#prevented me from deigning to get up and answer the door on your first knock

[vvelegrin]

NOT ANSWERING MY DOOR WHEN MY NEIGHBOR KNOCKS AS SELF CARE. GIRL IT IS NINE PM.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (4)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Every person on this planet has a different mentality. Some will laugh at all things because they always see the good side, others will buy French fries in the shape of animals or candies because they’ll have kept their children's souls. Those with a deranged mentality will be locked up in suitable institutions and those who are self-centred prepare as evil strategies as they are to reach glory and power. But do you know what's common to all of us? The sweet desire for perfection.

Ah perfection... A utopia for all of us, an invisible thing that everyone wants to achieve. Everything we do has to be perfect: our work, our schooling, our life, our family, our friendly relationships... We always want EVERYTHING to be perfect. And we are outraged, angry, sorry when a tiny drop of water overflows our vase of perfection. Danny is one of the best examples.

He calculates everything down to the smallest detail, analyses all possible situations, so that his murders are perfect. And so far, he's getting there! not the slightest suspicion, not the slightest, tiny evidence of his involvement in all these crimes. He could have been an actor given the talent to play the comedy he owns.  

But artists like him must know how to bow out and change places. And that's exactly what he's been thinking about since that night in addition to his next victim. To the point of falling asleep at his desk. He had turned what was to be used as a guest room into an office, with a sofa, in case tiredness prevented him from going to his bed.  

He rubbed his eyes before getting up and heading to the kitchen to make a coffee. He needed to have clear ideas and a clear mind. Then he returned to his office and glanced at the map while sipping. Red crosses were on it, indicating the cities he had already made. Next to the map was a table where most barred names were inscribed, that was none other than his “hunting table”.  

“Well, well... What's going to be my next destination after Roseville? Ontario? No... The Canadian cold is unbearable and then the snow may slow me down in my leaks. Houston? Tss no no no... I don't want to be executed.”

His gaze was on Florida, the state that saw him born. It would be a good idea and down there he could be FINALLY himself. To present himself as Danny Johnson and never as Jed Olsen. But his family lives there, his "parents" who throughout his childhood repudiated him and treated him as a trash. That's why he left, so does he really want to go back? Only the day his parents died. Danny shook his head with a sigh. He prefers to forget his darkest years of his life.

“I still have time to think about it. No one suspects me as usual. So, there's no need to rush my escape.”  

He looked at his "hunting board," including the names inscribed on it. Since the time he lives here, some names have come to mind, including Travis who is no longer of this world. The first in his list is none other than that dear Mike Harris. If Jed held back, Danny couldn't stand him anymore. Why all this? Because he thinks he's better than everyone else and can't stand the competition? Poor idiot that you're Mike, your ego will lead you to your loss and to tell you the truth you won't miss anyone.

Second on the list was Horace McKellan. That wretched rich man who threatened to close your business. A real jerk's face. Danny already smiles at the thought of sticking the knife in his stomach to eject his guts, dismembering him pieces by pieces, hearing his screams and begging you to stop ... Oh my God, what a pleasure it's going to be.

Other names appeared on this chart, people who were mostly had done anything wrong in particular and others who are real rubbish for society, even if Danny had nothing to do with it. Then as he went along, his eyes landed on a name... Particular. A person who made him ask a lot of questions. That person? It's you.

What was he going to do with you? An umpteenth victim with no interest or reason to kill you except for... have fun? Or keep you alive and make yourself... His toy? It's an idea that made him smile a lot and he already imagine you as his toy, his property, his little pet that he can frighten when and where he wants, without ever killing you.  

He put a question mark next to your name while waiting to decide your fate. Until then he has plenty to deal with. He took another sip of his coffee when he heard someone knocking on the door. He came out of his office, which he locked, and then went to the front door where he came face to face with Mr. Lawson, the owner.

“Mr. Lawson? Is there a problem?” He said.  

“oh no, nothing special! You are so caught up in your work that you forgot to get it back your mail. I bring it to you and I took the opportunity to retrieve the advertisements even though you put the label they continue to put you in the mailbox.”

“oh...Thanks sir, I must admit that with work, I forgot simple things like that. I’ve heard that you’ve got some problems with some tenants?”  

“oh yes! Those little hooligans on the 4th floor are always late on their rent, when I tell them, it's limit if they don't slam the door in my face! No respect! they should work more instead of doing nothing of their day!”

“Sure. Well, I got some work to do sir, good luck with the hooligans and... Take care of yourself.” Danny replied before gently close the door.

Then he throws his mail on his table, he doesn’t really care about all that stuff. He was about to return to study his next victims when his phone rang.

“Yoooooo Jeddy! How are you? I don't mind you, do I?”

“No, not at all Mattew. What’s going on? You're not working today?” answers Danny.

“Yes, but the boss makes a meeting with everyone. So, he wants you to take your cute little ass back to the office. And quickly, visibly it looks important. You know how the boss is when someone is late.”

“I see it too many times with you.” Laughs Danny “Tell the boss I coming right now.”  

He hangs up and took his belongings before locking his door. He walked to his car, opened it, went inside and drove towards the newspaper's office. he passed security and went upstairs to fall face to face with Mike. If there was one person he didn't want to see when he arrived, it was him.

“Mr. deigns to finally show himself... Come on Olsen, you're wasting our time. In addition to my nerves.” said Mike a little angry before entering the meeting room.  

Danny breathes deeply before entering too and close the door seeing that everyone is here. He notices Melina and Mattew talking in a corner and decided to join them, he needed to laugh a little and these two are real comedians. Mr Hembrook came in and shut the door making everyone silent. Then he goes to his chair and put some folder on the table.

“Well, it seems that everyone is here so, we can start the meeting. If I ask you to come here today, it’s because I've some big news for you. First of all, the head of the journalists' convention contacted me last night to find out if we intended to participate this year. I responded favourably and also told him that I would contact him again to give him the names of those who would go there. As you know, the reputation of the Roseville gazette extends a little further than our small town and if we could make ourselves known in other states, it would allow us to fill our newspaper a little more.”

“Great, boring convention is coming...I'm excited” said Melina ironically.  

“Ahem. Then I heard that a certain Richard Hoggins gives a reception in a few days to celebrate the signing of his new trade. All those rich people who break our feet will be there including Horace Mckellan. I know these two were working together, and I can feel the scheming in this story. So, in order to "cover" this reception I convinced Mr Hoggins to bring a small team from our newspaper.”  

“wow that's more exciting than the convention” said Mattew happily as Jed nods.  

Danny smiles wildly, maybe he can learn more about McKellan and found new preys if he goes there?  

“So, I need to know now who's going to go where to tell the organizers and Mr. Hoggins. I thought of Mike, Karen and Thomas at the convention. And for the reception ... I think Melina, Mattew and our little Jed would be the perfect trio.”

“WHAT ??” says Mike by failing to stun. “But Boss! This is impossible, I mean...Jed is kind of a newbie here. For a scandal like that, we need someone more...experienced more suitable. With all due respect, I think it's best for my team to take care of Mr. Hoggins' reception and Jed's go to the convention.”

“If I may say so...” starts Jed who surprised everyone: “As you said SO kindly Mike, I'm a newbie. But that's my strong point: no one will suspect me of spying or snooping if no one knows me. no one will pay attention to me and I can discreetly sneak into the crowd.”

“I like that mindset. You definitely convinced me kid. I'm going to make the phone calls. I'm counting on you to resent a great scandal.” said Mr Hembrook before leaving the meeting room followed by the others reporters. Melina and Mattew left too and when Danny was about to leave the room, Mike pushed him and closed the door, then stuck him to the wall, his arm at Danny’s throat.

“You're lucky we're in the office Olsen because I SWEAR to god, I'm going to kill you. But beware, by pushing me to the limit, you’ll quickly regret the consequences. I don't know what game you're playing, you little shit... but accidents happen much faster than you think.” He grunts before punching him in the face and in his stomach, leaving Danny on the floor as he leaves the room.  

Danny got up and wiped his nose with a hand gesture to make sure he wasn't bleeding from the nose, which fortunately for him was not the case. The rage grew in him, he wanted only one thing: to kill Mike there now, without worrying about what the others would say. But he couldn't afford it for the moment, he would grill his cover. He had to take it upon himself as Jed but Mike loses nothing to wait: Ghostface intends to return the device to him.

The rest of the day went relatively well even though Mike behaved like a real bastard towards 'Jed'. Luckily, he could count on Mattew and Melina to make it all more bearable. The trio headed to the exit, telling each other jokes, each one more stupid than the others. Danny shakes his head with a smile, they are unrecoverable.

“Hey, are we eating together tonight ? I know a small Japanese restaurant that will nail you to your seats at the end of the meal.” said Melina.

“Ha! No meal is consistent enough to nail me to my chair!” answers Mattew proudly.  

“I wonder how you eat so much without gaining weight. you could cause the loss of all the restaurants in town.” replies Melina with a smirk before laughing when she saw Mattew sulking. “What about you Jed?”

“Sorry, I would have liked to come but... I feel a little tired” he responds with a little smile.

“oh... Say instead that you prefer to go for a coffee at the Nebula... The boss is pretty cute. Maybe you should think about settling down with someone someday. I don't bother you with that. Rest well Jed. And get ready to play spies!” Said Melina before leaving with Mattew.  

Danny drives back at home thinking about how he’s going to kill that bastard Mike. So many things pass through his mind... He parked and when he raised his head, he saw you through your window, cleaning and tidying your home. He hasn’t decided about your fate but he’s got time. He doesn’t know you enough to make a decision.

He quickly went to his apartment to retrieve his bag which contained his camera. He wanted to stalk someone tonight, another potential victim who had done nothing to him, but that he's going to kill for one reason or another. Another trophy in his hunting board.

As for you, you can sleep peacefully. Your little star will continue to shine tonight. Until the devil in the white mask came to steal it...Or smash it down forever.  

***

(Finished! this time I wanted to focus mainly on Danny, on how he operates. Tell me what you think! I hope you’ll enjoyed it! And remember if you want to have a closer look of Danny, check out @arkkosun’s page!  His/her work is amazing! Also Check @sleepydaydreamz and @horror-ink’s pages! They're so great! See ya! )  

[r6shippingdelivery]

Uh...ex-excuse me my lovely? C-can I bother you momentarily and ask for some cutesy Thatcher/Lion you may have in mind? T-thank you have a good day xoxoxo ❤️

You certainly can, and well, I put together some snippets I had in my google docs and voilà, this thing almost resembles a proper story!

1.

Thatcher steeled himself for the worst before knocking on the door, lips compressed in a thin line. No matter how uncomfortable he was with this situation, Thatcher would set things right. He wasn’t a coward, didn’t need others to fight for him. Not now, not ever. He had thought the issue behind him already, water under the bridge, so learning the truth was an unwelcome surprise. The situation had gotten out of hand and Thatcher would set it right.

Lion opened the door, looking tired and wary, not especially happy to see him. Thatcher couldn’t blame him. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk, lad.” Crossing his arms defensively, Lion just stared at him, clearly unwilling to let Thatcher get into his room. Alright then, better just do this fast, like when pulling off a bandaid. “I’m sorry.”

The apology caught the Frenchman by surprise, he even opened his mouth forming a little “o”, which looked both strangely cute and comical. Thatcher stopped for a second, to let the words sink in, before he continued.

“I didn’t know the boys, the non-Rainbow SAS, were acting like wankers. I set them straight, I don’t condone harassment. Just wanted to apologise for not realising and putting an end to it sooner.”

It was shameful how Thatcher hadn’t realised something was wrong, with the SAS staff at the base making Lion’s life impossible since their fight, according to Sledge. And Rook had confirmed it. And Finka. And many others when Thatcher bothered to ask instead of living in his own clueless bubble. If only he paid more attention to the rumour mill, or deigned to look at Lion, he would have seen. But he hadn’t, and he could only try to do his best now.

“Good,” Lion said, arms still crossed. Then, after carefully observing his expression, he finally decreed, “Apology accepted.”

Thatcher felt a weight being lifted off of his chest, and extended his arm for a handshake. Lion only hesitated for a split-moment before accepting the grasp, shaking Thatcher’s hand energetically.

2.  

Answering personal calls right before a mission wasn’t forbidden, but strongly discouraged. Everyone was ready to go, and Lion was holding them back just to fight with someone over the phone. After ten tedious minutes, he was finally done arguing, and jumped into the helo with the rest of the team.

Usually, Thatcher would make a remark about it, but he could recognise the face of someone arguing bitterly with their ex. He was painfully familiar with it, and with the anger etched on Lion’s face. While everyone else was keeping their distance from the angry Frenchman, Thatcher sat next to him,

If someone asked Thatcher what possessed him to do that, he wouldn’t know what to answer. Maybe it was pity; maybe it was seeing a reflection of his worst days on someone else. Either way, he knew stewing on his anger alone would bring nothing good, so he sat next to Lion. At first they just looked ahead in silence, although Lion kept fidgeting in his seat. 

“Did she scream much?” Thatcher eventually asked.

“No, that was the worst. She was calm, not even disappointed because you can’t disappoint someone who had no expectations. I don’t know if she was talking about herself or Alexis.”

Harsh, but once again familiar to him. Unsure of what to say, Thatcher patted his shoulder. It was a stiff gesture, but Lion sagged into his touch, like a man seeking the smallest bit of understanding or reassurance. Poor sod. 

“Is Alexis your boy?”

The change was spectacular, Lion’s face brightening up. Soon they were talking about the hurdles of visiting your kid with a job like theirs, and how their exes deep down were right about so many things. It wasn’t until the helo landed that Thatcher noticed: he had kept his hand on Lion’s shoulder all this time, gripping it gently.

3. 

“You’re not supposed to be up!” Lion’s warning was loud, and it was good Doc had left to attend someone else, otherwise he would also start nagging Thatcher. It was unbelievable those two didn’t get along, and yet they acted the same in certain situations.

“I’m injured, not invalid, for fuck’s sake,” Thatcher tried to take a step away from the medical bed, but he still felt unsteady on his feet. Bloody local anaesthesia, he barely felt his leg.

“Mike, you got shot, don’t -”

“It was just a bullet graze,” he scoffed, cutting Lion. “C’mon, I’ll feel much better in my own room than in this depressing hospital bed.”

Lion frowned, the same expression he always had before getting into an argument, but then Thatcher took a couple steps. His leg failed and Lion rushed to his side, preventing him to fall and steadying him. Despite his frown deepening, Lion said nothing, and Thatcher rewarded his help with a quick peck on his cheek. He just wanted to feel less useless, less frail. It’s something Thatcher detested with all his being, that sensation of not being able to do anything on his own. However, if the help came from the man next to him, it didn’t feel as terrible anymore.

“Help me out of here?” Seeing that Lion was doubting, Thatcher quickly tried to sway him. “I just want to spend the day with you.”

It was the right thing to say, and moreover, it was true. Lion’s expression softened. “You’ll remain in bed, though. No sneaking out.”

“Hmm, I don’t know… I might need an incentive to do so, staying in bed is boring. Unless you’re with me.”

“Deal,” Lion smiled and kissed him. “But I pick what movie we watch.”

That was an acceptable compromise and being honest, Thatcher would probably fall asleep half-way no matter which movie he picked. It was Thatcher’s favorite way of sleeping: in his bed, with Lion back pressed against his chest.

If a year ago someone told Thatcher the highlight of his days would be to cuddle with his boyfriend, who was none other than the annoying Frenchman, he would have punched them. Funny how that worked out. In the end, he wouldn’t change a thing, because he couldn’t imagine his life now any differently.

—————————————————————————–

But you asked for cutesy stuff, and idk if that fills the bill, so just in case:

Thatcher’s body temperature naturally runs high, and when it’s cold Lion will find any excuse to hug him for warmth. Sleeping in the same bed as him is delightful, but it makes getting out of bed in the morning much more difficult!

Lion loves cats, Thatcher not so much. So when they go live together, the first rule was “no pets”. Except Lion was feeding a stray that ventured into their garden, and one day Thatcher found the cat and her litter of kittens playing in the yard, climbing the trees. And okay, they were sort of adorable, and so was Lion when he was trying to pet the kittens while the mother watched. Soon after that day, the rule was replaced to “no more pets”, since they adopted them all.

Thatcher’s boat, the “Iron Maggie”, becomes once more his hobby instead of his home, although Lion’s kid loves visiting them there. Alexis thinks the boat is the coolest house ever, and Thatcher might have pinned the drawing the kid did of him, Lion and Thatcher together in a boat.

Lion met Thatcher’s daughter, Penny, and in true Baker fashion, she thought he was an asshole but slowly warmed up to him. Now they’re good friends, much to Thatcher’s relief, makes the holidays less awkward.(so todragonsart​ and me had this HC about Thatcher having a daughter called Penny, which I love and I need to include her more in stuff, so here she is)

[enchantedxrose]

The Monster of West End: Chapter Two

A retelling of Beauty and the Beast, set in 1837 London.

The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship.

<<Click here to read Chapter One

She ought to have taken Mr. Carlyle’s offer the first time, Viola noted ruefully a few hours later. It would have been less damaging to her pride and her health.

The carriage wheels had become stuck in a snowbank when the cabbie took a turn too sharply. After some futile attempts to dig the cab back out of the snow, she was obliged to walk the rest of the way home. By that time, the church bells had long since tolled five, and the prison gates were locked. No one would be let in or out until morning.

Viola groaned in frustration, pushing at the doors in vain. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Weston, but rules is rules,” the gatekeeper said with a regretful shrug. “If I make an exception for you, I’ll be needing to make an exception for everybody.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled. “Will you at least send word to my father that I’ve gone back to my employer’s for the night? I don’t want him to be worried.”

“Will do, miss.”

The moment she turned back down Borough High Street, she realized she had no money left for another cab. Suppressing a groan, she wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders and trudged on. 

No use dawdling or complaining: this side of London was dangerous after dark for a young woman. And the snow was swirling thicker and faster.

For the first twenty minutes of her walk, she was able to stave off the cold by walking briskly. But her boots were shabby and worn, and her toes quickly became numb as she sloshed through half-frozen mud puddles. Her stockings were absolutely soaked through. She cupped her hands around her mouth and nose to try and warm them with her breath.

Her walk took her north and west across the river. In her rush, she took a shortcut through a narrow alley that she would otherwise have skirted around. Her steps hastened as she passed a certain storefront wedged between a gin house and a druggist—the tarnished sign on the door read Mr. Janus L. Beecham, and in peeling paint underneath, Money Lent. 

She tried to keep facing determinedly forward until she passed the shadowy doorstep, but despite herself, her eyes were drawn to the window. A familiar face stared back at her: middle-aged, sallow, thin lips drawing into a sneer of recognition.

Viola shuddered with a chill that had little to do with the wintry air, nearly breaking into a run to leave the lending-house behind. The door opened and a jovial voice called down the alley.

“Miss Weston, what a pleasant surprise. No time to spare for an old friend?” Viola refused to turn back and acknowledge him. The man’s agreeable tone became mocking.

“Ah I forgot, the high and mighty Miss Weston would never deign to visit my humble abode. Found yourself a rich husband yet, have you? An earl? A duke?”

Ignore him, ignore him, don’t provoke him, he could make Father’s life even more miserable if he wants…

“You have no place else to go, Viola. It’s a cold world out there for a debtor’s daughter. You cannot evade me forever.”

She turned the corner onto a wider street, breathing a sigh of relief in the glow of the streetlamp. That isn’t true, Mr. Beecham, she thought, smirking despite the wind in her face. Not anymore. I’m a working woman now; I’ll buy Father’s freedom myself. I needn’t throw myself to the mercy of a man like you.

What a sight she must have been, when she finally arrived an hour later at Mr. Carlyle’s doorstep: bonnet askew, skin raw and red, eyes streaming. For one agonizing minute, she waited for someone to answer her desperate knock.

“Miss Weston? What are you—?” Mrs. Hutchinson took one look at her disheveled state and put her questions on hold. “Well, come in out of the cold, then, don’t just stand there in the doorway.”

Mrs. Hutchinson ushered the shivering Viola into the foyer and hung up her snow-caked bonnet to dry.

“Good heavens, child, what a state you’re in,” the housekeeper muttered. “What are you doing back here at this hour? Were you not to return in the morning?”

Viola’s violently chattering teeth prevented her from giving a coherent explanation. 

 “Never mind that now, come in by the fire before you catch your death.” Instead of going up to the first floor as she had earlier, they went downstairs to the kitchen, where a fire still smoldered in the brick hearth. 

Viola was directed to sit in a rocking chair beside it and hang up her wool stockings to dry. Mrs. Hutchinson clucked her tongue at the threadbare state of them, and then thrust a cup of beef tea into Viola’s frozen hands.

The kitchen was warm and cheerful, bright red bricks and woven straw mats. The copper pots and pans hanging above twinkled in the firelight. The storm outside the foggy window felt like a nightmare she was waking from, as her fingertips began to thaw. She burned her tongue on her tea.

“Better?” Mrs. Hutchinson asked, watching with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The housekeeper folded her arms over her chest. “Then perhaps you are ready to explain yourself, Miss Weston.”

Viola nodded, her stomach sinking with dread. “I do apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused,” she began. 

Before she could find the words to continue, there were footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar male voice.

“Mrs. Hutchinson? Is everything alright? I thought I heard someone at the—oh. Miss Weston, is that you?”

Mr. Carlyle froze in the doorway. He appeared to have already retired for the evening, for he wore a plum velvet smoking jacket. His gleaming amber eyes—pupils wide in this dim light—roamed over Viola’s sodden stockings and her shivering form. 

All three of them winced as one of his gigantic antlers knocked against the brass pots and sent it clanging to the floor. His housekeeper must have been used to these kinds of disturbances, for she recovered her dignity first and continued as if nothing had happened.

“I wasn’t going to bother you over this, sir,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. “She appears to have gotten lost in the storm, and I didn’t think you would object to sheltering her.”

“Of course. Quite right, Mrs. Hutchinson.”

Viola decided to seize her chance before her resolve failed her. “Mr. Carlyle, might I have a quick word? Privately? I should like to explain myself.”

Mrs. Hutchinson’s brow pinched into a peeved expression; evidently she believed anything said to Mr. Carlyle could be said in her presence. But her employer was oblivious to her irritation.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Weston,” he assured her. “All of that can wait until the morning.”

Viola gritted her teeth. If I don’t come clean now, I’ll be up all night anticipating this conversation. 

“Please, sir,” she said aloud, “I should much prefer to get it over with.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Carlyle, blinking a few times. “Mrs. Hutchinson, would you kindly prepare a bed in the servants’ quarters in the meantime?”

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded once, lips pursed, before exiting the kitchen with a surly swish of her skirts. 

Only when the sound of her footsteps faded from their hearing did Mr. Carlyle sink cautiously into the chair opposite Viola’s before the fire. He waited for her to speak first with no signs of impatience. She fidgeted. 

They were sitting much closer to each other than they had in Mr. Carlyle’s study earlier that day, and she could not help noticing even more peculiarities about his appearance. He was such an illogical mishmash of predator and prey. His legs were shaped more like the hindquarters of a deer, with the knees facing backward. His long ears seemed to swivel in the direction of sounds—now they were pricked up in curiosity.

 His long talons drummed on the arms of his chair, but when he caught her looking at them, he curled his hands into fists as if to hide the claws from her view.

He gently broke the silence.

“Miss Weston, I will not demand to know your secrets,” he said slowly, “especially not if it will cause you further distress.”

She shook her head, resigned. “Given that I’ve barged into your house at this late hour, I think you deserve an explanation.”

He remained silent as she gathered her courage. Wherever to begin? Where, in fact, did their miseries begin? It was difficult to trace the origins of their troubles. Her voice, when she found it, was low and hoarse.

“I told you that I needed to find work because of my father’s health,” she said at last. “That wasn’t a lie, but it was hardly the entire truth, either. Our situation is quite—bleak. He’s been imprisoned for debts. In the Marshalsea.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.”

Viola dared to glance up at him, her eyes shining but defiant, prepared for his contempt or his charity. His brow was furrowed, deeply thoughtful, but that was all. Best to lay the whole bare truth out now, she decided.

“We have lived there for six years, my father and I. My sister too, until she married last year.”

“Six years?” he repeated in a faintly horrified voice. “I didn’t realize such a thing was allowed in the civilized world.”

“I am allowed to come and go as I please, but the gates are locked to visitors after five. So you see, Mr. Carlyle, I had nowhere else to go tonight.”

He prompted quietly, “You were afraid to speak of this before?”

“It’s quite a miserable thing,” Viola said with a bitter smile, “to be ashamed of one’s home and one’s family.”

“You believed I would judge your family for being in a debtor’s prison?”

“You might think us pathetic.”

“I think you unfortunate,” he clarified. “But that is hardly an indication of a person’s character or fortitude—merely of their circumstances.” 

He leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if to keep their conversation a secret. In these close quarters, Viola couldn’t help noticing the long lashes on his catlike amber eyes. It was strange how familiar his expressions were, worn on such an uncanny, inhuman face.

“I do understand, Miss Weston. You don’t want pity from others. I know that feeling all too well. People may mean well and only wish to help, but their pity is unbearable all the same.”

Viola looked down at the teacup in her lap, overwhelmed by the intense sincerity in his gaze. “I suppose you would understand that feeling better than most, sir,” she mumbled.

There was a long moment of silence between them—not an uncomfortable pause, but one of tacit understanding. Then Mr. Carlyle seemed to recollect himself, and resumed his usual brisk manner.

“Look at me, chattering away when you likely want to drink your tea in peace,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Though she’s too polite to say so, Mrs. Hutchinson does hate it when I intrude on her domain downstairs. Rest well tonight, Miss Weston. We won’t speak any more on this subject, if that is what you wish. You can rely on my discretion.”

Viola turned away to watch the glowing coals in the kitchen hearth. “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget the kindness you have showed me tonight.”

(to be continued...)

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 6

Warnings: Torture, some extreme violence.

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

It was their host's mistake in arrogantly thinking that he'd managed to subdue both Christophe and Gregory, a sign that he had no real idea on who he was dealing with. Then again it was Gregory's prerogative to keep their real jobs under the radar, it was best to not let anyone know about the work they did. In which case meant Christophe had to permanently silence any witness, Gregory wasn't the type to get blood on his hands if he could help it. For now though, Gregory instructed that Christophe not to kill Mr. Hall when he returned, as he needed questions first. Killing was easy, but subduing and keeping them that way was always a hassle.

When the door opened, the first one to enter was one of the security guards who'd been stationed outside the door, at least he was smart enough to check the room before letting his employer walk in. Not that it mattered as Christophe stepped out from behind the door to blindside him with a powerhouse punch to the side of his face. It held enough force to make the guard stumble against the wall, allowing Christophe to corner him. He didn't want the guard to recover and be able to counter the attack, so Christophe gave up on slow but powerful punches in favor of not so powerful but quick rabbit punches to simply overwhelm the other, larger male. It was working too as the guard could only lift up his arms in attempts to protect his face, which only left his body vulnerable to precise strikes.

Until arms seized him up under his own armpits, hooking under them and lifting him up off the ground in attempts to get him to stop attacking the guard. It appeared the second guard had entered the fray, but Christophe was used to having the odds against him and wouldn't be so easily pulled away from the fight. While his arms were restrained and supporting his body, it left his legs perfectly open to continue his attack. He kicked upward, driving the toe of his dress shoe up into the bottom of the first guard's chin, sending his head slamming back against the wall with blood and spittle flying out from where he'd bitten his tongue. The force seemed to be enough to at least knock the first guard out, watching him slump down onto the ground. Now Christophe had to deal with the second guard who had him in a bit of a position where normally one wouldn't be able to escape easily.

Straining his arms, Christophe forced the guard to take a stronger grip on him, allowing the Frenchman to work his abdominal muscles a bit more easily. Christophe jerked his head back as if in attempts to headbutt the guard, but the other man seemed to be at least wary of that. However, it was mostly just to distract him from Christophe's next move. He pushed up off the ground, swinging his legs up as high as he could get them in attempts to get the maximum amount of weight to help aid him. When his legs swung back down, Christophe surged his upper body forward, using the momentum to heft the guard up over his back the moment his feet touched the ground.

Surprised by the move, the guard relaxed his grip a little, but it was enough to send the guard forward over Christophe. With a loud thud and the crash of a few pictures falling onto the floor, the guard slammed into the wall, collapsing near the first guard. With the two threats eliminated, he turned his sights onto their host, who took a step back as if threatening to run for help. Not on Christophe's watch as the Frenchman lunge, fingers grasping the front of the man's shirt before slinging him into the office, letting him land at Gregory's feet. Slamming the door shut so they wouldn't have any uninvited guests interrupting their private time, Christophe then stepped up behind Mr. Hall.

"Should I give this asshole a fuckin' warm-up, just to get him nice and loosened up for you?" Christophe pressed his foot against the back of their host's head, forcing him to remain painfully face down on the hardwood floor.

|Now now, Christophe, I'm not a complete savage, let's try to be civilized. At least at first." Gregory crouched down to get a better look at Hall while Christophe took a step back to let the man look up at Gregory. In the meantime, Christophe reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. The cigarettes were more expensive than his usual fair, mostly to simply keep up appearances down to the smallest detail. After lighting a cigarette and putting away the rest and the lighter, he went over to cuff the two guards while Gregory started the interrogation.

"So, Mr. Hall, I'd like to start off saying you always host the most entertaining soirees. Such a shame it had to end like this, but we're both business men, so let's talk now that we have the time." Gregory sighed out, cupping one cheek as he used his elbow on his knee to prop his head up in a near arrogant fashion. "Who is your source, hm?" The question was direct, almost light hearted as if they were talking about their favorite sports team over a light afternoon lunch.

"Fuck you."

"That would be the incorrect answer, sorry about this." Gregory continued to look at their host, but Christophe understood the sign as he lifted up a foot and slammed the heel of his dress shoe down on Mr. Hall's hand. There was a brief, sickening crunch before the man screamed in pain, jerking his hand away on instinct only to cause more pain as his fingers had still been trapped under Christophe's heel. Christophe raised a brow but didn't say anything, staring down as he took a long pull from his cigarette, holding no remorse for the man.

"Now, let me ask again and this time you'll give me the correct answer, yes? Who is your source?"

It took a moment as Hall was cradling his broken hand to himself as if to protect it as tears rolled down his face, not much one to take pain apparently. "Its MBP, they got in contact with me a year ago, wanted to expand their trade overseas. They offered me a great deal of money, I couldn't say no, you understand that right? They'd just get some other rich and notable person if not me." Pleading his case, as if that'd make either of them feel sorry for the man. Gregory and Christophe pitied no one, though Gregory had more of a way of pretending than Christophe did.

"What is that?" Smoke curled from Christophe's lips, he'd never heard of that organization before, Gregory handled names and all things specific so it was no surprise.

"Medical & Bio-engineering Program." Gregory actually deigned him with an answer, though he looked more in thought than actually paying attention to Christophe. "If that's true, then may I inquire who your contact is?" Gregory's gaze focused on Hall once again.

"I can't tell you that, they'll kill me." Which implied that he did know who had contacted him, so Gregory stood up, motioning with a hand to Christophe before turning his back.

Christophe grabbed Hall by one shoulder, slinging him around so the man laid on his back. The Frenchmen fell to straddle Hall, one knee on each die of his head, this would prevent his arms from trying to stop Christophe. Green eyes stared down at a fearful face, letting the man wait in anticipation as he pulled one long drag from his cigarette. The tip flared bright red, the embers devouring the rest of the cigarette greedly and turning it to ash in its wake. Once it was smoldering at the end of its life, Christophe pulled it from his lips. Pursing them, he blew out a stream of smoke to the side. Hall began to squirm, fear building up the longer Christophe took as fingers grasped at his once wrinkle-free slacks.

Like a snake striking, Christophe enacted his method of punishment, shoving the still burning end of his cigarette straight down into Hall's right eye, snuffing off the cigarette and part of Hall's sight. The man screamed and thrashed beneath Christophe, but the mercenary easily kept his position and kept Hall secured to the ground. As a thin trail of smoke drifted up from the destroyed eye, Christophe pulled the crushed butt of the cigarette out and flicked it to the side. By this time, Gregory had turned around, looking down at their host once again.

"Who. Is. Your. Contact?" Gregory's tone was dangerous, biting through the sobs of pain from Hall as the man tried to beg and plead for mercy.

"I-I don't know their real name okay!" Hall's voice was choked, the pain making it difficult for him to think or even speak. "All I know is that they go by Ghee and that they work for MBP! I've n-never seen them in person before, so that's all I can tell you, please let me go!"

Gregory looked up and nodded at Christophe, causing the brunet to stand up and walk away towards the small cabinet that hosted Hall's prized whiskey collection. "If that's all, I think its time for use to take our leave, your cooperation has been most appreciated." Gregory patted Hall on the cheek before standing up and walking out of the room, leaving Christophe to clean up after him as usual. The Frenchman began to dig out bottles of whiskey, opening one to give it a sniff before he seemed satisfied.

"Don't worry, a bit of booze will take the pain away, non?" Christophe began to pour the whiskey out above Hall, letting it splatter over the man's face. He cried out in pain and protest, every time he tried to breath in, he would inhale the alcohol, burning his lungs. Once the bottle was empty, Christophe carelessly tossed it aside before moving up to the bookcase. He bega to fling the old books off the shelf, letting the floor clutter up with old dusty paper. To top it all off, he drenched the books in more whiskey, one bottle after another and by this time, it began to click what Christophe was doing and he began to try to crawl his way to the door.

However, Christophe stepped over his body, pulling out his lighter and crouching down. "You squealed like a little pig, now let's see if you cook like one too." Christophe flicked the lighter, creating a flame before lowering it so the flame would catch on the whiskey soaked books. With a bit of coaxing, the fire caught eagerly, consuming the old paper and crawling its way towards Hall and his two guards. Christophe tucked the lighter away and stood up, taking a moment to watch as the fire began to catch on the soaked clothes, causing Hall to roll about to try to put the fire out but only ended up causing it to spread around him quicker. The guards woke up to chaos, struggling against the metal cuffs that were growing hot from the fire, none of them would escape.

Christophe finally closed the door behind him, hearing the lock click as he followed after Gregory, it was for the best not to linger longer than needed. By the time he made it out the door, Gregory had already pulled his car up to the entrance, waiting for him. Christophe opened the car door and dropped down into the passenger seat, feeling exhausted and ready to relax, though relax was an over-exaggeration considering him. Though, from what he gleaned from the interrogation, their little mission wasn't over. "So, what is the next task in this mission of yours, Brit?"

"We will be going to America."

[leeknowsintrusivethots]

Take a Deeper Look

{Part 1 | Part 2}

Pairing: Jay Park/You, Simon D/You

Genre: Yeah, still don’t know what’s going on here

Summary: AOMG’s newest producer has a lot to deal with including a flighty CEO who doesn’t understand the concept of “personal space” and feelings for yet another CEO who is so far beyond her reach she doesn’t even think she has a chance.

Content: Almost there, but no quiet | Daddy kink mentioned

Word Count: 3,549 

Notes: I suck at proofing. :<

You always prided yourself on being in control of your emotions, specifically in relation to your work. Music was not only what you did for living, but it was the reason you were able to get up every morning and face the day. It’s what kept you alive, warm, and fed: so you couldn’t fathom how that control had just slipped away with a simple prank pulled by your ‘oh so endearing’ boss. You were angry - not really at Jay but at yourself.

Your face still burned as you walked into the building the next morning. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the feel of Jay underneath you.Touching to most people was natural, but to you it was always an embarrassing mess that you did your best to avoid at almost any cost. Having the memory of you and Jay, your boss of all people, in such an intimate position was really doing a number on you. It was worse than having to hear his voice crooning obscenities in your ears while you edited. It made you feel extremely uncomfortable - even simple skin ship often had that effect - and strangely had a warm feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach that you couldn’t explain. Rubbing at your temples you made your way to Kiseok’s office. You hoped he would be in. It was only nine in the morning; all of the artists that were due to record for the day weren’t expected to start rolling in until around noon.

“Y/N, you are here awfully early,” his deep voice greeted you as you poked your head into his studio. He was lounging at his desk, nursing one of those gross breakfast replacement shakes that people without the skill or time to cook often took up.

“I can’t stand him,” you started immediately, dropping into a cushioned swivel chair next to him. “All he ever does is play around and I think Seonghwa should finish the last two tracks with him, because I don’t think I can.”

Kiseok stared at you in confusion before realization took over. His lips formed a smirk that made your heart want to beat out of your chest no matter the situation. “Ah, Jay. Hyukwoo told me what happened yesterday.”

“Please, please, please,” you begged profusely “You have to help me! Just this once. Get Seonghwa to finish the tracks.”

“No.” It was such a simple answer, yet it had your heart feeling constricted in your chest. Kiseok had never rejected a request from you before. Granted, you knew you were asking for a lot this time around but it still stung. He had always looked out for you, until now apparently.

“Why?” you asked, attempting nonchalance by swiveling slightly in your chair.

“You mean to tell me that if I let you, you would walk away just like that? Aren’t you the same the girl who told me that you could never let another producer even touch one of your tracks because-”

“‘Music is art, and art is too personal a thing to pass back and forth.’ I know what I said, but Kiseok! He doesn’t even take me seriously,” you interjected. If you would have known being an amateur philosopher would come back to haunt you one day, you would have never had uttered a word.

“He does and if he didn’t he would have never agreed when I originally started talking about giving you a contract,” he informed you as he threw the last bit of his shake into the bin beside his desk. His gaze shifted from you to the clock on his desktop, as if he had more pressing matters to concern himself with. You didn’t know whether to be irritated or hurt. “Give a little”, he advised after a brief pause. “Jay can be hard to handle but so can you.”

“I’m not hard to han-” you started incredulously. Boy did Mr. Jung Kiseok seem intent on giving you hard time. You certainly had no intention of letting him see how it truly affected you, though.

“I know how you are when you work,” he interrupted you lightly. A small smirk lit up his features as he gave a small shake of his head. “You take no prisoners, Y/N. Just lighten up a little with him, and maybe Jay won’t be so bad to work with at all.”

“You give the worst advice ever, Kiseok.” Your grunt of disapproval earned you a chuckle, the deep rumble soothing you just as it always had. Even if his words made you feel a little worse about the situation, his voice did what it could to make up for them. “Fine. I’ll go make nice with annoying boss man,” you conceded before sliding out of your chair and heading for the door.

“Remember, ‘Music is art, and art is too personal a thing to pass back and forth,’” Kiseok called after you. You really hated that stupid quote but you hated Kiseok and his damn voice even more at the moment.

“I’ve got to hurry to find Kiseok now. Let me know when you guys want to plan a night out. I’ll drag him along!” The perky voice of Joo Soori bid Park Jaebum and Lee Seonghwa farewell as she bowed formally and hurried along her way. They had all arrived at the building at the same time, and had came in together while discussing when they should have the next get together for the AOMG crew. Soori always showed up for events with them, despite not being a part of the company, and she always promised to make Kiseok come along. It rarely actually worked out in her favor.

“She sure is cute,” Seonghwa stated as both men continued their regular route, taking a much slower pace than the speedy hurricane that was Soori. “But I think Y/N may be right. You can smell fruit from a mile away when she’s around.”

“Don’t let Kiseok hear you knocking on his woman, man,” Jay joked as they turned the corner that led to his office.

Of their own accord, his lips formed a smile when he seen who stood lounging against his office door. Your hair was messy, done up in a quick updo and your lips were set into a hard line, but in the two years Jay had been around you he had come to admire the “I don’t give a fuck about anything but music’ attitude you portrayed. It also didn’t hurt that messing with you had become a pretty entertaining pastime of his.

“Y/N, long time no see,” Seonghwa greeted you brightly with a twist of his lips.

“I’ve been busy, trying to make deadlines and all,” you responded dryly with a sharp look at Jay. You had promised yourself you were going to attempt to make nice, but there was only so much you could take and the past couple of years had you nearing your fill.

“Ahhh,” Seonghwa smirked, looking between you and Jay. The tension radiating from you was almost palatable, but Jay seemed completely oblivious - still giving you his signature grin. You could only imagine what Seonghwa was thinking about why you seemed so flustered. Word tended to travel fast within the company, and you were sure he knew about the incident Hyukwoo had witnessed. “Good luck.” His smirk stayed firmly in place as he waved goodbye and left you and Jay standing alone.

“You still have my headphones,” you stated softly in the ensuing awkwardness. You had to take a second to remind yourself that you had never been a demure person. “And my laptop... JAY HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO GET ANY WORK DONE??”

“Woah,” he laughed to himself as he stepped closer to you. Your brain started running ninety miles a minute, telling you to move before you were the brunt of a bad joke or worse - more incredibly awkward skinship - but your legs seemed to cease all function. “Your stuff is safe in my office: where you left it.” He was close enough to you that your chests were almost touching. The door behind you prevented you from backing away from him.

“Well then let me have it,” you squeaked, earning a devilish smirk from your boss. His hand went down, hovering to close for comfort at your hip. You heard the sound of a door knob turning faintly in the midst of your one track mind, before you stumbled back into his office with Jay doubled over in laughter in the hallway.

“Why are you so on edge?” he asked between laughs as he grabbed at his sides.

He didn’t even lay a hand on you and your nerves were fried. Your skin felt awfully hot and Jay’s office seemed awfully cramped as he moved to take his place at his desk, closing the door behind him. You had never felt this weird around him before. “Because you took my things like a kid and Hyukwoo seen us on the floor looking absolutely insane and... Ugh.” You quickly scanned the room for your belongings. When your eyes landed on your stuff, still sitting in the same cushioned chair from the day before, you were shocked that had had the courtesy to wrap your headphone neatly. It was vast improvement from the tangled mess they had been in the last time you seen them.

“But how did we look insane?” He questioned as you lovingly picked up your equipment. You were absolutely sure he was baiting you. There was no question about it, and you hated him for it. When you didn’t deign to give him a reply, he continued on. “I mean we’re just two coworkers messing around with each other right?”

Maybe it was a rhetorical question, you couldn’t be sure with the way he looked at you expectantly as if seeking an answer for himself, but you answered anyway. “We’re two coworkers who have work to do, dammit! And if you don’t start marching your grinning ass to that studio right now I will-”

Jay busted out laughing. Doubled over and clutching his sides, you couldn’t help but to gape. You were being completely serious and yet again he was making a joke out of everything. You’re head was starting to hurt, your temper was starting to flare, and you were very close to just walking out all together. Of course, you made one of your most insane moves in your arsenal yet again.

You tucked your belongings under your arm and grabbed him by the arm and started tugging. At first he stood rooted in place, his eyes curiously studying your hand on his arm. It was rare that you touched anyone, just like it was rare that you didn’t immediately shy away from people that touched you, and you knew he had to think that you were off your rocker. Your face yet again heated to the point that you were sure smoke would soon start coming from your ears, but you persevered. Kiseok would never let you live it down if you didn’t manage to get the album done and the one thing you didn’t want to do was disappoint the man who had put so much faith into you and your career.  

After what seemed like an eternity, Jay finally let you pull him to the studio. Since you had managed to drag him there, he wasn’t late for once. That alone was an achievement, but the even bigger one was that he was quiet the entire time he prepared and entered the booth. You only had a few lines he had yet to record for the first track, and for about an hour he worked diligently. It was a side of him that you had only seen when he was working with other producers, and it made your hopes swell. If he could keep this up, maybe the two of you could finish peacefully.

“Alright, let’s take a breather,” you said through the mic on the sound booth. Before he could get out and ruin a good thing, you left your seat spinning in your wake and started for the break-room for coffee. As you debated wether to bring some back to Jay as a gift for his good behavior the pungent smell of Soori’s perfume assaulted you. Of course Norma Bates was with her favorite victim, Kiseok. You glared at his door with distaste, only to find that it was cracked and her sugary voice wafted into the hallway.

“Kiseok,” she whined in a way you had come to know meant she wanted something. “When are you going to take me out on a real date?”

“We have dates all the time,” you heard Kiseok’s muffled reply. His voice sounded disinterested, or maybe that was just your own hopes playing with your perception.

“Going to your place every night isn’t exactly what I would call a date.” You started to continue along your way, not interested in the petty drama of people who actually had lives outside of work.

“I personally think what we do is much better than a date, Ri.” Your heart suddenly halted function in your chest. You were by no means oblivious to the world, and you knew there could only be one thing he was alluding to. Your hands balled up into fist and you froze in place.

“But all we do is that, honey. I want a real date,”  Soori crooned. You could faintly make out the soft sounds of kissing that followed. You didn’t know whether to hate her more or pity her for how desperate she sounded.

“Look kitten,” Kiseok’s voice was suddenly deeper that you had ever heard it. You were envious that she got to hear it that way and you never did. “Be a good girl for me, and I’ll think about it.” You heard the sound of something being smacked followed by a very feminine giggle. A squeak left your lips involuntarily. They wouldn’t really do that here, or would they?

“I’m always a good girl, Daddy.” You couldn’t breathe, and your stomache was twisted into a painful knot. A mantra of ‘why her’ had formed in your head. Kiseok was everything you had ever wanted. Quiet when needed, and witty when wanted. He was the single person in the world you felt like understood you, and there he was in his office about to fuck a woman that you could only envy.

“Go lock the door, babygirl.” You felt a wetness form in the corner of your eyes, but you forced it to stay where it was. You had no reason to be upset, you knew that. It was no secret to you that the two of them had something to going on, and it really shouldn’t bother you as much as it did. Alas you were just human, and humans always long for things they can’t have.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the breakroom. The hard chair had your butt begining to numb and several empty coffee cups sat in front of you along with a depleted box of donuts that you were sure had been almost full when you had first sat down. A caffeine buzz had a tendency to clear your head, but this time it just made your headache worse.

“Is the wall really that interesting that you gave up on recording for today?”

You glanced up only for the frown that donned your face to deepen. It only seemed to fit that your terrible mood would be completed with Jay Park invading your quiet time. You grunted in greeting as you resumed your fierce staring contest with the wall.

“No smart comeback?” He asked with a frown in his voice. You heard the chair next to you scrape the floor as he took a seat. You refused to look at him. You were miserable and defeated in a way you doubted he could ever understand. It was very unlikely that Jay Park didn’t get his way when it came to relationships. He hummed next to you as if debating a very complicated problem. “I wonder what could bring someone like you so down. Did-”

“Stop right there,” you suddenly snapped, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t need your shit right now Jaebum.”

He laughed in response, the sound serving to make your headache comeback with a vengeance. “You need a distraction - I can tell, and I am here to be used.” “Go bother someone else!” You spit out, finally turning your head to meet his eyes. Your look was aimed to kill, but unfortunately for you Jay was never easily deterred.

“But bothering you is much more entertaining,” he quipped with the smirk that you hated so much in place. He batted his eyelashes in feigned innocence, making your remember with more clarity how unfair it was that you were surrounded by beautiful people who didn’t have to ask for anything. It was all handed to them.  

“I hate people like you,” you seethed. Your sadness had been left in the wind and anger had taken its place. “You don’t have to worry; you don’t have to pine for anything. People love you and people want you.” Your voice rose with each word, and your vision had turned into a red tunnel that was intent on letting you air every qualm the words you overheard earlier had instilled in you. You hurt, and all you could do was take your anger out on the person who always seemed to be around you no matter how much you wished otherwise.

Your chest heaved in your anger and somehow during your spiel your face had become way to close to Jay’s. You could smell the scent of his cologne on him, not to overpowering and mixed with a smell that you could only describe as him. For once, you didn’t move away. You stared him down, just as he was doing you.

His dark brows were knitted together, and his brown eyes were trained to yours as if stuck there. It was impossible to say how long the two of you sat there, never moving an inch. Time seemed to cease to exist as you glared at him and he looked at you with an intensity you couldn’t place.

You wish you knew who started it first, but in all honesty you really didn’t care at the time. When your lips first crashed into each others, all you could think about was how his felt against yours. He wasn’t gentle, by any stretch of the imagination, no matter how soft his lips actually were. His hands gripping your thighs caused your chair to become closer to his and your knees ended up locked between his thighs.

“I don’t think you hate me,” Jay breathed between kisses. “At least not right now anyway.” His voice had become deeper and his hands became more adventurous as they slid under you, cupping your ass to pull you even closer. You ended up straddling him, the hardness of him pressing into your clothed sex, and causing a whimper to escape you.

He hummed in approval at the noise. “Take a deeper look, babygirl, you want me.” The pet name had your lower body heating instantly and your heart speeding up. It was the same one that Kiseok had used earlier when you had accidentally eavesdropped.

When Jay’s mouth began taking its assault down to the crook of your neck, you suddenly remembered yourself - what you were doing and who you were with.  This isn’t right, you thought silently. Nothing seemed normal anymore. While your entire body was flushed hot and your breathing ragged, the only discomfort you felt was at the unfamiliarity and brazenness of the entire situation.

His hips lifted off the chair, grinding into with fluid practiced motion. You gripped his shoulders, the hardness of them solid and unwavering under your fingertips, and forced yourself to push off him to stand. The hands that had been at your bottom put up a bit of protest before he finally let them fall to his sides.

You were about to yell - to say anything you could to negate the heat between your thighs and the speeding rhythm in your chest - when three syllables cut you off out of nowhere.

“What the fuck?”

Your head snapped to the door of the break-room to find Hyukwoo standing there with his jaw on the ground and his hand clutching the doorway. His eyes were wide as he looked from to you Jay. “You guys were....” he stammered out and hesitated to finish his train of thought.

“Damn. You sure do have the worst timing,” Jay grumbled, looking to his younger label mate with irritation visible in his eyes. For once, the two of you were in complete agreement.