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#yeah part of me is amused by the housekeeper
criminalamnesia · 1 month
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If it's not too much would you consider a roommates! Gaz and Soap where you need temporary housing and they offer to put you up for a couple of months in return for some housekeeping and cooking? But then it's awkward sharing a space with three people and two bedrooms so you end up a free use maid ✨
so I’ve been thinking about this,,, and I’m actually changing your idea a little bit (I hope that’s okay!)
also I got completely carried away with this and I miiight already be thinking about a part two where things get a little spicier, like you asked! 👀 keep a look out :))
(also I will 100% write for roommate!johnny&gaz eventually but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head!)
you’re soap’s sister, and when you tell him you need a place to stay, he doesn’t hesitate.
it didn’t click in his mind how your moving in may pose a problem until he’s helping you pack your stuff into a van.
one— he lives with gaz, and he may have forgotten to tell his roommate that they’re adding a third to their already small apartment.
two— there’s only two bedrooms.
gaz was currently on a special assignment, so these two things weren’t a huge problem at the moment. johnny shoots his teammate a text, informing him of the predicament and apologizing for just now telling him.
gaz responds, obviously a little peeved, and johnny’s suddenly absorbed in his phone, trying to soothe ruffled feathers and make this work.
you’re huffing as you keep shoving boxes into the van, your muscly brother now too preoccupied to continue helping.
“little help here, johnny?” you call from the trunk, and johnny startles from his spot leaning against the side of the truck.
by the time he clicks his phone off and resumes helping you, him and gaz have settled things.
you’d have johnny’s bedroom. johnny could sleep in gaz’s room until gaz got back home. and the rest would be worked out at a later date.
————————————————
you’ve never met gaz before. sure, johnny has told you all about his teammates and his roommate in particular, but you’ve never actually met the man until now.
he makes you screech in terror, holding the broom you’d been using to sweep the kitchen up like a sword. he chuckles.
“how’d you get in here?” your eyes are wide, taking in the man in front of you, and then it clicks. you remember the pictures johnny had shown you.
this was gaz.
and fuck, he was hot.
“I live here, love.” he says, his tone obviously amused as he looks you up and down. “gonna put that down? or will I be sporting some broom-shaped bruises for the next week?”
“oh, sorry—” you scramble to put the broom down, leaning it against one of the kitchen counters. “I didn’t hear you come in, and johnny didn’t tell me you’d be home today.”
“he didn’t know,” gaz shrugged, walking further into the kitchen now that your weapon of choice had been set aside. “where is he, by the way? we’ve got a lot of talking to do. gotta figure out this room situation.”
you pick at your cuticles anxiously as you shuffle out of the way, allowing gaz to open the fridge. he grabs a bottle of water and twists the lid off, and you’re mesmerized.
wait, what?
you mentally shake yourself from your stupor.
“um, he’s at the gym i think. he should be home soon.”
gaz nods, taking a swig from his water. his eyes settle on you once more as he shuts the fridge door.
“but about the bedrooms,” you start, taking a step towards him. “johnny can have his back. im fine with the couch, and—”
“oh, absolutely not, love. I’d sooner take the couch than make you sleep on it.”
“no no,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve already caused enough problems by moving in. please let me—”
he cuts you off again with a dazzling smile. “it’s settled, love. you’re not sleeping on the couch. and your moving in isn’t a problem, trust me.”
damn, he’s smooth. you feel your cheeks getting hot, and you have to force yourself to look away from him before you melt.
“okay, well, if you won’t let me take the couch, at least let me do the chores and stuff, yeah? it’s not like I have much else to do,” you tell him with a dry chuckle. the whole reason you’d resorted to moving in with johnny was because you were between jobs right now.
you quite literally had all the time in the world to help around the apartment.
kyle almost looks like he’s going to protest again, but he doesn’t. he must see how much you want to do this, how badly you feel for ‘interrupting’ (you’re absolutely not, and although he’d been miffed about johnny not asking him about you moving in at first, he couldn’t care less now. you were stunning).
at his silence, you give a firm nod. “alright then,” you grin, and he matches your expression. “nice to finally meet you, gaz.”
“kyle,” he says, and your smile widens the tiniest bit.
“kyle.” you say, as if testing the word out on your tongue.
“sis, y’home? I was thinking chinese for dinner!” johnny calls out as the door to the apartment opens. he steps inside, toeing off his shoes before rounding the corner to the kitchen.
“you shite!” johnny laughs out as he spots gaz in the kitchen. they both chuckle, embracing each other in short hug, slapping each other on the back.
“y’broken?” you hear johnny ask, and gaz shakes his head.
“nah, all good.”
johnny nods, patting gaz on the shoulder before his eyes shift to you.
“see y’ve met my sis,” he says, moving towards you and ruffling your hair. you groan, slapping at his hand. gaz laughs. “hope she hasn’ given ya trouble.”
“I just came in,” gaz says, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.
“so she hasn’ had the chance yet, then,” johnny jokes, and you roll your eyes. “chinese alrigh’ gaz?”
the other man nods, and the two soldiers fall into familiar conversation. you feel as though you’re intruding, and you attempt to slip out of the kitchen unnoticed, but gaz stops you by mentioning your name.
“I was just telling your sister that she’s not sleeping on the couch,” he tells johnny, and then his eyes slide to you. you look sheepish, like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar.
“oh, o’course not,” johnny agrees. “I can take the couch, she’s my sister.”
“we could switch, yeah?” kyle looks at johnny. “that couch isn’t that comfortable, mate. I don’t wanna be hearin’ you complain about your back in a few days.”
johnny laughs, but nods. “sounds good. looks like you’re livin’ the life then, aye?” he says to you, and you open your mouth to speak, but kyle beats you to it.
“actually, we were just talking about all that. your lovely sister here was saying she’d like to keep the flat clean.”
“s’that so?” johnny questions, eyebrows raised as he looks at you. “y’don’t have to do that.”
“I want to, johnny. it’s the least I can do after barging in on your lives.”
you can tell by the look on your brother’s face that he’s going to argue, so you swiftly cut him off.
“no arguments! it’ll give me something to do anyways.”
johnny concedes, then excuses himself to shower. you tell him you’ll order the food as he leaves the kitchen.
you and kyle are alone again, and his eyes are trained on you. you clear your throat before fishing your phone out of your pocket.
“what’s your order?” you ask him.
kyle grins. he knows what he’s doing to you.
god, this was going to be an interesting stay.
—————————————————
author’s note:
this is my first time really writing both johnny and Kyle, so I apologize if they seem ooc!
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redredcherries · 2 months
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Bickering with Rafe Cameron
words: 0.5k
characters: kook!oc x bestfriend’sbro!rafe cameron
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⋆ ˚。⋆ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚。˚。⋆୨୧˚⋆ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆ .
Sleepovers with Sarah were frequent, given the fact that Aurora's parents worked abroad most of the time, leaving her alone in an empty mansion, with only a housekeeper as her only companion. The Camerons were used to Aurora’s presence in their home, taking good care of her as if she is one of them, often preparing an extra dinner portion for Aurora and leaving her usual spot on the couch empty during movie nights. 
Plaiting her long hair with ribbons, Aurora furrowed her brows in concentration as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Golden rays of sunlight seeped through the large curtained windows, lighting up Sarah's bedroom with a warm glow, casting an ethereal halo around Aurora's delicate features. 
As Aurora deftly intertwined the ribbons, she smiled at Sarah’s reflection, still soundly asleep in her bed, soft snores escaping her parted lips. Laughing heartily, Aurora slipped out of Sarah’s bedroom slowly, taking a glimpse of her neatly plaited hair and Chanel matching set as she passed by the mirrors adorning Sarah’s closet, then descended the stairs happily in search of breakfast. 
Skipping into the kitchen in the early morning, Aurora hummed along to her favorite song as she searched for strawberry milk in the fridge for her breakfast cereal, not noticing the smirking figure of Rafe Cameron leaning against the kitchen counter, chugging the milk directly from the carton. 
“Looking for this, beautiful ?” Dangling the empty carton in the air, Aurora jumped at the sound of his voice, as Rafe looked at Aurora with amusement in his eyes.
“For God’s sake, Rafe ! ,” Aurora replied, clutching her chest as she walked over to him, her heels clicking against the marble floor, “ You’ve finished my carton of milk in one gulp, you owe it to me now. Help me get another one from the store, yeah?” Glancing up at Rafe with a victorious smile on her face, she flicked her long hair behind her back, turning around to wash up some berries for her smoothie. 
“ No way in hell I’m doing that.” Shaking his head in defiance as he toyed with the loose strand of her ribbon, “You may look cute but I’m tired as shit, Rora.” 
Turning off the tap abruptly, Aurora turned around to face Rafe, staring at him face to face with an unreadable look on her face. She observed him features closely, noticing the intensity of dark circles beneath his ocean blue eyes, her brows knitting together in concern. 
“ I hear you sneaking in through the back door every night at 4am since the start of July,” Aurora said softly, her eyes meeting his for a second “Where were you ? Sarah has been worried sick since…”
“ You stayed up just to wait for me?” Rafe interrupted, with an amused grin plastered across his face, brushing a strand of loose hair from her blushing cheeks.
“ I-I’m a light sleeper… and don’t you dare change the subject !” Aurora interjected, her face turning a deep shade of red as Rafe chuckled, flicking his car keys out of his pocket and waving goodbye to her sarcastically, exiting through the front door.
“Where are you -“
“ Suddenly I recall owing a pretty girl her precious strawberry milk !”
💋: my first fic ! hope u enjoyed x
-redredcherries
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sisitrip · 7 months
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Welp, I missed day 28 of A.U.gust 2023 (the one day I was excited to do), but life/drama/the humidity that made me enemies with my hair lol kept me from it. But, since ill editing and reading for a bit, my brain wouldn't let me do that until I posted this one. I want to thank @gallavichthings for hosting A.U.gust once again. I only got in two days, but I had fun nonetheless.
With that said, I'm offering "Will Do" with no expectations. (2,082k words)
Housekeeping:
Da: Yes (Russian)
Spasibo: Thank you (Russian)
TW: Mention of scare tactics used against a small child by our most hated sperm donor.
_______________________________
Ian pads into the dining room grappling with a helplessness he hates. 
Silent and distressed, Mickey is huddled on their bed recovering from yet another nightmare and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Nothing. 
He paces, futility ushering him to do something, anything to erase the memory of Mickey crying in his arms, scared and curling his toes hard enough to turn them white. Desperate, he’d come out to heat some milk, the only thing he could think to do and it kills him that he can’t do more. 
He takes a few angry swings in the dark, hissing “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you” with each jab. He didn’t think his hate for Terry could grow.
“Bad dreams again?”
Ian jumps when Svet seems to materialize out of the shadows of the sparsely lit kitchen. He laughingly sags into a dining room chair, hand on his chest as orange sparks prickle his vision.
“Christ, Svet. You need a bell,” he says, unsteady. “Yeah, third nightmare this month. Night sleeping is still new for him.”
He blinks a few times and the sputtering orange lights finally fade. He needs sleep. He always sees dumb stuff when he’s this tired.
“You fixing Yevvy a bottle?” he asks.
“Da. He will shit again, but we must feed the bottomless pit.” 
Ian laughs softly. Yev’s appetite was legendary, a trait Mickey was proud of. 
“I’ll go get him. I just came to warm some milk for Mick,” he says, rising.  
“Wait!” 
He stills at Svet’s sharp tone. The delicate detente they’d reached was fresh and he’s always careful not to upset that balance. 
“Did … did I do something, Svet? I know this situation isn’t, I don’t know, ideal. But, we … me and Mickey, we could stay at my place if it makes you-”
“No, that part is okay. It’s just Yevgeny. He sleeps. I thought I would move before air raid alarm,” she jokes, sounding anything but amused as she waves him back into his seat. “I heat milk for the enfant terrible too.”
Ian smiles, relieved he hasn't clumsily ruined the truce he’s fought hard for and won. He takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose against a warm electric smell he can’t quite place. Like burning metal maybe. 
“You were always sweet, Ian. Too sweet for this world you’d lived in with Mickey,” Svet says, rueful and quiet. A stove burner alights with a blue flame as she twists a knob. “But, it was that sweetness that let you accept Yev. What I didn’t know at the time was that you would come to love Yev like I did.”
Ian pauses in rubbing his sleepy eyes. Her past tense is throwing him off, making this moment weirdly surreal. Like an echo from a remembered conversation. 
He corrects her gently. “Like you do. Love Yevvy like you do. Here we say “do” for present and “did” for past.”
“What do you say for the future?” she asks. 
“Will do.”
“Spasibo.” Svet opens the refrigerator with her back to him. “You took good care of Yev. You were a better caretaker than either of us and I failed him when he’d needed me most. But, you never did. Even when you didn’t know yourself, you made sure he was safe. I’m betting that you'll do it again when he comes looking for you.”
There it is again. The odd use of the past tense. And did her accent just drop entirely?
Despite those disturbing anomalies, Ian’s too distracted by her clothing to focus on them. She’s not dressed in the robe and nightgown she usually favors. Instead she’s wearing some sort of reflective leggings that look metallic and uncomfortable. Her shape is different too. Softer, fuller. 
“Failed Yevvy how? And what do you mean when he comes looking for me?" he asks, watching her move slowly to the stove, like her limbs couldn’t respond fast enough. 
“Nevermind that.” She sets a milk filled pot on the flames then leans carefully against the refrigerator. “I have to tell you about my Yev. You need to be there for him.” 
The dark is doing something strange to her voice. It sounds otherworldly with a slight echo or reverb that gives it a tinny sound. Like a radio playing at night in a distant neighbor's yard. He doesn't know why, but it's freaking him out.
They both jump when a bedroom door opens and they hear Mickey’s footsteps approaching. Jesus, the whole house is spooking him tonight.
“Don’t tell him I’m awake. He’ll get embarrassed,” Svet whispers, slipping to the side of the refrigerator shrouded in darkness.
Mickey pads over, naked save his socks. 
His heart aches at the sight of those socks. Tonight is the first time Mickey’s told him why he always needs socks after a nightmare. Ian couldn’t imagine waking up from sleep as a four year old with your father gibbering like a monster under your bed and grabbing your naked toes in the dark. He finally understands why Mickey prefers sleeping during the day and it breaks his heart. 
“You comin’ back to bed?” Mickey steps between his legs, squeezing his shoulders. 
Ian’s about to warn him that Svet is up, but thinks better of it. She’s seen him naked before. 
“Just warming up some milk. You want cinnamon this time?”
He pulls Mickey close by the hips and kisses his sleep warm belly. 
“Yeah. But, I’ll make it.” 
Ian presses his face into Mickey’s stomach and runs his hands up and down the back of his thighs. He's not quite over Mickey screaming awake like he did. His protective caveman had surfaced with a vengeance.
“No, baby, I got it. Go back to bed. I’ll bring it in,” he mumbles, blowing warm puffs of air into Mickey’s navel, making him chuckle. 
“Baby.” Mickey’s soft snort is affectionate as he strokes the back of Ian’s neck. “You only call me that after a nightmare.”
“That’s the only time you’ll let me.” In the dim glow of the streetlight, Mickey’s face is still marked by his dream. Vulnerable and stricken. “I could call you that when we’re in the supermarket if you want.”
Mickey sucks his teeth and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. 
“Let’s try it around here first, alright?” Mickey kisses him. Sweet, precious. “Hurry up. Hate layin’ in there without you.”
Ian lets him go after giving his hips a squeeze. 
“I’m right behind you … baby.” 
Mickey huffs a soft laugh and kisses his forehead before padding off, leaving him smiling. Yeah. He's going to call him baby everyday. 
The clink of a pot against a mug brings him back down to reality. Svet’s pouring the heated milk and he flushes. He’d forgotten about her. Mickey, like always, eclipsed everything around him. 
“You teach him to love. That’s good. Needed,” she says, pulling the cinnamon from their meager rack of spices. “Yev will need both of you to know love.”
“He’s taught me a few things too,” he says through a yawn, wanting their Mickey scented bed now more than ever.
“Da. How to be a father without actually being a father. I will be grateful for that later.”
Svet sets the mug on the dining room table and he has a mild shock. She looks … tired. There are lines in her face and her hair must be catching the light weird because it looks silver in some places. And her pajamas. They’re definitely reflective and have panels in the chest and along the arms, almost like protective plating. Crazier still, they’re pulsing with a warm orange light. He blinks hard, leaning forward to get a better look, but she steps back into the gloom of the kitchen. 
“Svet, what the hell are you wear-”
“Oh fuck, no. It’s too soon. The cycle’s started. I was supposed to have more time,” she says fast, accent completely gone as she backs up. A warm copper scent begins to suffuse the room. “Listen. Yevvy’s going to come to you, Ian. When he’s 14, he’ll find you. Take him in. Even if Mickey doesn’t want to. Take him in.”
Ian’s heart begins to trip as tiny orange lights flicker around the kitchen. They fizzle to life between him and Svetlana, only to wink out as soon as they appear and are replaced by more. The hot copper smell is strong now, overpowering.
“Svet, what are you talking about? Holy shit, are we having an electrical fire?!” Ian stands and takes a step forward as more sparks of orange light swirls around her. Despite the violence of their appearance, they make no sound. 
“Stop! Stay there! The intake will kill you,” Svet warns, backing into a dark corner. “Just take Yev in. He will have no one but you and Mickey until I’m released. Promise me!”
There’s a horde of orange lights swirling along Svet’s body now, illuminating her. What he sees takes his breath away. 
Svet’s older. At least 60. Her face is wrinkled and her hair is gray. She’s aged 40 years since yesterday and that’s impossible. 
“I agreed to do this only if I could change Yev’s trajectory and this is the moment that triggers you to remember later. We found that your hippocampal storage will retain this specific memory and I need you to hold onto it! Yev needs you to!”
The orange lights surge now, filling the kitchen with an unearthly glow and an odd warmth. Frozen, Ian watches Svetlana fight against an invisible current that seems to be pulling her inward. She speaks rapidly now, as if racing against some unknowable deadline.
“Take him in. His life changes for the better because you do. He won’t get radicalized. I will get to see him again if I survive this. Just help him Ian! Promise me you’ll do it! Say you will do-” 
She winks out into a cloud of orange sparks, leaving behind a strong smell of heated copper. 
In shock, he responds to her pleas while they still echo in this empty space.
“Will do.”
The air in the kitchen crackles in the silent aftermath and Ian can’t move, sure that what he just witnessed wasn’t real. He’s been under so much stress - living with Mickey and Svet, running out of money, dancing at the club. Add to that the coke he hadn’t told Mickey about, but had needed lately to keep moving. Maybe he needed to cut back like he told Fiona because no fucking way that happened.
“Ian.” 
Mickey’s standing in the dining room holding the steaming mug of milk. “What are you doing?” 
With a start, he turns away from the dark kitchen. It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen.
“I-I couldn’t remember if I turned off the stove,” he says, soft and uncertain. 
“Doesn’t look like it. Turn it off now, it smells a little burnt in here,” Mickey whispers. “C’mon. Let’s go back to bed before you wake Svet.”
Ian turns off the stove and follows him, slowing past Svet’s room. He peeks in and she’s sleeping on the bed holding Yevgeny. He lets out a shaky breath. He’d sleepwalked. It’s happened before. That’s all. Nothing more than that.  
“Ian, you better get in here before I finish this milk or you ain’t gettin’ any,” Mickey teases from their bedroom doorway. 
He hiccups a disjointed laugh and follows Mickey inside, shaking off the last of whatever that waking dream had been. 
In bed, he loses himself in Mickey’s body, emptying him twice, until he’s wet, gaping and emotional. Still unsettled by his waking dream, he seeks stability and an outlet for his need to fix. He finds both in every moan, gasp and soft cry Mickey gives him until he no longer feels adrift. Satiated, they curl around each other and Mickey presses his feet atop Ian’s, body relaxing with this anchor he seems to need. Ian holds him tight and falls asleep, allowing the dream of Svetlana to fade into memory.  
He won’t think about this night again. 
For exactly fourteen years, he doesn’t even have the vaguest memory of it. But, the day there’s a knock on their Westside apartment door and a blond teenager with Mickey’s eyes says his name is Yev, he instinctively lets him inside.
Later, after they decide Yev should stay, Mickey asks him to make up the couch. Ian smells warm copper before he speaks without thinking. 
“Will do.”
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hexonthepeach · 2 years
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dark & stormy 3: eye of the storm
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summary: you’re a housekeeper in a seedy hotel working through the worst hurricane of the season when you’re invited to spend the evening with your two sexy but enigmatic co-workers. when you accidentally uncover their secret identities you're dragged into a darker world—one you may already know too well
pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)
genre: the late-70s/early-80s miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for or: a work of madness inspired by the infamous w korea shoot
word count: 13k of 63k
warnings: explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome) [see chapters for detailed tags], dark themes, implied murder, drug-use (alcohol, quaaludes), drugging w/o consent, stalking, kidnapping (non-sexual), bondage, minor knifeplay/gunplay, slight age gap [y/n early 20s, jj late 20s/early 30s], y/n implied dark origins/criminal history (OC vibes but history left open for interpretation), sleep paralysis/nightmares, walk-on guest appearances from other nct members inc. sungtaro in later chapters
fic masterlist
part 1: landfall | part 2: disturbance formation | [current] | part 4: dissipation | part 5: blue skies | part 6&7: aftermath & epilogue
read on AO3
chapter warnings: gratuitous use of pet names (babydoll, baby), size kink, panty-sniffing, wall sex, oral (m/f, m/m), exhibitionism, sharing is caring, polyamory, minor consensual somniphilia, bondage, drunk sex, double penetration, anal sex (m/m), devil's threesome (mmf), i had to turn my photocards around to write this, only god can judge me, a little bit of angst for the real ones
recommended listening: i can't breathe by gwsn
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"What’s that babydoll? You want a Waikiki Beach?"
Once you're free of your shackles, you think, you're going to find some means to strangle Johnny. It might require a stepladder and a superhuman increase in your grip but you're going to try.
“Give me the key,” you repeat, looking beside you to make sure the older man two seats down from you isn’t listening. Luckily the PA system is loudly playing Anita Ward’s “Ring My Bell” and his beer is almost empty.
"The orange juice needs to be fresh-squeezed?" Johnny half-shouts, that easy half-smile permanently stamped on his face. "Yeah. Not that shit from a can."
"Give me the key." You repeat, louder. In retrospect hiding your cuffed hands by putting them behind you rather than in front of you, under one of Jaehyun's suit jackets, was the wrong strategy. At least you can rest against the bar in front of you without looking weird.
Johnny pauses opening a can of cream de coco, leaning across the bamboo bar-top in a way that makes you jerk back in surprise.
"Take a seat, let me make you that drink I promised," he says, eyes flashing with amusement but also a warning. 
The hidden implication is that you're at his mercy until Jaehyun gets here and after what you'd endured earlier you think letting him imagine he has the upper hand is better than making a scene.
You awkwardly get onto one of the stools, surveying the packed bar with its hodge-podge of Don the Beachcomber styled paraphernalia: glass floats and wood carvings lit by low, multi-colored lights. The attached restaurant is packed full (cabin fever has obviously set in with the patrons) so the bar is still only half-capacity. 
You don’t recognize any of the faces but it’s the corner booth that pulls your attention, crammed with a silent party of too-large men in suits, tacitly ignoring each other as they scope the entrance to the bar. You clock their leader immediately by his crimson jacket and stony expression, and the way his eyes land on you the instant you look at him. You have a sense for danger and avert your eyes immediately. 
Johnny is occupied with finishing several orders at once for the lingering dinner crowd but he makes a point to talk to you as he fills oversized tiki mugs and exotic-looking glasses with different drinks. Your mouth waters a bit, not just at the rum-heavy concoctions but also at the fluidity and skill of his work, like he's performing just for you.
"You have fun in my room today?" Johnny asks, finally sliding your drink across to you. He stops just out of your reach, laughing at you when you glare at him before sticking a straw in and bringing it to your lips. 
"No thanks to you," you grouse.
You hadn’t paid much attention to what went in it with the blur of bottles but it's a gradient of yellow to deep red-orange, garnished with an orange and cherry and even a little paper umbrella. 
You’re glad he hadn't asked you what you wanted—you wouldn’t have known what to ask for. You take a sip, delighted immediately by the complexity of flavors: citrusy and spicy but with an unexpected touch of vanilla and apricot.
"Good, eh?" he asks, watching you intensely. You can't fake your enjoyment so you give a small nod, your cold anger melting a bit with his attention.
"What's it called?" you ask, but he ignores you. A hand splays wide over your upper back and you go rigid, watching Johnny’s face go from concern to a smile. 
"Jae, my man, what can I get you?”
"The good stuff." That deep-like-velvet voice has you relaxed in a heartbeat as Johnny reaches to the top shelf with barely a stretch for a bottle of Blue Label. 
You’d watched Jaehyun get dressed but you're still surprised to feel the hard jab of a holstered gun digging into your shoulder blade when you lean back.
"Everything alright?" You twist to look back up at him only to find he's masked in neutrality. He shakes his head, lips pressed tight together. 
"Gonna be a long night," Johnny says cryptically. "And not just 'cause I'm working a double."
"Cleaning crew is en route," Jaehyun nods, swallowing his scotch in one throw. "I need you to take care of her until they can get here. I'll cover the bar and keep an eye on the regulars."
Johnny's bored expression turns a little more smug at that, his eyes flicking to you. "Finish that drink, babydoll."
You swivel in your seat to talk to Jaehyun but he’s gone, moving around the bar to join Johnny. Your heart pinches a little as you watch him roll up the sleeves of his work suit and survey the surroundings, that closed-off distance back more than ever. Whatever it is you know better than to ask, especially in public.
Johnny shows up beside you just as you finish your drink with a loud suck on your straw. Negotiating off the stool is difficult but he helps you, easing you onto your heels and maybe pulling you just a little closer to his tall frame. You shirk him off but secretly appreciate the hand on your lower back that helps you stay upright. You're surprised when he navigates you to the back of the house, through the kitchen with a nod at the two cooks and down the service corridor to the manager's office.
No one is inside but you still feel a mild panic going into the boss's space where you've had your share of (undeserved) dressing downs. Johnny closes the door but doesn't bother to lock it, coming over to where you stand perusing the mess of papers piled on the desk.
He slips the gray suit jacket off of you after a moment, drinking in the sight of the marmalade-colored strapless dress Jaehyun had found for you—supposedly from the hotel lost-and-found. You shudder to think of the alternative.
"You clean up nice," he says.
"Uncuff me, now," you say. If you feel a little toasty from his attention you blame it on the drink. You'd watched him make it so there was no way he could have spiked it but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t gone to your head. 
"Don't want to play a little more with these on? Didn't seem to be a problem with Jae," he says. 
"Now." 
He holds up the silver key and laughs when you try to kick him. Before long he's got you turned around and propped against the desk, working a little more slowly than you'd like. He pecks your bare shoulder at the release of the lock.
As soon as your one hand is free you turn around and slap him as hard as you can, cuff still dangling from your wrist. Johnny doesn’t even flinch, smiling through it. He grabs your hand when you raise it again.
"Still mad about the—" he starts.
"You tied me up and threatened to kill me, asshole," you snarl. You're more pissed off at yourself for failing to rile him than at his response, but whatever witty retort he's about to make dies on his lips as he sees that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He helps you out of the other cuff and rubs your sore wrists, careful to avoid the places where the skin is raw. 
"I'm sorry," he says. "Didn't know if Jae was being over-optimistic and you'd actually try to do something."
His apology gives you pause as you wipe the moisture from your eyes, careful not to wreck your mascara.
"I don't trust you," you explain. "But I don't have it out for you, either."
Johnny nods, a little less solemn. “It’s not your fault you got pulled into this. Whatever happens you’re safe with us. We just need you to work with us a little longer.”
“Jaehyun told me you needed a roper,” you say. You hadn’t let on that you understood the terminology, but it was also becoming increasingly clear that they already knew. “I’ll do it.”
Jaehyun had mentioned compensation, which would have been incentive enough if you hadn’t also been easing down from your fourth–or was it fifth?—orgasm of the day. That post-cum clarity you’d had getting yourself off in the past no longer applied, you felt like you’d been fucked into a single-digit IQ. Making up for lost time, indeed.
“I’ve got an easier job for you first,” he says. “Just need to keep me company here until Jaehyun gives us the signal,” Johnny says, touching the side of his head. He’s wearing the same inconspicuous earpiece you’d watched Jaehyun put in, wire hidden under long hair and collar. You wonder where Johnny has his mic since he’s wearing another short-sleeved tropical shirt, company orange and floral. It’s funny to think you match, even if there’s such a stark disparity between you.
“What are you planning to do?” you ask. 
That wicked grin appears again, his eyebrows lowered.
Johnny’s hands suddenly land on your hips and you squeak as he lifts you onto the desk, scattering file folders and log books onto the floor as you’re pushed back on the dark wood.
“Getting myself fired,” he says, voice lilting. His face dips down into the space between your neck and shoulder, not making contact but close enough to burn you with his exhalation.
"You think fucking a cute little maid on the manager's desk will do it?"
"Oh no," you shake your head, overwhelmed by the warmth radiating off his skin and the clean eucalyptus smell of whatever he was using in his toilette.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just an act, babydoll." Johnny's breath tickles your skin as he moves up to your ear. “You wanna help or should I hide you in the closet and go find Ruby? I'll let you watch.”
"No." The word escapes your lips with a violence you’re not prepared for, that small sting of jealousy returning. He’s smiling into your jaw as he makes his way across your face, finally pressing more than a butterfly wing’s weight when he finds your lips. 
"I'll do it,” you repeat, kissing him back. “As long as . . . " You drift off, biting your inner cheek. "Can I talk to Jaehyun first?"
"He can hear you," Johnny says, tapping his shirt front.  "No secrets between partners."
"Ask him if he's okay with . . . " You wave your hands in the air, physically unable to say it aloud.
Johnny lifts your chin so you'll meet his honey-brown eyes, mouth curving. "You hear that Jae, she thinks you'll be jealous."
You scowl at him, watching him push the earpiece in further. He laughs at what’s said in the channel before coming back to you. 
"He said something about watching. I don’t know, music is too loud. Did he tell you he has a thing for that?"
"What?" you ask, confused. Johnny trails his hands up the silky fabric covering your legs, reading your face for consent before pulling you to the edge of the desk. You shudder as he hikes your dress up more with his thumbs, rubbing circles into your thighs through the satin.
"I've shared girls with him before but he usually just watches," Johnny says, blithely. "You're the first one he's properly fucked since we were assigned together."
His words send heat pooling into your core, fire spreading to burn through your nerves. You imagine Jaehyun sitting in a chair in the shadows, just drinking the sight of you in as Johnny fucks you into the mattress, bent in two and drooling into the sheets. You try to calm down–you need to keep your head on your shoulders–but you can’t hide your bodily reaction.
"You like that?" Johnny senses your arousal again, nose nudging yours. "You want to be shared?"
You breathe through your mouth, clenching your thighs together. The Lord above knew you should be sated but then you're sure he isn't involved in any of this.
“I think I can handle it,” you respond. “Can you?”
Johnny’s rough fingers suddenly dig into the flesh of your hips. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize he’d reached under your dress, pulling you closer to the edge. He flashes you the biggest grin you’ve seen yet, Cheshire Cat wide. 
"Need to borrow your underwear," Johnny says, yanking your second-best pair of panties down your legs and past your heels. You watch in horror as he lifts the ruined synthetic lace to his nose and inhales deeply.
"How many times did that bastard cum inside you, exactly?" Johnny asks. "In the shower, too?"
Your mouth is dry as the desert, unable to stop him as he tucks away his prize in his back pocket. 
"You heard that?!" you finally squeak.
"Of course. Everything, baby doll. You think we get privacy in this line of work?"
"Jaehyun." You bury your face in your hands to hide your mortification. Johnny gently brings you out, prising your hands apart as he laughs at you, quietly.
"You'll get used to it. Personally I like making the wiretap boys squirm. But then I'm not usually on the receiving end."
You open your mouth to tell him you deserved that but instead your eyes go down to his hips in front of you, and to the obvious bulge straining his white shorts, his length curved down against the inside of his left leg. Ruby hadn't been lying about his size. Soup is good food, indeed, you think, swallowing dryly.
When your eyes return to Johnny’s face you find it’s darkened a bit, his pupils drug-wide. "It's been a long day."
You can picture him tucking his cock into his waistband as he worked, waiting for his next break to jerk off to your moans in a bathroom stall. You’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him you'd heard it yourself, when Jaehyun had slipped his earpiece into your ear mid-fuck. Or that you’d come even harder to the thought of both men getting off to you.
"Do you want a taste?" you ask, hand caressing his jaw. You have your own agenda but it's clear the lines are blurred too much between torturing him and torturing yourself. You knew who would enjoy it, regardless.
"What do you want, baby girl?" Johnny doesn’t let you answer aloud, the flick of your eyes down is enough. He drops to his knees, pulling your legs over his shoulders. 
He's nowhere near as gentle as Jaehyun was, burrowing under your dress to press his plush mouth against your sensitive sex, licking deep and heavy until you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let up, angling you back so that you’re dropped across the desk, spilling a mug of pens onto the floor. 
You quickly learn that roughness is no indication of skill as he spreads your lips and laps at the wetness seeping from you. The sounds are obscene and you know it's deliberate but you find yourself joining him, making sharp little cries each time his mouth moves higher.
"Please," you beg, tugging on his hair. "Please more."
"Such a dirty little kitten," he says, flattening his tongue against your clit with each swipe. "Not satisfied with one cock. You think you can take two?"
"Mmhmm," you moan, lost in the moment. 
"We should get you ready," he says, pushing his long fingers deep inside of you. You should be sore but it's almost a relief—the ache is gone as he scissors the digits to open you. You bite back a cry, holding on to the edge of the desk with clenched fists as he adjusts his posture. The mess inside of you squelches with each thrust, desk rocking with the strength of his arm.
Just the knowledge that Johnny is fucking you with his hand is getting you off but you know you can do so much better, especially when you meet his self-satisfied look from between your thighs, his mouth on you again.
“Stop. Stop,” you say, grasping his collar and pulling on it. “You're not–”
“Quiet,” he says. He pulls his fingers out of you with a pop, inspecting the shine on them before reaching up to fill your mouth to let you taste yourself and the slight bitterness of cum. 
You suck experimentally, prompting him to stand up and watch your face as you hollow your cheeks. Johnny holds your neck as he thrusts the digits gently to the back of your throat, hips mirroring the movement as he pushes against the desk with his upper thighs. You scoot forward, practically hanging off the desk to soak the front of his shorts, loving the friction of the khaki against your bareness.
He watches you demonstrate your eagerness to take him in both orifices, clearly proud of himself.
“You going to take me raw, too?” he asks, easing up when you gag on his fingers. You nod, eyes watering. He looks at you with adoration, kissing your forehead and face and then your lips once he's pulled his fingers from them.
“I wish we had more time, I’d make you come on every surface in this room,” Johnny says, unbuckling his pants and pulling himself out of the top of his boxer briefs. You only have a few seconds to fully grasp the danger you’re in, lost in the miles of tanned skin you haven’t seen yet and a close-shaved thatch of dark hair that does little to hide the monster hiding there.
“Ready?” 
You don’t get a chance to answer as that absolutely incomprehensible size presses against you–the angle just right to–
"Are you, big boy?" you tease.
–he loses control and jams his into the desk, full-body wincing. You almost laugh at that, but he doesn't waste a second before pulling you forward and onto him, making you gasp with the burn of taking those first few inches.
"You aren't," he grunts, hand sliding between you to grope at your core. You bat his hand away, grabbing the back of his neck to try and pull yourself on him more.
"Whose fault is that?”
It’s not an easy fit no matter what preparation you've had, and he's not moving the way Jaehyun did to work you in as much as letting you stretch around him as he readjusts awkwardly. The desk proves too low for how high his hips are compared to it–both of you slipping as he tries to find a good surface to fight against the grip of your cunt keeping him half-sunk.
“You think this is funny?” he growls. Your pent-in laughter is immediately stopped as he lifts you up, his forearms wrapped up and under your thighs.
He’s strong enough you feel as weightless as feather down, but gravity still applies when he lets you slide down on his thick cock. You let out a cry, arms and legs wrapping around him instinctively to hold on as he moves you both away from the desk. And then you’re pressed against the wood-panel wall behind it, shoulders pinned as he rolls his hips up in controlled, tight thrusts.
“You okay?” Johnny’s mouth is against your forehead as he slowly fucks into you, not even halfway sheathed inside. Your legs shake, already tired, but you can't imagine stopping—not with that gnawing need settling in. 
Within a minute you're losing your mind; the angle and that impossible girth is good but you can’t touch yourself and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to come with him practically warming himself inside you. 
“I can take it,” you say. You don’t mind pain, and right now you crave it. You nudge his chin with your nose, kissing the smooth skin underneath, where he doesn’t need to shave. 
“I know you can,” he says. “But tap me if you need to stop.”
“Stop telling me–”
Immediately you’re pulled down until your shoulders are angling to the floor, hearing the rip in your dress as he lets you drop. You pull yourself up desperately, heels digging into his thighs and fingernails into his arms until he lifts you again, bracing you both against the office wall. 
“I said tap me if you need to stop,” he says, obviously amused as your eyes flutter shut when he’s close to bottoming out. His thrusts resume, gaze locked with yours in the flickering fluorescent light.
“Relax,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
“Do you?” you ask, threading your hands in his hair again. 
“It’s so funny how you think you’re in control,” Johnny says, voice low. The threat makes you clench around him and you both respond non-verbally, his grunts increasing as he angles you to pump even deeper. You dig your nails into the back of his neck, but with his cock fully lubricated you’re quickly at his mercy, each slap of his hips against yours bouncing you up along the laminate. 
You're immediately wetter than you've ever been, cum trickling down the inside of your thighs as he pushes you open further and further until you’re breaking against your own better judgment. You bury your face in the open V of his collar to keep from screaming, gold chain indenting your cheek.
His hands are under your thighs again, the wall just an afterthought. Now you’re being lifted and carried down in slow semi-circles, his jaw against your skull as he whispers consolations and praise. You know you’re supposed to wait, to listen, but there’s only his voice in your ear as you let go and feel every point of contact between you. 
For a moment you actually believe he wants you. He could fuck you into the next life and it wouldn’t be enough, you think. You want to suck him off in a linen closet. You want him to whisper whatever his desire is in your ear and respond in kind. Few would be so lucky.
“You can make noise, baby.” There it is, you think, that’s an order. You let the sound you’ve been holding in out finally, face angled away from the clip-collar mic you’d felt against your cheek. 
“Fuck me, Daddy,” you say hoarsely. 
That’s when you understand what you’ve been missing, when his conscious mind finally falls away, he holds you tight and fucks. Your entire body is bent as he ruts into you with his hand curling around the back of your neck to bring you closer to him. The wall clock above you falls to the floor, plastic shattering, as you lose yourself in the feeling of being broken apart—
“What in the fuck are you doing?!” The third voice in the room startles you mid-moan and you realize you hadn’t even heard the door open. Johnny pauses, hold slackening enough for you to slide back down the wall. He looks over his shoulder, the glow of sweat near his hairline shining in the fluorescent light.
“I’m on break,” Johnny says, subtly angling your bodies to shield you from sight.  
“In my office!?” The night manager doesn't sound scandalized enough for this to be a first occurrence, just humiliated.
“You weren’t using it.” Johnny says.
The slam of a man’s fist against the doorway is punctuated by a loud, defeated sigh.
“Well? You gonna watch or you gonna let me finish?” Johnny says. 
You’re impressed at the level tone he has, not just because you were interrupted but because your cunt is squeezing around him with each suppressed giggle. Your hands rise under his shirt to smooth over his twitching abdomen, watching the side of his face as he masterfully avoids reacting. You tweak his nipples for good measure, earning yourself a warning thrust of his hips.
“You can finish out your shift without hourly and then you’re out of this hotel, Sullivan,” the older man says in as threatening a voice as he can muster. “I’d drag you both out myself but you know damn well we don’t have anyone to cover you.”
“Works for me,” Johnny says.
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” The slam of the door drops another framed picture and you wait until the sound of muttering about not being able to keep his dick in his pants for five minutes, then you both break into sobs of laughter, Johnny heaving you around and back to drop your ass on the desk again. He slips painfully out of you as you curl in on each other, shaking violently, adrenaline high burning in your veins.
“Did I do a good job?” You ask once you’ve stopped laughing, wiping tears from your eyes. You’re already adjusting your skirt down your legs, and checking your heels are still strapped to your feet when Johnny’s large hand wraps around your chin.
“Do you think we’re done here?” Johnny’s voice is low.
“You think I want a quick fuck?” You stare up at him through your eyelashes, enjoying the way his full mouth quirks and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem convinced by your delivery so you sink the knife in a little deeper.
“Didn’t you hear? Jaehyun said not unless he's watching," you say.
You smile, unable to keep a wry expression. Johnny’s grip on your neck loosens, his touch much more tempting as he strokes the earpiece hidden beneath your right ear. You shiver a little at how gentle he is, avoiding looking at his still-wet, perfect length right in front of you.
“Finish yourself off again,” you say, mustering up an air of business. “We have work to do.”
You slide out from under his arm as he leans against the desk, not moving to stop you. The silence in the room is deafening as you retrieve Jaehyun’s jacket, accidentally kicking a mug across the stained carpet, its yellow smiley face motif staring up into nothing. 
You're peeking through the closed blinds before opening the door when he finally speaks.
“You should be more careful.”
You’re always careful. You don’t turn around, hand on the doorknob. You’re also used to threats.
“Why is that?”
Johnny’s voice is quiet, personal. “You might have more than one man falling for you.”
He can’t see the smile that spreads on your lips as you duck out, straightening your dress and your back as you walk towards your next assignment. 
“I’m counting on it,” you say as the door closes behind you.
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The lobby is a hellish sight once you’ve successfully snuck out of the service corridor unseen. You retrieve your powder and lipstick from your coat pocket, cleaning up the smears around your mouth as you sit on one of the low divans nearest to the sliding doors while secretly scoping the front desk.
“The big guy is trying to get a door key from Sheila but she’s not buying it,” you say, coughing after you’ve leaned back from speaking into your jacket collar. "He's being directed to use the phone bank."
“We’re going to need you to go back to 310,” Jaehyun says, soft voice and piano music echoing loud in your ear when he uses the mic. “Answer the call.”
Your heart sinks into the tile under your feet, but you answer. “Copy.”
“Don’t worry. Snoopy will go with you.”
“Snoopy? Does that make you Schroeder?” You can’t help but tease, snapping your makeup compact shut to look up at his back, just twenty feet away where he’s sitting at the grand piano.
He answers by immediately shifting his improvised piano play into the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The music adds a somber air to the room as spouses fight each other over staying another night and the man at the counter steps aside for another in the long line of attempted vacancies. The goon makes his way back to the phone lines, foot tapping impatiently as an elderly woman yells into the receiver about whether her cats have been fed.
Outside sheets of water still fall from the carport but the neon lighting reveals a line of taxis no longer burdened by high flood waters—there’s traffic now, and you’re not partaking in it. No, you’re staying just a little longer in this dollhouse, puppeted by a shadowy organization you've been coerced into working with through the power of money and (admittedly) good dick.
"You're in on the plan now," Jaehyun says, painting your nails for you in the hotel room. "You do this for us and you'll be set for life."
"How long of a lifespan is that?" You ask, making him look up at you with thin-lipped concentration. 
"You're safer with us than anyone else," he says. 
You wanted to believe him. 
"What's the catch?" you ask, knowing there always is one.
"You have to pretend like this never happened."
One of the bellhops passes you by in a rush, distracting you as the seat beside you sinks with a new weight.
“He’s more of a Linus,” a soft, musical voice says next to you. The strange man shakes water off a drenched black fedora, setting a black doctor's bag on the cushions between you.
Your entire body stills, careful not to react too much to the new company. Your eyes slide over and up a long torso to an unfamiliar face. He's got a soft, innocent air to him with his white-blond hair and angelic features but there’s also a slyness to him you wouldn't be comfortable testing. 
You wonder if it’s a prerequisite for their agency that these men be as tall as a coffin is buried, or look better in a suit than any man ever put into one.
“Nice to meet you,” you say, still pretending to watch Jaehyun navigate the keys. “Where’s Woodstock?”
“Oh, he’ll be here soon.” The stranger smiles without showing his teeth, kicking his long legs out. A small child waving a Stretch Armstrong figure barrels into his feet, crying loudly. It seems to cause a domino effect of chaos in the lobby, suitcases spilling as another person trips on the wet floor and a woman starts yelling about a refund.
“Let’s go up first,” the stranger says. His perfect cap of white hair is hidden under his black hat again as he stands to offer you a gloved hand. You navigate the crowd, leading as he keeps pace beside you, his other arm weighed down with the bag.
“Why do they call you Snoopy?” You ask once you’re in the elevator. 
“Maybe because I'm good at finding things out?” he offers, waiting for you to press the third floor button. His black overcoat still drips rain and you try not to steal glances at his profile. The more you look at him the more you think he looks like an undertaker taking you to your own funeral.
You step out of the elevator to a small crowd of people waiting to go down: tourists dressed in inappropriate shorts and linen shirts with their bags, others dressed in their best disco glam for a trip to the bar or another open club. Once the hubbub is gone and the hallway is empty Snoopy leads, a ghost for how quiet his long legs move across the hallway to the room you never wanted to go back to. 
“Wait,” he says as a door opens on the far side of the hallway behind you. He pushes you into the nearby stairwell, dark eyes over your shoulder, expecting company.
“Why do you all smell so good?” The whisper that escapes you is answered in stereo, a soft chuckle over you and multiple laughs in your ears. 
"Not all of us," an unknown voice says.
“You can turn the mic off if you want to, doll,” Johnny’s voice appears over the line, backgrounded by Donna Summers and bar conversation.
“If I get killed by someone named after a funny pages dog I want to be able to curse you with my last breath,” you say. More laughter follows, making you feel like you're at a live recording of a comedy radio show.
“How many people are on this line?” You wonder aloud but your companion shakes his head, leading you to the door for 310. He waits patiently for you to unlock it, your hands shaking as the key slips in. You're thankful at least you aren’t going into the suite directly.
Inside your quiet new friend listens through the adjoining door before opening it, his other hand reaching into his jacket to retrieve a silenced pistol. You follow him into the main living area, icy cold fear returning as he checks the other rooms, thankfully not making you follow. 
The phone rings, startling you with how loud it is.
"You know what to do?" Snoopy asks, nodding at you when he's back in the room with you. Jaehyun had walked you through the details while he'd helped you get ready earlier and it had seemed easy enough.
You let the rings go on for a while as you shake off your nerves before picking up the pink plastic receiver and answering the phone with a tearful, shaky "hello".
"Mira?" 
"Ye-yes." You let your stutter return. 
"Why didn't you answer the door for me?"
"That wasn't the deal," you say. "We meet in the bar, or not at all."
"Where’s Louis, Mira? He was supposed to be down here an hour ago." 
"He went for a swim," you say, not bothering to make it sound convincing.
"In a hurricane? You think I'm stupid?"
"I'll explain when I get down there," you say. "You know they're listening."
The stranger on the other end seems to take a lifetime piecing together what you said before agreeing with a growl. "Be down here in five minutes with the entire package or we're coming up there and breaking down the door to get it."
"I'll see you in ten," you say, hanging up. 
"You're a natural," Snoopy says, wiping down the receiver once he's taken it from your shaking hand. "Pick out an outfit and let me know when you're ready."
He nods towards the other room and you understand immediately, picking up one of the evening dresses strewn on the couch, then reluctantly rifling through the open suitcase on the floor for underwear to replace the ones Johnny had taken from you.  Wearing a dead woman's lingerie was the last thing you needed but you had few alternatives.
There’s a knock at the door that startles you as you're changing in the other room, surprised that you hadn’t had a warning from Jaehyun keeping an eye on the lobby. You come into the room to see your companion open the door, gun ready, letting in a much shorter man in a work suit pushing one of the hotel's janitorial carts.
So there isn't a height requirement after all, you think, nodding shyly from behind the door jamb as the man comes in and beams at you. He meets all your expectations in the looks department, that wholesome appearance they all seem to have masking something much different.
"Hey, Y/N," he says cheerily. "Hey, Jungwoo—"
"We talked about this, Taeil." the other man groans. "Code names?"
The other man shrugs sheepishly.
"We need to move fast. I'll help you once I'm done with her."
"Come here," Jungwoo says after reholstering his gun, guiding you into the empty adjacent room. He leaves the door ajar and gestures for you to enter the bathroom, patting the counter for you to jump on it as he opens his bag beside it. Even with the height increase he's stooped over you, lifting your face in delicate fingers to inspect it.
"We don’t have much time but the lighting should hide enough." He begins applying makeup liberally to your face in a spectrum of colors you've never used before: violets and reds and yellows. 
"You want to make it look real? You can hit me," you say, eyes closed so he can give you a convincing shiner.
"Absolutely not," Jaehyun says in both of your ears.
Jungwoo smiles and shakes his head, biting his lip as he touches up his work with a gloved thumb. "You can wear sunglasses to hide your face, they won't notice."
"Do you do this a lot?" you ask, letting him apply lipstick to you in a deep shade of red. 
"We usually have a team for this. But I'm a quick learner." 
You glance in the mirror, nodding. "You're good at it."
The younger man beams at you, rose lips parting to reveal perfect teeth.
"Stop flirting with the kid," Johnny says. "They're all here but they're looking antsy."
"Almost done," you say, helping Jungwoo put the wig on you to complete your look. He disappears for a moment and comes back with the final touches: large white sunglasses and a fur coat, and a key with the 312 tag. You don’t want to know where he'd found it.
"What about the bag?" you ask. 
"We'll let you know where we stash it."
"Won't they check for a wire?" You look up at Jungwoo, surprised to see confusion flicker across his face.
"These guys are dumb but they're professionals. You tell them you killed dear old Louis here and they won't suspect you're wearing one."
"It's still too risky," you say aloud.
"We're expecting failure," Jaehyun's voice crackles in with the echo of the lobby, piano playing stopped. 
Jungwoo nods, shrugging a little. "Getting caught is just another contingency."
"I see." You have your doubts but you also know that this is largely going to be a matter of luck, much like the other jobs you'd pulled off in the past. As long ago as it's been since you'd done one you’re feeling the same you had every time, the lemon-sharp thrill of possibility with your head running through escapes and back-up options should things go south.
"Should I take a weapon?"
"No. We'll have your back." Jungwoo adjusts your hairline a final time, combing out one of the long, black tresses to rest on your shoulder. "You have my word."
You look at him skeptically, prompting him to blush prettily. "On my mother’s life."
Mommy's boys, the lot of them, you sigh internally. It’s odd but nothing about the last day has been normal, so you figure you'll take your chances.
The trip downstairs is a blur, and you calm yourself by humming the Peanuts theme, until the chuckles in your in-ear reminds you that you have an audience. 
Once you're in the lounge you plan on blowing past the bar, but Johnny beckons you with a curve of his finger. The music is loud enough you have to lean over the bar to hear what he has to say. He hovers dangerously close, breath against your cheek.
"Want another Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall?"
"What?" You stare at him in disbelief once you've pulled away.
"The drink you had earlier," he says, holding up a glass. "I'll send one over. Deliver it to that spot you like so much in the lobby. The one with the view."
It takes you a moment to realize he’s telling you where the package is being delivered.
"Why are you like this?" you ask, not waiting for an answer or his pleased expression. You head directly for the suits at the back booth past the sadly empty dance floor and stage, mirror ball illuminating clouds of smoke wafting from the occupied tables. 
For a moment you catch a familiar face looking at you from one of the booths and your heart stutters but Ruby's gaze skips over you and back to the bar. Thank god for your disguise, you think, she's the last person you want to talk to right now.
There's a clear aura of uncertainty coming from the group you're approaching, the chill of fear beginning to freeze you until you remember you’re not carrying a bag. You walk forward with a mixture of feigned confidence and very real wariness.
One of the three men accompanying the leader stands up and pretends to give you a hug, patting you down instead. You stand stock still as his hands wander up your body under the white rabbit fur coat, roughly squeezing the underwire of your bra before standing back to let you sit.
Once you've slid along the red leather you're closed in immediately by the bodyguard, a hard and cold object digging into your stomach under the table.
"Where is it," the leader asks, fingers steepling in front of him. This close you can see he's as good-looking as your own agents, and though they hadn’t told you anything much past his name and a warning to play it cool you can feel the power coming off him like radiation from a nuclear core.
"You could at least buy a girl a drink, Max," you say, placing your hands on the table, not to show off Jaehyun's work on your nails as much as let them see the very real damage to your wrists and the scrapes on your knuckles. "The case is in the lobby behind the palm tree closest to the piano."
The leader only has to nod before one of the meatheads across from you—the one you’d taken to calling Hulk for the shape of his jaw—gets up to retrieve it.
"Roughed you up good, did he?" Max asks, offering you an expensive cigarette from an ivory-plated case.
You let your hand shake when you accept it, leaning into the flame and fighting the urge to cough when the smoke hits your lungs. The second drag is easier, letting them hang on your next words.
"I told him if he hurt me again he'd pay." You exhale smoke, flashing him a glimpse of your face under the glasses, satisfied with the look of disgust that crosses his cold features. "He paid."
"We'll need to confirm that." Max toys with his untouched martini. "Do you have proof?"
"The room is the proof," you say. "Everything is still in there but me. And the bag."
You indicate you're going to pull something from your pocket and he nods, the gun digging in a little sharper as you pull out the 312 room key and slide it across the table. "Knock yourself out."
"What do you want out of this?" 
"Protection," you spit out immediately. You adjust your glasses, looking out at the bar like you’re being watched. It's easy to act when you know you are.
"Don't think there's any protection in the world that could see you out of the mess you both made," Max smiles, his eyes cold.
"Fair," you incline your head, pretending to wipe a tear from under your glasses. "You can let me walk out of this hotel in one piece, though. Word is you're a stand-up guy." 
"I keep my word. Let's see if you keep yours."
The other man returns with the case, nodding. The guards get up, Max pocketing the key and smoothing out his jacket. 
"Take her out front and get her a ride," he says to the man still holding a gun to you. "You going to play nice for me?"
"Don't see that I have much choice," you snap back. 
"Be a good girl and you'll have nothing to worry about," Max says, smiling devilishly. You've seen this look before, you've heard these words before, you know that they're never true. But you pretend like you believe him, you even let him kiss your hand as he leaves you alone with your ward. 
The ghost of that kiss makes you clench your hand as you're shepherded past the bar, making eye contact from behind your glasses with Johnny as he pours rum. He winks at you, and while your face is hidden you’re sure he can see the look you shoot back at him. 
Your legs start to feel like jelly the moment the lobby doors open and you're exposed to the rush of warm, humid air outside of the hotel. You turn towards the line of taxis and airport shuttle vans but your captor walls you off, steering you towards the parking lot. 
"Where are you taking me?" you ask, quietly.
He doesn't answer, grabbing your shoulder to make you march into the rain-soaked night towards rows of cars and an ominous-looking black Lincoln Continental. You don’t fight it–making conversation instead.
"If you kill me people will come for you," you say, voice trembling.
"They'll thank me, bitch," he says, jamming the muzzle into your back.
You pretend to stumble in your heels, falling on to the wet pavement behind the hotel once you're out of the eyeline of anyone out front. The man looks down at you in disgust, gesturing with his gun for you to get up when light suddenly floods the sidewalk. 
Headlights blind you both, an engine flaring into life just beyond–
"What the—" the man doesn't get a chance to speak as he's cold-cocked from behind, the gun in his hand skittering across the wet pavement when it's kicked from his limp hand. You look up to see a giant man in a ski mask standing over you both right before the engine roars behind you, distracting you. There’s a screech of tires just as the stranger picks you up and throws you into the open side door of an unmarked van.
You have a glimpse of an interior full of all sorts of electronic equipment and a driver's side profile before a black bag is pulled over your head. Your assailant must be part bear for how little your struggle effects them, and after the hold he has on you doesn't break you go limp.
You're discarded on the floor of the van to roll across it, bumping painfully into what feels like a bench.
"Sorry, sorry," comes a muffled voice behind you as the vehicle peels away, door slamming shut. 
"What?" Your heart is racing in your chest, fabric keeping you from being able to draw in a full breath.
"We had to make it look authentic," he says, grabbing you before you can slide across the floor again. You don’t fight as you're lifted off the floor and set down on a cushioned seat, back against the cold metal wall of the van.
Once the movement of the vehicle is normalized you find hands tentatively removing the hood from your head, and a boyish looking face under brown, mussed hair peering down at you. You're both sitting on the bench running parallel to the massive amount of equipment filling the left side, including video monitors and radio dispatch equipment.
"Was the black bag necessary?" you ask.
"Security cameras," he shrugs. 
You take advantage of a red light to adjust yourself and he does too, moving away. Despite his height he looks comfortable as he sits in a bolted-down chair at the electronics station, donning a headset and clicking through a series of buttons.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Hotel," the driver says cheerily from up front and you have a moment of panic thinking he means back to The Magic Carpet. You don’t think you can spend another night there.
"Palm Beach," the big man clarifies from where he works.
"That's a long drive," you sigh. 
"I'm going to need your earpiece," he says, holding out his hand. He sees your expression and smiles shyly. "You're out of range anyway."
You comply, taking off your wig and wig cap as well, relieved to be able to itch your scalp.
"Oh and we'll need your clothes, too. Your stuff is over there."
You sigh. "Can I keep my underwear?"
He's surprisingly unfazed, cheeks maybe a little more red in the dim light of the non-broadcasting monitors. He turns and speaks into his mic, low enough you can barely hear but you can feel the universe laughing at you when he swivels around, face incandescent.
"No they say we'll need that too. Sorry."
You think you can hear Johnny laughing even miles away.
"Whatever," you say. "You want to watch?"
He turns around again immediately, but you catch the driver's cherub-like eyes in the rearview mirror smiling at you with a cheeky look. You respond with a rude gesture before going deeper into the back of the van, glad to see there's a curtained-off area with a narrow sleeping cot at the back. 
Your heart drops a little seeing your familiar suitcase and bag laid there—remnants of a life that feels foreign to you now. You may as well have been dropped off on an alien planet for as far away as yesterday feels. 
Once you've changed into your familiar denim shorts and yellow Keep On Truckin' t-shirt you lie down, listening to the soft hum of the radio playing soul and the occasional click of a keyboard or button. The smooth ride of the I-95 takes you into even more unfamiliar territory.
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God you wished they'd have let you keep the fur coat. But no, you'd been unloaded at the end of an enormous palm-tree lined lane at the most impossible destination you could ever have imagined yourself, a pebble dumped in a treasure chest.
"Welcome to the Breakers Resort," the woman at the front desk had greeted you, patient as you took in the painted ceiling and chandeliers. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Room 127," you say, looking down at the scrap of paper the comms agent had given you.
"Ah, of course. Welcome Ms. Smith. Kitchen is open for another few hours if you'd like any in-room dining." 
You don't even notice she's not asked for ID or money, swept past the grand Venetian ballroom and miles of soft carpet and antique furniture to your room. 
Of course it's a suite, you think, once you're inside. The place is tastefully white and pastel, windows revealing the rolling surf of the dying storm just past the well-maintained exterior. Unlike the place you’d just left, the palm leaves and jetsam have already been swept clean, erasing the chaos of the past few days in a way that has you unsettled.
You find pink rose petals strewn at the end of the turned-down king size bed, chocolates on the pillow and an expensive looking bottle of champagne sweating in an ice bucket on the table. 
Enjoy your stay, you've earned it. The handwritten note on hotel stationary makes you feel more alienated then ever and you soothe yourself by inspecting the room the way you're used to doing. It's so clean you feel like you could eat off the floor, reminding you it's been a long time since that sandwich.
The prices on the room service menu send your blood pressure skyrocketing but you disregard them and order a full spread, and another bottle of champagne—less expensive—for good measure.
It's hard to stay still and you think about going down to the bar but take one look at your face in the mirror with its remaining streaks of makeup and your ratty wig-tortured hair and opt instead to take a bath in the jacuzzi tub, dumping an entire bottle of soap in for maximum bubbles. You stay in the hot water until you can’t stand it anymore, wrap yourself in one of the thick white robes, and wait.
It's not your fault the bed is so comfortable and warm, the pillows so thick and cold. Four glasses of champagne and the roar of the ocean lulls you into a deep and dreamless sleep. You're out so intensely that you don't even wake up when the door clicks open, or when the shower starts, or when the mattress drops next to you.
No, you wake up much later, suddenly hot from the body encircling you, arm tight around your middle. You open your eyes to see another form in front of you, catching the sharp tang of alcohol as Johnny snores softly a few feet away.
"Jae—" the hand rises to press a finger to your lips and you turn around to see his familiar jaw, dark hair shrouding his face. You lean back to kiss him, surprised to feel how smooth his skin is and how good he tastes when your mouth opens to allow him in with a soft moan.
You kiss until you're both breathless, his hand tracing circles on your neck.
"You did so good," he whispers. "Without a hitch."
"I missed you," you say quietly, and you mean it. "Thought maybe this was a parting gift."
Even in the dark you can tell his expression clouds over, eyes darting over your face. 
"What’s wrong?" you ask, fingers tracing his eyebrows.
Don't say it, don't say it, you think. You want the illusion to last just a little longer.
"We can talk about it in the morning," he says. "Get some more rest."
You sigh, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, finding it still slightly damp. 
"I don't want to sleep," you whisper, your tone clearly indicating that you'd rather be doing anything else. You sense him go rigid behind you. Fingers trace your lips before angling your jaw so he can kiss you again, just as softly.
"You sure?" 
"Don't wake him," you say, conspiratorially.
"Johnny killed half a bottle of mezcal so they’d kick him out early, he's not getting up anytime soon."
"Pretend like I'm still dreaming."
"Mmm," he assents, bringing you closer to him. You relax into his soft touches, letting him soothe you into a comfortable state only punctuated by shocks of cold when he undoes the belt of your robe, reaching in to massage your skin. You close your eyes and let him explore you in slow, endless circumnavigations of your breasts and belly, never quite hitting the places he knows will make you move.
You only jerk a little when he pulls back your robe collar, replacing the warmth of the fabric with his mouth, the fingers of his right hand venturing between your thighs.
You can't help but whimper the moment he touches you, lightly dipping his fingers between your folds, spreading the wetness that inevitably springs up. You’re still aching from the lack of completion earlier, body melding into every contour of his behind you as an invitation to go further. 
He brings his mouth to your shoulder blade, kissing you gently as he rests his forearm on your hip, alternating between teasing your entrance and up to your clit. You bury your face into the pillow to keep from crying out when he curls his fingers inside you, small gestures making you close your legs around his touch.
When you reach behind to grab at his head he brings your hand back to the pillow with slippery fingers, pulling off your robe from your right side, leaving you half exposed. 
"Relax for me, baby," he whispers into your ear, bottom lip brushing the lobe. "Close your eyes."
You will yourself limp, slowly coming to the realization that this is something he wants—you pliable and ready for him. He adjusts behind you and you feel that thick, soft tip nudging between your thighs, his hand pulling your leg back and over his to help him get you aligned.
"Stay quiet," he warns before fucking into you. You grip the pillow beneath you as he forces his way in, fighting the tight constriction in your cunt at the suddenness. 
Soft sounds escape you when he pulls your hip back, getting so deep you’re melding together, skin-to-skin in the cool air. His other arm snakes under you so he can clamp a hand over your mouth, his thrusts getting less controlled as you continue to pretend to sleep.
"Gonna give you such a good dream." Jaehyun's voice cracks as he rolls you slightly to fuck you into the bed. You want him to touch you so badly you whimper for it under his palm, eyes clenched shut. 
He seems to understand because strong fingers reach between you and the mattress, circling your nub until you're clamping down on him. Just when you think you're going to tip over the edge his hand pulls away, making your body snap with unresolved tension.
"Wait for me. Wait until I tell you," he says. You shake your head in protest but he doesn't let up, stroking you in alternations between the contact you need and then up to your belly as soon as you begin to tremor.
You're only consoled by Jaehyun's shaky breaths into your hair, his drilling into your warm hole speeding up each time your body flutters around his cock. Even his hand around your mouth tightens in spasms. 
"Now."
You don't understand why the bed is moving as much as it is until you're rolled back against Jaehyun, thigh pulled back again. Your eyes fly open with the first stroke of a warm tongue, surprise disappearing into a massive rolling wave of pleasure as you find Johnny's head between your legs, Jaehyun's cock disappearing into you in wild thrusts.
You're on fire, incapable of thinking trapped between the soft wetness of a mouth and the molten length inside of you. Johnny stops mid-lick and mid-tremor to blow on you, the cold air making you jerk.
"I said now," Jaehyun says, and you realize he's directing the other man, who's stopped mouthing you again, looking up across your bare chest to meet your eyes in the dark.
Then he's sucking on your clit and you can't keep the shriek from bubbling up in your throat, body curling in as the sensation of that wave breaking has your legs shaking and toes curling, shock after shock following as Jaehyun pulls out of you and finishes between your thighs, coating you and Johnny both. 
Johnny doesn’t stop, and Jaehyun holds you still as you're licked clean, your eyes half-open drinking in the sight in the dark. By the time he joins you at the head of the bed you're whimpering from overstimulation, captured into a kiss that coats your tongue as soon as Jaehyun releases the hand over your mouth.
"Take care of her," Jaehyun says, leaving the bed. 
"Tit-for-tat," Johnny says brushing his hand over your cheek. "You ready to finish what you started?"
Your heart races as he pulls you on top of him, gently tugging the robe off your left shoulder and tossing it away. His hands completely engulf your breasts, spreading them and thumbing at your hardened nipples.
"So soft. You're mine, too," he murmurs.
"You're drunk," you counter, but you don't leave your place straddling him. He’s still dressed but his shirt is open, body feverwarm under you. 
You suppose it makes sense that they'd cage you in without a say, after slowly whittling away at your resolve, but it still feels like waking up in the lion's den. So this is what you’d missed out on not following things to their natural conclusion before. You’re almost grateful you’d never made it that first night; you’d have missed the worst but you would have never have found yourself here.
"Maybe," he says. "I can still fuck you though."
"It's so funny how you think you’re in control," you repeat his words back to him, slipping down his torso and leaving a trail of wet until you're straddling his thighs. You pull his shorts open to release his massive erection, trailing your mouth over the leaking slit but offering nothing by way of satisfaction.
By the time you feel Jaehyun behind you again Johnny is groaning loudly at each wet kiss against his length, each weak suck and unfinished squeeze of your fingertips driving him deeper into the bed.
"You like torturing him, baby?" Jaehyun asks, turning on the light. He's naked and glistening with sweat, the sight making your mouth water.
"It's only fair," you say, tongue flicking the precum from the underside of Johnny's cock. "You said he couldn't fuck me until you could watch."
"I made you come just now," Johnny slurs, hand twisting in your hair. 
"Debatable," you say. Jaeyhun grabs Johnny's wrist away from you and pulls it over his head and you hear the satisfying click of cuffs snapping into place. Johnny's hips thrust upwards as you give his cock another long swipe, watching Jaehyun ease on to the bed and angle his groin over the other man's face. You can't see but you can hear the muffled groans as Johnny takes him, the arching of Jaehyun's broad white back as he grips the headboard and fucks slowly into his mouth.
You forget torturing Johnny, cheek resting against his hipbone as you reach down to touch yourself instead. When Jaehyun finally pulls away you can see the line of spit from his erect cock to Johnny's plump lips and it makes you gasp a little, peppering his belly with kisses.
"What would you like to do to him?" Jaehyun asks, stroking himself as you tease Johnny’s length with your breasts.
"He can’t come until we tell him to," you say, looking directly into Johnny's lust-hazed eyes. "I want him to beg for it."
"That’s my girl," Jaehyun moves across the bed to join you, leaning down to kiss you before licking the twitching cock between you. You follow his suit, mouths clashing before you both set to work—your hand pumping while Jaehyun's cheeks hollow around the tip. You end up with one hand on his head guiding your lover, watching Johnny writhe and curse as he tries to break free.
"I want you to fuck me with him," you say, kissing Jaehyun once you’ve pulled him away. He looks at you quizzically, your hand wrapping around his cock to pull him closer and work at him against Johnny's muscled thigh. 
"I can take it," you say. "If he comes before I do then we can punish him."
"You sure?" he asks, pulling you tight. 
"Yeah," you breathe. "I want both of you."
You kill all alternatives by settling yourself over Johnny's hips, parting his open shirt so you can have better access to the wide swath of his chest and belly. 
"You want both of us?" he asks drowsily. You kiss him, marveling at how swollen his lips are until you remember biting them earlier. You nip at his neck, hearing the rattle of his belt as Jaehyun undresses his lower half behind you.
"We'll do all the work. Just try not to come," you say. You reach between you to angle his cock up into you, settling down as the stretch burns you awake. You feel unmoored until Jaehyun's hands are on your hips guiding you down to where you can rest against Johnny beneath you and then up again, making up for the lack of strength in your thighs.
"Oh," you say, leaning back into him. "It's so much."
"Slowly," Jaehyun says, cock pressed into your ass as he guides you. His arm snakes around you to help hold you as his hand fits between you, working through your slick until he can guide two fingers into you besides the other man. The first stretch of pain makes you squeak, tensing, and he slows.
"You sure you want it this way? We can—"
You shake your head violently. The feeling of being filled is too good, every inhale making you tighten. "Not tonight."
"That’s my girl," Johnny sighs. Jaehyun eases a third finger in, both of your movements slowing as he fucks into you with his hand against the warm length already inside you. You're on fire, feeling Johnny practically in your ribcage, but without the necessary rhythm to work you to completion it feels like you're sharing the torture.
"Please, fuck us," you whisper, leaning back to rest your head against Jaehyun's chest. You're so full already you can barely feel when his hand is out of you but when his cock replaces his fingers its a torch to tinder. You involuntarily jerk forward, half-off of Johnny as Jaehyun slides against him and presses his cock deep into your cunt. 
If you thought you had any agency in this moment it's stolen by hands on your hips pulling you back, Jaehyun’s grip viselike. Johnny is struggling beneath you, trying to fuck you against the encroachment of Jaehyun's cock but the latter’s movements are merciless.
"Oh fuck," Johnny says as you bounce on top of him, unable to do anything besides snap his hips. "So tight."
You reach a hand down to pleasure yourself and marvel instead at the bulging in your abdomen, a total flush settling over your body as Jaehyun forces his way into you with sharp breaths. 
"Don't come yet," he says, biting your shoulder, making your walls clench even around all that mass inside you. Johnny bucks, thighs rising under you, clearly feeling each twitch.
"Fuck, I can't hold it," Johnny says, the metal of his cuffs scraping on the headboard. "Slow down."
"Don't come," Jaehyun orders, more to Johnny than you. You aren't even touching yourself, too lost in the indescribable feeling of fullness inside you, the lurid sounds of skin against skin as Jaehyun's balls slap against your ass and the base of Johnny’s cock. You lean back to kiss him, unable to find anything but his jawline before he bends you down to slide in deeper. 
Your hands splay across Johnny’s abdomen, feeling every spasm and roll of his muscles as he comes closer to his end. You let your body respond in kind, squeezing in time until the tics escalate beneath your palm and you can both feel and hear his breathing stutter beneath you. 
"You're so good for me, Daddy," you whisper, laving the hot skin over Johnny's breastbone. "Come for me."
Johnny practically leaves the bed for how violent his orgasm is. Hot cum floods inside you, spurring Jaehyun to fuck deeper and rougher even as his partner grunts in protest at the overstimulation. 
He reaches between you to place your hand where you'd forgotten your own touch.
"Punish him, baby."
You circle your clit, making sure you keep getting tighter around his softening cock with each thrust. The stretch burns but you take it.
"Such a good girl," Jaehyun says, kissing your neck above your spine. Want to feel you come for us."
You feel the snap in the bottom of your feet and into your weakening legs, core throbbing with each pump until you finally crumble. You squeeze the sensitive member inside you until you're breaking apart around them both, face pressed into Johnny’s chest.
Looking up you immediately move up off both of them, not caring if Jaehyun has finished, kissing the sweat away from Johnny’s face. His expression is a grimace but his breathing slows as you soothe him with soft touches.
"We got carried away," you breathe, pushing the hair stuck to his forehead away. "Are you okay? Can I get you some water?" 
Johnny cracks a smile, eyes opening partially. 
"You think that was too much?" he asks. "And you said you could handle it."
You slap him lightly on the face.
"You’re done?" he asks, eyes flicking down between you. "I didn't beg, did I?"
You look back at Jaehyun, finding him with one hand on his cock, pumping slowly.
"Get back down here," he says. 
You don't resist, sliding down and turning to face him as you straddle Johnny's belly. Jaehyun kisses you, bringing your hand to spread over Johnny's softening cock covered in cum and slick. He reaches between you to cup your own mess, fingers slopping into you obscenely as he coats them in what's there.
"He's going to make you come again," he says. "I'll get him hard again for you." 
"I'm pretty sure he’s going to pass out," you say, looking over your shoulder. His fucked-out expression in the dark is how you feel, propped against your lover.
"Even better." Jaehyun says. "Watch."
Your breath catches in your chest as you see him take his white-coated fingers and slide them down between Johnny’s parted legs, beneath his heat-sagging balls. You’re the one to gasp as you watch him palpate the puckered muscles and slowly work in, feeling the body beneath you twitch.
"You don't know how amazing this feels," he says, meeting your round eyes. "Soon."
Heat radiates through your core and your entire body as you watch Jaehyun finger-fuck the man under you, as you feel his cock twitch with each stroke against his prostate. You assist by dropping down to take Johnny’s soft member into your mouth, sucking gently on it and pulling it to hardness. Somewhere out of sight Johnny groans inarticulately.
The taste doesn't bother you, not as you feel the blood return to his cock, taking a long time to fill completely. You’re only stopped by Jaehyun angling his own tip into your face, forcing you to alternate between the two until both are sufficiently coated in your spit and your throat burns from the intrusion. 
Jaehyun waits until you're choking on Johnny’s cock to make his first thrust, easing into the other man with a raspy sigh. You watch fascinated as Johnny lifts his hips, legs folding on either side of the younger man. Jaehyun's mouth is agape, eyes closed as his strokes become deeper and more forceful.
"You're so good," you croon, lying down beside Johnny and kissing the side of his face. He angles his head to catch your lips, making small noises of satisfaction when your tongue slides over his. You almost forget everything as you kiss him deeply, the moment feeling more intimate than anything you’d shared previously, until rough hands grasp you from behind and pull you down his body.
“One more for us?” Jaehyun says into your ear, dripping sweat down your throat and spine as he crashes you against him, still rocking steadily. 
You swallow nervously, thighs radiating a deep ache. “I don’t know if my knees can handle it.”
“Just relax,” he says, twisting your body so you’re facing him and pushing you until your bent backwards. 
“Lay back, babydoll,” Johnny says.
You can hardly breathe, your body tensing with anticipation as you lie down against Johnny’s chest.  Jaehyun bends over you, you think to grab the headboard until you hear the release of the cuffs. Just as quickly you are wrapped in a tight embrace, legs spread.
“Relax,” Johnny says, nuzzling your throat. “I’ve got you.”
He lifts his hips, diving into your ready heat—his length less overwhelming than before at this angle. Jaehyun settles down over you as well, kissing from your forehead to your mouth as Johnny begins thrusting between you. 
You can’t be sure of anything in this position—not who is guiding all three of you, or who is making the sounds in the chorus of cries of ecstasy. You’re sure you won‘t be able to come again but Johnny’s thick fingers slide over your nub, sending aftershocks through your abused cunt. 
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you chant, head thrown backwards against Johnny’s flexing shoulder. Hovering over you, Jaehyun is just as gone—face buried in your chest.
“I’m close,”  Jaehyun says into your skin, eyes clenched tight. 
“Hold on, baby,” Johnny says, and you know immediately it’s meant for you by the way his python-like grip locks you into place.
Johnny stops working beneath you and you realize he’s ceded control, the violence of Jaehyun’s last thrusts fucking him deeper into you than before. Johnny keeps you on top of him, hand unrelenting on your apex even as he loses tempo beneath you.
“Come on me,” you whisper to Jaehyun, breaking the spell he is under. He fights for control through a shuddering last push, pulling out to finish over you with just a few pumps into his hand as you curl towards him, foreheads colliding. Milky white ropes coat your torso, and you try to kiss him through the look of pure bliss you know he’s in but are rolled onto the bed, facedown.
“I can’t,” you protest, wrenching around to stop Johnny but you might as well be made of rubber. Something is shoved under your belly and your hips are hoisted up as you sink headfirst into the duvet. 
“You can, babydoll. I want to feel it when I ruin you for anyone else.”
Johnny’s weight settles over your hips as he teases your throbbing and puffy core with his cockhead, pulling you up on the pillow he’s placed beneath you. You jerk when he angles into you, dragging against the top of your walls with each plunge. As much as you expect pain or force there’s neither, it feels like you’re melting into the warmth of him as he kisses your shoulders gently.
“You’re so perfect,” Johnny mumbles, pulling sweat-sticky hair from your face as you gasp for air. 
“I told you she was.” Jaehyun lies next to you at an angle, kissing you, and you taste the swallow of cold water he’d just taken like it’s the first rain of summer. Soon he’s pulled you half into his arms, touch ghosting all over as Johnny keeps a steady pace. 
“How are you still so tight for me?” He groans, legs pressing against the back of your thighs when he hits you deepest. The sensation is overwhelming, like he’s going to crawl inside of you so far you’ll never be released. 
“It’s too much,” you say, but even you don’t believe it as you lift your hips to meet him, allowing Jaehyun’s hand to slip between your legs. He rolls your clit in a circular motion, kissing you to match the other man’s thrusts. Your pussy throbs in syncopation with someone’s breathing—surely not yours.
“You’re such a good girl for us.” 
You whimper when the waves of pleasure begin to shorten in refraction, the building orgasm like a bone deep ache that they’re working out of you. You go quiet in the last few seconds, high-pitched whine stuck in your lungs, willing overworked muscles to give up the ghost but the climax seems to stretch on forever with no peak to tumble off of. 
And then Johnny shifts, practically on top of you, holding himself up but only so much as he drills you into the bed and the slick chest beneath you. Teeth are on your neck and another mouth against your cheek as you cry out, legs quaking involuntarily, nails digging into Jaehyun’s back as you hear Johnny cum with a muffled roar. 
Hot cum fills your belly as you finally find release, spasming so intensely you feel liquid gush between your thighs. You don’t have a thought left in you to feel any shame, your body shakes mellowing as you’re held through the comedown. 
“That’s my girl,” Jaehyun whispers, smiling against your temple. 
“Our girl,” Johnny corrects, kissing where a bruise blooms at the top of your shoulder blade. He rolls off of you but only to cage you on the other side, leg draped possessively over yours.
Jaehyun meets your eyes in the half-light, watching you. You have to close your eyes, unable to face that kind of unnameable emotion you feel hollowing you out.
“Stay with me,” he says, lifting you up finally. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
You barely hear him as you sink into bliss, grateful that at the end of it all—whatever this is—you don’t have to be in control. 
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Hours later you startle awake with a gasp, the room grey with the dawn outside and the heavy breathing of the two men on either side of you only faltering for a moment before returning to the depths of sleep. 
It takes you longer than usual to get your bearings, the soreness in your legs making blood rush to your face as you remember everything at once. 
I’m so deeply fucked, you think, literally and figuratively. You sit up, finding yourself wrapped up in a deadweight arm—Jaehyun’s—while Johnny’s head rolls back from where it was resting against your shoulder. In the low light they look so much younger, weightless without all the responsibility and mystery you’d come to expect. 
You’ve already washed up and changed into your robe but you quietly scrub down again, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from your forehead and checking the marks on your skin where tongue and teeth had claimed you. 
Inside you feel a glow of elation that you’ve finally understood what it is to be wanted, and somehow without conflict even with the uncertain nature of two people’s separate feelings in the matter. In a better world perhaps you’d have time to talk it over, sharing a room service breakfast and a morning finally free of the storm that had brought you together.
But you’ve lived a lot longer than anyone should have in your short existence. It’s made you more capable, and stronger, but also unwilling to accept any fantasy. Everything, you think, has a price, and some things are too good to be true.
You don’t have any illusions about what daylight will actually bring you. 
With the ease of an automaton you remove all traces of your existence from the room, changing into the clothes you wore and readying for departure. You find the one possession that isn’t yours with ease, in Jaehyun’s bag, leaving everything else intact. 
The watch feels heavy in your hand, the ticking like receding thunder, and you tuck it into your bra as if to quiet it with your own heartbeat. On your way out you find the Bible in the desk and leave the passage open, decaying rose marking Proverbs 27, underlining verse 5. 
If either hears you go, they don’t follow. 
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Whyyyyyy am I so bad at interacting with my sister
She came over to talk with our folks about some housekeeping stuff and I was making lunch and I noticed my book wasn’t where I left it and I asked mum if she’d moved it which she had, and I went over to grab it, and my sister was like “oh, what are you reading?”
And it was Gideon the Ninth, which I started this morning and am about a third of the way through and am loving, and I said so and she said she’d never heard of it, so I started to give a sort of vague and excited summary
and the moment I said “science fantasy with necromancers” she just got this look on her face of total disdain and I knew immediately that she’d seen that thread about its shitty marketing
And somehow instead of just brushing it off bc my sister can think whatever she wants about me, I awkwardly tried to mitigate the damage by saying (truthfully!)
“Yeah, it’s funny, I was put off it for a while because of its marketing, which was very ‘here’s some general concepts’ without really saying much of anything about the book, but my girlfriend’s been really enjoying the series and I’m so glad I took her recommendation, it’s actually great— and the marketing isn’t the book’s fault”
and of course she took it upon herself to tell our parents all about the “lesbian necromancers in space— need I say more?” thing and like yes, yes you need say more, that doesn’t really tell me anything about what the book’s about, and she was telling them about a thread on twitter she read that was about that marketing specifically but said like “gay dwarves in hell” or something and people were like “lol you’re talking about the lesbian necromancers book aren’t you” because it was so obvious
And I just went over to the couch to eat my lunch while she talked to our folks about electricity but like fuckin’ damn, how do you hear “this book is actually really good” and decide to have a whole-ass conversation about how disdainful you are of its marketing? Like that’s more important than the actual quality of the work? She didn’t even say like “oh I’m glad to hear it’s good” or anything just kept talking about the marketing 
and like I was a little put off by the marketing bc like as a writer and as a reader I want to know more about a book than that. But I know my sister was especially disdainful of it bc spending part of her college years in an environment that was big on the “use the language of social justice to seem like we’re in the right while we bully people” thing left her very twitchy about anything that’s like. Overtly political/About Being Queer/etc. I really wish that hadn’t been her reaction to it bc baby, bathwater, you know, but I can’t do anything about it now
I refuse to let this keep me from continuing to enjoy the hell out of this book, but it’s just so damn frustrating, the way she can give me a disdainful look for something I enjoy and it makes me feel like she thinks I’m not smart enough for her. I hate it. 
our mum always said that when I was born, she tried to instill in my sister a sense of “amused superiority” to me to keep her from getting jealous of the new baby. I think it may have worked too well. 
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Watching Granada Holmes: The Greek Interpreter
This recap has been written in two parts due to a recent holiday. Unfortunate, as the episode itself was a bit of an odd one. 
The pacing feels slower, somehow, for starters. Despite the fact that it’s supposed to be an action/ suspense case, this only shows in particular moments. 
I suppose that suits the story that introduces us Mycroft, though, and I do like it when they get David Burke to read out bits from the canon stories as voiceovers. 
Oh, yeah. So this one’s category goes in the Case for a Friend/ Family category due to Mycroft. 
and due to both him and Sherlock being Holmeses, I’ll be using their first names in the recap more. 
Jumping back a minute, the opening is a good one - very Atmospheric. Gives you the “uh oh, something bad is about to happen” vibes right from the start. 
Creepy Glasses Man (Kemp, I think, but we don’t find that out until later) is Very Creepy. And then poor Mr Kratides is hit over the head! Uh oh indeed. 
Okay, jumping back to Holmes and Watson after Watson’s delightful voiceover... This is a Meet The Family episode. 
Again, coupley. The way it’s framed, with Holmes just dropping it into conversation, and Watson being all like, “I didn’t know you had a brother,” and Holmes’s little “oh yes”, before Holmes feeds Watson some more intriguing information to encourage Watson’s interest then ends with, “I suppose... you want to meet him?” Like that wasn’t your plan all along in bringing him up, Sherlock? :smirks:
When describing Mycroft and his club, Sherlock says, ”it is the oddest club and Mycroft one of the oddest men”. In the original canon, the word used was not ‘oddest’ but ‘queerest’. I suppose the Granada Holmes folk thought the original line might be a bit too obvious...
Watson is so excited to meet Mycroft, it’s lovely. I don’t think you properly prepared him for the silence of the Diogenes Club though, Sherlock. He’s rather befuddled by it all. 
Sherlock’s expression when he first enters the room and sees Mycroft, before anyone has spoken, easily convinces me that they’re brothers. (All down to Jeremy Brett’s microexpressions - the minute twitch of lips and eyebrows conveying a raft of emotion.)
The deductive game is of course amusing - a shame that’s one of the few true deductive scenes we get this episode. At least Watson enjoyed it, even as it turned into another Lesson in deduction for him. 
And then Mr Melas arrived and the rest of the plot got started. 
I do like how they use voiceovers and flashbacks in this episode. They’ve managed that part well. The suspense and fear caused by Kemp and Latimer towards Melas (and poor Kratides) throught the flashbacks and alternative POVs is excellent. The scenes at the house are particularly chilling. 
I like the character of Mr Melas - he is quick-thinking despite his fear, and his realisation of what he can do as interpreter is a good one which he puts to use well. 
As for Mycroft, well. For someone so smart, Mycroft’s blunder with the papers is easy to see. I’m with Sherlock on the wisdom of that idea. And then later, during Mycroft’s visit to 221b, it’s made plain that Sherlock understands the human cost better than Mycroft. (Again, Jeremy Brett’s microexpressions sell Sherlock’s concern in both scenes.)
I enjoyed the part where Sherlock and Watson are discussing the case so far as they walk - it’s another Detective Lesson for Watson, with Sherlock largely stepping back except where needed. 
I like the scene with Melas at his boarding house - if you’re familiar with the genre of story, you know that the gentleman his housekeeper announces is unlikely to be who he says he is. And yet, after the ending of the previous scene, there’s a little hope. Until there isn’t. If only the Holmeses and Watson had been five minutes earlier! 
The juxtaposition of the scenes of Melas, Kratides and captors + Holmeses, Watson and Gregson at Scotland Yard is well done too. Sherlock knows things are no doubt happening yet he’s forced to sit and twiddle his thumbs while they procure a warrant. And he hates it. 
and then bang! The warrant arrives and they are off, with Sherlock’s impassioned words delivered in strident tones by Brett: “And pray that we are not too late!”
Unfortunately, from here, the pacing collapses. We’re at minute 34 of a 50-minute episode, and instead of it being a race to the finish, it’s... well. A bits and pieces stagger. 
The race to the house, discovery of the villains’s flight, and then discovery of Melas and Mr Kratides is good. 
Watson shouting orders to help Melas is great. 
Holmes inspecting rooms was good too... 
And there are some small moments on the train (e.g. the deductive bits, and the way Sherlock introduces himself by introducing Watson) that are fun. 
But the rest is utter codswallop. The  screenwriter for this episode didn’t understand canon Holmes at all - which means the Sherlock you see in this episode is in parts influenced by the fanon Holmes. Read Plaid Adder’s review if you want to hear more details about why it’s just... not right. One imagines the arguments that Jeremy Brett must have had about saying those lines.
If I’d been adapting this for fifty minutes, I think I’d have added more alternate POV/ flashback scenes at the start - like a different writer did in Dancing Men.  This would mean that we would get Sofia Kratides’s story, and it would turn into what it almost was, a Woman in Need plot. In my adaption, Sofia Kratides’s story is tragic love gone wrong, where a young woman is swept off her feet by a dashing young man, only to slowly discover that he’s not as sweet as he appears, and really only wants her money. 
This would then mean that Watson’s “Holmes, they’ve consulted a Bradshaw” line would occur no earlier than minute 45 of the show... instead of minute 37. I would have also stuck a lot closer to canon regarding the ending, because Granada Holmes made a hash of Sofia Kratides’s character, and Sherlock Holmes’s in the process (as mentioned above). In canon, apparently, Kemp and Latimer escaped with Sofia Kratides, and then Holmes and Watson hear some months later that Kemp and Latimer are dead, with H&W assuming that Sofia Kratides must have stabbed them. You could certainly make a desperate train chase out of that, where the abductors escape by the skin of their teeth, leaving Holmes furious and the viewers shocked. Then snap-cut to some months later and have either a Watson voiceover or H&W reading the newspaper explain things. 
There. Fixed it. Glares.
Ugh. Anyway. It’s now well past my bedtime - I wanted to finish this recap so I could move onto the next episode. I’ve been looking forward to that one! Including the next episode, there are four more episodes left in the season. And I am really looking forward to feeling all the feels in the finale... 
But for now, goodnight. 
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jeongyunhoed · 1 year
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I posted 4,790 times in 2022
127 posts created (3%)
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@jeongyunho99
@nuestthings
@cruellajoong
@songmingki
I tagged 2,804 of my posts in 2022
Only 41% of my posts had no tags
#yuyu bear - 344 posts
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Longest Tag: 124 characters
#my entire takeaway from this is that margaret's boss qualities just outweigh her longing to be the housewife she wants to be
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
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The second part of the 100-Day trilogy, following the events of The 100-Day Relationship. Choi Juhyun and Park Seonghwa are now engaged, but are faced with the decisions as to how they both want their wedding to be, along with other important choices a couple makes after the wedding. Resurfacing exes included.
I Do
Group: ATEEZ Member: Seonghwa Pairing: Seonghwa / OC Genre: Mostly fluff, mostly cheesy romantic stuff, sliiiiiiiiight angst
Things to Note: Art Curator Hwa! A lot of crazy rich stuff, we’ll again be feeling poor in this one. Tag list is open so let me know if you would like to be updated.  
Warnings: For this chapter? suggestive themes, just slight dramarama. exes galore!
Note: Happy new year! I’ve been feeling so under the weather these past few weeks that I couldn’t get around to posting for a while. I’m still feeling a tad shitty so please accept this chapter as a late Christmas present too!
Tag list: @treasure-hwa , @hwachu
Masterlist
Chapter 4
The helpers entered the room later to bring in coffee from large silver coffee pots, pouring some on most of their cups as Sangmin preferred to drink cola. Throughout the meal, Seonghwa wasn’t sure just yet if her parents were really giving them their blessing. They seemed to be interested, and even if they had their moments that he found funny, he thought it was best to stay alert in case they’d want to ask him a few things. 
Of course, Seonghwa understood why they would be cautious. They had a reason to be compared to his own family. Still, he was prepared to follow his mother’s advice and make clear that his intentions for marrying Juhyun were honorable and genuine. He was determined to earn their blessing and respect. 
Juhyun could tell he was still nervous, eyeing him from time to time while they talked about a business trip her father went on, and how he managed to go sight-seeing in between lunches and dinners with clients and other people like himself. “Oh, uh, coincidentally, Seonghwa’s grandmother knows grandfather,” she suddenly said, making everyone at the table turn their attention to her. 
“Really?” Jongmin looked intrigued, pleasantly surprised at the revelation. 
They nodded. “Yeah, when she came over when we visited, she asked me who I was and when she realized who I was, that’s when she said she knew grandfather from middle school. Apparently, him and grandma were the campus couple for some time in Jinju when they were there,” Juhyun explained, eyeing Seonghwa again. 
“Really? Did she really?” Jongmin turned to Seonghwa. 
“Y-yes, Mr. Choi,” He nodded, a little flustered at the revelation. 
“Hold on, she’s from Jinju? You’re from Jinju too?” Jongmin asked, and he nodded again. “Well! How about that? Our daughter’s also marrying a Jinju guy,” He suddenly switched to satoori, Sangmin, Jihyun, and Dajeong all having understood, all of them pleasantly surprised. 
Seonghwa chuckled, somehow feeling relieved. Juhyun was beaming in her seat. “J-Juhyun told me the senior housekeeper taught her a bit of satoori.” 
“She taught all of us. Dajeong learned a little from her too when we just got married years ago,” Jongmin looked amused. “It wasn’t that we needed to learn it, she felt less homesick whenever she could speak in that way, and we wanted to make sure she still felt at home. Eunhyung is like family to us.” 
The revelation made Seonghwa glance at Juhyun, feeling a lot more endeared. Juhyun’s parents seemed to notice it as well. “So, where’s the wedding going to be? You know you can have it at your grandfather’s house, or even here, right?” Dajeong turned to her daughter. 
Juhyun shrugged. “I’m still thinking about that, and no, I don’t plan on having my wedding here or in grandpa’s house, no matter which country,” She said. 
“Alright, alright, it can get quite lonely here though,” Dajeong said. “Only Sangmin uses the theater now, and you and Jihyun only come here on weekends or holidays. We don’t even have company parties here either.” 
“I know what you’re trying to say and no, I still don’t want to have a wedding here or anywhere related to any of us,” Juhyun shook her head. She glanced at her father. “Please.” 
“Alright, alright, if you say so,” Jongmin nodded. “But for the record, so we’re all clear, I’m happy for this engagement of yours. One of my children, finally walking down the aisle…” He drifted off, looking pleased. “Seonghwa, I hope you know what you’re getting into, becoming a part of our family.” 
Seonghwa nodded. “I’ve been aware since the moment we attended our first event together,” He replied. 
“Good, that’s settled then,” Jongmin held up his cup of coffee. “A little late, but now is as good a time as ever for this lunch we’ve had. To our dearest Juhyun, who is getting married soon, and to her fiance, Seonghwa. Cheers!” 
“Cheers!” They raised their cups before taking a sip. Jihyun seemed more excited at the idea than Juhyun was. Seonghwa felt relieved, his shoulders relaxing at the fact that Juhyun’s parents were approving of him. 
“Let us know about the updates in planning every step of the way so we can prepare accordingly, hmm, Juhyun?” Dajeong turned to her daughter. “Who’s catering the wedding?” 
“Wooyoung.” 
“Who’s preparing the cake?” 
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15 notes - Posted January 1, 2022
#4
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8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).
It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Ateez, but make them Old Hollywood, basically. Lights, camera, action!
Member: San
Genre: Screwball romantic comedy, sliiiight angst
Warnings: Snappy couples, slight brawl, pretend lovers’ quarrel, basically just running away
Things to note: Set in the 1930s, journalist!San, strangers to lovers (kind of), road trip!, Almost like the whole “there was only one bed!”
Will have OCs
As with the rest of the stories in the AU, there will be other idols mentioned, most likely NCT but may have some of my other faves (EXO, etc.)
A/N: After putting this on hold for soooooo long and as I’m coping with severe lack of drive (kind of), I thought I’d restart this again. 
Masterlist
Runaway society girl Han Miryo goes on a cross-country road trip to get to her aviator fiance from Namhae to Seoul, only to fall in love with the reporter, Choi San, who helped her run away. 
It Happened One Night
tag list: @minervaaaaaaaa , @closer-stars
Part 1
Choi San leaned against the glass panes of the telephone booth he was in. He was at a bus terminal in Namhae, having finished a week’s worth of writing his next feature article, perhaps one of his biggest yet. San waited for the operator to connect him to his office all the way in Seoul, noticing the lines of people at the ticket booth in one part of the terminal, crowds of people looking to get a seat at the food court in another part. 
San was a reporter, working for the Seoul Daily Globe, a special correspondent that always traveled the country to get a good story, compared to his colleagues that worked on their advice columns, astrology pieces, recommendations on which songs to listen to, which clubs to go to, and which movies to watch. He was always on the road, and it was often quite a rewarding one. 
“Hello? Is this the Seoul Daily Globe?” San stood up straight once he heard someone pick up. 
“Yes sir,” said the secretary. 
“This is Choi San, I want to talk to Song Mingi now,” San leaned back against the door of the booth. 
“Who?” 
“Song Mingi, the managing editor,” San repeated, shaking his head. He had a bone to pick with Mingi. “Fire me, my ass. I’ll show him, that giraffe-” 
“Hello?” Came the deep voice of the editor himself, making San straighten up again. 
“Hello?! Mingi?!” San said indignantly. “What’s this about me being fired?!” 
“Well, you got my wire, didn’t you?” Mingi replied. 
“Yeah but-” 
“Well it goes. You’re done here, Choi San,” Mingi said with finality. 
“But-but what for?!” San couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 
“You know what for. Go home and sleep it off. You’re done here, Choi San,” Mingi replied. 
San pounded his fist on the telephone. “You listen here, you hunk of metal, I’m the best news correspondent you’ve got for your filthy scandal sheet.” 
Mingi scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. What were you doing last night?” 
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18 notes - Posted July 2, 2022
#3
Fic Recs Round 10!
Because it’s been quite a while and I have noticed the lack of people reblogging great content (or I just don’t follow a lot of writers anymore), it is long past overdue to make another fic recs post. I really love these works and I’ve reread quite a number of them whenever I’m just not in the mood to do anything or whenever I can’t be arsed to write in general. 
As with my previous rec posts, I will indicate which ones have the spicy content (be warned: most of the fics I will include in this list are). 
If you like the works, please give the author some love and REBLOG. It’s how our work gets around this site that unlike Instagram or Twitter, can only get exposure through reblogs. 
* - has smut / implied smut / basically very spicy
ATEEZ
ATEEZ what they love about you - @calmdownluv
*Acquainted (San) - @serendipityunho 12:59 (Yunho)
*Make Up (Mingi) - @nateezfics *Slippery (Yeosang) *A-Z Headcanon (Hongjoong) *Rainy Morning (Mingi) *Bubble Bath (Seonghwa) *Live Game (San) *Sweet Metallic (Jongho) *Hush (Wooyoung) *Into the Night (San) *Warm (Yeosang) *Honey & Blood (Hongjoong) *Deepest Desire (Yunho)
ATEEZ when their s/o buys them flowers - @molangmoy
6:53 p.m. (Wooyoung) (suggestive) - @treasure-hwa What’s a soulmate? (Seonghwa) Don’t Let Me Go (Mingi)
This really ridiculously cute story in a diner (Yeosang) - @hereisleo Moonlight Confession (San) Hell Correspondence (Wooyoung, San)
Chat Noir (San) (suggestive) -  @gummygowon
Time of Our Lives (Wooyoung) - @moonchildsaurora The City of Lights (San) This incredibly amazing mob boss piece (Seonghwa)
14:32 (Seonghwa) - @petitemingi 11:23 (Wooyoung)
*Choi San as Your Boyfriend - @star-1117
*Explicit (San) - @b4nnned
*In the Same Class as ATEEZ - @essenteez
1:54 (Wooyoung) - @sadienita
ATEEZ when he takes care of you while you’re in the hospital - @blu-joons ATEEZ when he misses you while on tour 
Selfish (Yunho) - @yeochikin 2:11 (Yeosang)
ATEEZ as romantic tropes - @mingishoe
3:46 p.m. (Hongjoong) (Suggestive) - @kireiwoo
Grocery Shopping with Wooyoung - @tbhchoi
Arcade (Yunho) - @barsformars
NCT
*Crazy in Love (Jaehyun) - @jeonronwoo
18 notes - Posted May 28, 2022
#2
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The second part of the 100-Day trilogy, following the events of The 100-Day Relationship. Choi Juhyun and Park Seonghwa are now engaged, but are faced with the decisions as to how they both want their wedding to be, along with other important choices a couple makes after the wedding. Resurfacing exes included.
I Do
Group: ATEEZ Member: Seonghwa Pairing: Seonghwa / OC Genre: Mostly fluff, mostly cheesy romantic stuff, sliiiiiiiiight angst
Things to Note: Art Curator Hwa! A lot of crazy rich stuff, we’ll again be feeling poor in this one. Tag list is open so let me know if you would like to be updated.  
Warnings: For this chapter? suggestive themes, a little brawl-ish, but it’s the bachelor/bachelorette parties!
Note: I am back and all better from my health issues - a few grueling days at the hospital (for something else entirely although I also tested positive for COVID but with very mild symptoms) and I got back the other day. I’m trying to get my mindset back to normal / go back into a normal routine kind of. 
Anyway, I hope you all love this chapter? It’s the bachelor/bachelorette parties... part 1. haha. From how things are going, we might go beyond 10 chapters. 
Tag list: @treasure-hwa ,@hwachu , @atz-diary
Masterlist
Chapter 6
“Bachelor party time, bachelor party,, ba-che-lor par-tay, bachelor party night, Saturday night!” Hongjoong cheered that night as they all assembled at Seonghwa’s museum. Kibum, Jongho, Wooyoung, Dongwoo, Jiho, Yunho, Yeosang, Seonghwa’s brother, and San were standing next to Seonghwa’s office, as he was preparing to close up for the night. 
“Hwa! Come on! We’re gonna be late!” Seonghwa’s brother called out. 
“Alright, alright, is the bar you’re taking us to reservation only?” Seonghwa closed his office door behind him, only to be met with cheers from all the males. He greeted San especially, who came from his Olympic training. 
“No, but we’re losing valuable party time,” Hongjoong checked his watch. “No bachelor party would be complete without our own limousine, and it’s outside right now” He grinned, making them cheer. 
“Are we going to be drinking on the way there too?” Seonghwa looked intrigued as they went out of the building, seeing a limousine parked in front. 
“No, but we could if you want, this limousine is stocked with champagne, but the drinks at Essence are where it’s at,” Hongjoong opened a bottle while San passed champagne flutes around. 
“What kind of drinks do they serve there anyway?” Wooyoung poured some into his glass, passing the bottle to Dongwoo. 
“You’ll see! I can’t tell you right now, it’ll spoil the fun,” Hongjoong was getting excited as the chauffeur began to drive them away. 
“In that case, allow me to be the first one to propose a toast?” Kibum raised his glass, making them do the same. “To Seonghwa, may he and Juhyun find eternal happiness together. Cheers!” 
“Cheers!” and they clinked their glasses before taking sips. 
“Tonight is a night where we, as responsible men, as responsible husbands and boyfriends, can drink to our hearts content!” Hongjoong cheered, pouring himself another round of champagne. The rest of them followed suit. 
They arrived at what was a large building later on, that had a long line of people waiting to get in. Seonghwa could feel a little buzz from the champagne they all kept drinking on the way as they easily made their way into the establishment. 
The club was large, the largest Seonghwa had seen or could compare to as they walked past the regulars, drinking cocktails from what looked like beakers filled with liquid that emitted a lot of smoke, perhaps from the dry ice. There were dancers suspended in the ceiling and some were performing on a big white platform in view of all the chairs that sat more than three people. Hongjoong looked especially proud of having brought them there, with one of the waiters showing them to an almost private booth area. They could hear some of the guests whisper amongst themselves, clearly because of the fact that most, if not all of them, were known public figures. 
“So this is Essence?” Yeosang turned to Hongjoong as they sat down, taking in the surroundings. 
“Yeah! Esquire says this place is the next big thing,” Hongjoong grinned, sitting back and calling over one of the waiters. “Order as much as you can, guys, tonight is a night we’re celebrating!” 
They cheered as San gestured for the waiter to come over and they ordered themselves their drinks. The waiter soon returned with a big bowl of what looked like tiny circles in different colors with several dimsum spoons and set it down on the table in front of them. “What’s that?” Kibum raised a brow. 
“The cocktail sampler. The blue dots are blue lagoon, the pink dots are cosmopolitan, the red dots are bloody mary, the yellow dots are whiskey sour, the orange dots are mint julep. Enjoy,” The waiter explained before walking off. 
They stared at the bowl. “This…is the cocktail sampler,” Seonghwa’s brother said. “When you said they experiment with alcohol, I see it.” 
“I told you guys it was wild,” Jiho wrinkled his nose at the bowl.
“Let’s dig in!” Hongjoong suddenly sat up, passing around the spoons, each of them digging into each part of the bowl. 
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19 notes - Posted January 29, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
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Past-Present-FutureBlack DahliaRED: Rogue, Extremely Dangerous
The fourth and final installment to the superpowers AU. San’s past comes catching up to him as he is targeted by an old colleague turned foe. With everyone else caught in the crossfire, San is forced to reveal what happened to him in the years before going on the search for his sister.
group: ATEEZ member: San pairing: yunho/oc, san/oc (in flashbacks) t/w: violence, use of weapons, possible gore, blood, character death (but not major), gambling/card counting, alcohol consumption, some cussing, (most likely) inaccurate depictions of what goes on at card games and casinos, implied smut, innuendos.
things to note: Inspired by the movies “21″ and “RED: Retired, Extremely Dangerous,” more Neos are characters in this one -- actually the big bad is one of the Neos lmao.  
Another A/N: Tag list is open, and welcome to another superpowers-fueled story. 
Listen to: Jumper - Cravity, Rocky - ATEEZ, Face ID - Epik High, Bangarang - Skrillex, Trauma - SF9, Blockbuster - Enhypen feat. Yeonjun
tag list: 
Masterlist: 
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 - Final
26 notes - Posted February 9, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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While part of me is kinda amused that the housekeeper crossed out taking their trash to the dumpster from their contract...the other part of me is boiling with rage about how nobody besides the PM shift, of which I belong, takes trash to the dumpsters. Yes, some AM workers will empty the trash on the weekends, because that has been procedure since the beginning of the building, but would it kill them to notice that three giant trash barrels were at least 3/4 of the way full?
#the blogger is a home health aide#work problems#yeah part of me is amused by the housekeeper#the other part of me wants to throttle them#it doesn’t help that due to families realizing that they can take care of their mildly incapacitated elders at home#all of our newer residents have more severe health concerns#and some mad genius plunked two tub baths on the same shift for people that have difficulty moving quickly#plus the new resident needs a two person transfer...right when I was supposed to be giving a bath#and then the brain trusts that are the powers that be moved a resident down to memory care#without thinking to grab all the safety equipment#so this resident that was a grumbling one assist upstairs had to be a s#slightly difficult two assist downstairs#when the only staff on the unit was a new hire that um could be politely called a ditz#and a longer hire that also could be described as a ditz#i got to play the role of grizzled elder that will gladly show the younguns how to do so#something but I was not messing around#yes I will happily go check on the resident whose call button has been going off for like half an hour#and I will manage to metaphorically argue with the transfer situation#so that the resident stands up safely but I will be calling and letting the nurse know what an absolute crapshow this room movement is#somebody should have let the room pickers know that because of the resident’s arm weakness#they really should use a different room if you want to not break your back toileting the resident#or possibly the aides need to be better at communicating these things to the nurses#cause my working knowledge of the residents is much more workable than what is in the chart#but the last hour or 45 minutes of the shift was a mild disaster
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sconnie-doesnt-know · 3 years
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Ransom’s Hallmark Moment
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader
Word Count: 4300
Warnings: Language, drinking, smut including unprotected sex (imagine that birth control), Ransom's bad attitude and Ransom being soft (what?!)
A/N: written for the Hoelentine's Day Challenge hosted by @chrissquares @amythedvdhoarder and @drabblewithfrannybarnes
My giftee is Heather @hevans-angel and I hope I've been able to fulfill some of your wishes you sweet lady!
So much appreciation for @stargazingfangirl18 and @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me and being so supportive and creative! Now, on to the fic!
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Aside from the date on the calendar, it feels like a typical Sunday. You got a lot done around the house, allowed yourself some time to relax and baked enough for a small army. Wiping the last of the crumbs away, you proudly look over the pile of treats ready to be given out the next day at work - all sweet and sprinkled and festive in pink and red. Spending the day baking, relaxed and comfortable with old episodes of ‘Bewitched’ on for company is just what you needed before starting another week. Plus, you aren't really alone. There's always Andy.
The wind suddenly blows hard, shaking the windows. You glance outside at the darkened sky, noticing the heavy sheets of snow falling to the ground.
“Shit,” you hiss, making your way to the back door and opening it, “Andy!”
You wait a moment and shout again, “Andy! Come on in!” followed by a series of whistles.
Nothing.
“Oh no, no no please no, not again,” you whine, heading back into the kitchen to find your phone already ringing. You scrunch up your face in a grimace as you answer as sweetly as possible, “Hello?”
“Missing something?”
You roll your eyes, “Yes, I was just about to call you.”
“Yeah, well, he’s here of course. If you don’t get here soon, I might call animal control.”
“You always say that, Ransom, but I know you like him. I’ve seen the water bowl and that old tennis ball by the front walkway.”
“That’s from the housekeeper.”
“Mmhmm, sure. You know I’ll be right there. I’m sorry.”
“Sure you are, see you soon angel.”
You scoff at the nickname. He’s always using a sweet one on you, while calling your dog something far less endearing like hellhound, or fleabag, or even Cujo. The first time he said that one, you looked over at your Lab/Husky mix, with his ears perked at attention and tongue lolling out from his dopey dog smile and laughed like you hadn’t in a long time.
Ransom was less amused.
For some reason, when you moved to the little cottage house set back into the woods, your dog decided to treat himself to adventures which almost always ended with him in front of the wall of windows at Ransom’s home smearing his nose, and drool and mud all over the panes of glass. 
That first pickup was not encouraging. You’d been out searching and going down the long driveways of your neighbors to search until you found him at Ransom’s, sitting and thumping his tail against the ground and staring at Ransom through the window, who for his part, stood with his arms crossed and scowling down at your dog.
That was the first time he told you to keep him contained or he’d call animal control. 
You gave him your number, begging him to call you instead if it happened again. After a few weeks the promise of calling animal control was more of a joke than a threat.
Half the time you were already on your way over, having noticed the dog had taken off, but the other half, it was a grumpy call from Ransom, complaining about being harassed by some wild beast. Apparently the ability to spin a tale was a family trait.
By the time you got there, Andy would usually be tired out from his little journey and be waiting for you to leash him, allowing you and Ransom to get caught up in conversation. And so began an awkward-sometimes tense-sometimes flirty almost-friendship with the man. You were equal parts grateful and pissed at Andy, because of course he would go out of his furry little way to make an ass of you in front of the most handsome man you’ve seen in real life. Tall, broad-shouldered, stoic and reserved, plus cocky to top it all off - the man was checking boxes left and right.
Weeks later, Ransom was still those things, but also sarcastic, witty, a bit playful and very charming when he was in the mood. You caught the appreciative looks he gave your body when you approached (not that he really tried to hide them), and you allowed yourself moments to linger on his features as well. Your little conversations on his front walkway almost always turned flirty, at least until Andy made his impatient presence known by tugging at the leash or barking to get your attention. 
You pack up some cookies, cupcakes, and truffles you made to make some sort of peace offering, grab the leash, and head out to retrieve your little trouble-maker. The thick, wet flakes are heavy, and make the journey down the wood-lined roads slower than usual.
You pull up, squinting through the falling snow, unable to see Andy in his usual spot. You see Ransom walk through the house and to the door, waving you inside, so you hurry from the car, head ducked down to try to avoid the chill and wedge your way in, shaking away the snow once you feel the warmth inside.
“He’s in my garage,” he tells you in lieu of an actual greeting, moving away as you shake off the snow.
“What? You let him inside?”
“Not inside-inside, but yeah. I know better than to leave a pet out in that. Christ. And you know, I keep telling you, princess if you want to see me, you don’t have to keep sending that mutt over as an excuse.”
“Yeah, sure. But what a waste of all that training,” you quip back. It’s almost a routine at this point.
You roll your eyes when he gives you an over exaggerated, proud smile. You immediately want to roll your eyes again because of how good that stupid smile looks on him, too. Your gaze can’t help but travel up and down the length of him, long legs, slim hips that go up to those broad shoulders, all encased in a heavy sweater...with holes torn at the lower hem and at the stomach.
Without thinking, you rush forward to grab the frayed yarn cringing at the idea of needing to replace the expensive garment, “Oh no, did he do this? I know he gets jumpy when he’s excited.”
“No, he didn’t,” he wipes at the front of this stomach. “It’s fine. It’s just like that.”
He can’t even say anything else before you start with more apologizing and rambling, “I am so, so sorry. I swear I only left him out there for a few minutes so he could play in the snow, and he’s been so good. And here,” you thrust the package at him, “I made some food and I hope you have a sweet tooth, and I know it doesn’t make up for the inconvenience and-”
“What’s this?” he asks, shaking it slightly and breaking up your word vomit.
“Uh, it-it’s just like some cookies and stuff that I made.”
“What for?”
“For Valentine’s Day. I made a bunch of stuff because at work we’re doing a thing tomorrow, so-”
“No, I mean why are you giving these to me?”
“Oh,” you hadn’t thought you would need to explain, “Um, neighborly kindness? Gratitude? Because it’s Valentine’s Day?”
“Huh. Does this make you my Valentine?” He laughs and turns on his heel, walking away toward where you can see is the kitchen area. 
“For some reason, you don’t strike me as the sweet and cuddly Valentine type,” you call after him, hearing him chuckle in response.
You wait in the foyer for what feels like too long, just listening as he moves around, opens and closes cabinets and goes on like you’re not there. You look around uncertain what you’re expected to do since you usually don’t make it past the doorway until you decide to pull off your boots and hang your jacket over a chair set near the door. You follow the path he made into the kitchen.
“Sooo. Like I was trying to say, I don’t want to bother you,” you say quietly, “I will just grab Andy and head on home.”
“You really wanna drive with that going on?” he gestures to the window. When you look, it’s practically a blizzard and your car is covered in a fresh, thick layer already.
“Shit,” you rub at the side of your face, nervous at the idea of navigating the roads, but just as anxious to not irritate the man staring you down from across the counter. “Not really. Where’s Andy? I wanna check on him.”
He points to a door down the hall. “Garage is through there.”
You make your way through the house with your jaw clenched, unsure with what you might find knowing that Ransom’s not exactly a fan of dogs. So opening the door he pointed to and finding your dog curled up on an old tarp with that familiar worn-out tennis ball, a full water bowl, all cozy and warm inside the otherwise empty garage is not what you expected at all. 
Your dog lifts his head, tail thumping against the floor as you approach, but he seems worn out from his romp through the snow, so you let him settle down after making sure he’s alright and head back to Ransom in the living room. A small smile in place of your grimace from a few moments before.
“The garage is heated,” Ransom tells you from his seat on the couch. “Figured he’d be alright in there. Can’t do much damage.”
“That’s...that’s really great.” You’re caught off-guard by the thoughtfulness of it. “Thanks for setting him up. I’ll just wait until it slows down and head back out, don’t want to mess up any plans you had.”
He laughs at that, hard and loud. “No, in fact you and the mutt gave me the perfect out from a family thing.”
“Oh really, don’t let us keep you.”
“Oh no, I’m too busy being a hero during the snowstorm,” he answers dryly, letting silence hang in the air for a few moments afterward. “Drink?” he offers.
“A hero? That’s the excuse you’re giving them?” You try to wave off the drink offer, but then he points back outside. 
“I think we’ve got some time on our hands. And yeah, makes for a great story, doesn’t it?” he chuckles to himself. 
You glance back to the wall of windows, seeing nothing but swirling white and sighing, “Sure, might as well. But just to let you know, Andy might not be thrilled that you’re using him as an excuse.”
He smiles and gets up from the sofa to pour you each a glass, then turns back and holds yours out to you, “I know a girl, I think she might be willing to put in a good word for me.”
You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin and sit on the sofa when he does.
A little while goes by and despite the somewhat awkward start to the situation, he’s not bad company. Andy is still content with his set-up, nearly ready to tuck in for the night when you check on him again later. When you return, Ransom’s opened the box of goodies, happily making a dent in the whiskey dark chocolate truffles you piled in there.
“So, you’re sure we’re not interrupting anything? No lady or ladies or even gentlemen you planned to entertain?” You ask as you settle back onto the sofa, closer to the center. Ransom had ignited the fireplace while you were up, dimming the lights and letting the orange flames illuminate the space in front of you.
“Will you drop it already? Nothing aside from the usual family obligation to show up, deal with passive aggressive bullshit, then some outright aggressive bullshit, and watching the show when it all implodes. I am happy to let a pretty girl and her big, messy dog give me an excuse to stay home.”
You laugh, trying to brush off the compliment thrown in there, “Hard to believe you want to miss out on all that. Sounds like a real special time.”
“Very special,” he drawls. He wipes some crumbs off his fingers as he shakes his head before adding, “Trust me this is much better.” He tosses his arm over the back of the couch, letting it fall on your shoulders and force you to lean a bit further into him. 
“Yeah,” you mutter as you look down to your feet and fumble a string of syllables of incomplete words as you try to remind yourself to not read too much into what he’s saying.
“Oh, come on.” He picks up the slack in the conversation when you still don’t manage to say anything else for a few moments, leaning into your space as he breaks the silence. “So, I finally have you all to myself and you’re gonna be shy for me?”
You look up at him, eyes wide and heat rising in your cheeks and chest. “What?”
The hand not wrapped over you reaches out and pushes your chin up, closing your mouth which dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise. His thumb slides up to trace at the pout of your lip.
“Please, baby girl. Neither of us is very subtle. I don’t really do romance, but we’ve got a fire going, we’re stuck in a snowstorm, and I’ve been wanting to get you all to myself since that mutt first showed up over here. If that isn’t some panty-soaking Hallmark crap right there, then I don’t know what is.”
That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh right along with you. The tension has shaken loose and your smile is uncontrollable. It’s ridiculous - the scenario, his words, that he can read you so well, that he isn’t wrong. 
“Hard to believe you don’t have women knocking down your door with all that to offer.”
“Just one woman, and her very stupid dog.”
“Hey,” you start in offense, but still move in when he does, smiling into the kiss. It’s chaste and soft for brief seconds before lips part and your tongues meet. His hands waste no time to pull you closer, tugging you along and making you shift on your knees until he pulls you over him to straddle his lap.
You’re grabbing at everything you can, bunching his thick sweater in your hands, then sliding up and down over his shoulders and biceps, appreciating how solid he feels beneath you. Until finally, you rake your fingers into his hair, ruffling it a bit and then grasping it tightly at the crown to pull his head back, drawing a short moan from his throat.
He tilts back into the pull and you lift yourself up higher on your knees to keep your lips together. When your hands finally let go, allowing him to ease the arch of his neck, you take your time sliding your body down against his torso, pushing your core over the hard bulge in his slacks.
“You gotta ride me, baby.” It sounds like an order, not an option.
Yes. You aren’t sure if you say it out loud, but you feel the air leave your lungs in a rush and your body quivers at just the thought. You don’t care if this is quick, or rushed, or frantic - it’s exactly what you want rightfuckingnow.
His palms rest at the edge of your hip bones, fingers spread and digging into your sides and just slightly pushing and pulling you to get some pressure where you feel that he’s hard.
You reach down, covering his hands with yours and pull them up your sides under your sweater, not so much encouraging as demanding that he move things along. He gets with the program quickly and pushes the sweater up, separating your lips long enough to take it off then pulling you back as quickly as he can. His hands find their own way to the clasp of your bra, making quick work of removing it as well and eagerly touching every inch of bare skin.
When you both start to pant, breaths coming out hard and shaky, he moves his lips to tickle the skin on your cheek, down to your jaw, along the curve there and onto your neck. He sucks at the sensitive skin, nibbling and dragging his teeth when he gets focused on a single sensitive spot that makes you whine out loud. 
Your head hangs down to the side, letting him work his way down the column of skin there and sinking into the loose, ragdoll feeling as your body just gives in to every sensation of pleasure. His arms squeeze you against him while he keeps pushing his hips up and into you, teasing you with hints of pressure where you are starting to feel empty and needy.
“Yes,” you gasp, definitely out loud this time. “Yes,” over and over, every time he does something whether it is with his tongue, or his fingers - his blunt nails digging into the sides of your ribs to hold you tightly in place, or the twist of your hips as he lifts his own up against you.
It’s so much, and you’ve only just lost your shirt. It’s not worth waiting anymore. Your mind is set now to just get what you want.
You push away from him. He slowly comes to, eyes glazed and unfocused, a low mutter of “the fuck” slurred from his lips. Before he can reach for you, you lift off him. Your legs are shaky, but you stand as steadily as you can, undoing the button and zipper and pulling down your jeans and panties in a single push.
He watches for a second, then reaches behind him, gripping the neck of his sweater and hauling it up and over his head. He reveals almost exactly what you were hoping for - solid, defined muscles and smooth skin - but there’s more. Hair across his pecs and in a line down the center of his abs, and freckles dotting everywhere on his fair skin. You want to caress and trace every one, run your fingers along imaginary paths and press against him - but it can wait. It’s got to wait.
Impatiently, you kneel, kicking the legs of your pants away and shuffling forward to reach for his belt. His hands settle at his side, flexing, but letting you do what you seem to be compelled to do. You fling the ends of the belt apart and pull at the button and then the zipper, already salivating at the mingling scent of his cologne and sex.
He straightens his hips, lifting from the couch to allow you to shove his boxers and pants down his legs, his cock pulling with them, then bouncing back up once freed. It throbs, slightly bobbing with a rush of arousal and you can’t help but admire the thickness of it, the swollen head that glistens with smeared pre-come.
Heat burns over your skin, and when you look up at Ransom, he’s clearly feeling the same. His cheeks are flushed in patches of pink, his lips red, swollen, and parted as he lets out short, shaky breaths, hair hanging loose and disheveled. It’s more than you hoped for, and it’s disgusting how perfect he looks. 
As much as you want to tease, to keep this view while you swallow him down and taste him, your pussy throbs. You promise yourself again to take more time with him later, to lick and suck and taste him the way you want, but you can’t resist at least a taste. You grab his shaft, leaning in to swallow him deeply - just once - and draw a shocked moan from him before pulling off and pushing up from your knees, humming at the taste of him.
“Damn, princess. I thought I was going to ruin you, but fuck, you’re good.” He reaches forward as you’re moving up, his hand grabbing at the back of your head to guide you. He pulls a bit at your hair when you’re back up to the couch and spreading your thighs wide over his. His free hand reaches between your legs swirling through your wet, sensitive slit and pressing the heel of his palm hard against your clit.
“Later,” he promises, “I’m gonna taste your pussy. Gonna lick it all up.” He pulls his hand away and sucks away your juices as they drip down his fingers. The promise is so dirty it makes your breath shake in anticipation. You stare into each others’ eyes, admiring the wreckage between you and moving without guidance to seat yourself on top. 
You gasp when you finally feel the hot, hard line of him pressed against your pussy. It feels so thick, and you’re eager to feel the stretch of him pushing inside. You lock your arms around his neck, pushing your breasts together, nipples peaking as they drag along the coarse hair on his chest. 
The lips of your pussy spread over his cock, coating him with your slick. His cockhead rubs over your clit, making you shudder and suck in stuttering breath, and that’s it. You can’t take it anymore.
“Can I have your cock?” Deep down, you know you don’t really need to ask. 
“Yeah,” he adjusts his hips, scooting himself out a little further to give you more room to settle against him. “You’re gonna fucking ride me, princess. Come all over me.”
“Uh huh,” you breathe out, high and airy.
He takes one hand off you, using two fingers to angle his cock toward you. You lift up on your knees, tipping your hips until you feel him against your entrance. You pause for a brief second to ready yourself, then sink down, taking him all in at once.
The stretch makes you groan, the static-like buzzing mix of ache and pleasure spreading all over and making you throw your head back and deepen the moan.
He huffs out a few quick breaths. “That’s it, oh that pussy is so good. So fucking good, princess,” he mumbles.
Then his hands are back on your hips, warm against the bare skin and strong when he digs the tips of his fingers in to pull you further down, “This cock filling you up? Huh?”
All you can manage is another high-pitched, “Uh-huh,” while you start to roll your hips, barely lifting as you shift back and forth to grind against him, your walls still squeezing him tight.
“Come on, let go, baby,” he whispers, his mouth tight against your ear. Your arms loosen their grip around his neck and you place your hands instead on the muscles flexing at the tops of his shoulders. 
You move your knees to get them comfortable and then finally push yourself off him, sliding and gasping as you feel the head of his cock catching just at your entrance again, and after another silent beat, you slide back down, taking his hard length again.
With the space given, he dips his mouth to your breasts, swirling and suckling at your nipples, Harsh, fast sucks followed by quick nips when he catches the hard peaks in between his teeth until you gasp and moan. Only then does he switch it up, his tongue gently rolling over the bud, soothing the stinging ache.
All the while you roll your hips and the burn, the push, the fullness of him inside you is drugging. Your eyes fall closed as you focus on the steadily growing tingle low in your belly.
You start to chase it with slow, dragging strokes, easing up only to drop down and have him bottom out deep inside. It builds fast, making your thighs burn and knees ache as you try to keep your position; one knee has managed to wedge into the corner of the couch and the rhythm needed to build your orgasm conflicts with the concentration needed to keep yourself steady.
“Just take it, babygirl. I got you,” he whispers, feeling your body getting tired on top of him.
He shifts his legs, placing his feet on the ground and pushing up into you, letting you settle on his lap and rock yourself forward and back while his cock stays buried in you. He adjusts his hands to rest just at your tailbone, pressing you steadily against him and giving the pressure needed to your clit when you press against his pubic bone.
Cries start to escape from you, first quiet and breathy, but then building as the air gets pushed out in hard breaths. Your body inches closer and closer to that release, your body hot and burning and there’s a slight moment of too much just before it hits...and then it’s rushing over you - all liquid fire and bliss. You clamp down over him, legs straining over the tight muscles of his thighs.
He pushes up into you, his hands pressing harder at the middle of your back to keep you moving through your release as he works to find his. He hisses through clenched teeth, broken praises coming out on hard breaths.
“Yeah...There...Righthere...God...Fuck.”
When he curls into you, nails digging into your soft skin and breathing heavy against your chest, you know he’s right there.
“Come for me,” you whisper.
“God - yeah!” With one final, hard thrust, he does. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside you when he releases, his hips jerking up slightly to keep pushing into you while the tense features of his face soften with relief.
For a moment it’s nothing but panting breaths and the racing beat of your pulse in your ears. Then it’s slow, dragging hands across naked skin and muscle, soothing the tense muscles and tickling sensitive spots and whispering praise to the man beneath you while he hugs you tight to him.
His voice is low and quiet as he asks, “Is the mutt gonna be mad that I stole his Valentine?” 
“You like me,” you smile against his neck and tease him with a sing-song voice, “And you like my dog.”
“I like you,” he agrees. “The dog’s okay, too.”
“Does that mean Andy should come harass you again on Friday night?”
“I’ll even get a dog-sitter.” He says with a smirk. “Let him know that 7 would be good.”
Tags: @jtargaryen18 @ozarkthedog @wi-deangirl77 @angrythingstarlight @donutloverxo @navybrat817 @saiyanprincessswanie  @sweeterthanthis @sagechanoafterdark @tuiccim 
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beifongnation · 2 years
Text
Cold Hands, Warm Heart
Description: Kazuo always manages to surprise her. Linzuo fluff. 
Rating: T
Read it on AO3
Author’s Note: Parts of this story are now AU of my Kazuo-verse AU, but it's still p cute so I'm posting it anyway! I wrote this years ago and completely forgot about it until stumbling on it during some laptop housekeeping. May have been posted on tumblr before? If you haven't read it yet- enjoy!
Story: “Surprise me? This place isn’t exactly ripe with possibility,” Lin deadpanned, bundling herself tighter against the freezing arctic air.
Kazuo scoffed, releasing a misty breath into the cold, “You think I can’t surprise you around here?”
Lin side-eyed him skeptically, “Kaz,” she began, “I have been coming to the South Pole since before you were born. There is nothing remotely surprising about this place- aside from the fact that people willingly live here.”
Kazuo shook his head, amused and charmed by Lin’s seemingly endless supply of pessimism. If grumpiness were a publicly traded commodity, Lin would be a stock market mogul. She shivered again-- then scowled--before pushing her shoulders even higher in an effort block the cutting wind.
In all honesty, Kazuo didn’t relish the idea of the southern tundra much himself, but it was their anniversary (with a lowercase ‘a’) and he wasn’t going to let it go by unmarked.
Because there were not officially official, Lin bristled at the use of the word ‘anniversary’, but that did not stop Kazuo from designating it as such.
“It’s our anniversary, Lin. What are the odds that we are actually both here on this day?” Kazuo reminded as they walked.
Lin couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that shot out of her mouth at Kazuo’s mention of “the odds”, but she didn’t bother commenting. Instead she reminded him, “An anniversary commemorates something that has an actual beginning. We are just…” she trailed off while his eyes rolled.
Kazuo clarified, “It’s the anniversary of the first day we—“
“Met,” Lin supplied quickly.
“Well, yeah that too,” Kaz laughed, knocking his shoulder against hers playfully. It was Lin’s turn to roll her eyes.
The two ‘happened’ to cross paths this week in the unlikeliest of locations because of one man they had in common- Sokka.
During his political career Sokka established a philanthropic organization for young people in the remotest corners of the world who would otherwise be unable to gain world experience due to an acute lack of sky bison transport. Today, Kazuo was chairman of this organization, honoring the man who made it all possible in his hometown.
The organization had asked Lin to speak at their event as well and she hesitantly agreed, finding that her invite to this year’s event was no mere coincidence. Or at least it was a coincidence that paled in comparison to the happenstance that led to her and Kazuobeing booked in the same room.
“Frankly, your surprises are always pretty obvious,” she sighed.
“Oh really?” he challenged.
Lin nodded smugly, “I can see them coming a mile away.”
There was a devilish flash of excitement in Kazuo’s eye as he suddenly began unbuttoning his coat.
“Well then, were you expecting this!?” he announced with pride, revealing four whale bones hidden inside his jacket,  the length of each had been sharpened to a narrow point and then adorned with thick leather straps.
“I don’t even know what you are showing me,” Lin assured with one raised eyebrow.
“Ice skates!” Kazuo beamed, “We’re going ice skating.”
His arm stretched out, showcasing the small pond before them. Lin’s feet stopped moving immediately and her arms folded even tighter than before, “Ice skating?”
“Yes, Lin. It is a process by which you adhere these skates to your shoes and then glide across a frozen body of water- otherwise known as ice…“he explained carefully.
“I know what ice-skating is,” she grumbled, though she fought a smile as she spoke. “I’m just not fourteen years old anymore so I’m not sure why you think I would want to.”
“No, you are not fourteen. You’re forty-three, annoyingly stubborn, gorgeous, and about to indulge me by putting on these skates,” he laughed in return.
“Are you kidding?” Lin scoffed, smile spreading.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid of ice skating or something?”
“No.”
“Afraid I’m going to be better at it than you are?”
“Definitely not,” Lin returned.
“I think you are.”
Lin’s eyes narrowed mischievously, “Give me those.”
In one quick motion she snatched the skates from inside his jacket and began fastening them around her boots, maintaining her balance by keeping one hand on his chest at all times. In turn, he insisted he didn’t need to hold onto anything while affixing his own pair of skates, wobbling like a calf standing on its spindly legs for the first time.
“You alright there?” Lin teased as Kazuo finished tying off the last strap.
“Great!”
“Good.”
He reached out for her hand, “This isn’t for balance you understand,” he explained with a toothy grin as they stepped onto the ice.
“Yeah, okay,” Lin appeased sarcastically.
“You want to race? To the other end?”
“Are you sure you can make it that far?”
“On your marks,” he began, “Get set—“ and before he could finish his sentence- Lin was off, barreling across the ice like a locomotive. It took only an instant for Kaz to realize he’d been played and he rushed forward, gaining ground.
“You cheated,” he laughed, closing in.
“You hesitated,” she insisted as she sped forward. Kazuo leaned in, pushing himself against the freezing air to catch up to her. When he did, his arm shot out, gripping the edge of her jacket. She spun--suddenly hitched on his hand—and knocked his legs out from under him, sending them both spiraling across the ice in a heap of arms and legs.
The pair slowed finally, right along the edge, laughing uncontrollably and unable to extricate themselves from the human tangle they had become. Their limbs fanned out and their chests heaved with laughter, gasping for a cool breath between fits.
“You are so sneaky,” Kazuo admonished with a chuckle, wagging one disapproving finger in her face, as they lay along the frozen pond together.
“But I won,” Lin shrugged, returning his grin.
“No you didn’t,” he laughed, just before following the length of Lin’s arm, which was stretched out above them, patting the snowy edge of the pond triumphantly.
“That’s not winning,” he argued, sitting up.
“Yes it is. I reached the other side first!”
“You,” Kazuo growled flirtatiously as he dipped his head to catch her lips, “are the most infuriating woman I have ever met.”
They kissed again, lingering for a moment, “and the coldest,” she provided, suddenly aware of the frozen pond at her back.
“Well, the second part of this whole anniversary thing is about warming up,” he promised with a smile.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I know of a pretty sure-fire way to get our body temperatures back up,” he nodded stoically.
Lin nodded along, pushing herself up, “See, now that really doesn’t surprise me.”
“Oh I’m going to surprise you still.”
“How?”
With that, Kazuo shot up standing tall on his wobbly skates, “by beating you back to the other side!” he shouted, speeding away.
Lin laughed, hard enough that she almost couldn’t muster the strength to stand. She pushed herself up anyway, skating back over to her competitive companion, or whatever he was, surprised in the end- only by the fact that she was still capable of having this much fun.
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urimaginespimp · 3 years
Text
Secrets and Pastries
Requested.
Tommy x Daughter where she sneaks out and goes on a date behind her father’s back. Enter a gossiping uncle. 
--------
“Are you alright?” The boy D/N was out on a date with asked after catching her looking over her shoulder for the nth time that night.
“Yes, I uh just thought I saw someone that I know.” She smiled at him. But how could she not look behind her back every now and then? This was the first time she sneaked out of the Thomas Shelby’s home to go out with a guy she met by the market yesterday.
“So, D/N. Tell me about your family.” The boy smiled at her. She might’ve left out what her family name is.
“Uh—I’m not sure it would be that interesting.” She laughed nervously.
Taking a turn into the street where the restaurant they were going to dine was, she didn’t notice that her own uncle John was in a pastry shop and was about to head to Thomas’ mansion and saw them arm locked with each other.
Back at the Arrow House, Thomas was enjoying drinks with the rest of his family in his office, thinking that his daughter was already sleeping upstairs.
“What’s taking John so long?” Ada asked.
“You know how indecisive he gets when choosing his pastries.” Polly chuckled.
“Yeah. And still ends up bloody choosing the same thing.” Arthur butted in.
Thomas grinned, watching his family. It was rare for them to be gathered and not discussing business.
The moment John entered the office, he was sporting a smug look on his face, while holding the box of pastries on his right hand.
“What are you looking so smug with pastries for?” Michael asked him, amused.
“Oh, what I’m about to tell you is better than what’s in this box.” He smirked and whispered it to Esme whose eyes widened and almost choked on her drink.  
D/N was close with all of her uncles. Michael was the best tutor, Arthur was trying to be the wise one and always sounding like her personal preacher, Finn acted more like a brother than an uncle, and John was the bad influence. But all in all, they all had a common dominator, and that was being overprotective.
John was taking his sweet time, only because he already ordered someone to look after her while he messes with his family first. Not trying to spill his secret, he was looking for a comfortable sitting position next to Esme on the couch, with the box on his lap and digged in.
“Any day now John boy.” Polly said, rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know, Poll. I think It’s too good, it’s gonna have to cost all of you.” He chuckled when everybody groaned.
They tried to ignore him, but the constant smug look he held while he ate his pastry, especially every time Tommy looked at him was enough to push everybody’s curiosity further.
Finn was the first one to break and hand him money. John summoned him closer, and whispered what he knew. “Oh, he’s going to explode.” Finn commented, laughing.
“Who?” Ada insisted.
“Just pay him, Ads. It’s fucking worth it.” Finn replied, trying to light a cigarette which was snatched immediately by Arthur.
And so she did, laughed at how it reminded her of her own antics years ago. Soon enough, the rest of the family also caved in and bought their way to John’s secret. Polly was smirking. Being the daughter of the devil himself, she wasn’t expecting D/N to be a saint. But It was Arthur’s reaction that kind of gave it all away.
“She what?!” He exclaimed, and Polly smacked him on the head for almost revealing it to the only man left who was yet to break – the father.
“What’s Mary done?” Thomas finally asked, putting his drink down.
“Why would you think it’s Mary your housekeeper?” Michael asked amused.
“I don’t know. She’s done crazy things in this house.” He shrugged.
He was about to finally pull out money from his coat when a loud thud was heard from upstairs. That was when John finally broke down laughing when Tommy stood up and headed to his daughter’s room immediately.
The rest of them, already tipsy, were snickering as they followed him.
The moment he barged into D/N’s room, the scene that welcomed him screamed that she sneaked out.
She was on the floor rubbing her bottom after falling in ungracefully, the window behind her was wide open, she was wearing her best dress, and her bed from the corner had a lump beneath the covers.
“Arthur check the bed.” He ordered while he helped her up from the floor by carrying her in his arms.
After assuring him that it was only a stack of pillows, Thomas placed her down on the edge of the bed to sit down.
“D/N Shelby. You have ten seconds to start talking before I restrict you from riding lessons.” His daughter almost laughed at how the vein by her father’s neck almost popped., but she knew better.
“Dad, I’m sorry.” She muttered, looking at him. “I just wanted to hang out with a friend but I knew you wouldn’t let me.”
Finn snickered at her choice of words but stopped when Michael hit him. Thomas gave them a pointed look.
“Was it a date?” He asked seriously.
“Maybe?” She shrugged.
“No young lady. It was either a date, or not. Tell me,”
“Alright, fine! I went out on a date. But I didn’t tell you because I really like him and wanna see him again. I don’t want you chasing him away.” She finally admitted.
“Sweetheart, you could’ve just told me. You didn’t have to make John earn money from it.” He told her.
Confused, she looked over at her uncle who was fanning a wad of money on his hand, grinning like an idiot at her.
“If you really like him, you can go out again but with my knowledge.” He negotiated.
“So you can spy on me?” She scoffed, crossing her arms.
“Yes.” He answered bluntly.
“Dad!” she reacted, which made him chuckle.
“It’s just for your safety. You won’t even know my men will be there.”
“Men??!”
“Alright. One man.” He concedes.
“Fine.” she agreed, smiling. Looking at the rest of her family by the doorway, she smiled at them.
“Alright. Everybody who doesn’t have lady parts, out and go back to Tommy’s office. The ladies would like to know details.” Polly ordered, and sure enough they all obliged.
“Oi, John, maybe you should stay since you like gossiping so much.” Arthur suggested, and a smack was heard.
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jlalafics · 3 years
Text
"The Long Weekend"-Part One
Happy belated birthday @keelaree!
Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.
Love you!
Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.
Oh, and one bed.
-----
“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”
“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”
Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.
“You didn’t.”
“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”
“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.
“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”
“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.
“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”
“Katniss probably gets paid more.”
“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”
“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”
“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”
++++++
Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.
Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.
“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”
Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.
“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”
“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”
“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”
“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”
Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.
For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.
She literally knocked him to the ground.
Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.
And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.
Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.
She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.
So, Peeta asked around.
“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”
“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”
“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.
After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.
And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.
“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.
Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.
Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.
There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.
It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.
++++++
Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.
Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.
No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.
However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.
Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.
He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.
Whoa—was he checking her out?
“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.
“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”
“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”
“You mean asshole.”
“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”
“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”
She didn’t.
As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.
She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.
So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.
Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.
Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.
It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.
Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.
“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”
Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.
“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”
Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”
Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”
She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.
“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”
Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.
She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.
“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”
“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”
“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”
His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.
“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”
Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.
“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”
“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”
“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”
Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.
White everywhere.
She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!
“They’re not coming.”
Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.
“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”
++++++
The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.
“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”
Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—
The one bed.
Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”
He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.
“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”
“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”
Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.
“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”
Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.
“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”
Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”
“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”
Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.
Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.
++++++
Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.
The one bedroom. With the one bed.
A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—
“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.
Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.
Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—
“Katniss?”
“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.
Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.
That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.
For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.
In that moment, Katniss was pure.
“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.
“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”
“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”
Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”
“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”
“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”
Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”
END OF PART ONE
107 notes · View notes
thefallennightmare · 3 years
Text
Hard to Love [3/?]
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Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader
Words: 1565
Warnings: this story will have mentions of abuse, mental and physical so please read at your own risk. Some swearing, angst, and a good amount of fluff. Maybe some smut if I’m feeling frisky.
Summary: After moving to a new town all on her own, Reader would do anything for a stable job and income. Even if that means housekeeping for one of Boston’s eligible bachelors. What she didn’t expect was finding herself falling in love with him and him finding out about the past that she was running from.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, or asked to be tagged. I’m really liking writing this story. I’m kind of just writing as I go. As always, tags are open! 
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The music vibrated off the walls as my hips swayed to the beat, vacuuming perfect lines into the carpet. Dodger watched happily on his perch of the couch, tall waging. 
The last few weeks with just Dodger and I had been perfect. Every morning I would show up for his walk, feed him, doing a few loads of Chris’ laundry; how he had laundry when he wasn’t even home made no sense to me. Once I finished up at Chris’ house, I would head over to my night job. I had done the same routine every day for the last two weeks. 
I knew my body was exhausted, ready to crash at any given moment which is why I tried to keep myself moving, having the music keep me awake. 
I had also made sure to send Chris his daily Dodger pictures, letting him know that we both were doing good and that he was happy even though his owner was gone. Even though he was busy, Chris found time to text me back, letting me know that he was very thankful I was there with Dodger. 
Multiple times a day. 
We also talked here in there about things other than Dodger; I asked how his filming was going and he asked some things about me. We even texted a game of twenty questions when he had a long break between filming. 
He learned a lot about me, me making sure that the dark parts of my past still stayed hidden, and I learned a lot about him that the media didn’t even know. I was starting to know who Chris Evans was and not what the media portrayed him as. 
He loved playing the piano, even though he wasn’t that great; his words. 
He would rather lounge on the couch with Dodger on a Friday night than go out with friends. 
And of course, his biggest dream was to start a family. Everyone knew that and volunteered to be the one to help him. He said that hadn’t found the one that he wanted that with and he was starting to doubt that he ever would. 
I wouldn’t call us friends but we weren’t acquaintances either. We were somewhere in between. 
“AND THERE’S HOPE FOR THE UNDERRATED YOUTH!” I sang along, using my duster as a microphone. 
Not even the loud music could mute out the laughter I heard behind me. 
Spinning on my heels, I turned off the music and was face to face with Chris. He was leaning against the wall, biting his finger to stifle another laugh. His eyes shone bright with amusement and something that was very unreadable. 
“Heh, how long have you been standing there?” I questioned, heat creeping to my cheeks. 
He scratched his chin in fake thought. “Since the beginning of the song.” 
“Oh God,” I muttered embarrassed. “I didn't know you were coming back today.” 
“We finished shooting yesterday,” he mentioned while bending down to greet Dodger. 
I found myself suddenly wishing I had chosen to wear something other than my bleached covered sweats and shirt that was two sizes too big. My hair was falling in strands out of the bun and I knew that I looked like a hot mess in front of him. 
“Well, I’m actually finished so I’ll get out of your hair soon,” I spoke. 
Chris shook his head. “You’re fine.” 
“I really should get home and shower before work,” I stated. 
“You know, you never told me what your other job is.” He mentioned. 
He was still in his place on the other side of the couch meaning there was a good amount of space between us so he couldn’t see the hesitation from me. 
“I work at a club.” 
“Bartender?” Chris asked. 
“Yeah, something like that,” I muttered. “I really should go, though.” 
Chris reluctantly nodded. “Um, I know you worked a lot the past two weeks so feel free to take tomorrow off.” 
My sore muscles screamed in joy. 
“You sure? I bet you’ve got loads of laundry to do,” I said 
“I can do it,” he assured me with a smile. “I’ll see you on Friday?” 
I nodded. “Thanks, Chris.” 
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Friday morning had come way too fast and as I rolled out of bed, I felt my bones crack into place. I spent yesterday morning and afternoon catching up on sleep to get ready for work last night; which was busier than ever. Countless parties and not enough workers to keep everyone happy. 
As I stared myself in the mirror, I frowned at the dark bruise that had started to form on my arm and made a note to cover it up before seeing Chris. He texted me last night saying that all he needed was his laundry done today so I was thankful for an easy day. 
I was about to walk out the door when my phone dinged, letting me know someone had texted me. Expecting it to be Chris, I felt my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach when an all too familiar name popped up. 
Please talk to me. I miss you.
Without a second thought, I deleted it, not wanting it to ruin the rest of my day. 
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Music played in my ears, drowning out any thoughts I had, as I walked up the stairs towards Chris’ bedroom to put away a basket of his clothes. I was here for a few hours, him being held up in meetings and video calls for his ASP company so we really didn’t have a chance to talk; only a small wave and smile when I arrived. 
I hummed along to the music, not realizing that someone had stepped out of the steam filled bathroom. Towel was loosely tied around his waist as water slowly dripped down his broad chest, over his tattoos. 
My feet felt frozen in place as we stared at each other, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply, eyes trained very hard at me. I couldn’t stop my eyes from following every inch of his bare chest; his v-line so defined and his happy trail that lead from his belly button to the top of the towel. His hair was slicked back and I was able to see his hazel eyes shining bright. 
Chris slowly licked his lips and I rubbed my things together to stop the heat I felt. 
“I’m sorry, I should have knocked.” I stumbled over my words while pointing to his door. 
He shook his head. “It’s alright. Can I have that?” 
The richness of his voice did absolutely nothing for the heat in between my legs when he motioned towards the pair of boxers I had in my hand. 
All I could do was nod and extend it towards him. We were standing on each side of the bed so I knew that if he extended his own arm, he could easily reach it however he made no motion to move. He simply lifted a finger and beckoned me over towards him. My feet started moving before I could register and within seconds I found myself standing in front of him. There was an invisible wall between us, us not wanting to take that step to break it down. His tattoos were clearer this close and I wanted to kiss all the lines of the eagle that was on his chest. 
Licking my dry lips, I handed the boxers to him. “Here you go.” 
My voice came out quiet and broken, Chris’ presence overtaking me. I was a puddle of desire and mush when it came to him and I could tell by the smirk playing on his lips that he was loving every single second of it. 
Chris’ fingers glided over mine as he took the underwear. 
“Thank you,” he whispered. 
The desire engulfed us in a cloud, trapping us in our spot. None of us took the first step to break it, liking this new feeling between us. Chris slowly raised his hand and with an instinctive fear, that cloud evaporated when I flinched away.  
Chris dropped his hand as I stepped away from him, covering my face with my hand. 
“Y/N,” His soft voice brought me back. 
Slowly dropping my arm, I realized that I wasn’t back in my old life, I was here in Chris’ bedroom; very far away from who I thought was standing in front of me. 
“Are you okay?” He asked. 
“Um, I forget. I have to leave early today. I’m sorry,” I lied, trying to leave this situation. 
As my feet started taking me out of his room, his bare chest was in front of me again stopping me in my tracks. I kept my eyes trained hard on the carpet, not daring to meet his gaze. His presence towered over me, feeling very small under it, and when his thumb lifted my chin to look in his eyes I could feel the worry ooze out of them. 
“I wasn’t going to hit you,” he spoke quietly. 
I nodded. “I really need to go, Chris.” 
He knew that this conversation was making me uncomfortable so without another word, he let me walk out of his room. 
That was the last time I saw Chris for a few days, lying that I had a stomach flu and needed a few days to rest up.
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@kelbabyblue​ @patzammit​ @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @jennmurawski13
@divadinag​ @cosmicbreathe​
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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years
Note
Jamie is trying to ignore the new au pair. She doesn't need to fall for this beautiful and straight girl. But then Flora asks her to clean the pool after months without using it because "it's a perfectly hot and beautiful day and we need to have a pool party. And you're invited too".
Dani. The pool. Bikini. Jamie doesn't know how to react to this, so she decides to keep ignoring her. But she can bet Dani is looking at her... A bit too much.
took me a second but I offer you almost 3000 words as penance. also I sort of extended it because it's apparently impossible for me to write pure fluff.
AO3 link in reblog if that's your preference :)
~~~
“Ah, yeah, it’ll be perfectly splendid,” Jamie grumbles between pants, yanking the tie of the pool cover over one shoulder with a huff. “Sure, perfectly splendid to swim in. Have t’ get it clean first. Can’t just jump in.”
At half eight in the evening, she’d been trying to beat the bizarre heatwave that had befallen the English countryside, but she’s failing rather spectacularly if the moisture gathering at her hairline is any indication. She swipes an arm across her forehead and listens to the faint chatter from the open sitting-room window, where the other grown members of the household bask in the glorious company of electric fans. Meanwhile, Jamie swelters away the evening spraying down pool filters and vacuuming leaves from the tile floor because someone had the bright idea to remind an eight-year-old that she has access to a pool.
“Oh, please, Jamie, please!” Flora had pleaded, practically bouncing out of her seat at the dinner table and coming terrifyingly close to tipping several drinks onto Hannah’s pristine tablecloth. “It’s dreadfully hot and a beautiful day, and we simply must have a pool party.” She had gasped so abruptly that Dani nearly dropped her fork, Jamie noted with a subtle grin. “We’ll all have a pool party! And Owen can make sandwiches, and Mrs. Grose can bring picnic blankets, and you must come, too, Jamie, won’t you please?”
Then Jamie had made the poor decision to lock eyes with Dani from across the table. The desperation plainly written across her face had been enough to convince Jamie to concede with a faux exhale of annoyance.
Thus, the weary gaze of a haggard au pair run ragged by herding two children indoors is the reason Jamie finds herself skimming the pool’s surface for any leaves and algae that managed to weasel beneath the cover when she should be driving home.
“Sorry,” a voice comes from behind her, “I’m the one who planted the idea in her head.”
Jamie turns to find Dani, a glass in either hand, peering at her with the expression of a woman who is half-tempted to change places and take up the skimmer herself simply to have a moment to herself.
“S’alright, needed to be done anyway. Won’t be ready until at least tomorrow,” Jamie sighs, accepting the proffered glass with a grateful nod. “Kids tired of being cooped up?”
Dani puffs out a laugh that says, you don’t know the half of it. “You’d think they don’t have a house the size of my old school to explore.”
“Bet they haven’t even found half the secret passages,” remarks Jamie over the smooth rim of her glass. Dani sips from hers, and Jamie endeavors to ignore the bob of her throat as she swallows.
“The what?” The wrinkles that appear on Dani’s forehead are surprisingly charming. Too charming. Jamie shoos the thought away before it can land.
“C’mon, Poppins. House this size? This old? There at least have to be servants’ tunnels.”
“Have… have you found any?”
Jamie hums noncommittally, noting the way Dani shifts her weight on her heels as if she cannot bear the thought of standing still. “Did you come out here just for this?”
“Partly, yes, but,” she lowers her voice, “I really just needed to get away from the kids for a few minutes. Owen’s got them playing a board game, thank God, and after that, I can put them to bed. I adore them, but sometimes…” she shrugs.
“We all need space,” Jamie finishes, a bit more brusque than she intended, which she chalks up to the evening hour and the heat, and Dani takes a step back. Shit. “Meant to say,” Jamie salvages with a wince, “it’s nice to be alone sometimes.” She grimaces, doing her best to focus on the cool glass in her hand rather than the heat in her face and the flutter low in her belly.
“I know what you meant,” Dani says softly. Then, after a moment’s pause spent glancing from Jamie to the pool and back again, “You need any help out here?”
Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Lookin’ for excuses to avoid work, are we?”
“No, no, I, um… No?”
“Relax, Dani,” Jamie chuckles, setting her empty water cup down in the grass. Dani visibly settles. “If you’d like to drag the garden hose over, we’ll need to rinse the filters.”
“Got it,” Dani says seriously, and she practically marches to the nearest hose rack as Jamie watches with a quirk of the lips. The au pair completes tasks as if the world will fall apart if they remain incomplete a moment longer. It’s a quality Jamie admires in her, the passion and fervor with which she undertakes the seemingly mundane tasks in her life. Jamie also finds herself mildly amused by the way Dani stalks across the property like she might break into a run at any moment, always on high alert. Always tense.
Might be nice to see her take a full breath for the first time in her life.
Might be nice to see her at ease.
Might be nice to see her relax.
Very nice, indeed, it turns out.
Almost too nice, two days later, the way Dani lounges on a patio chair she’d dragged to the poolside, with a book in her hand and one leg propped on the seat.
Too nice, the way her hair looks beneath a sun hat, casting dappled shadows over the tip of a tongue poking out between pursed lips as she turns a page.
Too nice, the way she lowers her sunglasses over her nose to keep an eye on the children splashing and shrieking in the water.
Too nice, in fact, far too nice for Jamie, who tries and repeatedly fails to keep her gaze off pale, freckled skin and eyes as blue and clear as the water. She can’t sit still. Can’t seem to cease the bouncing of a leg or the rote twirling of hair between twitching fingers. Can’t seem to stop flitting from superfluous task to superfluous task long enough to catch her breath, stolen against her will each and every time she catches a flash of exposed skin dancing in the midday sun.
But the worst part, by far, is when she looks at Dani… Dani is looking back. Four times now, Jamie has cast a fleeting glance at the lazing au pair only to find her peering at Jamie with equal intensity.
Odd, Jamie thinks, fiddling with the stem of a bush a few meters away from the pool, to catch Dani staring so often. But coincidences have been stranger, she decides, chalking it up to amicable concern. She can’t allow herself to dwell on the occurrence. Too many possibilities that open doors to too much trouble. Far more trouble than Dani is worth.
But what if… a niggling voice at the back of her head chides.
No, Jamie reminds herself with a mental kick and an outward shake of her head. She had a fiancé.
Hannah sits with her trousers rolled to her knees, ever one for modesty, with her legs dangling in the shallow end of the pool, while Owen and the kids do everything short of pulling the poor housekeeper in the water to utterly drench her. Hannah, to her credit, is taking their antics in stride, no doubt due to the mustachioed mastermind currently huddled with two overeager children.
The promise to Flora had been a pool party, and, never one to give up on her goals once they were set in her mind, the girl had hounded the adults with unrelenting chipperness until, one by one, they had been worn down. Which is surely the only reason Jamie hovers at the edge of the pool deck in an oversized t-shirt tied at the waist and old running shorts--the only sort of swimsuit she could throw together on short notice.
“Thought I might get in. Care to join me?”
Slender legs enter Jamie’s field of vision, then Dani is only paces away, a hand resting on one hip. She’s removed her hat, left to save her empty seat, and her sunglasses rest atop her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face and onto her shoulders. Her cornflower-blue swimsuit hugs her figure, and Jamie forces her eyes up, her throat terribly dry. She swallows thickly.
“May as well.”
Dani leads the way to the water’s edge, dipping one painted toenail into the water and producing a satisfied noise. She turns to Jamie standing a few feet behind and sweeps the sunglasses from her head, shaking her hair out. “Hold these for me?”
Wordlessly, Jamie delicately grasps one temple of the white plastic frame as Dani steps forward, her arms over her head, hands meeting in a V-shape. The hidden muscles in her back ripple, and she executes an elegant plunge into the pool, emerging with a gasp and a whoop of elated laughter. A smattering of applause rises from the opposite end of the pool, the others having apparently stopped their scheming long enough to watch Dani’s flawless--at least in Jamie’s opinion--swan dive.
“Oh, Miss Clayton, that was splendid!” Flora’s shrill voice chirps.
Hannah remarks, clearly impressed, “I had no idea we had a professional in our midst."
“I’d hardly say professional,” Dani says with a modest roll of her eyes. The water swirls where she treads. She pushes water-darkened hair from her eyes. Then, to Jamie, she explains, “I was on the community pool swim and dive team for a few summers before I could get a job.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Jamie replies. She passes the sunglasses to Dani’s outstretched hand and takes a seat on the sun-warm grey concrete at the edge of the pool. Dani swims up and places crossed arms beside Jamie on the deck, resting her chin on the intersection and looking up at Jamie. Lean legs kick out behind her into crystalline depths, and golden sunlight refracts in the water, bathing beneath the surface in an ethereal glow.
“You’re not getting in?” Dani asks.
“Not the biggest fan of water, if I’m honest,” Jamie confesses nonchalantly, as if by some miracle this admission will end the conversation.
No, Dani’s desire to learn, to understand, is far too intense for that. It’s another quality of hers Jamie admires, even if it feels as though she’s laying herself bare by sharing the tiniest details under her scrutiny.
“I knew plenty of kids afraid of the water back in the day,” Dani says easily, tracing lines in the small puddle that has formed from the droplets on her skin, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“‘S not that. I just,” Jamie searches, somewhat defensively, struggling to convey the message without saying the words that reveal a weakness she is loath to expose. Her silence evidently speaks volumes.
“Jamie,” Dani says quietly, a furrow forming between her brows, “can you swim?”
Damn those observant eyes, that sharp mind.
Jamie looks away, shrinks just a little, scoffs with false bravado, “‘Course I can swim.” Then, “Can paddle… float….” Heat rises in her already flushed cheeks, and she picks at the skin surrounding the cuticle on her thumb.
“It’s… You know it’s okay if you can’t, right?” And Dani’s voice is soft, so soft, a murmur really, a whisper that makes Jamie’s heart ache. It keeps the sound from carrying across the pool as it does hold Jamie in her destitution.
She thinks back to a childhood of coal dust and dirty sofa beds and scavenging for food. Thinks of summers spent doing odd jobs to pay the rent, of sleeping on the porch because it was cooler out there than in the house. Thinks of covering herself with as much clothing as she could despite the rising temperatures to fend off roving eyes, to appear a larger threat than a scrawny eleven-year-old girl actually was. Thinks of boiling pots and scalding showers spent scrubbing her skin clean, as though maybe if she rubbed hard enough, the memories would wash away with the grime. Circle the drain once, twice, and disappear forever.
“Never really learned, I s’pose,” Jamie forces a weak laugh. “Didn’t have anyone really keen on teachin’ me.”
Dani is quiet for a moment. “I could.”
“Could what? Teach me? ‘S not your problem to worry about, Poppins.” The thought nearly sends her mind into overdrive. Nescience of an essential life skill is ignominious enough, but to have Dani bear witness to the reality is unthinkable.
“Well, sure it is,” Dani shakes her head, affronted at the mere notion. “What would we do if you fell in and drowned? Someone needs to keep Owen in line.”
Jamie notes the ‘we’ in her statement. We need you. Not I. Distinctly not I, Jamie repeats to herself. She fidgets with the knot in her t-shirt.
“Already told you I can paddle. I’d be fine.”
“Still.” Dani is staring up at her with a pointed look. She has the glint in her eye that Jamie recognizes from the instances Dani deems it necessary to hold her ground with Miles or persuade Flora to clean up her dolls at the end of a long day. She will not give in.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Jamie raises an eyebrow, approaching Dani’s determination as one might a chest of buried treasure, hesitant, disbelieving, a bit curious.
Dani shakes her head again, the ghost of a smirk upturning the corner of her lips.
A beat, during which Jamie’s thoughts wage war amongst themselves. One team screams at her to take the opportunity to spend time with the woman that another batch reminds her is not interested in the least. Another group acknowledges the practical benefits of developing a skill beyond aimless paddling, while another still acknowledges the persistent flutter in her stomach.
At last, “Reckon you’ll be putting that fancy teaching degree to use again,” Jamie acquiesces with a sigh. “Doubt this is what you signed up for, though.”
“I know exactly what I signed up for.” There’s a mischievous lilt to Dani’s words that sends a bolt of feverish perplexion through her. Dani pulls back from the side of the pool and holds out her hands. “We can get started right now.”
Jamie must look as if she’d rather snip off a finger with her garden shears than get in the water because Dani laughs.
“Or not,” she says with a sincere smile, and she ducks back under the water before popping up at Jamie’s feet, wiping the water from her eyes.
“I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of the kids,” Jamie says with a chuckle. “Lord knows I’ve never done that before, and I don’t intend on starting now.” It’s a half-truth. The real issue stems from the moderately disconcerting realization that breathing on land is hard enough with Dani so close, and Jamie really isn’t keen on finding out what will happen if she tries to slip underwater.
A brief flash of her sputtering to the surface, limbs flailing in all directions, crosses her mind, and she shakes it away.
A whooping from the opposite end of the pool catches her attention, and she looks up.
It seems whatever Owen and the children plotted had worked. Hannah is, much to her presumed consternation, sopping wet from head to toe, though she merely wrings out her blouse and kicks a lighthearted splash back at the children, who, having completed their mission, slink out of the pool and wrap themselves in paisley towels.
“Finished already?” Dani calls, and Flora nods from the deck, a yawn splitting her face despite the clock only reading three in the afternoon. “I’ll be right there!” She turns back to Jamie, says softly, “Another time?”
Jamie nods. “Another time.”
Then, Dani is off, gathering her things and herding the children back across the stretch of grass and into the house, leaving Jamie to watch in delirious bewilderment as her heart pounds far faster than it ought to, given the situation. And yet, Jamie cannot fault it, nor can she calm her racing pulse, though she tries.
Dani is the cause, she knows. Dani is always the cause, and no amount of fervent internal reminders seem to dull her effect. No incalculable quantity of mutterings about ex-fiancés will stop Jamie’s breath from catching when Dani settles down for dinner. No collection of whispered slim chanceswill convince a weak heart to cease its clamant pattering at the sight of a column of silky skin. No platitudes can dissuade Jamie’s longing soul from going against her better judgment, from going against her learned experiences that say this will only lead to heartbreak.
Love is sink or swim, she has learned, and Jamie has been treading water, head just barely above the surface, for far, far too long. Dani has offered to hold her hand, quite literally, to guide her through the risk, if only Jamie will make a move to reach out. Perhaps… Perhaps, Dani can guide her to shore to rest among sand beaches and good company. Perhaps, Dani will not let go along the way.
Another time, then.
Another time, yes. But soon. Soon, because Jamie is rapidly growing weary of condemning her wayward heart to fruitless excitement, of shutting a thing down before it can even begin, like cutting down a sapling before it emerges from a seed.
It’s sink or swim, and, at last, Jamie chooses to swim.
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yeojaa · 4 years
Text
finders keep hers, iii.
read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖
pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.
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You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”
“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”
“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.
“Tell me about it.”
“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”
Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”
How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 
The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 
Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .
You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”
You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.
Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  
Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 
Unconditional love, they called it. 
It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  
You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 
You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  
The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.
The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  
But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  
Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 
You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 
You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    
This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 
“When are you going to tell her?”
You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  
There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  
It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  
Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  
Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.
Their conversation .
Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.
You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.
You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.
“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”
You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.
“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  
“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?
“Didn’t know you were home either.”  
He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.
Was he going to hide you in here? 
“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 
Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.
The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.
You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.
By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”
Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  
When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  
Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  
“Suddenly mute, baby?”
It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  
A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  
He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”
“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 
“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”
You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 
“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.
“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”
Warmth blossoms in your chest.
Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.
“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.
That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 
“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.
“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.
“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”
He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”  
“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  
He leaves you without another word.
You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.
What the hell was his problem? 
Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  
They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.
“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 
The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 
“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.
“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.
That makes one of you.
Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”
Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 
“You’re a brat, you know that?”  
“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  
“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  
You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.
“What are these for?”
“You.”
“Me?”  
“Did I stutter?”
If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 
Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?
All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  
“Listen—”
He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”
You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”
Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  
He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 
“Come again?”  
He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.
“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.
“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”
You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.
“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”
“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 
There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  
Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  
And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”
You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”
“You know what I mean.”  
Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  
“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.
You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”
He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  
How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 
“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.
His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.
“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.
The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.
“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.
You don’t mind.  
“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  
The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  
“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”
“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”
He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.
“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  
“You have me.”
“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.
“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.
“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.
The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”
“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”
You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.
“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 
“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”
“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .
“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  
On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 
In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  
On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  
He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  
“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.
“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”
“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  
“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  
As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   
“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  
“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”
You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  
“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”
You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 
He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.
Then he withdraws, all at once.
You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  
“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”
You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”
It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.
He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  
“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”
You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.
“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  
Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.
“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  
It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  
“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”
His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.
The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  
That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.
He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 
“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  
You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  
“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   
The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  
The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  
“I love you, baby.”  
“I love you, Bunny.”
You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.
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Text
#WifeMeUp
@bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher has blessed me with the permission to turn this post into a drabble and istg yall this just wrote itself. I went a different route with the whole ‘foreign exchange student’ part, I hope you don’ mind 😘
Pairing: Geraskier
Warnings: talk of shitty classes, mentions of ISIS, talk of triggering materials in classes, so much cursing I am worse than the old men i used to bar-tend for
__________
“This class was fuckin weird. Who the ever loving fuck puts “Middle Eastern History and English 203 Combined” on the roster then does a miserable current events class with a heavy, and frankly depressing, background on ISIS? Like? Cool, I get it, teach what you’re interested in, but give us some warning?! Maybe write in the description that it’s predominantly covering some fucked up shit? Not way-back-when like one assumes?!” Jaskier had launched into the rant he was planning all day when his coworker asked how the first day of the semester was going. 
Essie just nodded at the appropriate times, raising her eyebrows when necessary as she ran cleaning tablets through the espresso machine. 
“My day is already weird enough working here. Plus! Where’s the trigger warning?! Some kids have trauma! How the fuck are they gonna know the first day is a slideshow full of horrific images?! Fucking irresponsible.”
Essie started tamping down some coffee to test the shots, “So are you gonna try to switch into something else?”
Jaskier grinned, his eyes lighting up, “Not a chance.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes and tinkering with the settings on the machine, “Tell me about him.”
“Oh Ess, he’s gorgeous. He’s definitely not from the states, but I only caught a few words from him so I can’t place his accent-”
“Ah, yes. The accents always get you.”
“They do.” He sighed like a middle schooler in the school play as a car pulled up to their little stand, “There’s more, I promise.”
“Oh I’m sure.” Essie sighed.
Jaskier handed the customer the card reader as he started pulling the shots on the other machine, “He’s so pretty. Holy shit Ess. All jawbone and eyebrows. And his hair. I wanna know who does it because it is pure white and it still looks healthy? He’s probly my height but he looks like he could break a linebacker in half. Oof. He’s one whole lotta man, and you know me, I’m a sucker for a good set of shoulders. He doesn’t strike me as the athletic type though, ripped jeans, wallet chain, Soundgarden t shirt, flannel in his belt. Mm. Tall grunge drink of water.” he paused to hand off the customer’s beverage and take the card reader back, “And his eyes are fucking gold, I shit you not.”
Essie gave him a skeptical look, “Gold? You mean light brown?”
He shook his head aggressively, “I. Mean. Gold. Straight up sunflower eyes.”
She still didn’t look like she believed him, “He must actually be hot if you’re this excited.”
It was Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes, “I’m not that much of a ho.”
“Not a ho, you never follow through.” She teases.
_
Before they head out to their classes, Jaskier makes them each the most ridiculously caffeinated and sugar loaded drink he can think of, as is tradition. 
He takes a picture of his latte art and posts it straight to twitter with the caption “Quad caramel, toffee, burnt marshmallow, and hazelnut breve (with a penis heart) #wifemeup” then tops the drink with as much whipped cream as possible.
His first class is statistics, and honestly fuck stats. He struggles through it, remembers nearly nothing, then moves on to the combo class of his nightmares. 
This boy better be gay or bi or pan or something other than straight. 
He sat roughly in the middle of the amphitheater-like classroom and kept an eye on the door by holding his phone up with his elbows resting on the desk and slouching like a child. True to his nature, he got lost in his phone and failed to notice when Hot Babe walked in and plopped into the seat to his left.
Jaskier squeaked, clutching his pearls and immediately trying to suppress his giggles, “Holy shit.”
“Sorry, you alright?”
Jaskier stared up at him, dumbstruck for a moment.
Oooooo, English.
“Yeah! Yeah, good.Hi!”
Hot Brit grinned, setting up his laptop, “Hi.” 
Jaskier took another deep breath to calm his heart, but he couldn’t decide if the jump scare or Hot Brit’s collar bones were making it beat like this. 
“You don’t have a heart condition do you?” Hot Brit was smirking now, only looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled up his notes from last class. 
Jaskier tilted his head, oh shit, he’s clever too, “No, thank fuck.” he laughed.
Hot Brit gave him an amused huff as the prof walked in and started shouting housekeeping announcements to the hall.
As the man was droning on about things that truly didn't matter, Hot Brit leaned over, eyes still on the prof, and whispered, “Oh yeah, I meant to ask you, will you marry me?”
Jaskier’s eyes bulged out of his head, frozen focusing on the whiteboard, “Uh, yo- what?” He whips his head around to look at Hot Brit, still looking forward, but openly smiling now. He set his phone on Jaskier’s desk, open to his tweet from this morning.
“I’m not stalking you, honest. You were on my Suggested page.”
Jaskier let the breath he was holding go, “Ooooohhh. Oh! Oh’ho’ho. Cute.” he chuckled. 
Goddamn he’s funny and smooth?
Hot Brit just wiggled his eyebrows, looking at Jaskier with an almost perfect mask of confidence.
Jaskier took the phone and entered his number in the messenger app, “How about dinner?”
Hot Brit nodded, a hint of relief in his eyes, “I’m Geralt, by the way.”
Jaskier texted himself before handing the phone back, “Geralt. Sounds very knightly.”
Geralt snorted, earning a couple glares, as the lecture had started, “Hardly.”
Jaskier settled in with his laptop, clicking the ‘audio to text’ button, “I guessed. With all the flannel and holes.”
The two grinned at each other before Geralt focused back on their lecture. Jaskier bit his lip to keep from smiling like the Cheshire Cat. 
Essie is gonna shit herself.
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