole. So he’s letting you finish.
“I bet you didn’t imagine things like this with me. I did. You naked on my bed, me kissing up your thighs. You completely lost on what to do with your hands because the rule is don’t touch but you’re clingy and it’s killing you. You settle on your nipples but I stop what I’m doing to slap your hands away because you don’t get no touching means you too. You’re so consumed with your frustration that when my lips– Oh. My. God. I’m a joke, listen to me!” You throw your head back as your hands cling onto your covers, pulling them up and over your face to hide from him. He was kind of tipsy yesterday, you both were, an acceptable amount. He was probably using that liquid courage to sate his raging nerves, but you didn’t want him knowing how you felt before or after that. How you feel now.
His voice brings you back to the room reminding you he’s still very much beside you. You slowly bring the covers down, peeking at him to find his eyes shut with a creased brow as a breathy whimper escapes his throat. He’s gorgeous. He’s ethereal. He’s Park Jimin. The guy who girls and guys swooned over from mere mention, how his sweetness off stage and sex appeal on stage had everyone at a loss, unable to comprehend how one person can embody the two so flawlessly. He was unfathomably perfect and he was naked beside you rubbing one out to you.
“What else did you think about?”
He breathes out, forcing himself to look right at you, shy as hell but begging you to continue. Hoping he’s conveying everything he’s thinking and feeling in that simple request.
He wants it too.
You’re so enraptured by how his hand is moving slowly beneath the covers you stumble over your words trying to pick up where you left off. “W–when my lips finally wrap around you, your chest juts off the bed, arching your back. When your eyes are finally back on me you realise your hands in my hair and poor you, you have no idea how bad that decision was.”
His eyes open in time to watch your eyes darken as you stare at his strained face. His thumb is rubbing the head of his dick, incapable of getting the image you’ve drawn up in his mind of your lips on it. Your hand meets his and he’s gasping, he wasn’t expecting help. He wanted to do this to show you it didn’t disgust him, you didn’t disgust him. That thoughts of you doing what you wanted to him were enough to get him off, but upon looking at you again he realises you understood. This was your thank you. “Jimin, let me.”
“Keep talking. Please.” He knows you’d keep talking anyway but the please has you smiling in a way reminiscent of unadulterated joy. Your fingers slowly trace his vein from his base, causing his dick to tap slightly on his abdomen as it rests on it, wishing he never handed you control but enjoying it entirely.
“It was a terrible idea Jimin, because you’re close. You’re hitting the back of my throat every time I dip down, I’m humming and you’re twitching in my mouth. My name’s rolling off your tongue. Then I’m done. Sucking you, touching you. I’m leaving.” A fear rises inside him at the meaning of your words. Would you leave now? Was this theoretical? But your hands finally wrap around him as you lick his slit too slowly. “I’m leaving because there was one rule Jimin. What was it?”
“Don't– don’t touch.”
And at that you’re fulfilling every promise you made yourself when consumed with thoughts of Jimin. He watches you like he always did when no one was watching. That’s a lie, in fact he watched you while everyone was watching, watching you. You were a sight. Someone people could barely tear their attention from. You filled every corner of their minds. Of his mind. He was consumed with thoughts of you, how he could consume you like you had done him.
He’d finally left your room, an hour before check out, running to shower, shove his toiletries in his bag and slip on a puma tracksuit. The boys and staff all gathered at the breakfast buffet, he slumps into the chair between Taehyung and Jeongguk.
“Hyung, how was your sleep?”
Your group and some staff wandered past their table, making your way to check out, waving at them all before your eyes met. Smiling you turn back to your members, lying about how you just woke up.