#this shit for a minimum wage check | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

Text

Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth beekeeper #the beekeeper #derek danforth x you #jhutch #josh hutcherson x reader

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fuck-customers · 4 months

Note

Kind of a fuck customers but also a satisfying story at the same time.

My role in the call center I work in involves taking specifically corporate calls, which means I spend all day talking to “business professionals” (and I use that term loosely) including CEOs. As you can imagine, over 90% of these CEOs are the scum of the earth and the most entitled assfaces on the planet.

A week or so ago, I took a call and went through my usual routine of greeting the cardholder and then began going over verification questions. Since we’re A.) a bank and B.) a bank that handles corporate and government credit cards, we take security seriously and require a caller to be able to verify 3 pieces of information based on what the person responsible for their credit cards put on the account. If they don’t pass, we refer them to their company to get the right details.

So as I’m doing this, the guy on the phone is getting increasingly irritated as he keeps getting the security questions wrong. I’m calm and professional the entire time but firm. Eventually I run out of things to verify with him and tell him that we won’t be able to assist and that he needs to contact his administrator. This is apparently where I went wrong.

“LADY I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR!!” He screeches. Ok, great. I look him up and that’s true but there’s a second admin listed, so I ask him to check in with him. He then yells “THERE IS NO OTHER ADMIN! I’M THE CEO OF THIS COMPANY FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!”

I apologize and tell him while that may be true, he still got his security questions wrong and needs to reach out to his account coordinator then. This man then proceeds to scream at me for the next minute or so saying how we’re an awful bank, how he’s had problems with us for years, blah blah and how we have the worst customer service ever. Keep in mind, I’ve been nice and empathetic this entire time but also I’m not gonna lose my fucking job just because a guy in a suit doesn’t know his shit. I give him the email to his account coordinator and stress again that he needs to talk to them. Then this exchange happens:

Him: “So let me get this straight. You are saying you are REFUSING and UNWILLING to help me, right?

Me: “No, actually I’d love to help you, however we have these security procedures in place for yours and your company’s protection and cannot make exceptions for anyone.”

Him: “This is fucking UNBELIEVABLE! I’ve HAD IT with this bank!!”

Me: “Ok, I’m sorry to hear that. Anything else I can do for you before we disconnect?”

Him: “WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I NEED YOUR NAME. NOW.”

Me: *gives my first name and spells it for him even though it’s a very basic 4 letter name because I’m a bitch*

Him: YOUR LAST NAME.

Me: “We don’t give out anything but our first name for the safety of our employees.”

Him: *insert that condescending, pissed off chuckle middle aged men do when they’re mad here* “Well I’ll tell you what (My Name), when I close this account and pull my MILLIONS OF DOLLARS out of (bank name) and they ask me why, I’ll make sure to tell them that it’s (My Name)’s fault. And I will see to it that you won’t be able to get another job outside of the minimum wage fast food job or whatever you had before this. How does that sound?”

Me: “Sounds great. Now seeing as how this conversation is no longer productive or professional and threats are being made, I’ll be terminating the call, have a nice day.”

Him: “DO NOT HANG UP O-“

Me: *click*

And that’s how making rich, powerful men rage-cry became my new favorite hobby. Thankfully, I haven’t gotten any feedback on that call; not that I would, seeing as how I did my job exactly how I was supposed to. Anyways I hope I’m his 13th reason. ❤️

Posted by admin Rodney.

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drtanner · 26 days

Text

I think it's worth remembering that whenever someone seems to make a really weird leap of logic that makes no sense whatsoever to you, it's almost certainly a reflection of their own internal values.

For example:

What they say: "If we let the gays marry, the next thing you know, people will be marrying their dogs! Or their cars!"

What they mean: "I see women as Marriage Objects that belong to their spouses with no autonomy. Allowing same sex marriage expands the list of possible Marriage Objects and I don't approve."

What they say: "If whites become a minority in this country, we'll become second-class citizens!"

What they mean: "I'm fully aware that minorities are treated like shit in this country and I don't want to be treated that way myself. Also I can't imagine a society that isn't run by the majority having dominion over everybody else."

What they say: "They're asking for £15 per hour as the new minimum wage, but why stop there? Why not £50 per hour? Why not £500?"

What they mean: "I'm so opposed to any increase in minimum wage for The Poors that all of these amounts are equally ridiculous to me."

What they say: "If we introduce UBI, no one will ever work again and the economy will collapse!"

What they mean: "I'm fucking exhausted and the only reason I'm still going to work is because the threat of homelessness and destitution is leveraged against me at all times like a gun to my head. If I had the means to stop working I'd lie down and sleep for ten years straight."

OR: "I'm already so rich that I don't have to work for my income, and I can't imagine anyone else being any less lazy or workshy than I am."

What they say: "Queers are all groomers! Leave the kids alone!"

What they mean: "I should have my hard drive checked."

If you've ever heard the saying that "every right-wing accusation is a confession", this is what we mean. ( b ._.)b

#Tanner talks

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enbyenvy666 · 2 months

Text

personal pornstar Part 1/?

Being a hero can be overwhelming at times. Stressful and demanding, rarely having a break long enough to practise some self care. All to help and benefit our community. So why not get something back from the community? Hire your companion today! --------

Falling on hard times led you to signing up to become a 'companion' for Pro Heroes, hoping to make a quick buck, but instead you became the 3rd part of a famous hero couple who show you love in ways you never expected.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader eventual smut (will be a cismale version and a transmale version) word count - 1.7k

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ themes, eating food, swearing, sex work? except there isn't any sex yet, reader is broke, reader is implied to have piercings, google translate french, no beta (if i've missed anything please let me know)

You had seen the adverts. A website in which Pro Heroes can order ‘companions’ to help them de-stress. You weren’t a pro, no, quite the opposite actually. The ads were definitely targeted, you were seeing them because you were broke and in need of some cash in order to live. There were nights where you really considered joining while eating from a cup of ramen noodles as your third meal that day, for the fourth day in a row.

But when you did peruse the website out of curiosity, it didn’t specify what the companions would be hired for. It didn’t say it was sexual, but it didn’t deny it either. It seemed almost like a sugar baby/sugar parent type situation, where you would be financially compensated for ‘favours’. Some heroes were well off financially which was very appealing, but there were also some lesser known heroes who could be into some really freaky shit with not a lot of compensation for it.

After getting your electricity bill, you bit the bullet and signed up. You had to sign an NDA when creating your account, which you felt was a little over the top but your empty bank account was enough motivation to continue. Uploading a couple of more recent pictures, including a couple spicier ones from times you were really feeling yourself, and writing a small bio trying to hype yourself up, you eagerly waited for some kind of response. But eventually you forgot about it, focusing on your minimum wage job instead.

Until you checked your phone during your lunch break and found that you had received a message from ‘Rouge_ Émeute’. While the message contained simple instructions, it was written nicely with ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s sprinkled throughout. They wanted to meet you at a private restaurant, a restaurant you recognised to be a safe haven for Heroes to dine at without flashing cameras in their faces.

It was also an expensive restaurant, which made you feel giddy about one of the more popular heroes wanting to meet you. Putting on your best button up and slacks, you were nervous when you arrived at the restaurant. You were told to tell the hostess you were here for ‘R and D’, which you felt silly saying until the hostess gave you a bright smile, gesturing for you to follow as she weaved through the restaurant.

You passed so many famous faces as you almost had to jog to catch up with the hostess. You saw Fat Gum, Uwabami, Selkie. You’re pretty sure you even saw Red Riot and Dynamight! Wait… why is the hostess leading you straight to their table?

Hold on a second…

Oh shit.

The hostess happily gestured to the booth seat, across from the two heroes, placing a couple menus down on the table before quickly walking away. You couldn’t believe it. The number two hero and his husband, hired you, to be their companion for the evening. Red Riot had a bright grin on his face, showing off his famous pointy teeth, while Dynamight sat beside him with a scowl, arms crossed over his chest.

It was strange seeing them out of their hero costumes, Riot in a button down and maroon blazer, complementing his red hair which wasn’t spiked up in its usual style, but instead softly falling down his shoulders. Dynamight was wearing a white polo, short sleeves showing off his bulging biceps muscles, which you could see ripple with any minor movement. You scooted across the seat as you sat down, both sets of their red eyes watching you. Like an ant under a magnifying glass, you felt like you were about to burst into flames at any moment. Riot finally spoke, breaking the tension. “Punk_boi right?”

Ah yes, your username for the website. You had completely forgotten to tell them your real name, or at least whichever one of the pair you were corresponding with.

“It’s (y/n),” you responded meekly, trying to force a smile that made you look comfortable, but missing the mark.

“(y/n)… it suits you,” Riot smiled sweetly, placing his elbow on the table to rest his chin in his palm. You felt your cheeks grow warm, averting your gaze down to your lap where your fingers fiddled nervously under the table. You whispered out an appreciated thanks, shoulders tense. Dynamight kept his hard gaze on you, ruby eyes flicking over your nervous form, sitting shyly across from him. Noticing his staring, you took a deep breath, gaining the courage to talk.

“I’m so sorry, I guess I’m a little star struck, I didn’t think the number 2 hero would be interested in me,” you admitted with a nervous chuckle. Dynamight finally uncrossed his arms from his chest, instead digging his elbows into the table as he leaned closer to you.

“Yeah well, I am.” His regular volume just seemed to be slightly louder, causing a couple of glances from other tables. “What are you in this for?”

His question caught you off guard. You had heard that he was abrasive and straightforward but he still surprised you.

“I’m uh… pretty broke right now,” you admitted, eyes darting across the heroes’ faces to gauge any type of reaction, and when you didn’t see one, you decided to use this as an opportunity to turn up the charm.

“And because I want to thank the heroes that keep me safe,” you added in a sultry tone, reaching across the table to squeeze Dynamight’s hand. It was a lie though, you lived in an area with very limited patrols so there was more crime, but at least the rent was cheap because of it.

“There’s no need to thank us,” Riot said, laying his hand over yours, his large palm and fingers quickly engulfing your hand and almost covering Dynamight’s as well. You felt your blood run cold for a moment, before your face grew warm. You had assumed that you were hired just for Dynamight, maybe for some kind of cuckoldry thing but now it dawned on you. They both wanted you. “Please, order anything you like.”

The menu was the perfect barrier to cover your face as your situation started to dawn on you. Both of these men were nearly double your size, especially Red Riot, who was a mountain of a man. You weren’t sure if you could… take them both at once, let alone just Riot. Deciding to just get a pasta dish, you fiddled with your collar as you tried to steel your nerves. With your fingers threaded together, you placed them on the table to hopefully avoid anymore fidgeting to betray your calm facade.

“This is my first time doing this,” you admitted, feeling a slight weight lift from your shoulders. Dynamight’s lips turned upwards into a smirk as he huffed a short laugh.

“We could tell,” he teased. Riot chuckled as well, covering your hand with his again, his fingers soothingly stroking your wrist, fingertips just sneaking under your sleeve. Feeling the warmth in your face spread down your neck, you sheepishly turned your attention to your lap again.

“Don’t worry, it’s our first time too,” he assured.

“Wouldn’t you want someone with more experience?”

“Nah,” the blonde reached over, forefinger hooking under your chin with his thumb holding it in place as he tilted your head upward, forcing you to look at him. “We liked you too much.”

Thank god you didn’t have some kind of fire or heat quirk because you could’ve melted at that moment. Throughout the dinner, the two heroes would give you teasing touches and flirty comments, and as much as you wanted to reciprocate, they made you too flustered. By the time dinner had ended and they led you outside, the butterflies in your stomach feeling more and more like anxiety. You were about to have sex with not one stranger, but two, who were both Pro Heroes as well!

The cold night air cooled your hot face, but Dynamight’s hand on your lower back made the temperature of your cheeks a fierce competition. Riot stood in front of you to protect you from the cold breeze while requesting your phone. Hesitant, you gave him the device, watching him type away before handing it back to you.

He had created two new contacts, ‘Eijiro Kirishima’ and ‘Katsuki Bakugo’, and put them both in a group chat. Kirishima leaned down to your ear, feeling his lips brush against the metal jewellery that pierced the cartilage as he whispered, “Text us when you get home safe.”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to respond, brain short-circuiting when the scent of his fancy cologne filled your nostrils. Bakugo reached into his pocket, moving in closer to your other side, lips brushing against your other ear as he handed you something discreetly. “For the cab.”

Glancing down at your palm you saw a hundred dollar bill. Gawking at it, your eyes practically bulged out of your skull. “I-I-I thought-“

The two men chuckled, Bakugo sounding a little more raspy. His hand rubbed up and down your back, pressing his surprisingly soft lips to your cheek in a kiss that almost made your knees buckle.

“Not yet, sweetheart, but maybe if you’d like to see us again,” Kirishima whispered before kissing your other cheek, turning away to flag down a taxi. As soon as one pulled up, the red head opened the door for you, and Bakugo’s hand never leaving your back until you climbed into the yellow car. With quick goodbyes, you watched them walk away hand in hand.

The cab ride was short, leaving you with plenty of change which you felt guilty for keeping. Once you got inside your apartment, your anxiety washed away and was replaced with exhaustion. The rollercoaster of emotions from dinner, and from work early that day left you extremely drained. Stripping from your clothes and crawling into bed, you remembered to text the two heroes you were home safe just before drifting off. --------

A/N - ahhhhhh first time posting! please let me know if there's any mistakes or ways i can improve! likes and reposts appreciated <3

#poly kiribaku x reader #bakugou katsuki x male reader #kiribaku x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x male reader #bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #bnha x trans reader #poly kiribake x male reader

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’.

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space.

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back.

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume.

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.”

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit.

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #a hyung holiday

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punkitt-is-here · 8 months

Note

about that stupid anon, I want to add that in Florida, a deeply gerrymandered state, we voted in 2020 on a ballot initiative to raise the minimum wage, part of the Constitution. By 2026, we will have 15 dollars minimum wage and it will be adjusted annually for inflation. Is it enough? no, the cost of living crisis hits hard here. But this is IN Florida, again state redder than the devil's menstruation.

It goes to show how progressive our population is, and how much we can achieve when were not actively disenfranchised.

So anon, shut up, voting does change things. I think we need both voting and direct action but goddammit, they're not mutually exclusive. Lmao. Disney workers literally won higher wages through their bargaining, separate from the minimum wage laws. Both can exist.

yeah thats my thing like. obviously voting doesn't fix everything. duh. of course not. direct action is always important and needed and its how things are accomplished. but acting like voting is somehow some nerd shit and that believing it can help the populace in some way is bad??? huhgjfhgjf????? like if i have the option to do some part to make the world i live in better at the cost of. checking a box on a piece of paper along with all the other shit i do....well i don't see why i shouldnt yknow

#lab-labrava #my posts #asks

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

Text

Bad King Richard got rich by exploiting workers at King’s Faire

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

King Richard's Faire is the largest renfaire in New England, and its owner, Dick Shapiro, extracts a reported $400k/day – a sum that is only possible thanks to systematic and likely illegal worker misclassification, which lets him pay performers sub-minimum wages and deny them benefits:

https://www.reddit.com/r/boston/comments/172267v/kings_faire_inc_aim%C3%A9e_bonnie_shapiro_nets_over/

Many of the performers at KRF are absolutely unpaid – these are the "villagers" – who mill about looking picturesque in exchange for free admission. They even have to buy their own turkey legs.

When the faire is rained out, all workers – "volunteers" and paid workers – are sent home without any compensation. Attendees are also sent home with rain-checks, many of which go unused (there's no refunds in the land of King Richard).

Staff work from 8am to 730pm and are paid a day-rate that works out to $6/hour. After heavy weather events, staff are ordered to show up early to do cleanup, but are not paid for their time. Staff don't get health benefits – instead, local community groups like the Elks put on fundraisers to cover the health-care costs of the performers.

Now, King Richard's worker mistreatment is not an outlier in the medieval reenactment industry. Think of how the knights at Medieval Times – who put on nightly, potentially lethal performances to generate profit for their employer – unionized in the face of exploitative labor relations. To add insult to injury, Medieval Times sued the union, arguing that its name – "Medieval Times Performers United" – was a trademark infringement:

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/medieval-times-sues-union-trademark_n_63485fa5e4b0b7f89f54546b

This trademark wheeze is the latest desperate tactic to be deployed by the ruling class in the face of a surging labor movement with broad public support. Starbucks – one of the world's most notorious unionbusters – is doing the same thing to its union, Starbucks Workers United:

https://seattle.eater.com/23923490/starbucks-workers-united-union-lawsuits-copyright-trademark-israel-hamas-palestine-social-media

These moves are wildly out of step with the current of public opinion, which has swung hard for union rights in a manner not seen in generations. The outpourings of public support for striking entertainment industry workers were handwaved away as exceptions driven by the public's love of actors and writers. But that doesn't explain the strong, ongoing support for the UAW in their strike against all of the Big Three automakers:

https://pro.morningconsult.com/instant-intel/uaw-strike-public-opinion-october-2023

Bosses have always tried to smash worker power by dividing workers – by race, gender, or "skill" – but workers are workers and solidarity is the source of worker power. That's why the whole labor movement backed Equity Stripper NoHo, the first strippers' union in a generation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

Creative workers are part of a class of workers who suffer from "vocational awe," the sense that because your job is satisfying and/or worthy, you don't deserve to get paid for it:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

(Think of joke about the father who finds his runaway son at the circus shoveling elephant shit: "Son, come home!" "What, and quit show-business?")

Creative workers have long been encouraged to see themselves as "independent businesspeople" – LLCs with MFAs – and this mind-zap is augmented with our bosses' repeated insistence that the unions are for big burly blue-collar workers, not ethereal dreamers and pencil-pushers. Our bosses tell this story because it discourages us from forming unions and demanding fair pay and good working conditions (obviously).

Think of J Edward Keyes, the cartoon villain who serves as editorial director of Bandcamp. When the workers Keyes managed formed the Bandcamp United union, Keyes called them "white-collar tech workers…appropriating the language of the legitimately oppressed," adding "Fuuuuuck Bandcamp United":

https://www.404media.co/bandcamp-editorial-director-fuuuuuck-bandcamp-united/

Keyes's contempt notwithstanding, it's clear why Bandcamp workers need a union – after the company was flipped twice in rapid succession, its new owners, Epic Games and Songtradr, fired all its unionized workers. Keyes responded to coverage of this mass firing by calling the Pitchfork reporters who wrote about it "absloute amateur journalists."

The attempt to divide-and-rule "knowledge workers" from "industrial workers" is a transparent bid to shatter solidarity and make it easier to abuse and exploit all workers. Thankfully, workers are wise to that gambit, and understand that when all kinds of workers struggle together, they win.

Take the UAW strikes: for many years, the UAW was an objectively bad union, ruled over by a dirty-tricking clique who sold out the membership. It's normal to blame workers for bad leaders, but the UAW old guard had rigged union elections, making sure that they would stay in charge. It's not workers that like corrupt unions – it's bosses.

Before the UAW could fight back against their bosses, they had to fight back their bosses' minions in the upper ranks of their own union. That's where the the Harvard Grad Students' Union comes in. After years of worsening exploitation and working conditions, the Harvard Grad Students organized under the UAW, then joined forces with reformers in the union to oust the corrupt leadership.

During the leadership struggle, Harvard Grad Students helped their comrades from the auto-sector master the union's baroque constitution, so when the old guard tried to prevent motions from reaching the floor, the grad students were able to cite chapter and verse back at them. In the end, grad students and auto-workers together won the victory that paved the way for the strikes:

https://theintercept.com/2023/04/07/deconstructed-union-dhl-teamsters-uaw/

A strong, unified labor movement is necessary if America is to save itself from inequality, racism, the climate emergency – the whole polycrisis. The idea that creative workers aren't workers is bullshit – and so is the lie that all workers are uncreative. The "Worker As Futurist" project recruits Amazon drivers and warehouse writers to write science fiction about a future without Amazon:

https://jacobin.com/2023/09/amazon-workers-sci-fi-writing-bezos-imagination-speculative-future

They call this a "belief that rank-and-file workers, whose bodies and minds are exploited by capital, might have access to some knowledge about capitalism that is beyond even the most brilliant theorist or analyst of capitalism."

All workers can and should tell their own story. Doing so isn't just a way to change the narrative – it's also a way to change policy. The new merger guidelines from the FTC and DOJ Antitrust Division explicitly incorporate labor-market effects into antitrust policy. As Brian Callaci and Sandeep Vaheesan write for The Sling, the testimony of workers and unions can help produce the evidentiary basis for blocking the mergers that lead to monopolies:

https://www.thesling.org/workers-are-an-untapped-resource-for-antitrust-enforcers/

The rising labor movement is a force for profound change in every part of our economy and politics. Workers can be our knights in shining armor.

https://www.thesling.org/workers-are-an-untapped-resource-for-antitrust-enforcers/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/25/huzzah/#bad-king-richard

#pluralistic #renfaires #labor class war #king richard #charter of the forest #harvard #teamsters #uaw #worker as futurist #bandcamp #bandcamp united #j edward keyes #medieval times #kings faire #kings faire inc

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Second Best 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Summary: The newly-single sheriff sets his eye on an unexpected match.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stomp up the porch steps as your dad rocks in the wooden chair, in his usual meditation over a can of Molson. He grunts in his way, acknowledging your return and you shoot back a sharp, ‘hey’. Inside, your mother crochets in front of a soap opera, not looking over as she clacks her needles together. You know better than to try to start a conversation during her programs.

You go to your room behind the stairs and keep yourself from slamming the door. Greta always knows how to ruin your day. She might be right about being your only friend but maybe it’s time to make new ones. This town isn’t just the two of you.

You flop onto your bed sideways and stare at the ceiling. You can’t let her spoil the whole day off. That’s bullshit. What’s the point of spending hours caring about her nonsense. Tomorrow, you’ll be back to cleaning up hotel rooms and wishing you could just lay in bed and do nothing.

You sit up and shake off your agitation. A thorn sticks in your side but you try to ignore it. You could work on your embroidery. The Summer Solstice is coming and you might just talk yourself into sharing a booth with Hilde again. You sold quite a few patches last year.

You pull out your sewing kit and the box of half-finished patches and make a nest on the floor. You turn on the old CD player and listen to the same disc you always do. You set to work as you try to tune out the world.

You poke through the patch and jab into your fingertip. Shit. You growl as you wish you could stab Greta in her stupid little eyes. She’s such a bitch. You hope she has fun with that pig. She’ll be right back at The Horn scavenging for one night stands.

You’re not judging her, you’re judging this place. There really isn’t much to choose from. It’s the exact reason you have a vibrator hidden under your mattress. You’ve seen the men around here and you’ve talked to their girlfriends and wives.

You blow a raspberry and suck on your fingertip. There’s still a hint of vanilla on your skin. You drop your hand and lean back against the dresser.

Something’s gotta give. You’re so fucking bored of this town. There’s nothing to do. Greta just wants to drink and fuck around. If that’s what she enjoys, power to her, but you’re about to glaze over. You want something, anything to change.

🍦

You yawn as you walk up Thunder Lane towards the B&B. Another shift, another dollar. It’s minimum wage but better than nothing. You don’t have the education or the experience to demand more. Besides, the Odinsons aren’t bad employers. Usually you get a free meal or two.

You enter through the front door and greet Darcy as she droops over her coffee. She chirps as she sits up, startled by your sudden appearance. She relaxes as she realises you aren’t a guest or her employer.

You stop by the breakfast bar to grab a cup of your own before you head down to the laundry. You’ll try to catch up on the towels before check-out begins. There aren’t too many of those anyhow. Not yet. Midsommar usually draws in the tourists as a sort of novelty.

You load a washer and set it to spin as you restart a dryer left full from the day before. You give it ten minutes to fluff the towels and start folding. You sip your coffee between towels, drinking it away from the so you don’t stain the pure white.

You load up the cart with fresh towels in preparation for your daily route around the hotel. As you bend to grab some extra wash clothes, you’re started by a deep hum. You stand up straight and turn to face Thor as he looms in the doorway. Gods, he scared the piss out of you. How can a man that big sneak around like a cat?

“I heard there was a broken machine,” he drawls as he leans his elbow on the doorframe.

“Uh, yeah, that one again,” you point to the corner as you add the washcloths to the cart. You feel him watching you still.

“Ah,” he clucks, “and how are you today, lady?”

“Eh, just another day,” you shrug. “You?”

“Hm, as you said it. Another day,” he remarks, “we have a guest.”

“Oh?” You turn the cart around.

“In the Berkano suite,” he explains.

You nod, “right.” You mark the chart pinned to the handle of the cart.

“She is very demanding,” he muses, “from the city.”

“They usually are,” you give a tiny chuckle. You wish he wouldn’t stare at you like that, or that he’d at least move out of the way.

“Not like you village girls, eh?”

“I guess,” you furrow your brow.

“Mm, how’s Greta?” He winks.

“Fine, I don’t know,” you sniff and grab the handle of the cart, rolling it forward.

“My birthday’s coming up. Maybe she’d come?” He suggests.

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you stop, blocked from leaving by his burly form.

“You’re invited too, of course,” he grins and his eyes dip down for a moment, “is that a new apron?”

You have to hold back a scoff. You know better than to mess around with Thor Odinson. It’s more than just the Confucian philosophy of not shitting where you eat, it’s good sense. You’ve heard the stories. Aside from that, he’s a bit above your age range.

“Nope,” you answer flatly, “anyway, I should get started.”

“Well, are you coming? To my party?” He asks.

“I’ll see if I’m free,” you deflect.

“Bring Greta,” he slides out of the way, “and whoever you like. Any pretty girls you know.”

You bow your head to hide your disgust. You don’t think you’ll be feeding anyone to the wolves, especially not yourself. You pass through the door and feel a brush against your hip. You ignore it and roll down the hallway. You wouldn’t even hand over Greta to that beast, for more than the fact that she is excommunicated from your life.

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #drabble #au #series #the devil all the time #second best #backwoods au

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bteezxyewriter12 · 2 months

Text

Rocky

Pairing- San x Named Reader

Word count- 6.2k

Includes- Angst, physical fighting, underground fighting, mentions of blood, blow job, deep throating, cock riding, missionary, love making, multiple orgasms, lots of fluff at the end

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @stephy-nicole13

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist 📝San Masterlist

San POV

"Is she here?", I ask Wooyoung

"She's coming. Don't worry about her. Focus on winning the match"

I glare at him

He knows I can't not worry about her

She's my life, everything I do is for her, of course I'm worried when she's not here yet

All my fights are in warehouses in bad seedy neighborhoods and I get really worried when she doesn't get to the fight with me

She had to work late today and she's coming from there

She's taking the bus here and I won't relax until she's next to me

"She's coming San. She always comes right?"

I nod

"She'll be here"

I know she will even though she hates when I fight

She hates watching me get hurt, get hit, bleed

She always has tears in her eyes during the match and she cries when she's fixing my injuries after the fight

I hate making her cry but we need the money I win from these fights

My minimum wage job as a cook for a noodle shop isn't cutting it

I can't get a better job because no one wants to hire an ex-convict

I was arrested for assault and battery when I beat the shit out of a guy who dared to touch her

Just walked up to her outside of a club while she was waiting for me and grabbed her ass like it was nothing

I was on my way back to her and saw him do that, saw her yell and slap him

Then he shoved her, she fell and I saw fucking red

I got to him and all I beat him to an inch of his life

If the cops didn't pull me off him, I would of killed him

I was arrested, charged with assault and battery and was sentenced to three years in prison

He was also arrested after he got out of the hospital, charged with sexual harassment and sexual assault

She told me he was sentenced to five years in prison

She waited for me, visited me in prison and when I got out no one wanted to hire me

Especially because I have a violent charge

I can't afford a trade school and I don't have the time because I have to make money for us to survive

The cook position is cash only and the only place that would hire me

She's a nail tech in a salon and doesn't make that much either

We don't have a place to live and instead live in Wooyoung's van

When I first got out of prison she moved me into her studio apartment but her neighbors found out I was an ex-con and complained to the landlord

The landlord told her I had to leave

Instead she left to be with me

I insisted she stay in the apartment but she refused

Her sister was nice enough to let her use her address so she could keep working but wouldn't let us move in

Her sister hates me

Tells my naekkeo that I'm ruining her life and I can't disagree

I am ruining her life

I tried talking her into staying at her sister's apartment, which her sister agreed to but she flat out refused, saying that she's staying with me no matter what

She told me she loves me more than anything and she's never going to leave me

Honestly I cried at that

No one, besides Wooyoung, ever cared about me, ever loved me, ever thought I was worth it

And hearing that from the one person I love most in the world made me so fucking happy

I know I'm bringing her down with me but I can't let her go

I can't survive without her

She is my absolute everything

I was looking for more ways to make money and Wooyoung told me about the fights he goes to and offered to get me into them

I agreed and have been doing this for six months aside from the cook job

Wooyoung became my manager, he gets a cut from the winnings but I take a bigger portion of it

He rents a room in an apartment so that me and my naekkeo can stay in his van for now

We got a cheap mattress that takes up the back of the van, our clothes and blankets, shoes, necessities strewn in every place they can be

We have a very small walk way right in front of the bench seat

The van is long so we have some room and it's the best we can do for now

Our problem isn't getting a place, it's continuously paying the rent that's the problem

I really don't know what to do about our situation

She works all day, everyday, at the salon and she's started taking private clients too, going to their places to do their nails

I work all day and do these fights at night, as often as I can

We're stuck and it sucks

"Can you go check outside and see if she's here?", I ask

He sighs, "Yeah ok. I'll be right back"

He leaves and I look around for my opponent

I'm not sure who it is as there are multiple fights tonight

She will only let me do one fight at a time and I give into her because I know she doesn't want me to do this at all

Scanning the room, I see big guys on one end of the room and normal looking guys like me around too

I've fought a few of the guys here before

I mostly win all my fights except in the beginning, when I first started

Aside from then, I make sure I win because we need the money badly

"Sannie", I hear behind me

Turning around, I smile at my naekkeo

"She was already coming inside when I got to her", Wooyoung says

"Hi naekkeo", I say, leaning down and kissing her soft sweet lips

"Hi Sannie", she says, anxiety in her voice as she looks around

"You ok baby?", I ask, knowing she's worried

"Yeah Sannie"

She's not a very good liar

"How was your day naekkeo?", I ask to take her mind off of the fight

"Oh, it was ok. Same stuff. Painted nails. You know", she says softly

I nod, "And the private clients you had this morning were good?"

Her salon opens at 10am and closes at 8pm

She mostly takes private clients from 7am -9:30 am and from 8:30pm to sometimes midnight

Except for days when I have fights, then she doesn't schedule any late night appointments so she can be here with me

Today she had just one at 8:30 and it's fine because the fights start at 10

"Yeah it went fine. One of the girls liked the nails I did on her and she posted it on her social media. She mentioned my name and what salon I work at"

"That's good baby!", I exclaim, smiling, "Did you put our phone number on the post too?"

We share a prepaid phone because we can't afford anything else

It's a cheap dial phone that can only make calls and texts

No Internet connection

She has a tablet her sister gave her, so to use the internet and check emails we go to a cafe that has wifi and use it there

Or she uses it on her lunch hour at work

"Yeah Sannie but you know how I feel about that"

She doesn't like to have our number out there for everyone to see but it's something we have to do for now

It increases her chances of getting extra clients

"I know baby", I tell her, "It's just for now"

"Yeah", she answers

"Did you post the picture on your Instagram?"

That's the only social media she has and it's full of pictures of her work

Sometimes she gets hired by people from there too

"Yeah Sannie", she says

"Good baby. Maybe an idol company will see it and want to hire you", I smile

She is really good at nails, she knows how to use all kinds of nail polish and the designs she does are so pretty

She definitely should be working for idols

"I wish", she giggles, coming closer and laying her head on my chest

I hug her tightly, kissing the top of her head

"I love you Sannie", she says, making me smile

"I love you Jo", I answer, "More than anything"

Words can't describe the love I have for her

She is everything to me

"So much", she whispers, looking up at me

Leaning down, I press my lips to her in a soft kiss

After the kiss, we go sit against one of the walls waiting for my fight to start

-------------------------------

Lifting my arm, I block my opponent's hit then shove his arm away

Pulling my own fist back, I slam it into the side of his head, his body following the direction his head snaps

The fight started three minutes ago and already I'm getting my ass kicked

If course I'm up against one of the biggest guys here

I already got punched in the face twice and once in the stomach, not to mention my arms while I block my face and head

This is the first hit I got in

My opponent rights himself and lunges at me, his fist grazing the side of my lip

Pain hits me hard

I already got a cut there from a previous hit and it fucking hurts

I move back from him, ducking under another swing and punching his stomach

As he doubles over, I kick him hard in the ribs

He roars in pain and the bell rings before I can get another hit it

Fuck

Going to my corner of the ring, I sit in the stool, breathing hard

"Sannie", she whispers, tears on her face

"I'm ok baby", I tell her, turning to my side where she's standing

"You're bleeding San"

"Just little cuts naekkeo", I assure her

I don't want to tell her how much pain I'm in

She worries enough

"You need to knock him the fuck out", Wooyoung growls from my other side, as he pours water from a water bottle in my mouth

I swallow quickly so I don't fucking drown from this dumbass

"No shit", I growl

"Well stop fucking around. You're fighting like shit today"

"Do you want to fucking fight him?", I snap, "You think you can do better?"

He snorts, "I'm not an idiot, I'm not getting in there with that huge oaf"

"Gee thanks", I say sarcastically

"Just go knock him out and win", Wooyoung says dismissively, waving his hand at me

Sometimes I want to punch him

The bell is gonna ring any second and I turn to her

"Kiss me baby"

She immediately pressed her lips against mine in a soft kiss

I feel better, like her kiss is renewing my energy

The bell rings and I pull away from her, getting up and going towards my opponent, my hands up in a fighting stance to protect my head

My opponent comes at me swinging and I parry his punches as best I can but he still gets hits into my body

I try to hit him back but my hits just graze off him because he blocks me

I'm getting frustrated and sloppy

We just really need that money

He hits my ribs and I yell in pain, then swing and smash my fist in his eye, his head snapping back

I advance towards him, moving my arm to land a right hook to his body

He blocks my hit, leaving me wide open and his fist connects with my chin, upper cutting me

Agony explodes in my face as I fall on my back

"Sannie!", I hear her scream through the pain, "Oh my god, Sannie!"

I moan, lifting my head but the pain increases and I lay back down

"Get up Sannie! Please baby, get up"

She sounds so scared

Forcing my eyes open, I turn my head to find her in the crowd, making my swimming vision focus on her

She's grabbing onto the metal chains that make up the ring perimeter, Wooyoung's arm around her waist, holding her back as she struggles against him

It takes me a second to register that she's trying to get into the ring to get to me

Thank god Wooyoung is there to hold her back

If she ever got hurt I'd never forgive myself

"No, don't hit him!", she shouts, tears pouring down her face, "San, move!"

I move to gaze at my surroundings, seeing my opponent walking towards me

"No. Wooyoung let go!", she sobs, "I have to get him, he's not moving. Let me fucking go!"

I have to get up now

She cannot come in this ring

She cannot get hurt

My opponent gets to me, pulling his fist back

My body screams in pain as I roll away just as he brings his fist down, punching the floor, a loud crack sounding in my ear, followed by his screaming

I get up, my vision swimming for a second, the crowd cheering loudly

But all I can hear is her crying my name

I need to finish this fight and get to her

"End it now San!", Wooyoung yells

Forcing myself to stay up, I head to my opponent who's holding his arm to his body

I'm pretty sure he broke his hand

As I get to him, he tries to block me but I get a hit to his face in

He swings his uninjured arm hard while still keeping his injured one close to his body, trying to hit me but misses, his body going with the momentum and he stumbles

I move quickly, punching his ribs, then backing away, circle him then hit him in the same spot

He growls, straightening up and coming at me but he's leaving himself open because he still has his injured arm at his side

I take the opportunity to move quickly to him and jumping, I do a turning kick, smashing my foot into his face

I land on my feet as I hear him fall and I turn around immediately

He's laid out, his eyes closed, not moving

Everyone screams and cheers but I keep my eyes on him in case he decides to get up

He doesn't and the organizer of the fights declares me the winner

I breathe in relief, glad we at least have some money that can last a bit

Turning to the crowd, I find her in the same spot, clinging onto the chains, crying

While I got us money, I hate that I have to make her feel this way to get it

Moving, I stumble over to her, her arms immediately around my neck, hugging me tightly to her as she sobs in my neck, the chains between us

I move my arms around her, holding her tightly, "It's ok naekkeo. I'm ok"

"Come out of there now", she sobs, "Please Sannie. We're leaving right now"

"Yeah naekkeo. Ok baby", I agree, "Just let Wooyoung get the money ok?"

She nods then lets me go, holding up the chain so I can squeeze through

Once I'm out of the ring, she's immediately back in my arms, hugging me tightly

Hugging her, I run my fingers in her hair, whispering to her, assuring her I'm ok

I am ok, just a little beat up

I'll be sore tomorrow but it's nothing some Tylenol can't fix

Wooyoung comes over, handing me an envelope

I quickly stuff it in my pocket then tell her, "C'mon baby, let's go"

Taking her hand, the three of us leave the warehouse, heading for the van

--------------------------------

She sits across from me in the van, on our cheap mattress, looking down

"Here naekkeo", I say softly, giving her the envelope with the winning money

She takes it, opening it

"It's 600 for this fight"

She nods, taking out 200 and putting it in the little safe we have in the van

The rest of it she puts in her bag so she can deposit it into her account for us

She raises her eyes to me, tears pooling in time

"Naekkeo-", I whisper but she shakes her head

She reaches next to our bed, taking out the first aid kit, then moves next to me on the seat

She opens the kit, taking out some paper towels and wetting them with bottled water

Her eyes raise to mine again, gently turning my face towards hers

She gently presses the wet paper towel to the corner of my lip, dabbing the blood away, tears falling down her face as she does

My heart falls, hurting because she's hurting

I wish I could do something, anything to make everything better

Better for her

But I don't know what to do

She cleans my mouth, then uses more wet paper towel to clean the cut on my cheek

She slides my tank top off, more tears falling as she looks at my bruised body

She checks everywhere, wiping blood away from scratches and cuts on my arms, neck and chest

Then she puts all the bloody towels in a plastic bag

"No more Sannie", she whispers

"Naekkeo-"

"No more", she repeats, her eyes full of unshed tears, gazing into mine, "Please Sannie. I can't....I can't keep watching you get hurt baby. You've been so lucky nothing serious has happened to you so far. But you don't know what these hits to your face, to your head are doing to your brain baby. I can't lose you"

"You won't naekkeo", I tell her, "I'm ok"

"For now", she whispers, "But what if you get knocked out and don't wake up? What if you break something? We don't have money for a hospital Sannie and I don't know how to fix broken bones"

I shake my head, "Nothing like that is going to happen-"

"You don't know that!", she cries, "You don't know what effect this is having on you because we can't afford to get you checked out!"

I breathe in, trying not to get frustrated, "I'm doing this for us baby. So we can get out of this van"

"I don't care about getting out of this van!", she sobs, "Don't you get it San? I don't care about money, I don't care about living in an apartment. I care about you! All I want is you!"

"It's because of me you have such a shitty life!", I yell, losing it, "It's because of me you're living in a fucking van instead of a house! It's because of me you got kicked out of your apartment! It's because of me you're poor! It's because of me you don't have a fucking shower or a toilet to use, because of me we have to use gas stations and public restrooms. You don't even have basic things like a real fucking bed to sleep in! It's because of me you aren't living with your sister when you should! You're in this shitty situation because you chose me and I'm such a lowlife screw up that I can't even provide a fucking basic life for you. And it won't get any better. We'll always be fucking poor. Any apartment we get will be shitty in a crap neighborhood. Your sister is right, I ruined your life"

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, trying and failing to stop the tears that run down my face

I love her so much but she should not be with me

I'm just dragging her down

Her small hand touches my cheek, turning my face to her

I open my eyes, her beautiful face blurred through the tears

"I love you Sannie", she says, "I will always choose you no matter what"

"You shouldn't naekkeo", I whisper, "You should run far from me. I'm not good for you"

"Yes you are", she argues, "You are baby. You went to prison for me, because you were protecting me baby"

Of course I did

She's my everything and I'll be damned if anything or anyone hurts her

I'll always be there to protect her

"You are the best man for me San", she continues, "You love me more than anyone ever has. You take care of me the best you can. You're willing to get hurt to try to make a better life for us"

"I'm failing naekkeo"

I'm failing at taking care of her so fucking badly

I'm failing at everything a boyfriend should do for his girl

She shakes her head, "No baby. Please listen to me San"

I just nod, not knowing what she can say to make me change my mind that I'm no good for her

"I don't care if we're poor. I don't care if we have to live in this van or a shitty area. I don't care about using public bathrooms or sleeping on a crappy mattress. My life is not shitty because I have you San. I can live without a bathroom or an apartment or a bed. I can't live without you"

I feel more tears leak out at her words that I know are true

She doesn't consider her life crappy because she has me

I don't know how I still have her love or why she loves me as much as she does but I'm so grateful for it

"I love you Sannie, more than words can express baby. You are my everything. I swear I will always choose you, I will always be right here with you, by your side, wherever you are. I will never abandon you baby. Never"

I take her hand, holding it as I break down, sobbing, her free arm hugging me to her

I can't explain how I'm feeling, just a mixture of happiness, relief, gratefulness, sadness, despair all swirling inside me

Just knowing she's here, she's never leaving me no matter what is more than I deserve

"You're worth anything and everything Sannie. As long as we're together, we'll be ok baby. I promise"

I nod, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tightly, my face buried in her neck

Her arms move around me, her fingers gently running in my hair

"Please Sannie. No more fights baby. We'll find another way ok? Please baby", she begs

I nod, whispering in her neck, "Ok naekkeo. No more"

She's never asked me to stop before, just silently taking care of me after the matches but I know she didn't want me to continue the fights

And even though we need the money, I'm going to stop because she's asking me

I can't deny her anything, especially when she's going through all this to be with me

I will never break her trust, never go back on my word

Not when it comes to her

So if she wants me to stop, I will

Lifting my head, I look in her beautiful eyes, softly cupping her cheek, "I promise, no more fights naekkeo"

She nods, relief in her face

"I love you Jo. More than anything"

She smiles softly, "I love you Sannie"

She kisses me softly, her arms moving around my neck, warmth crawling up my body as my head spins

I pull her into my lap, deepening the kiss, her tongue against mine, her fingers in my hair

Moving, I get us on our bed, laying next to her, our bodies turned to each other as we kiss

Her hands gently touch me, her fingers leaving heat in every cell on my skin

She gently pushes me to my back, hovering over me, her lips pressing to my neck

I close my eyes in pleasure as my naekkeo's soft lips kiss me

I move my hands under her shirt, feeling her soft warm skin as I travel up her back, pulling her shirt up at the same time

Taking it off her, I move my hands around her again, undoing her bra, her big boobs immediately in my hands

I squeeze softly, feeling her nipples harden against my palms

She sits on my lap, looking down at me, her fingers gently touching a new bruise from tonight's match

I have lots of bruises on my body, old ones and new

I know she hates it but at least there won't be new ones anymore

She leans down, her lips pressing the softest kiss she's ever given me on the bruise

My breath hitches as she moves her lips to another bruise, this time an old one, kissing there too

She continues to kiss each and every bruise on my body, a wave of utter acceptance and love crashing into me

Tears spring to my eyes and fall as she presses her lips all over my chest, my stomach, my arms, her hands softly trailing in her kisses wake

"My strong Sannie", she whispers, kissing my palm, making me cry more, "My baby"

She presses a kiss to each of my finger tips, then moves to my other hand doing the same thing

"My love of my life", she says, her eyes on mine, "My everything"

I can't stop the tears that are flowing

I'm just in awe that this amazing woman loves me this much

That she considers me her everything when I can't give her much of anything

That she just wants me when she could have a better life without me

That she's willing to give up that better life to be with me

She's completely extraordinary and I thank my lucky stars she's mine

"I love you Sannie", she says, her hands gently wiping the tears from my eyes

"I love you Jo", I cry, "I love you so much naekkeo"

She smiles, her lips against mine again and I fall into her kiss

I slide my hands down her back, pushing her pants and panties down as far as I can

She smiles into the kiss before moving off me and taking the rest of her clothes off

She reaches for my pants, dragging them and my boxers down and off

I watch her lean down, her tongue slowly running up my hard cock, pleasure humming in my body

She licks up my dick again and again, her tongue feeling so fucking good, so wet, so firm against me

Her tongue licks along my slit, making my body shiver

"Mmm yummy Sannie", she murmurs, swirling her tongue around my head, "My baby always tastes so good for me"

I whine as her mouth wraps around my head, soft sucking sensations taking over my body

She slowly moves down my cock, giving me long sucks that has my body trembling against the bed, my fingers gripping onto the sheets

"Baby, fuck", I moan, her mouth feeling utterly amazing, her tongue against my cock as she sucks

She finally moves all the way down, deep throating me, my cock nestled and throbbing in her throat

When she starts bobbing her head, I moan loudly, the feel of sliding out of her throat then going back into that tightness so fucking pleasurable

Her head moves faster, taking me in and out over and over, my head and body filled with bliss

She is so fucking good at blow jobs it's amazing

She watches me, her big brown eyes teary, bringing me closer with each move

I run my fingers in her hair, stopping her

"Need you", I whisper

She nods, pulling me out of her mouth

Getting in my lap, she holds my dick up under her, sitting on my head

Her tight hole spreads open for me as she sinks down on my length, slowly taking an inch at a time

"Naekkeo, fuck", I whimper, watching her cunt take me, completely drenching me, "All the way baby"

She smiles, her hips moving as she wiggles down my cock, "Always Sannie. Always want all of you inside"

I know she does

We can't get enough of each other and living in a van hasn't dimmed down our sex life at all

She bottoms me out, her hips immediately grinding so slowly on me, driving me crazy

"Baby", I whine

"Shh baby", she smirks, "I'm gonna ride you the way I want to but don't worry Sannie. You know I'll always make you feel so good"

I nod, knowing she will

Both of us are all about the other when it comes to sex

She wants to make me feel good and I want to do that for her

It's why sex with her is the best I've ever had

Her small hands move onto my stomach, leaning on me as she slides up my length, leaving my cock a wet creamy mess

"Baby fuck, so wet already", I moan

"Mm can't help it", she whimpers as her cunt tightens around my head, feeling so good, "You're cock is the best baby. So hard. Feels so good"

With that, she slides back down slowly, clenching my cock over and over as she goes down, pleasure blasting into every cell as my length pushes through her tightness

"Oh my god naekkeo", I pant, feeling every inch of her pussy smother my cock as she bottoms me out

She grinds on me, my head rubbing against her spot, her beautiful body shaking on top of me

"Mmm Sannie", she moans softly, starting to bounce so slowly on my length, making sure she squeezes hard as she moves up and down, feeling incredibly good

I watch her, hypnotized by the way her gorgeous body moves on me, by the pleasure on her face

I slide my hands up her body, starting from her thighs, feeling her soft skin tremble against my fingertips, soft sighs of bliss coming from her slightly parted lips

I'm so fucking lucky this amazing woman is mine

My hands move around her bouncing boobs, squeezing gently, rubbing my thumbs across her nipples

Her hands wrap around my wrists, her bounces going just a touch faster but still agonizingly slow

"Sannie", she whimpers, her body arching in pleasure, her cunt throbbing hard and completely creaming my cock, beads of sweat slowly rolling down her perfect body

"Cum for me naekkeo", I whisper, wanting to feel that pleasure her orgasms give me, "Fall apart for me baby"

"Sannie", she moans, taking my entire cock inside her, her orgasm starting

Intense pleasure washes over me from her pretty pussy squeezes my cock in a vice grip, flooding my dick and lap in her cream

I watch the stunning sight of my naekkeo coming and I swear I've never seen anything so fucking beautiful

"Good girl", I praise her, "My good girl. Fuck naekkeo, feels so good"

"So good Sannie", she whimpers

As soon as she finishes, I'm sitting up, crashing my lips to hers, kissing her passionately

Pulling her sweaty body right against mine, I lay down with her and roll us over, getting on top of her

Her legs wrap around my waist and I can't describe how much I love that feeling

Thrusting into her, I bottom out quickly but stay buried inside her, just wanting to feel her pulsing pussy wrapped around me for a minute

Her small hands lay flat on my back, slowly sliding up and down, sending chills down my spine and heat through all my nerves

As I kiss her, I slowly pull out, loving the feeling of her pussy tugging on my dick, wanting to keep me inside

When I move back in, her hips lift, meeting my stroke, letting my cock plunge deeper inside her

She moans in my mouth as my head hits her spot, her legs tightening around me

We move together, meeting each other as I go back in, my pelvis rubbing against her little clit with each move

She breaks the kiss, moaning my name, as I move my arm around her waist, keeping her right against me while we make love to each other

I lean my forehead against hers, her hand sliding in my hair, holding on, our breaths mixing with each other's, pure bliss running through my body

"Sannie", she whispers, opening her eyes and locking them on mine, "I love you Sannie"

I smile, love for her filling my body, "I love you Joanne. More than anything naekkeo"

"So much baby. Forever", she whispers

I nod, "Forever naekkeo"

I know I will never stop loving her

It's just not possible

She's my absolute everything

"San", she whines, both of us right there, her pussy spasming so hard, soaking every inch of me

I slip in, rubbing her spot and she cries my name as she cums

Her cunt chokes my cock, ecstacy tidal waving into every cell in my body and I hold her so tightly, moaning her name as I cum

"Joanne, naekkeo. Fuck baby", I whimper, closing my eyes while the fucking pleasure increasing as her cunt milks my cock for all my cum, her repeated whispers of my name washing over me

"San. My Sannie. Sannie"

We cling onto each other as the pleasure fades, my eyes opening and meeting hers again

I press my lips against hers in a kiss as I pull out of her

I shift to lay next to her, her body turning and entangling with mine as our lips stay locked together, her fingers slowly running up and down my back

When the kiss ends, I lay on my back and she cuddles against me, her head on my chest, her leg moving over my body

I grab the blanket that was pushed to my side of the bed and get it over us, then play with her hair as we lay together

"I love you", she whispers, kissing my chest right where my heart is, making it skip a beat

"I love you", I tell her

A silence falls but my mind is running a mile a minute

"Naekkeo", I whisper, deciding the time is right

"Yeah Sannie?"

"Would you....would you want...to marry me?"

There, I asked

Her breathing still as her head tilts up, her eyes immediately looking into mine

"Are you serious?"

I nod, one hundred percent serious

I've wanted to ask her for awhile but I can't afford a ring and I didn't want to do it without one but the reality is I doubt I'll ever be able to afford one for her

But just because there's no ring doesn't mean we can't get married

"Yeah naekkeo. I love you so much Joanne. I never want to be without you", I tell her, "I don't have a ring and I don't think I'll ever be able to get you one-"

"Shush Sannie", she says, softly touching the side of my face, "I don't need a ring San. I just need you"

"You have me baby. Always", I assure her

"And you have me Sannie. Always too", she says

After tonight and everything she said, I know for sure I have her forever

There's no doubt in my mind that I'm always going to be with her

"And yes Sannie. I want to marry you"

"Yeah?", I ask, smiling

"Of course Sannie. When are you going to realize you're my everything baby and I only want you?"

"I'm starting to get it naekkeo", I tell her, "I'm getting it"

"Good", she smiles happily, "When can we get married?"

I laugh, "Well naekkeo, we do have some money now and I don't think it costs too much to get married in city hall"

"Hmm yeah. I think I'll research everything online tomorrow during my break and I'll let you know what we have to do"

"Sure baby. Then we can figure out when-"

"Hopefully this month", she says, "If that's ok with you"

"Are you kidding? The love of my life wants to marry me asap, of course I'm more than ok with that"

"Yay", she cheers adorably, "I can't wait to be a Choi"

Did she say..

"You....you want to take my last name?", I ask softly

She smiles at me, stroking my cheek softly, "Of course Sannie. I want my last name to be the same as yours. Unless you don't-"

"No I do", I say quickly, "I do want that baby, I just want to make sure it's what you want"

"It is. I want to be Choi, Joanne, the wife of Choi San. I want that more than anything baby"

My heart swells with love, happiness and gratitude that I have the best girl on this planet

She is extraordinary and precious and I will do everything in my power to take care of her, protect her and make a better life for her

I swear

"I want that more than anything too naekkeo", I tell her

"Well it's good that we're going to get what we want baby", she answers

"Yeah, it's good"

She leans closer, kissing me softly, her kiss feeling like heaven

"I love you Sannie"

"I love you Jo"

Cuddling into each other, I hold my naekkeo, happy and hopeful for our future

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