#but also the sheer fucking audacity of the website being all ‘oh just go to ERs and UC snd we’ll cover it�� vs hospitals specifically saying

[bittwitchy]

see the reality is i post on my rps usually when nobodys been there a bit and nobody is probably online, but the mental illness in me keeps saying its bc everyone secretly hates me and i dont deserve love, and when i tell a gov doctor that, they basically just say ‘take your antidepressant’s and shut up’ which is also funny when said gov doctor wont refill my fucking antidepressants in the first place

[luxekook]

love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy​ (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.”

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[leatherbookmarking]

honestly it feels like recently im just making personal post after personal post oh well

2000s me whose mom was angry at her for writing comments on internet websites and signing them with my given name (doesn’t matter that it’s one of the most popular names in the country) would be HORRIFIED

anyway i just made a discovery and i GOTTA share.

context: i've seen ppl calling wq a lesbian/obvious lesbian, and i was confused until i realized shipping female characters in cql is a bit like shipping nhs/jc or lxc/jc for me = "oh, that's a thing?" followed by "oh well i'm not actively into it, perhaps it's because the actors are just hot, moving along"

so then: "ok, so people are seeing wq as gay because they, too, are gay. fair enough" --> "gay people see things and point at them, saying This Is Gay Also" --> "wait, but i've never...?"

in fact i have, but that's because in my... mid-teens? i dipped into the queer-as-in-fuck-you side of tumblr, and then kept on going progressively deeper, resulting in me, 15, being 100% convinced that gay=good while het=bad, all men are evil, all white people are inherently racist, all cishet people are inherently homophobic/transphobic, all men are sexist, etc, etc. i have been brainwashed by a mass that didn't even interact with me, just existed, and i kept on thinking "oh, that's cool" and Adapting, no matter how radical the people i admired were. actually it ended not that bad, i've only been catfished once and it was in anime fandom, so.

and it worked, despite the fact that in my family, no one tormented me about behaving like a Lady or finding a boyfriend. and yes, because of my mother's music taste i quickly learned to ignore my father's dumb comments about unmanly men (everyone in my family's comments about everything, really) and school-wise, i was awkward, weird and liked anime, so i had little friends and found hashtag solace in internet since early primary school. hobby-wise, anime, manga, the jazz. but essentially: 1. i was very into RETRIBUTION despite not experiencing that much of sexism/etcetc myself, 2. i thought internet-loudly queer people were cool, so i tried being internet-loudly queer too.

so: if we allow ourselves to assume that youth-and-not-youth points at things and says "gay" due to a/ being gay, and b/ out of sheer spite to family, surroundings, and The World that seems to think everyone is het always

THEN.......?

until Fairly Recently, ever since mid-teenage years i've been firmly convinced i am a 100% lesbian (with one miserable "maybe i'm bi...? i can try dating this boy...? oh no. ah. no. no thank. bye" incident), and it was less about actually desiring women and more about i'm a lesbian. i just am. how can i not be a lesbian, men are... bad! i can't be straight, straight people are... bad!

and now that i have given up began to wonder in a more chill manner, it's like. well, of course i would like to tentatively dabble into "characters not being 100% gay". i mean, technically i wouldn't need to question my whole ass sexuality for that, but what i've been trying to say is that it's fucking hilarious how the majority of people rebelled against omnipresent heteronormativity, and i rebel...led? rebel now? by having quiet thoughts and doing my thing in my corner? unclear. against omnipresent (for me) "everything is gay and the norms are inverted", by thinking very quietly "okay, but what if not all female characters were dommes, pegging men until they cry?", or "okay, but what if this female character was in a relationship with a male character, and they were (!) sometimes having regular boring penetrative sex?".

teenage me would be disgusted with the audacity, current me doesn't really care, plus It Is Still Just Fiction and i am but a shrimp in the ocean of fandom, so.

conclusion: i still don’t fucking know, y’all.

addendum: i Can and Do read stuff where women Are dommes and sexually annihilate men, as well as “this male character, but as the subbiest whiniest bottom imaginable”, but not like, permanently. i just don’t really vibe with assigning characters sexual positions 4ever&always.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Doug Walker’s The Wall

You know, I thought that nothing could harm the Nostalgia Critic’s career after he survived the whole #ChangeTheChannel fiasco. I thought Doug Walker would be able to survive anything. I thought the Nostalgia Critic could never sink that low again.

I was wrong.

The latest review by Doug Walker is, in fact, not a review – it is a full-on parody musical that lampoons Pink Floyd’s The Wall. But lampooning is probably a bit too kind; this lampoons its subject matter in a way that would make Seltzer and Friedberg blush. This is pretty much the nadir of parody right here, there’s no getting around it.

In short: This fucking sucks. But leaving it short isn’t any fun, now is it? Why does this suck?

Well, for one, Doug seems to have absolutely no understanding of the subject matter, despite claiming to love it. He makes the most third-grade observations, like “It’s BORING!” or “It’s PRETENTIOUS!” but literally none of these criticisms hold any sort of water or weight because everything is being sung in piss-poor parodies of Pink Floyd songs. Despite Doug’s claims that this is all meant to be a loving tribute, it comes off more as what someone who just utterly hates Pink Floyd’s music would say the music sounds like. I think perhaps the worst ‘criticism’ of all is when he calls one of the songs “Oscar-bait”… you know, despite the movie being based on an album, not the other way around. The song wasn’t made for the movie, the movie was made for the song.

The music is just downrtight awful as well. The reinterpretations of the original instrumentals are soulless and disgusting, Doug and everyone else in this can’t sing for shit, and the lyrics are just vapid non-criticisms or observations a grade schooler would make. Then there’s getting Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor to star. He can’t act for shit, and despite being a famous musician with demonstrable talent in his field… he never once sings. Well, he does sing once, but it’s the SpongeBob theme for some reason. Maybe this is a sly allusion to the widely-hated SpongeBob special “Atlantis Squarepantis,” where they got David Bowie to play the king of Atlantis and, despite the episode being a musical, never have him sing. Of course, I think that’s a bit too cerebral for Doug, so probably not; it’s just an accidental comparison to a vastly superior piece of media I can make. And yes, “Atlantis Squarepantis” is a piece of shit, but it’s still better than this.

Another big flaw is the absolutely shitty production value. One of the reasons The Wall is so great is because it has incredible production value, incredible animation… and all of that is absent here. This has some of the most mind-numbingly awful animation on the internet, with crappy CGI and stock video effects coexisting and congealing into a fetid pool of garbage. And that’s not even getting into the god-awful animation for the freaky monster that is existing as a tribute to the wonderfully deranged animation from the beloved trial sequence; in fact, I’m pretty sure that the entire trial segment in this video is nothing but an excuse to show off a bunch of furry OCs, because there is no other discernible rhyme or reason to anything being shown onscreen.

There’s also the way this whole thing where he seems to be… modernizing the whole album? Like aside from adding his insults to the work of Pink Floyd to the songs, a lot of the imagery he’s throwing into this is just really bad, shallow, and nonsensical. And of course, there’s something really tacky and tasteless about trying to update a very personal, slightly biographical work that is filled with cultural context that Doug just constantly ignores. Perhaps the worst such moment is the chants of “HASHTAG” in one of the songs, but then it just hits you with the goose-stepping phones right after and frankly that takes the cake.

I think the worst part of all of this is Doug’s sheer delusions of grandeur. Look at the way he talks about the album during the commercial break, blatantly lying and calling it a “love-letter” as well as saying it’s “great stuff” when it just so clearly ISN’T. The music is awful and lifeless, Doug just can’t sing for shit, the whole thing is so bitter and meanspirited… And then there’s just the sheer audacity of this man who is standing in front of framed pictures of his own movies, his big YouTube subscriber count award thing on the wall behind him, calling this movie pretentious, egocentric, and up its own ass. This movie is like the physical embodiment of a lack of self awareness.

And you know what? Maybe all of this wouldn’t be so bad if there was any actual reviewing in this. The entire review is like two lines at the end of the video. Two lines that are preceded by a shitty stock video effect.  This is a monument to Doug’s sins. This is his egomania in its purest, most unadulterated form. The fact he actually wrote Corey Taylor pointing out that he needs to review a movie in a movie review and then proceeds to not do that and just lead into a nonsensical reference is just… insulting. Doug wastes nearly forty minutes of your life, insulted you, and refused to give any insightful or valid criticisms. And this is a guy you are ostensibly watching for his opinions and critiques of films in between the comedy, and he can give good insight, especially in his more down-to-earth reviews, so it baffles me even more why he would think it is a good idea to eschew analysis of one of the most symbolic films ever made just to do a shitty Disaster Movie-quality parody album.

I think what’s so strange is how I have no idea who this video is supposed to be appealing to. Pink Floyd fans will hate it, people who like music will hate it, people who like Doug’s reviews will hate it… there’s literally no one I can see enjoying this video in any sense, not even an ironic one. Maybe if you’re a hardcore furry who wanted more fursonas in The Wall you’ll enjoy it, but you have to get through half an hour of Doug’s shitty singing to hear it and then you have to sit through the worst animation this side of Doogal. It’s not worth it. Just go to e621 and beat off, it’s a better and less shameful time than watching through this fucking trainwreck.

Fuck you for this, Doug. If this was your passion project, it’s pretty clear to me your passion is best focused elsewhere, because if you really did put your all into this your all is worth absolutely nothing. This is insulting, embarrassing, and downright pathetic. I have never felt so much secondhand embarrassment for another human being in my life than I did watching this. I’m a man who can find something to love in some really crappy movies, but god fucking dammit, this is beyond me. Doug Walker deserves every ounce of hatred and scorn he gets for this video. It is, without a doubt in my mind, the single worst piece of film of this entire year, and perhaps the single worst video on YouTube’s website. It certainly deserves that “honor” more than some goofy pop song by a teenager ever did.

Oh hey, maybe I should end this review on an ambiguous, nonsensical, open ended note like Doug did, because apparently that’s what GOOD reviewers do! Here’s the baby from Eraserhead.

Fuck you Doug.

[zaritarazi]

idle souls

aka i finally am actually writing the archeologist!hawks au.  -- READ IT ON AO3. chapter 1: in which we meet dr. hall, and he is a very charming douchebag

--

It’s drizzling when she pulls up to the hotel, which is kind of weird and kind of unexpected and kind of dangerous, if it really starts to rain. Already, she knows the site is going to have shifted by tomorrow, and she’s already rethinking where they’re going to start. “Weird,” she remarks, mostly to herself. “It never rains in Cairo.”

“It’ll let up,” the driver tells her. “It’s not too much, anyway.”

“No,” Kendra says, adjusting her bag on her lap. “I- Yeah. It’s silly to complain, really. I’m just- Thinking. Sorry.”

“Here for vacation?” the driver asks. “You’ll still be able to see the pyramids tomorrow. A little drizzle won’t change that.”

“Oh,” Kendra says. “I wish I could just- Vacation. You know? But I’m- I’m working, actually. Around that area.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he says. “It’s a beautiful city. You don’t want to waste being here, you know?”

“Don’t worry,” Kendra says. “I love my job. I’ll have a great time.”

She can feel the driver grinning at her, from the way his eyes crinkle in the rearview mirror. “Have a drink, yeah?” he says. “Relax. You’re still on vacation.”

“Well,” Kendra says, spirits slightly lifted. “I suppose having a nightcap wouldn’t hurt.”

He nods at her as she hands him the fare, clicking open the door and hopping out of the car.

“Trunk, please,” she asks.

No sooner has the trunk popped open then someone calls, in a sort of smooth, masculine voice, “Dr. Saunders.”

  She gives the driver one last look. “Thank you,” she says. “For the ride. And the advice.”

He shrugs.

She knows the feeling.

“Dr. Saunders,” the man repeats, and Kendra smooths her hair before rising to her full height.

She moves to the back of the cab. “Just a moment,” she calls back, not even sure who she’s talking to. “I just have to get-“

And there’s a man in her space. “Can I help you with your bag?”

Kendra takes a step back, pulling back her hand from where he had almost brushed it. “Dr. Hall,” she says. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” he says, easily hefting her suitcase out of the trunk. “Glad you recognize me.”

“Well,” she says. “You recognized me, so-“

“Your photo is on your department’s website,” he says, slamming the trunk shut. “Sorry. Am I being too- I thought you could use a hand.”

Kendra gives him a sort of tight lipped not-smile, taking her bag’s handle from him and rolling it towards the hotel. “I’m fine,” she tells him. “Really. Thanks.”

“Did you have a nice flight?” he asks.

“Great,” she says, the wheels of her suitcase clicking over pavement. “Long.”

He pauses, like he expects her to ask about his flight, in return.

She doesn’t.

“You look,” he continues to walk beside her, even through the automatic doors. “Well. Your photo on the website- Is that a different haircut? You just look-“

“Dr. Hall,” Kendra says, the way she would address a small child or dog or maybe a very persistent bee. “Do you spend a lot of time looking at my department photo?”

When she finally looks at him, hoping to glare him down, he grins back at her. “No more than usual, I think,” he says. “It links to your papers.”

“Ah,” she says.

“I was actually hoping-“

She holds up her hand. “Kendra Saunders,” she tells the front desk. She’s returned to pointedly not-looking at him, if only in the hopes that this will remove some of the surreality of her current predicament. She’s been dreading meeting him since the moment she found out he’d be on this dig, pretty-boy Carter Hall with his tenacity and his disregard for anything like reasonable context and his offensively well-lit department photo.

And here he is. Not giving her a minute of peace. She didn’t even get to decide how she’d wanted to meet him, or put some lipstick on.

He’d just. Shown up. So already, she really feels like she’s going to hate him just as much as she’d expected to.

And there’s satisfaction in that. She does like being right.

She takes the room key from the front desk, slipping it into her pocket.

“Dr. Saunders,” Carter says, still leaning on the desk, waiting for her. “I was going to say, I’d really like if we could- Get drinks, discuss your latest paper? You made this one point on page three, and-“

Kendra balks at him. She doesn’t really mean to, but it’s just- The sheer audacity of it, out of absolutely nowhere, like she has nothing better to do then let him mansplain her paper to her, like he does in all of his little critiques that she definitely doesn’t read at 3AM, full of rage, and he’s still just standing there, looking at her. For fucks sake.

“Dr. Hall,” she says, carefully. “I just arrived. I would like to shower, and change.”

“And then we could meet at the bar,” he says. “I’m not sure if you drink Egyptian beer but let me tell you, it’s-“

“Wait,” Kendra says, the gears in her head screeching from immediate and dire overuse. “I’m sorry. Do you want to discuss my paper or do you want to have drinks with me?”

“Both,” he says.

“You just met me,” she says.

“Oh, I know,” he tells her. “Believe me, I have been waiting to meet you for months now. Ever since we got put on this site together, I’ve really been scouring your work, I think we have a lot to talk about and-“

“Ma’am,” the desk clerk tells her. “There are people behind you.”

Kendra gives her a sheepish sort of look before gently rolling her suitcase away from the front desk and towards the elevator, Dr. Hall still clipping at her side. “So you want me to listen to you explain my papers to me. Right?”

“What?” he says. “No. Of course not. I was actually hoping you could elaborate on a couple of points for me, especially when you spoke out against the idea of my recent find being a fertility idol-“

Kendra lets out a huff. “One hour,” she says. “I will meet you at the hotel bar in one hour. Bring your cliffnotes. I’ll bring mine. Okay?”

He beams at her, and for just a split second, she almost kind of likes how he smiles. “Of course. What’s your room?”

She checks her key. “1404.”

“I’m 1304,” he says. “Right below you. If you need anything.”

“I won’t,” she promises, trying to at least smile when she says it.

“Well,” he says. “You never know.”

“Right,” she says, letting herself into the elevator. “You coming?”

“No, no,” he says. “I’m going to go grab a couple things. Are you familiar with the city?”

“Not really,” Kendra says.

“Perhaps I could show you around?” he offers.

She slams her thumb against “14” and looks up at him. “We’re here for work, Dr. Hall.”

He’s going to say something, but the elevator doors ding shut, and Kendra has never been more grateful for anything in her life.

  It’s only when she reaches the fourteenth floor that she realizes Dr. Hall has just asked her on a date.

“Oh, God no,” Kendra says to herself, under her breath. She lets herself into her room, letting her suitcase fall to the wayside as she steps out of her clothes. If that smarmy pretty boy thinks he’s going to charm her into agreeing with every wrong point he’s ever made- And there are so, so many- Well. She doubts his dick could be that good.

Also, she isn’t thinking about his dick. Weird. Ew. He’s not even like. Her type. Freudian thought slip. Means nothing.

She’s more than happy to see the shower, and not to think about Dr. Hall.

—

She arrives at the hotel bar one hour and twenty minutes later. The twenty minutes, she thinks, prove a point about their relationship. One that she assumes will likely be lost on Dr. Hall entirely- In their brief and painful time together, she’s pieced together that he’s pretty damn dense.

He grins at her when she comes down the stairs, which already answers that question. The lateness had been for more than her benefit than his- Though now she feels like she’d just been prolonging the inevitable.

“Dr. Saunders,” he says, greeting her by putting his hand firmly and inarguably on her shoulder. “You look beautiful.”

She blinks at him. “Thanks.”

“I picked something up for you downtown,” he says. “I hope you like babosa, they always sell out this late in the day and I got you the last-“

“Dr. Hall,” Kendra says, settling into her seat at the bar. “I realized on the elevator that you may think this is… something other than it is.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“Well,” she says, staring at the unassuming, white pastry box. “I think you may be confused by the nature of our relationship.”

He gives her a half grin, leaning onto his hand. “I assure you, Dr. Saunders, my interest in you is purely professional. I mean, we’ve spent how long picking apart each other’s papers?”

“At least two years,” Kendra says. She doesn’t really like how easy-going he is, how unassuming. She crosses her ankles. “I um- I remember the first critique you wrote of my piece about that dig in Punta del Este? Where you said that I-“

“Completely disregarded my previous precedent set based on finds in similar areas,” he recalls. Fondly.

Kendra finds herself almost smiling, despite herself. “And I wrote back and said that you had absolutely no claim to be setting precedent?”

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he says. “I wasn’t- I didn’t know if you’d respond to my critique, and you did, and it was so fiery and smart and just- I have wanted to pick your brain for some time, now.”

Kendra taps her fingers on the countertop. “I honestly thought we were bitter enemies, Dr. Hall.”

“Well who says we can’t be?” he says. “Every good archeologist has a rival.”

“Yes, but,” Kendra says. “You got me babosa.”

“To be honest,” he says, leaning in. “I got it hoping you’d offer me half.”

His eyes are kind of an unfair shade of green, sort of cloying and interesting. “Is that how you always do things?” Kendra says. “You do a nice thing for someone, hoping they’ll give you something?”

“Not always,” he says. “Not usually. But as I said. This is the best babosa in the city.”

Her tongue wets her lower lip. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she says. “My trust is not… so easily given. Dr. Hall.”

“You can call me Carter, you know,” he says, opening the box. “Though I assume you’d prefer I call you Dr. Saunders, and you’re keeping up the pretense to make the playing field seem equal.” He turns away for a second, signaling the bartender. “Could we get forks? And a- What do you drink?”

Kendra folds her hands across her knees. “What do you drink?”

“Whatever’s local,” he tells her, which is just the most excruciating answer he could’ve given. “Two,” he says politely, in Arabic. “On my tab.”

“Don’t buy me a drink,” Kendra says, sighing. “Please, Dr. Hall.”

“Ah,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to understand that part.”

“Of course I speak Arabic,” she says, almost miffed. “Most of my work takes me to this area, not Cairo before now but-“

“Relax,” he says. “You can buy the next round.”

“The next round?” Kendra says. “How much of my time are you planning to take up?”

He gestures to her with his newly-placed fork. “As much of it as you’re willing to give,” he says. “If you’re really that set on this nemesis narrative, then-“ He motions to the exit.

“I’m sorry,” Kendra says. “Narrative?”

He makes a casual sort of face at her, like he’s bemused by his own cleverness.

“People don’t think in narratives, Dr. Hall,” Kendra says. “Most people don’t. People that aren’t you. What’s your narrative, then? I play the Marion to your stunning Dr. Jones, and-“

“I’m sorry,” Carter says. “Did you just call him Dr. Jones? Everyone says Indiana Jones.”

“It felt more appropriate,” Kendra says. “I was-“ She motions to him. “Going with how you’re Dr. Hall and I’m- This is stupid. I’m not having this argument.”

“It’s not an argument,” he says. “I’m just stating a well known fact.”

“Carter,” she says, before she can stop herself, likely because it’s just a better name to say whilst in the throes of true frustration. “What do you want from me?”

“Your brain,” he says. “I actually-“ He reaches down to his bag, the exact kind of leather bag someone like him would be expected to have, and pulls out about seven hundred pounds of paper.

Kendra watches him slam the papers onto the counter, beaming at her. “Holy-“

“Our papers,” he says. “These are the original copies of yours I printed out and marked up, so you’ll find they have some smudges- I’ve been storing them well enough, but I’d love for some more in-person critique from you on my-“

“Dr. Hall,” Kendra says. “That’s hundreds of pages.”

“We have beer,” he says. “And the rest of our little group shouldn’t be here until much, much later tonight- Unless you’d like to do something else? There’s an amazing nightclub in the center of the city, we can go onto the roof and-“

“I’m good,” Kendra says. “I mean. I’m-“ She eyes the bakery box, the beers that have been placed by Carter’s arm. “You’re buying the next round,” Kendra says. “And the next one. And the next.”

He flips through the stack of papers, pulling out a report and passing it over to her. “As many as you want, Dr. Saunders.”

“And-“ She stares at the title page. It’s one of his older ones- one of her least favorites. “I want that babosa.”

“Of course,” he says, moving the box. “All yours.”

She opens the box rather contemptuously, feeling her heart soften just a touch at the small cake slice looking up at her. “It does look,” she pulls her lips into a line. “Really good.”

He offers her the handle of his fork. “It is.”

“Do you have a pen?” she says.

“Any color,” he replies.

She tapes the cake box with her fork. “Red’s fine.”

He lets out a small, amused noise at that, a sort of visible happiness that reaches his eyes. “Red it is.”

She could almost find him cute, if he wasn’t so utterly full of himself. Like she has nothing better to do tonight than read his papers.

Okay. So maybe she didn’t. And maybe he got her cake. That meant nothing.

She takes the pen from him, her fork already placed aside. She uncaps it with her teeth, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “Here,” she says, circling the title on the front page. “I always hated this title.”

“We’re off to an excellent start,” he says.

“Quiet,” she says, reaching for her beer. He hands it to her. For a second, she meets his gaze, and catches something in it that makes almost, almost, feel something for him.

She looks back to his paper, and swallows it down. “And here,” she says, turning the page. “Already, you’re demonstrating your classic disregard of context.”

“Classic?” he says. “Is this something I do often, Dr. Saunders?”

“It’s your signature,” Kendra says. “Here. See how you’re already drawing a false conclusion based on your original misconception?”

“Well,” he says, pulling her paper out from the stack. “That sounds an awful lot like the argument you made in this paper, and I already countered that in-“

“I thought you wanted my critiques,” she tells him.

He’s the very picture of innocence, staring wide-eyed at her. “Well,” he says. “I thought you’d appreciate the back and forth.”

“Right,” she says. “Because you’re just so thrilling to argue with.”

“You’ve been doing it for quite some time now,” he says. “Am I too… intimidating in person?”

And it’s such a clear, present dare, such an obvious way to get her attention, but he’s so smug and so teasing that she sort of wants to take the bait. “You know,” she says. “You’re really pretty full of yourself for someone that misunderstands basic context. Then again, I guess I can’t  really be surprised, what with the PhD program in St. Roch-“

“This!” he interrupts, grinning at her. “From the woman making her mark in Central City, of all places, the city where that lab exploded,”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Kendra says. “I’m an archeologist.”

“All I can say is,” he remarks. “It doesn’t set a good precedent.”

“That has got to be your favorite word,” Kendra says. “Which is hilarious, because I don’t think you know what it means.”

“Oh?” Carter asks.

“And here,” Kendra says, emphatically underlining a statement in his paper. “This has bothered me since I read this damn thing. First of all-“

“I’m listening,” he says.

“Don’t interrupt,” Kendra says. “First of all-“

She tilts her head to look at him, and catches that he’s staring at her way too intently, his hand on his knee and his body arched towards her.

Kendra pushes her seat back. “Well-“

—

She’s lost track of the time when she reaches her fourth beer- Or her fifth? She’s scribbled something onto Carter’s paper that reads, “This sounds like something a JERK would say,” with a little frowny face next to it, and she’s having trouble remembering exactly which one the Hellenistic period is- Her thoughts feel kind of warm and fuzzy, and not just because Carter’s knee has been touching hers for like… ever.

He glances down at her note, looking back up at her with a grin. “You think I’m a jerk?”

“I think,” she taps the center of his chest with her pen. “You write like one.”

“Okay, Kendra,” he says, slipping the pen from between her fingers. “I think we have had a wonderful evening, and you should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” she protests, trying to grab the pen back from him. He holds it at a distance from her, and the soft way he chuckles warps around her thoughts like honey. “Carter. I’m not done yet.”

“Oh, I know,” Carter says. “But we’ll have other times. It’s late. You should have some water and go to bed so you’re not sick tomorrow.”

“I don’t get sick,” Kendra tells him, hair falling over her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“I know, I know,” he says. He slides the papers off the counter, carefully re-organizing his bag as Kendra drums her fingers on her knees.

“Carter,” she says.

“Hm?” he asks, still sorting papers.

“Did you ask me out?”

He looks up at her. “Did you want me to?”

“Answer my question,” she says, furrowing her brow. “Have you been spending all this time planning to- Date me?”

He smiles at her, sort of soft and sort of amused, looping his arm around her waist and pulling her off the bar stool. “I asked to share a drink with you, sure,” he says. “I asked for you to talk about work with me, of course. That’s all quite true.”

She finds standing to be a bit of a challenge, and she rests her head on his shoulder, only because it steadies her. “You don’t even know me.”

“Ah,” he says, guiding her to the elevator. “But I know your work. And that makes me feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

She snickers. “We just met.”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You don’t think it feels like we’ve known each other forever?”

She tilts her head, glancing sidelong at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling,” he says. “I thought it was mutual.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know you.”

“Well,” he says, riding up with her to her floor. “I hope you get to know me, at least. I’ll have drinks with you anytime you want.”

He guides her down the hall to her room, moving for her pocket.

“Carter!” she says, jolting at his touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. He holds her white key card between his fingers, a show of true intent. “Your key.”

“Right,” she says. “Right. I-“

“I mean, even if we were going to do that, Dr. Saunders,” he says, and she feels very acutely like he’s teasing her. “You’re way too far gone.”

“Please, Dr. Hall,” she says, grinning as the door clicks open. “Only in your dreams.”

“I will,” he says, as she separates from him, letting herself into her room. “I will dream of you, Dr. Saunders.”

“Don’t make it weird,” she says. “Okay? Don’t make this whole thing weird.”

He’s still smiling at her, and it makes her feel like smiling back, like running her thumbs against the creases of his mouth and- “I won’t make it weird,” he says. “You have my word.”

“Goodnight,” she says, softly.

“Goodnight, Dr. Saunders,” he says. “Would you like to ride with me to the site tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yes. I’d- Let’s do that.”

He reaches for her hand, squeezing it once before dropping it. “Until then.”

“Bye,” she offers.

“Goodbye,” he says, and the door shuts between them.

  It takes her ten full seconds to remember to turn on the lights- And another ninety seconds for her to scold herself for feeling so… gooey.

She strips out of her jeans, her shirt, slipping off her bra and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. When she falls into bed, it’s the best feeling in the whole world.

For a second, she’s aware that leaning on Dr. Hall meant she got a headful of him, that he smelled really, really good, a bit like leather and a bit like soap.

“He’s an ass,” she tells herself, and she does mean it. “He’s an absolute ass,” she repeats, and turns off the lights.