#i couldn’t remember the dog's colour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ofjunemoment · 11 months

Text

work it | na jaemin

Jaemin can’t quite keep a part time job; every time he gets hired, he somehow fucks up enough to be fired straight away. But he just can’t get fired from his job with you, not until he successfully asks you out on a date, anyway.

OR: How many times can your cover Jaemin’s mistakes before you blow up, or him.

pairing — jaemin x fem!reader

genre — restaurant!au, slowburn, fluff, humour, smut (MDNI)

wc — 20k

content — profanity, both jaemin and reader work at a chinese restaurant, kun, jaehyun, mark and shotaro mentioned, waitressing dynamics (im gonna be honest most of this is just me throwing words together and hoping for the best), smut tags below the cut :)

a/n — *sniff* my baby.... i loved writing this so much because the dynamics is something i truly enjoy ^^ there were times i wanted to strngle myself because i just couldn’t think of how to but the scenarios into words but here it is <3 hope you guys have fun reading!!!!

smut tags — making out, boob/nipple play, fingering, pet names, just the slightest bit of a dom/sub dynamic, lmk if i missed anything <3

Jaemin is in the back room of the pet store, looking at a big bag of dog food and a laminated paper with the number of servings needed for each pet section when he hears his boss call for him.

“Jaemin? You doing okay here?” He turns around to look at Mr Choi, showing a light smile and a thumbs up.

“All good sir, just trying to familiarise myself with each serving of the pet food before I try feeding them.” He waves the card around, the lanyard attached to it swishing around. Today was his third time coming in with a shift at the pet store, and although the place isn’t near his house, it wasn’t far from his campus either, which ultimately makes his travel easier. If he can go all this way to a lecture he won’t even remember, he can go again and again to make some cash and help his sobbing wallet.

Mr Choi grins, plump fingers clapping together in delight. “I knew I could trust you. You’ve worked in so many places so you must have adapted quicker.” At this, Jaemin’s smile strains a bit as he lays his hand on one of the food packets to seem normal. He’s not wrong, Mr Choi— Jaemin has worked at a lot of places. He started when he was fourteen at his uncle's small business in the night markets, looking after keychains and phone cases while his uncle would try to sell items with his marketing voice. His task was to answer customers when they asked for the price, and to find out the price he just had to remember the prices — and if he was really struggling, his uncle quips, you can look behind each sections name tag, where the prices are written in vibrant red.

But he was confident with the prices, who would forget that the key chains cost 500 won and the cases cost 1000 won?

Of course he wouldn’t forget, but he wasn’t correct either. The five and fifteen behind those items were actually 5,000 won and 10,000 won. And throughout the entire day when he would receive coins instead of the colourful notes his uncle was collecting, he didn’t even question it; he just thought his uncle was a top-tier marketer. Needless to say, he was ‘fired’ (he’s not sure if he was even supposed to be paid for his labour) and his parents took out the money he credited to his uncle from his savings.

You would think that the brutal action of taking someone's hard-earned pocket money would deter them from trying another job again until they were fully prepared to take on such professionalism. But Jaemin was devastated at the fact that he had lost his chore money while sitting down on a plastic stool in the hot summer's night market. And so he tried to get another job to attain back the money.

At age fifteen, for his birthday present, he had asked for a job opportunity from his parents. Reluctantly, they had asked one of their neighbours if they’d like to get their lawn mowed. After seeing Jaemin in the backyard a few times doing the gardening, they weren’t abhorred by the idea of paying him a small fee to clean their lawns. Excited, he set to work with the mowing, which was something he would do, but he didn’t remember if it was the growing bush on his left side or right that he was to avoid at all costs. Turns out it was both, which attained Mrs Choi’s sacred tea sprouts that she’d imported from one of the islands in between Malaysia and Indonesia, and it costs an arm and a leg, he recalls her saying. The horror on her face, when she saw the shaved-down plot of land, was something Jaemin never wishes on his worst enemy and all the while desires to draw frame to frame.

But of course, it didn’t end there. He worked at a convenience store and a local retail store when he was sixteen, but was fired from the first and never received his roster from the latter. He thought that maybe local stores were just too picky with their quality of work due to having to compete against monopoly businesses, and so he opted to turn to chain businesses instead. He worked at McDonald’s and almost deep-fried his instructor's hand when being taught how to work the fries, and barely batted an eye when a few teenagers shoplifted the stores’ display clothes when he was working the chain clothing store at the mall near his house. To his defence, he’d thought that they were his coworkers changing the clothes on display with their casual dress code of the workplace, and so naturally, he didn’t think much of it. His longest-lasting job was at a general retail store he was hired for during Christmas, where he lasted for three weeks due to his supervisor being too busy to catch Jaemin’s mistake.

It’s a miracle really that he’s lasted three solid days at this place, but there isn’t much he can screw up in a pet shop; so far all he’s tasked to do is feed the fishes, as they’re the easiest to feed, and discard the box with hamster and rabbit poop for compost. Surprisingly, they’re both placed in the same corner of the room, but they’re kept in different storage boxes. Jaemin remembers how green means compost, and blue means fish; it makes sense, so he just goes to the blue one and scoops one full scoop into a mini bucket, before going into the store and feeding the fish. With the compost bin, he simply fits it onto a wheeler before going out to the back and dumping it into the designated compost area.

Jaemin sniffles a bit, before placing the laminated poster back on the shelf, checking his watch for the time. “Oh,” He exclaims, “It’s lunchtime for the fishes,” His smile towards his boss might just be pushing it, but it seems like he’s doing a great job at, well, keeping this job; anything resembling ass-kissing, he’ll try. As long as it guarantees a longer stay for him of course.

Mr Choi laughs heartily, sending Jaemin a thumbs up as he slowly filters out of the back room while Jaemin heads to the blue tin. What he misses is how the relief from Mr Choi’s face turns into sheer horror, as he sees Jaemin scoop into the blue tin and drop the pendant-like substances into the fish’s designated feeder.

“Stop!” Jaemin drops the scooper into the tin as his boss yells out, his blood running cold at the sudden shout. “Jaemin..have you been using—” Mr Choi’s eyes widen as he cuts himself off, going back to the store with hurried steps. Jaemin is very confused, as he has his hand midway in the air from Mr Choi’s exclaim, standing in the backroom like an NPC only activated when a main character comes to him for a quest.

But, miraculously, he can move his feet as he hears another shout of— a woman? Or maybe it was just Mr Choi’s sheer…excitement of Jaemin’s dedication to his job? But what he sees when he gets out of the back room and into the main store isn’t a surprise party held for Jaemin and his efforts (okay, he thought that maybe this was all a ploy to just show his new staff some appreciation; he’s still sceptical about the horror in Mr Choi’s voice, can you blame him?). What he’s instead met with is his boss’ and how his hands are clenched on his already thinning scalp — Jaemin winces when he sees a strand slowly descend to the floor— as he skids left and right around the aquariums.

It isn’t until Jaemin takes a closer look and sees that the fishes he thought were sleeping are now, well, permanently sleeping; on the floor of the aquariums, save with a few floating slowly, hanging on for Mr Choi’s happiness or the longevity of Jaemin’s work streak. He later finds out that fish float when sleeping.

“Jaemin, oh my god— the blue tin is the compost bin, and the green one is the fish food! I’ve told you about this two times, there’s even a fish sign on the green tin, how could you not tell?!” Jaemin might be tripping, but he swears he can see the bald patch on his boss’ head growing steadily.

Of course, now wouldn’t be the best time for him to point out scalp care remedies, and so he settles for the next best thing; “I thought the fish sign meant that they just…smell really bad…” Mr Choi now has his hand splayed across his face before he slowly goes to rub at his eyes, and nose bridge next, probably preventing a stress-induced nosebleed.

He points towards the front of the store, where the counter sits next to the door, finger jabbing up and down. Jaemin takes this as a sign to get some tissues from behind the counter, or his boss’ water bottle that always seems to have unlimited tea; but before he can even get back to him, with his eyes still close, in the softest tone Mr Choi says “... Out.”

He would’ve stopped his job hunting there, to be honest; but he’s in the last year of his course and is living with a roommate in a separate flat from his parents, which means he has to have at least some money to buy some necessities like groceries, much less pay rent.

He tells this much to Mark when he asks why Jaemin decided to work at a gym straight after working at a pet shop, and also what his resume looks like for people to still be keen to hire someone like him. He completely evades the second question, happily confiding in his friend about the job at a gym he picked up a week after being fired from sending the fishes into a food coma.

(“…Too soon?”

“Yeah, maybe a little bit.”)

And when Mark asks how Jaemin’s day was as a conversation starter, he vulnerably confides in him about losing his job again. This time working at a gym, he was assigned the task of giving out flyers and talking to people about why they would benefit from going to the gym, according to the outline he was provided in this big binder, the corner of the cover peeling off with age. While he was trying to promote the gym and give the discount flyers, he got into a long-winded conversation with this one old man who was talking about how the treadmill ‘fucked his knee up’, which had Jaemin thinking if treadmills existed in the 1980s.

They were five minutes into Jaemin searching the creation of gyms on Naver and the old man scolding him for not listening to a customer even though he was ‘not yet a customer because you haven’t accepted the flyer, now have you?’ when his supervisor comes out and yanks on Jaemin’s ‘employee in training’ lanyard from around his neck. Jaemin wasn’t sure what factor was the tipping point, but Mark thinks it was because he was on his phone during work hours.

“Or maybe the fact that you were stuck talking to someone likely to be the last person to ever sign up to a gym?” Mark is spinning his pen as he says this, looking up from his laptop screen towards Jaemin. Mark doesn’t even write his notes by hand, so it’s truly beyond him why he’s brought a high-class fountain pen to their study session at Jaemin’s, but that should be the last of his worries.

“Actually, they did have yoga and treadmill training for those aged sixty-five and above, so I wasn’t even targeting the wrong market.”

“Are you saying you’ve been wrongfully fired?” Mark sports an amused smile at Jaemin as if he’s laughing along with his joke; but that’s the problem, he wasn’t joking.

“Don’t laugh at my demise,” Jaemin smacks Mark’s arm, and he would feel bad at the wince that the latter lets out if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of his brutal laugh-hitting habit five out of seven times in the past week. Mark slowly halts his laughing fit when he sees Jaemin sulking, suddenly turning soft.

“Alright, you know what, here,” Mark fishes out his wallet as he says this, twisting and turning his bag on Jaemin’s bed. He gives the latter 10,000 won, waving his hand out towards Jaemin’s window. “Go ahead and get some snacks, my treat. And get me the watermelon-flavoured ice cream too?”

Jaemin scoffs. “You’re only doing this because you’re too lazy to get it yourself.” Mark’s smile is sheepish.

“Well, do you have 10,000 won to spare?” That shuts Jaemin up, as he snatches the notes out of Mark’s hand with a glare.

“When I do get 10,000 won, I’m making you eat the note,” Mark’s laugh is nervous as Jaemin marches out.

The cold hold of the ice cream contrasts the warmth in Jaemin’s hand, as the walk back to his unit proves to be a good remedy for taking a mental break from studying, as he decides to take a long way back; partially because the walk through Central parks is nice, but mainly because he wants Mark’s ice cream to have melted into a gross mush when he gets back.

Walking through the park, the rustle of the plastic bag and the tree branches are the only sounds echoing throughout, with Jaemin swinging his arm leisurely. The park is a circle shapen thread of grass with benches and pathways swirling around it, adorned with a children's playground in one corner, and the park's famous Yoshino cherry tree sitting right in the middle of the whole scene. The walk from the ice cream store back to his unit, the long way, requires Jaemin to walk through the park and the line of stores and restaurants in company with the park’s facilities. For as long as he’s lived here, three out of four of the store slots have been busy with business and traffic; all but one.

Unit store 1279 is infamous for dooming local businesses whenever someone applies for its lease. Jaemin has seen two restaurants and at least three cafes open and close, all with varying reasons for closing; the landlord is a nightmare to deal with, a corner of the store leaks something green but only when no one pays attention, and lastly about how there’s a ghost that lingers near the back door, sending cold shivers down staff and patrons alike when they pass through the door.

Out of all these rumours, Jaemin truly has yet to see one of them be proven true, the landlord was friendly enough to send welcoming flowers when each business would open; and close. He was keen to feel the shiver of the ghost's presence course through his body when he visited two openings ago but to no avail.

However, the reason why he finds the store so intriguing today is related to neither of those rumours; right on the glass door of the supposed vacant spot is an estate-sealed sticker adorned with bold letters spelling out “SOLD”. Not leased, but sold, with just below the official sticker being a recruitment post, a single slip of the business's phone number flapping in the light breeze.

We are looking for part-time staff. Starting rate at 25,000 won per hour. No prior experience is required.

Jaemin shifts from one foot to another as he eyes the piece of A4 paper taped to the door. Isn't this fate? A store opening right near where he lives, willing to accept someone with no experience, and the last slip of number is left? All while Mark’s ice cream is melting in his bag. This is the universe's calling if he knows of any.

Jaemin paces around the living room while Shotaro sits on the couch, head tilting left and right to the opposite rhythm of Jaemin’s paces as he tries to look past his whizzing figure and to the TV. If Shotaro had even a single mean bone in his body, he would ever so kindly tell Jaemin to stop pacing and maybe instead stand in one place, if he’s comfortable to of course. But as far as Jaemin is aware, he flinches at the sight of a fly, and is much less able to hurt one, so, of course, he doesn’t tell Jaemin to stop obscuring his vision, and instead turns to look at him, ignoring his show.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Jaemin finally deflates, seeing this as an invitation to rant to his roommate. Plopping himself right next to Shotaro on the three-seated couch, he links their arms together by the elbow, needing something to ground himself.

“I wanna call this place and see if I can get a job, but I don’t know how to go about it; is there such a thing as a verbal resume?”

“You mean, an interview?” Shotaro provides, hand hovering slightly in the air as he contemplates patting Jaemin’s hand in comfort, but not for long as Jaemin separates them with a look of shock on his face.

“So that’s the word I was looking for?” He frowns to himself in contemplation, before sulking right back into Shotaro’s bicep. He doesn’t think they’ve passed the phases required to get this close to his former, but he’s too stressed about fucking up another job, and Shotaro seems to not mind this sort of interaction.

“If you find it so stressful to call them and have a phone interview, why don’t you send them a text?” Jaemin doesn’t know if this is truly coming from the goodness in his heart or if this is just something that everyone knows. Either way, the words put him at ease as he stands from the couch, patting Shotaro on the shoulder in thanks.

“You’re right! They didn’t specify their expectations; they just had phone number slips and a recruitment notice. You’re a genius Shotaro,” To that, the boy flushes with a shy smile on his face, but before Jaemin can hear him say something about how he didn’t do anything, and that he would love to help you even a little bit, Jaemin has headed off to his room and is curating a message to send.

To: +82 10-7854-4793

Hello, My name is Jaemin and I am interested in working in your establishment. When can I come in for an interview?

From: +82 10-7854-4793

Hello Jaemin. We are grateful for your enthusiasm, could you stop by next Thursday at 12 p.m at the Tao Village restaurant? Please bring a copy of your resume and provide a USB of a soft copy of said resume. We look forward to hearing from you.

To: Tao Village HR person (I think)

Yes I am available :) Thank you

Jaemin was not quite sure what is an appropriate outfit for when you want to be interviewed for a job as a waitress, but Shotaro’s eyes had dimmed just the slightest when he saw Jaemin step out of his room with jeans and a hoodie.

“Is that what you’re gonna wear?” His tone was far from condescending, even with the smile on his face, he looked more like a proud mom, but Jaemin could tell when his roommate may be slightly disappointed with a poor choice, so he had gone back and dressed up in some slacks he had and a polo shirt tucked in. he hopes he doesn’t see people he knows, or worse, Mark, because he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Now he’s situated in front of the store, the ‘sold’ sticker now nowhere to be seen and a light glow shining through from the glass door, but the sun shinning from outside obscures any other view Jaemin could peak from the inside, as he sees more of his own reflection instead. Hand clasped on a clear folder and a USB with his resume, he pats his head one last time before opening the door and stepping in.

He’s been inside this store a few times over the past few cafes and restaurants, and so he’s not surprised to be met with a whole new interior. On the contrary, he’s quite pleased with the choices that the current owner of the store has made, with the walls now an even slate with ivory-coloured paint instead of the rundown orange brick that the last restaurant had. There are tables and chairs fit for two, and a last one for six people uninformed from left to right, with a counter and a curtain obscuring what he assumes is the kitchen towards the end of the restaurant.

Jaemin was too enamoured with taking in the whole place that he had completely missed the mini counter situated a bit to his left, with you standing behind, confused as to why someone has came in to simply look at the interior design and not, well, the menu.

A clear of your throat startles Jaemin out of his daze, as he looks towards you with the initial look of annoyance before his expression melts.

She’s so pretty. What the fuck? Does she work here? Is this a needed requirement? Maybe Jaemin should’ve topped up with a bit of cologne or something to truly seal his spot, but before he could embarrass himself by very subtly going to smell his shirt, you start.

“Hi, welcome to Tao Village, how can I help you?” He’s not sure if you’re using a customer service voice on him but it proves to work as he immediately thinks of how sweet your voice sounds. But Jaemin doesn’t want you to think he’s a creep who follows pretty women around and ask for their number the minute they open their mouth (he was so, so, tempted to ask for yours), so he tries a better way to ease in.

“I need to…speak to your manager.” His strong voice startles you both, as your eyes widen a bit before you lean back from the counter, now wary.

‘Is…is everything okay? My manager is unavailable at the moment.” Your eyes flit back to the curtain, where Jaemin assumes the head of this whole place is at the moment. His brows furrow further as he looks down at his watch. Twelve p.m., on the dot like the person he had texted requested. There must be a mistake.

“No, I’m sure they’re here. Maybe somewhere at the back? I need to speak to them,” he’s not sure why he’s suddenly being so demanding (he suspects that it's the polo shirt he’s wearing) but he’s nervous and he doesn’t want to be rejected before he was even given a chance to prove himself.

“I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, sir,” You voice out, now leaning back with your hand situated on the ring button placed below the counter, in case of emergencies or to be able to call for backup from the back of the kitchen. You didn’t think that you’d use it this early, “Can I make it up to you or help you in any form?”

Before you get to ring the button or Jaemin gets to backtrack, the curtains pull back and out comes a man in his mid-twenties, wearing an apron and holding a… paintbrush?

“Is everything alright?” He drops the paintbrush into its respective tray before he steps closer towards the two of you. You point at a faint smear of paint that’s caught on his cheek, mentioning silently to rub it off. Still, when he gets the memo and goes to wipe it off, he ends up smearing it further into his skin, his expression not wavering from its seriousness. It’s when he does a one-over at Jaemin that it all clicks.

“Oh! You must be here for the interview.” He pats down on his apron as if checking his bearings. “Kun said he’ll be back by now; that’s alright, have a seat.” He offers one of the two-seater tables, as Jaemin shuffles his way onward to take a seat, plopping himself on the opposite side of who he assumes is the boss of this place, as he takes his apron off and goes to brush at his clothes, before taking a look at his stained hands and deciding otherwise.

“Thank you for coming, my name is Jaehyun and I’ll just give you a brief breakdown of this place,” Jaemin nods as he rubs his palms against his jeans, thinking about how much he truly knew about this job. Come to think of it, he has no clue what the job he’s applying for even entails, just that they need staff who don’t necessarily need any experience (Jaemin does have some experience, maybe not the right kind) and were willing to pay enough for him to be able to pay his rent and only eat instant noodles two times a week, instead of the standard eight.

“We’re called Tao Village, and we offer a range of Chinese cuisines. I run this place with Kun, who was the one that got in contact with you. Both he and I cook, so we’re always in the kitchen. I have my niece,” That’s when Jaehyun points at you, which you don’t hear as you set up cutlery on tables with your earphones in, completely tuned out. “But she needs help for when we get a bit busier, or when it’s closing time; I can’t stay back because I have to wake up early the next day for the stores' essentials. We can show you the ropes but so far I just need you to work from Friday till Sunday.” Jaemin does his best to listen and store the information, but he realises that Jaehyun’s waiting for his reply.

“Yes, that should be okay,” He gave a thumbs up and a tight-lipped smile, which he slowly brings down when he sees Jaehyun’s stare on his hand.

“Great,” Jaehyun claps, standing up and reaching for the apron he placed on his lap before wrapping it around himself. “Well, the official opening of this place is on Saturday. Come in on Friday and we’ll try to acquaint you with the basics.” With a clap on the shoulder and a grimace of a smile - can it even be considered one? - Jaehyun hands him a brochure-like menu of the restaurant, telling him that if he can memorise it as soon as possible it will be helpful.

You’re wiping down the counter when Jaemin stands to leave, and when he shoots you a barely-there smile, all you do is look away.

“You got another job?” Mark sounds surprised when he says this, and that puts Jaemin off, because, of course, he got another job.

“What was I supposed to do? Stay jobless and have Shotaro pay all the rent and food expenses?” Jaemin’s on laundry duty this week, and is being mindful of what colours are supposed to go together according to the laminated piece of paper Shotaro taped above the washing machine.

“Knowing him, he probably would offer to pay your uni fee too.” Mark tosses up a pair of bundled-up socks as he says this. “Wait, so where do you work now?”

“At the new restaurant, you know the haunted place just past the park?” Mark hums as he says this. “I’m a waitress, er, waiter there now. From Friday to Sunday. Which is good because I only have classes throughout the weekday.”

“And you barely get invited out during the weekends anyways,” Mark snickers as he says this, but misses catching the sock as Jaemin grabs a pair of used underwear and throws it directly at the boy, barely missing the undergarment as he looks at him wide-eyed. Words of ‘ew dude’ and ‘that’s gross’ goes into one ear and out the other as he picks the briefs back up and shoves them in the washing machine, closing its door and starting it off.

“Well, I have a good feeling about it this time,”

“Are you gonna blame the ghost for your- wait, did you put any detergent in?”

“ …Does it not come with detergent already?”

Jaemin picks a lint off of his shoulder, before smoothing his hand down his shirt and his pants next. He was told to wear an all-black attire, not sweatpants or hoods, so he stuck with a simple t-shirt and some black jeans. He doesn’t know why he’s exceptionally nervous this time when all the other times he was only caught praying to last more than a weeks worth of paycheck. For some reason, he’s not keen on crossing his boss this time - Jaehyun seems scary.

Stepping forward, his hands find the handle and with one deep breath, he pushes the door. Except it doesn’t budge.

He steps back and looks through the glass of the door, seeing if anyone is inside. When he doesn’t find anyone, he pushes once more, and one more time with all his body weight; yet it doesn’t budge.

“I swear they asked me to come in at four,” He fishes his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time while his face stays squished against the door. Not even a second later, he hears the click of the door unlocking, and before his reflex could take over and help him step back, he’s launched forward and onto the ground.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Why would you cling to the door like that?” Your voice reaches his ears as he’s situated on the floor, and he then realises that his fingers were latched onto the door handle when you pulled the door to let him in.

Your slack-covered knees come into his vision first, before your face enters his view, albeit upside down.

“You didn’t get a concussion from that alone, did you?” Sounding so serious, Jaemin couldn’t help but laugh slightly at your words as he pushes himself up to his elbows, brushing at his shirt before inspecting it for any dirt. So much for looking wanting to look presentable.

“Jaehyun’s not here yet, and Kun’s stepped out just then,” Jaemin realises this is the most he’s heard you speak since the first time he’s seen you, as he sees your standing figure reaches a hand out to him, offering to help him up. He gladly accepts it, but is mindful to not pull all his weight.

“Oh,” Is all he can muster, now sheepish at the fact that your second impression of him is not any better than the first. His eyes scan around the place as he finds new additions since last week, such as a few ink-wash paintings on the wall and paper lanterns lining down the ceiling instead of the LED lamps that Jaemin saw last. Even the staff counter looks more lived in compared to the glimpse he caught before, with what looks like a brand new electric kettle and two mugs with silicone lids, one with a peach and another with a bear as their handles.

Not knowing what else to say, his eyes seek yours for any sort of initiative; hoping that you will catch his gaze and give a smile, all while explaining to him the in’s and out of this place, like how should he take orders, if there’s a particular way to fold the tissues that are placed on the tables, and if the Fujian fried rice of this restaurant is the one with or without pumpkin. Simple details.

But you all but look back at him, instead you drop your gaze away from him entirely and go to the staff counter at the back of the restaurant, picking up and taking a look at the kettle before you go behind the curtains that lead to the kitchen, out of Jaemin’s sight. He’s not sure if he’s even allowed there as a rookie staff, so he doesn’t play with his luck and instead trudges behind the counter at the door. After a few minutes of poking and prodding at things like the card reader and a pen cup, the front door swings open and in comes a tall man with red hair, holding plastic bags full of an assortment of things from food to cutlery.

“Oh, you must be Jaemin,” Jaemin straightens his back at the mention of his name, nodding his head and bowing in lieu of a greeting. The man trudges through the restaurant, the bursting plastic bags bumping into the chairs every now and then, and not long after the door swings open once more to reveal Jaehyun.

“Jaemin! You’re,” He gives his watch a glance, “On time! How pleasant, come, have you met Kun? Let’s go into the kitchen first.” Jaehyun manages to say this all with an expressionless face, but Jaemin does not feel like he’s being condescending, following his now-boss silently through the restaurant, past the main staff counter and the curtains and into the kitchen. Boxes are perched on the metal counters of the restaurant’s kitchen, filled with what Jaemin guesses are the containers for the ingredients of the dishes, and some restaurant plates, as well as takeaway boxes and bags. You’re taking out the abundance of takeaway container lids from boxes that take up two-thirds of your height, stocking them up on the top shelf.

“Kun, have you met Jaemin? I’m not sure we’ve given him a proper tour of the place,” Jaemin doesn’t think he’s gotten any sort of tour of the whole place, so all he does is politely shake his head.

Kun grunts as he places another big box next to your unpacking figure, the impact of it barely making you flinch. He looks at Jaehyun before his gaze falls on Jaemin, and with a smile and a wave of his hand, he goes through the backdoor of the kitchen without looking back.

Jaemin is guided through the whole place, with Kun showing him the storage room and the cold room, which conveniently has a sliding door; the singular bathroom of the whole place, and the main part of the restaurant.

“You don’t need to prepare much for tomorrow, it says in your resume that you’ve worked in a lot of places for short amounts of time, which gives me the impression that you can pick up traits easily,” Jaemin delivers a stiff smile as he feels Kun clasp a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Me and Jaehyun will just tell you the way we work, but first I need you to help with the unpacking. Any questions?”

Jaemin nods his head, taking the chance to now ask his burning question. “Will I get paid for today?”

Kun just laughs and pats him twice on the shoulder, shaking his head and heading to the kitchen, shoulders bunching up now and then.

Tasked with the job of organising the cutlery, Jaemin places the metal spoons and forks into the cutlery tray placed next to the plates and bowls for setting up the tables. You’re here too, wiping down the window and the glass door, emitting any sort of stain. Jaemin tries his best to not let his gaze wander on for too long, wanting to be in your good books. From what it seems, you seem just as important as both Kun and Jaehyun, so he doesn’t want to risk doing anything wrong, or piss you off. He also thinks you’re really pretty and would like to ask you out, but that’s beside the point.

It’s when you’re getting up from wiping the bottom of the window when you hear the clatter of plastic. Turning around, your eyes widen when you see Jaemin and the plastic forks he was supposed to put away at his feet.

“I…” There goes Jaemin’s one and only chance. He isn’t even being paid for this and he’s gonna get fired, right in front of the person he was trying to rizz up, too. Before he can say anymore and save his reputation, you whizz past him and into the kitchen, the curtains flying around you but you’re mindful enough to shut them back, not letting the sight of Jaemin with a bunch of forks splayed around him like he’s being sacrificed to the fast-food culinary Gods. He hears Kun and Jaehyun’s voices coming through the curtains, variations of them asking if everything is alright, to which you answer with the clutter of pots and pans.

Coming back with a big metal bowl, Jaemin’s eyes widen as you kneel — for the second time today — at his legs, picking up the forks frantically and placing them in the metal basin.

“Are you gonna help?”

And now he’s on his knees too. Scooping up the forks and placing them in the bowl, once every single fork is off the floor, you rush towards the undermount sink at the corner of the staff counter just as footsteps echo from the kitchen and Jaheyun’s figure emerges.

“Is everything good?” Jaemin feels paralysed, unable to decipher anything since the doom he felt spilling all the single-use forks onto the floor.

“Yup,” You answer nonchalantly, filling up the basin full of forks with water and a few drops of dish soap. “Just thought to rinse these clean first before…” You pause for a second as you look at Jaemin, before trailing your gaze to Jaehyun with a smile. “Before Jaemin organises them.”

Jaehyun simply nods his head before he trudges back to the kitchen, and Jaemin barely gets to utter a ‘thank you’ before you walk past him and into the kitchen.

“So she just helped you? That simply?” Jaemin’s smile is all but smug, as he cracks open his beer and clinks it against Marks, both taking generous sips.

“What can I say? I charmed her with my natural skills,”

“The natural skills of messing things up,” Mark scoffs at him before leaning over to get a piece of fried chicken out of the takeout box. “She probably pitied you for making a rookie mistake.” He starts munching on the chicken and hums in delight, following it with a sip of his beer. Jaemin reaches to pick up a pickled radish.

“Well, rookie mistake or not, she likes me enough to help me. You should come to work tomorrow for the grand opening, and while you’re at it bring everyone else too; I swear she doesn’t even like people,” Mark laughs in delight at Jaemin’s invitation, promising to come up with something.

Mouth full, he asks, “How long do you think you’ll last?”

“Swallow your fucking food first before jetting all your spit at me dude,”

In the same black polo shirt, Jaemin steps in at noon, just like his boss number one (Kun) asked him to, while boss number two (Jaehyun) had emphasised that calling him this early is to ease him in easier into the culinary business. Jaemin doesn’t mind, he’s just glad that he’s being paid for today's work.

He greets you with a wave as soon as he gets in, to which you wave back before going to the kitchen and announcing his presence.

“Jaemin’s here now,” You come back out and stand at the staff counter, taking the kettle and filling it up with water to boil. Going behind the counter, he places his phone and earbuds into his pocket, remembering that they were prohibited unless he’s on his break. Once the water is boiled, you pour it into the two mugs Jaemin remembers seeing yesterday, before putting it back on its stand and taking the mugs back into the kitchen.

Jaemin simply fiddles around, not knowing what to do. It looks like his presence on Friday was needed to set things up, but now that it’s all done, he can only wait for a customer to walk or call in, or either one of you to give him a command; he’s weary this time ‘round to not fuck anything up.

Coming back out right behind Kun, you busy yourself at the counter next to the door while Kun comes up to Jaemin, patting him on the back.

“Don’t worry about doing much today, it’s just a soft opening and not a lot of people know about our business anyways. I’m just expecting maybe two or three takeaway orders and just a handful of tables. This could be a good chance for you to bond with each other, yeah?” But before Jaemin could take in the fact that Kun had wanted some sort of bonding to happen, his mind got caught on the words ‘soft opening’.

“Wait, so today’s only the …soft opening.” Careful with his tone, Jaemin tries to make it sound like he’s just restating a fact rather than being surprised. Kun is too busy drinking from his hot water to notice Jaemin’s nervous front.

“Yup, Jaehyun and I decided it would be best to have a grand opening maybe after we got to test the waters out.” He places the silicon lid with the bear cover back on his cup to retain the heat, and Jaemin really can’t help but feel like something bad is brewing. But before he could even voice out a word, the door to the restaurant opens with a bell resounding, and in swarm a pack of ten or so customers, and a blob that looks like Mark.

“Yoo, this place is quite neat,” Apparently it talks like Mark too.

Both shocked still with wide eyes, trying to make sense of where and how this many people all came together into the restaurant just minutes after the soft opening, Jaemin just hopes that nothing about Mark and what seems like a club he gathered from the university can be somehow linked back to him. It doesn’t seem like the universe is keen on taking his side, however, as he sees Mark’s eyes squint and searches around the restaurant, knowingly searching for him. Jaemin doesn’t know why he hasn’t tried looking at where the general staff area would be, like at the door or where he’s currently situated, but before he could duck to hide or face his impending doom, you miraculously step in.

“Hello, welcome to Tao Village, how can I help you?” You sport a kind but mute smile, hands clasped together politely.

“Yeah, can I have, like, a table or something?”

“Sure, for how many people?”

“Ooh! Good question… I think there’s like, ten of us at the moment.”

“Is it alright if I were to ask you to sit separately? Since you’re walking in, we didn’t have the opportunity to set up. Just in two groups of three and one table for four maybe?” Jaemin doesn’t know how you do it, but his shoulders sag when Mark gives you a thumbs up, going back to the group of people all loitering around the entrance, telling them that they will just break into subunits.

Kun has somehow slipped away without any notice, which left just Jaemin behind the counter for you to encounter when you head towards the bottled water in the fridge. “Can you help me with the water? I’ll take their orders and you can just follow along first,” With a nod of his head, you press the bottle into his hands, waving him off as you reach for a server notepad, writing down table numbers and heading to the tables.

With your presence and the two chefs busy in the kitchen, Jaemin doesn’t do much but avoid eye contact with Mark and listen to you pick up the scarce phone orders that come through; trying his best to learn how to pick up such skill. After the third time of the phone ringing and Jaemin staying in place, simply looking at you to pick up the phone, you pick it up and press the answer button, before pressing it against his ear and giving an encouraging nod.

It turns out to be a scam call, with the person on the other end attempting to sell Jaemin a double-doored fridge with a touch screen and dual ice and water dispenser, all while Jaemin tries to promote the restaurant.

“With the dual dispenser, you can fill your glass up with both water and ice at the same time so your water doesn’t go too cold on the first si-“

“The mapo tofu is a great dish to order, as tofu proves to be a primary source of iron, easily accessible and cheap with the rising price of meat.”

“…It’s a Samsung model which has been on limited release—“

“Do you want the food or not?”

(The telemarketer hesitates just a bit before stating that they’ll call another time.)

Nothing else happens, you two go to the kitchen whenever a sound of the bell ringing resounds, signalling that a dish is ready to be served, and Jaemin uses all of his brain power and logic skills to pick up dishes that are for tables that Mark isn't seated at.

He successfully gets to do all that is required of him and stealthily avoids Mark, silently celebrating as he sees you place fortune cookies at every table, signalling that it’s time for them to pay the bill and leave.

But of course, nothing good ever lasts.

“Jaemin, bro,” Mark must’ve been some assassin in his past life because Jaemin barely notices him creeping up to him until he’s already wrapped in a handshake and a bro hug. “Well done dude, you barely made a mistake today. Yo, the food was good too, you should bring back some of the Mongolian lambs every now and then, yeah? I’ll see you later,” And with two claps on his back, he’s fishing his pockets for spare change as he heads towards the front counter and near the door, finding a singular coin before placing it in your palm, smiling as if he’s single-handedly pulled you out of poverty.

“Your friend?” You murmur towards him, looking at the coin in distaste.

“Yeah, unfortunately so.”

“I can’t do it,” Jaemin is shaking his head and hands vehemently; making him feel even more sick than he was.

You roll your eyes at him, holding the restaurant's phone in your hand. “You have to start somewhere, you can’t just avoid it now and expect to be miraculously good one day. I swear once you learn how to pick up phone orders you’ll only want to do that.” You explain, before putting your free hand out, palm facing up, encouraging Jaemin to do the same. Once he follows, not without a lot of hesitation, of course, you gently place the phone in his hand, closing his fingers around it with two hands before giving it a light pat.

“Now,” You pick up Jaehyun's phone that's placed on the counter, dialling the restaurant's number before placing yourself on the other side of the restaurant to cease any echoes. “I’m gonna call and act like a customer, you try writing down the order details.” With a nod of his head, you press the dial and turn the other way around, opting to look away to make Jaemin less nervous.

With a deep breath in, he picks up. “Hi, welcome to Tao Village,” He pauses, looking at you for any sign of motivation, but continues when he notices you waiting. “What would you like to order?”

“Jaemin,” Your voice sounds in the dining area and not through the phone, as you turn slightly to look at him with the phone tucked into your chest. “Some customers might not order food straight away. Maybe try asking how you can be of assistance,”

“Hello, welcome to Tao Village restaurant. Uh, how can I help?” Jaemin tries again, to which you reply with a bunch of dish names, asking for the different types of sauces that come with the mixed vegetables, as he tries his best to answer with what he remembers and writes down the prices of each dish from the takeaway menu.

“Uh, okay. Is that, did you want anything else?”

“Nope, I’m good. What's the total?” Jaemin fumbles with the calculator, shoulders hunched over the counter, punching in the numbers and writing down the total on the piece of paper. “That would be around 38,000 won.”

“Are you sure?” This time your voice is right by his ear without the phone pressed against it, your arm brushing against his side. Jaemin doesn’t even have the time to be scared, distracted by the proximity of you two as you reach over and use the calculator.

“It came up to 42,000 won. Did you forget to calculate the buns?”

“Oh,” Jaemin splutters. “Maybe, my bad.” Although this all sounds so new to Jaemin, he doesn’t feel as overwhelmed as he thought he would; with every other job he had, there would be someone assigned to help Jaemin understand the ropes of the place, but everyone else would add something on too, like how folding clothes the ‘Marie Kondo way’ was is even more efficient, even if that defeats the whole purpose of displaying a t-shirt at a department store.

You coach him through the quirks one by one, not moving on until Jaemin shows that he’s somewhat picked up the action. It all feels like a dream come true, with you guiding him as if you know that he couldn’t last a week into his job without actually knowing that. He’s just not sure how effective it will be in the long run. And it turns out that he doesn’t need to wait long to find out, as the ringing of the phone echoes in the restaurant devoid of any noise except for the soft piano background music.

Nodding your head at him, Jaemin picks up the phone and only hesitates for half a ring before he presses accept, bringing the phone to his ear and repeating the welcome phrase. It all goes well, with the customer asking if they can make a phone order for pick up, to which Jaemin replies ‘Why yes, of course you may’, and the sound of a car door closing sounds through the phones speakers, and suddenly the quality of the customers' voice sounds like hot garbage as their phone connects to their cars’ bluetooth.

“Sorry, did you say you wanted mixed vegetables in rooster sauce? Sorry, we don’t offer— oh. Oyster sauce. Yup,” You look at him with a confused look on your face, curious as to why Jaemin can’t understand the person when everything was good. The furrow of your eyebrows and the scratching sound from the phone sets Jaemin off, as the customer mutters something about ‘how many times do I have to repeat myself?’.

Jaemin writes down what he can understand, writing down the name ‘Kai’ and giving the customer the estimated waiting time, before hanging up the phone.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” You give him a pat on the shoulder, taking the slip of paper from his hand, wincing as you take a look at the scribbles writing of the dish names and their prices. “It’ll just go up from here. Hey, tell you what, why don’t you try remembering the ingredients of our fried rice, and see if you can differentiate between which one is the normal one and the special one without looking at the names, yeah? I’ll go help set up the ingredients for cooking these dishes,” And with one last tap, you disappear behind the curtains, taking a pen with you and correcting the mistakes before providing it to the two chefs.

You’re busy talking at a table of customers when the door swings open and in walks a customer, which leaves Jaemin to tend to them instead. With a customer service smile, he clears his throat and greets them.

“How can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m here to pick up an order. Under the name Kim I think? Sorry, I didn’t place the order but my dad did.” The woman scrolls through her phone as she says this, looking at what Jaemin guesses to be an exchange of texts between her and her dad. He ducks a bit to look at the dock under the table, where all the takeaways are brought and placed with the order slip attached to them with a piece of tape. He sees one with the name Kim and picks it up, removing the attached slip and placing it on top of the counter while the lady reaches for her wallet.

“Okay, uh, did you order the sweet and sour pork, with a large fried rice?” Jaemin reads off the food, a procedure you emphasised was important when dealing with takeaway orders. The lady nods, impatient as she swings her card around. He looks at the price at the end of the paper before punching it into the machine. Once the transaction goes through successfully and a receipt is printed, the woman quickly snatches the handle of the takeaway plastic bag and nods her head goodbye. Jaemin senses that something is wrong, off maybe even, and so he looks at the copy of the receipt and the contents of the order slip, looking at the other orders waiting at the dock and their contents and seeing that they all match their slips, and so with a shrug, he sets off to go back to the staff counter.

It isn’t until ten minutes pass that his wrongdoing was confirmed, as you call for his name from across the restaurant while sifting through the takeaway orders, a customer patiently looking over to see your interaction. He pulls up beside you, squatting down eye-level to the dock like you are before he whispers, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Where is the order for Kim? The one with the fried rice and sweet and sour pork? I remember bringing it here when it was packed at the back.” Jaemin feels his blood run cold at the mention of the order, a clear replay of his interaction with the woman coming in full blast.

“Oh… that…” At this, you pause your search and look at Jaemin, whose breath hitches at the short distance between your faces, courtesy of your crouched figures. You close your eyes, breathing in deeply to calm your nerves, before straightening up at lightning speed, knocking Jaemin over and onto the ground with an ‘oof’.

“Your order is still not ready yet, sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll go and check up on the progress, did you want to take a seat while you wait?” You smile at the customer, who nods back and says something about not minding the wait. You walk over Jaemin’s bent knees on the ground, going past him and into the kitchen.

He picks himself up quickly, making brief eye contact with the customer before looking at the curtains which you walked into. He’s doomed, you’re gonna tell Jaehyun and Kun about the mistake you made, and they’re gonna come out mad with their sleeves pulled up, ready to beat the shit out of him. He should’ve taken the self-defence class his mom recommended to him when he was twelve, maybe then he could do something to make the pain afterwards not hurt as much.

But before he could think about running out of the place with the bowl of fortune cookies (compensation for the beating that is due… possibly), you come back out, heading for the sink and filling up a glass of water while you place it on the table that the real Kim sits at.

“Shouldn’t be too long, they’re just finishing up on the sweet and sour pork. Here some water while you wait.” And now Jaemin is confused. He’s still on the floor of the restaurant with his brows furrowed and mouth hung open as if he’s gonna start throwing a temper tantrum. Your eyes widen ever so slightly when you catch a glimpse of him still on the ground where you left him, but your professionalism pushes through as you widen the smile on your face with a hum, before shuffling away towards his direction when the customer looks away. Pulling him up, Jaemin is only able to offer you a few murmurs of random words to voice his confusion.

“They’re making a new batch, I figured that someone provided a similar name and didn’t know the order details, which is why they accepted it. Don’t worry, they don’t know that you mixed it up,” Jaemin feels a sense of relief wash over him, looking at you with what he knows to be his puppy eyes; you make sure to look away.

“Isn’t it like, against the rules to not tell them?”

“Well, if you like rules so much, you can go ahead and take this takeaway order to the back and confess. Or you can split its payment with me and take what you like home. While you decide what to do, I’ll call the customer you gave the wrong order to and offer some apology coupon.” If it was professional to, Jaemin would give you the biggest head; but unfortunately, this isn’t the film industry, and so he sticks to the next best thing, which is to just look at you longingly.

In hindsight, five weeks have passed and Jaemin is still an employee of Tao Village, surpassing his longest streak of two weeks and five days at the retail store. Which calls for a celebration.

“To Jaemin,” Shotaro opens a can of beer with one hand, which truly impresses Jaemin, because he didn’t think that he knew what alcohol was, let alone drink it. “Who can finally pay his half of the rent on time,”

“You’re too nice, Shotaro,” Mark clinks his can against his and Jaemin’s at the toast, taking a sip. “I would’ve kicked him out as soon as he somehow disconnected the house's water system. You guys had to shower at the campus locker rooms for a week.”

Shotaro simply laughs as Jaemin lunges at Mark. “You don’t even live here, why do you keep coming? You should pay rent at this point too, fucker,”

Mark shoves at Jaemin’s face, which was really close to biting his shoulder, effectively avoiding a months-long bruise. He scooches away on the couch, leaning against the handle and sipping his beer. Jaemin picks up a piece of takeaway fried chicken, and it’s with his mouthful when Shotaro asks how he’s liking the place.

“It’s okay, it’s not too busy since it just opened and no one really knows of its existence. Except for when Mark brought a shitton of people on its soft opening day,”

“You told me it was the gran-”

“Anyway, thankfully I didn’t get into trouble for that. But I was close all the other times…”

Mark snorts while Shotaro mumbles something about how well Jaemin is doing. “What, did you do all the cliche mistakes?”

“Define cliche,” Jaemin speaks after taking another bite of the chicken, making Mark kick at his thigh lightly. “Like, did you spill red wine on a customer? Or break a plate, or write down the wrong order. You know, restaurant waiter cliches.” Jaemin ponders for a second at this, thinking back to his five weeks of employment at the place.

“Not quite…” He tilts his head in thought, but before he could follow it up with anything, Shotaro and Mark clink their drinks together from opposite sides of the couch.

“Then that means you’ve finally healed! Let’s celebrate while we can,” Mark and Shotaro both chug at their drinks, and Jaemin would be ecstatic to join if it weren’t for the fact that it’s only three pm in the afternoon. But also because he doesn’t think he can celebrate yet.

“Shotaro, did you know about this person Jaemin’s working with as well? He has a massive boner for her but like, they barely interact.” Shotaro chuckles at this, glancing at Jaemin whose face is now red as he stumbles for an excuse.

“She must be really nice if you like her; does she help you around a lot?” Shotaro questions, making Jaemin flush even more.

“If only you knew,”

He picks up a carton of Sprite from the ground of the cold room, goosebumps erupt all over his forearms as Jaemin hurries out of the place, closing the door shut with his foot. Shuffling past the two chefs cooking and back into the dining area, he briefly searches for you before he finds you at the basin at the staff counter, washing the used cups.

“I brought the carton,” He announces, making you turn around.

“Thanks, do you mind placing it here? You can open the carton but be careful when you put it at the edge, it can spill out.” Your fingers are covered in sud as you point at the counter next to you. With a nod of his head, he perches the carton on the counter, half of it hanging out with the cluster of items placed, not providing enough room. As he gently prods open the cardboard packaging, he glances at you, back facing him as you lather the cups in soap one by one. Before he could continue with his task with his newfound motivation (your existence), you lean over and open the door to the mini glasswasher, backing up against him as you place the cups in.

He averts his gaze quickly, eyes wide from seeing you bend over like that, not wanting to lose his feminist streak from letting his mind wander so easily. As he continues to prod at the Sprite container, he feels the briefest brush of your legs against his, and he completely splutters, accidentally hooking his finger at the opening of the carton and ripping it open, making all the cans stacked against each other topple out and over the edge of the counter, one by one making an impact with the floor.

With a screech and a poor attempt of stopping the cans in motion, he squats to make it to the cans before they fully fall to the floor. But it seems like, yet again, the universe is not on his side, because not only does he fail to catch most of the descending drinks, the bridge of his nose makes contact with the edge of the counter, making him join the cans on the floor.

“Oh my god,” You’re shocked by the view in front of you, like some sort of twisted Renaissance painting. You reach down, and just as Jaemin is about to tell you not to worry about him, and that he can just die a beautiful death with the cans surrounding him, you pick up the fallen cans, inspecting them for any damage.

“You’re lucky none of these popped open, the floor would be sticky for days,” You mutter as you place the cans back on top of the counter, separating the ones that turned out fine and the dented ones. All the while Jaemin lies there, his nose throbbing, contemplating how he’s lasted here so far.

“Aren’t you gonna tell them?” He closes his eyes as he gently presses his cold fingers against his nose bridge, soothing the pain. The answer seems to be an obvious ‘yes’ if your lack of reply is anything to go by. A few seconds pass and he feels the cold contact of a can replacing where his hands were on his features, and when he opens his eyes, he sees your face above his, inspecting him.

“What is there to say? That you’re on the ground fighting against a nosebleed?” You taunt, removing the can and inspecting the spot with the gentle press of your fingers. Grabbing his hand and opening his palm, you place the dented can you used gesturing to his face.

“You can drink it once you’re done, they won’t notice,” Jaemin sits up as you say this, bringing the can up to his nose, pressing the cold against it as he watches you go back to turning on the machine and walking away, tending to other restaurant responsibilities.

Notepad and pen in hand, Jaemin walks to the table that raised their hand at him and delivers his best customer service smile. “Hello, welcome back to Tao. Would you like to order?” You had given Jaemin the heads up to look after this table exclusively.

“They’re this group of ladies that have nothing to do but spend their significant others’ money. They come like, almost every second day; something about wanting to support local businesses. And they give generous tips. No one does that.” You sigh. “I wish I had that much free time.”

The women smile at him, seemingly charmed. Jaemin knows the power he holds, and he also knows that if he bunches up his cheeks just right, he can have any woman over the age of fifty want to pinch them.

“What a charismatic boy,” one of them comments, and he blinks his eyes and tilts his head, smile still on his face feeling just slightly strained as he politely rejects the compliment, feigning humility.

“Okay, well can we start our entrees with a set of fried dim sims and spring rolls, and for the main course we’ll have the mapo tofu, fried rice— did you say you wanted Hokkien mee? One of those too please, and a serving of mixed vegetables with oyster sauce and chicken chow mien. No mushrooms for either, please. And for drinks, we’ll just have three tsingtao’s and one glass of Shiraz.” The woman drones, and Jaemin has a bit of difficulty catching up and writing down all the dishes she’s named, and so he repeats it all back once it’s done; a practice heavily encouraged by you.

When Jaemin finishes listing the dishes back and receives four nodding heads, he smiles in thanks and head’s to the kitchen, yelling out ‘New order!’ for the chefs to be aware of. Coming back out and placing a copy of the notepad at the staff counter, his smile turns genuine when he sees you, showcasing two thumbs up.

Now bashful, he says “I think I’ve replaced you as ‘favourite waiter’ now.” His smile is cheeky as he says this, with you rolling your eyes, pointing at the fridge near the counter instead. “Stop spewing bullshit and get the drinks ready. I’ll write down the prices of each dish.” With a salute and nod of his head, he goes to fetch the drinks from the fridge and the bottle of red wine nearby, as well as an empty wine glass. Preparing the drinks, your shoulders brush against each other in the tight space of the staff counter, with you looking back and forth between the menu and the order slip. Jaemin misses when your eyebrows furrow together, inspecting the slip for something.

“Uhm, Jaemin,” He hums back in response, eyes still focused on pouring no more than one standard drink of the wine. “Did you tell the kitchen that this is the table with a mushroom allergy?”

Jaemin’s heart drops to his ass.

His posture straightens immediately, vision zeroing in on the table he just took the order of, as his head slowly turns to you, a million thoughts run around in his head. With the expression he sports, you quickly grab a pen and a highlighter, running back into the kitchen as quickly as possible. Scanning the restaurant, when he sees all the customers occupied, he slowly slips away and into the kitchen, leaving them unattended to somehow save his ass, and from a possible murder case.

“—do you mean there’s a mushroom allergy? And why did none of you tell us? Of course the mixed vegetables and chow mien have vegetables in them.” Kun speaks as he cooks on the wok, lifting it every now and then as the clang of his wok’s spatula echoes out, mixing around the satay chicken.

“He wrote it down but just forgot to say it out loud,” You bluff, pointing at the copy of the slip that Jaemin brought back into the kitchen, now adorning the words ‘NO MUSHROOM’ in bold, highlighted letters at the top. Your other hand is clasped behind your back, holding the pen and highlighter. Jaehyun momentarily stops making his fried rice, coming up to the counter, and looking at you over it before snatching the slip, his aggressive manner making Jaemin wince slightly.

With a poor squint of his eyes, you and Jaemin wait with bated breaths for him to somehow finish reading the two words. When his eyes stop squinting, he spares a look at both you and Jaemin, placing the slip back down onto the counter before reaching into the bowl containing the ingredients for the dishes, fishing out the mushrooms and putting them back from where he originally picked them up, waving you both off. And you barely waste any time, muttering a sorry and going towards the curtains, pushing Jaemin out with you.

“Sorry. Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say, looking at you while you ignore his gaze so close to your face, centring him back to the staff counter. You shake your head and hand at him as if to say that he has nothing to be sorry about.

“Mistakes happen. Now can you put the puppy eyes away? We have a new customer to serve.”

“I’m not that stupid to bel— Hi, welcome to Tao Village. How can I help you?”

“Jaemin, do you think you could give the Chardonnay to table three? It’s for the man with the glasses,” You ask as you calculate the total of a takeaway order you just took, glancing at him to see if he’s available.

“Sure,” It turns out that you’ve already set out the glass and the bottle, as he opens the cap and pours it in, before taking a tray and placing the glass on it. You’ve taught him a few times to hold the tray with one hand, but he’s taking it slow and only using a single hand with drinks and sauces that he’s asked to deliver, not wanting to be too ambitious. Balancing it, he eyes for table number three and said man with glasses, strategically planning to swiftly arrive and deliver the drink.

As he waltz’s his way through, with his vision zeroed in on the customer, he completely misses the lady at the table before wanting to get out of her chair, completely skidding it across the floor and making an impact on Jaemin’s side.

Everything is suddenly carried out in slow motion, as he sees the fright on the woman's face, the tilt of his body and tray towards the customer settled on the table, the white wine toppling over the rim of the glass. If he retains his focus, maybe he can slow-mo recover and balance himself, only causing the wine to spill on the ground and maybe himself. He is willing to sacrifice his (Shotaro’s) black t-shirt.

Then he blinks.

A groan echoes and silent gasps are spilt, as he opens his eyes and sees first the man drenched in white wine, and Jaemin’s hand on his arm, balancing himself. Before he could even separate himself and apologise profusely, he is suddenly grabbed by the collar, and in his head, he’s already commemorating the lovely memories he’s made here with you and mourns how quickly he has to abandon the delusion that you two will end up together.

With one eye squeezed close, he’s not sure if it’s better to expect a punch or a slap against his face, but before he can anticipate either, he hears someone say “Excuse me, sir,”

“What do you want,” The man snarls at you, as you make eye contact with him, a silent customer-service-smile sported on your face as always.

“Apologies sir, but we don’t accept this sort of behaviour in our restaurant. Violence is not part of our values. I do ask of you to let out staff member go, you’re scaring him.” Jaemin can’t help but nod his head at the man, who glares at him before letting him go and jamming a finger into Jaemin’s chest.

“This boy spilt my drink all over me, how is that a part of your values?” He yells, making Jaemin wince at the loud volume, but you merely blink, stepping forward and closer to the customer, lowering your voice in an attempt to get him to soften his, too.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience caused sir, but this sort of behaviour is not tolerated. If you would allow our staff to apologise and we’ll-”

The customer scoffs, “Apologise? An apology isn’t gonna fix the stain caused on my shirt. Isn’t the customer always right? Who the fuck are you to speak to me like this,” He shoves you at your shoulder as he says this, causing you to stumble back into Jaemin’s figure, whose arms shoot out and hold you by the waist.

The curtains leading to the kitchen skid aside, and out steps Jaehyun. It all feels so dramatic if Jaemin were to look at it from a perspective of an outsider, as Jaehyun walks over to you three, his figure looming over all of you.

His smile is blinding, dimples forming on both his cheeks as he clasps his hands together. “Out,” Is all he says, hand now facing the door of the restaurant.

The man blanches. “But—”

Jaehyun merely shakes his head in a stern manner, smile suddenly dropping, pursing his lips as if taunting a child. Without making contact with the customer, he guides him gently towards the door, before the man gets the memo and stomps his way out. Jaehyun turns to the remaining customers at the table, providing a formal apology and confiding in them that they simply don’t tolerate this sort of behaviour towards their staff.

“Would you like to pack away your remaining food? You can pay at the counter just at the front, thank you for your understanding and apologies for the inconvenience,” And with that, he steps back into the kitchen, curtains shutting close as if they barely jostled. As you and Jaemin pick up the plates and pack the food into takeaway containers, Jaemin slowly approaches you, his arm brushing against yours.

“Are you okay,” He asks, voice solemn. It never feels nice to get yelled at by a customer, Jaemin’s just used to it, but he forgets that it can take a toll on different people.

Your smile is shy, barely looking in his direction as you click to close the lid of the container, grabbing both of your containers before placing them in a takeaway bag. “Yeah, I’m okay.” without a second glance, you walk to the front counter, giving the bag to the customer as well as the receipt.

“Can you two close up? Kun and I have to get up early tomorrow to make it to the fish market before the good quality scallops all sell out.” Jaehyun says this later in the day, as he folds his apron and places it on the staff counter. “I’ve already mopped the back. Do you have the keys?” He looks at you as he says this, to which you nod and give a thumbs up. With a nod of his head, he goes through the back door of the restaurant, leaving you two alone. Jaemin mops as you wipe the tables clean, preparing them to be set up once again tomorrow. Silence engulfs you two, with the only sounds being the slosh of the mop in the bucket and the scrape of chairs as you manoeuvre around them.

Jaemin decides that this is a good time to speak up. “Thank you for doing that,” He continues pumping the mop into the drainer part of the bucket, removing all excess water before plopping it back down. “I wouldn’t have minded if he had smacked me,” At this you laugh, cheeks bunching up cutely making Jaemin’s heart flutter.

“Did you want him to smack you?” You look into his eyes this time, the lights of the restaurant reflecting in your iris’. Jaemin thinks he could get used to this.

“Are you kink-shaming me? I doubt that’s allowed within the Tao VIllage values,”

“I’m not too sure. Hey, why don't we talk to the boss about it tomorrow?”

Jaemin’s grin is cheshire-like, “Wouldn't be the worst conversation I’d have,” At that you raise an eyebrow, to which he throws a wink. A comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, as you continue with your tasks, working around one another and you avoid the places Jaemin has freshly mopped while he manoeuvres himself around you.

It’s when you’re outside of the place and locking the doors, sizing up and down the door to put all the locks in place when you speak up. “You don’t have to thank me, by the way. People make mistakes, and Jaehyun would be less mad at me than at you. Plus, Kun doesn’t care like that either, as long as he can run this business, you can break as many cartons of drinks as you desire,” Looking over your shoulder, you catch Jaemin gazing at you, the same puppy eyes leering at you. Looking away, you pick up your stuff from the ground, wanting to bid him goodbye and completely disappear, maybe quit this job and move countries and settle down with a farming family of seven that don’t mind an additional one person to work their fields and pet their cows as a form of cattle therapy. Anything but face Jaemin’s face abd his ridiculously handsome features.

But before you could begin your progress, Jaemin calls out your name, making you turn around to face him once more. Thankfully, there’s no sign of the puppy eyes, but he is smiling.

“Since it’s a Sunday and we have a day off tomorrow, do you want to grab some food with me?”

The warmth from the broth and fishcake in your cup seeps into your hand, preventing them from getting too cold in the Autumn breeze. Jaemin counts his notes under the red and yellow haze of the fishcake stall, handing them to the old lady once he collects the right amount. The woman snatches the notes once Jaemin presents them and counts them twice, nodding her head in dismissal when she’s done.

Picking up his cup, the two of you manoeuvre yourself around the park and settle on a free bench, looking out into the lit-up park, with parents and kids at the playground while adults settle their picnic mats and huddle around near the fairy-lit trees; the Central park seems to be teeming with more people with the sudden shift of seasons, as people embrace the coming cold by celebrating in their own ways. Kids scream at the top of their lungs when sliding down a steep slide, and adults teem with laughter as they swish their wine in their plastic glasses.

Picking out a stick of fishcake from the cup full of broth, you blow on it a few times before biting into it, settling into the park bench more comfortably as the warmth of the food engulfs you. Excluding the bustle of people, you and Jaemin sit quietly as you indulge in your food.

But the silence doesn’t last long. “I don’t know how kids are so agile at such a young age. Like, aren’t their bones basically jelly?” Jaemin points at the few kids climbing up ropes at the playground, taking them to a tall slide as a reward.

“It doesn’t look too hard,” You quip, head leaning closer to Jaemin as you look at the kids climbing up vicariously. Jaemin turns to look at you, making you realise just how close you leaned in. “You think you could climb that?”

“At my age? Easy,” You scoff, leaning back and away, now feeling more flustered. If Jaemin catches on to your behaviour, he doesn’t make it obvious, sipping on the broth in his cup and opting to ask you about your favourite playground equipment.

“Thank you for the fishcakes,” You pat your stomach, smiling at your coworker.

“Of course,” He rocks back and forth on his heels the two of you standing at the edge of the park, ready to part ways. “I can never have a pretty girl like you be deprived of such Autumn goodness,” Jaemin teems at you as he says this, ready to receive some sort of backlash for his behaviour.

Imagine his surprise when you slightly guffaw, before stopping yourself with a hand to your mouth and a straight face. “If you think I’m so pretty,” You start as you turn around, slowly beginning the walk back to your house. “You would do more than just buy me a 3,000 won snack; I think pretty girls like me deserve more. No?” And with a wave, you continue your walk, leaving Jaemin with wide eyes and a slightly concerning grip on his cup.

It’s been eight weeks since Jaemin started working at Tao Village as a waiter, and he hasn’t known peace throughout.

It’s not that the pay is bad, or that the people around him treat him terribly. The pay is generous enough and as rarely as he sees Kun and Jaehyun on his shift, even if they’re a curtain width away from him, they’re nice and give him a container of food after every shift. And you’re an angel on earth, helping him whenever he fucks something up, and saving his ass nearly six times since he’s started working here.

The problem is that he makes those mistakes. And he has to go out of his way to not make these mistakes, and after every shift he feels like he’s worked five days with no break when in reality he just had a five-hour shift and a very generous thirty-minute break, eating hot and sour soup while you tell him about the weird customers you’ve encountered, asking him to rank them from most to least smashable with the details given from your anecdote.

Speaking of you, he thinks you're the epitome of his worries. Ever since he slipped up and basically confessed to thinking you’re attractive, you’ve been tormenting him, torturing even. If he were to tell you this, you would deny it all. And of course you would, because—

“I’m not doing anything,” You reply when Jaemin asks what you’re doing with the order slip that he’s just written down on. With a pen in your hand and a separate order slip, you’re copying down everything word for word instead of just taking Jaemin’s one to the back like normal.

“Yes, you are. Why are you making a copy of my slip— Are you ripping it to pieces?!” Jaemin shrieks, which catches the attention of the patrons in the restaurant, earning him a light smack against his arm.

You sigh, “Look, Jaehyun doesn’t like it sometimes when the slip looks too messy. There’s already a lot of oil and water being splattered on these poor things the minute they go past the curtain.” You shake the paper in your hand. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you grab Jaemin’s hand, not looking at his face in case he’s flashing those eyes again. Jokes on you, because he’s also blushing, so you’re doing him a favour.

“Your handwriting isn’t messy, they’re just used to mine. I don’t want them to make a fuss over nothing,” You pat his hand and head to the back, not before reminding him to check on table number seven.

Looking at his left hand, the hand which you grasped hours ago, he holds it to his chest and prays to whatever holds power to keep him strong. He doesn’t know if you’re doing these things on purpose, or if he just has a weak heart.

“You barely go out of your room, so I’d say the second option is more likely.” Mark quips, tilting his body to the same side that his kart skids in the game. Jaemin lies down on his bed arm slung over his eyes as Mark plays on his console.

“Am I just due for a good fuck? Is that why I’m basically busting whenever she brushes past me?”

“Yo,” Mark sounds concerned now. “Brushes past you? Like, it’s just the accidental skinship that makes you horny?”

Jaemin sits up now, wanting to prove himself innocent despite the words he uttered just seconds ago. “You have to understand, I think she’s doing it on purpose.”

“I’ve seen your place Jaemin. The staff counter seems like a tight fit, I don’t know how she can be doing these things on purpose.” Jaemin huffs at that, falling back onto his bed again. He doesn’t know how to explain to his best friend that he isn’t delusional, so he just mutters a ‘whatever’ and tries tickling him, wanting him to lose the game and get last place.

“Yup, your order is just right here. So it’s just the large special frie—” His voice gets stuck in his throat repeating back the order to the customer when he feels a figure pressed up against his back, and with a glance to the side he sees you leering over, looking at the slip he holds in his hand. When he makes eye contact with you, you barely give back a nod of your head, encouraging him to continue reading.

“Sorry. Uhm, just the large special fried rice, and two servings of the spring rolls,” You lean in even more, and Jaemin can only thank the great heavens above for the bit of privacy that the takeaway counter provides. He feels the plush of your breasts pressing against him, leaning against him while you reach over below the counter to some pens, opening the notebook of table reservations and writing in a new booking.

He only messes up putting in the total price of the order twice on the machine, before the customer picks up his food, leaving you two behind the counter. Just as he’s about to turn around and say something, you separate yourself from him, patting him on his shoulder and closing the notebook shut.

The first thing he does is find his bearings, as he clutches a hand at his chest, then his neck, and lastly his ears, feeling how hot they were. Next, he has to somehow find a way to see if he just made that whole scenario up. Looking at where you now were, which was at a table, conversing with a customer, he was a few seconds away from losing his mind. But his thoughts were confirmed when you glanced a look at him, the corner of your lips lifting ever so slightly before you continue speaking to the table.

Jaemin doesn’t know how long he can last.

He now knows how long he can last.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not long at all. He doesn’t know if what you’re doing is on purpose, or he’s just infatuated with you enough to now notice these things, but all he can blame it on is the fact that it’s been some time since he last got laid, and so that’s why he’s getting flustered by your proximity these days.

But he also thinks that you might be doing some things on purpose; like squeezing past him in the tight margin of the staff counter to wipe some inconspicuous water stain, bodies brushing against each other in a tight squeeze, or inspecting his hand for too long after he’s delivered a sizzling plate of Mongolian lamb to the table, in search for an injury you both know is not there if he hasn’t already blatantly dropped the whole dish onto the table. Or that one time when you both went to the cold room, with him reaching up for the carton of beers while you kneel to get the soft drinks, side to side. You had momentarily lost your balance while pulling out the boxes from the back, resulting in your hand clutching at his pants, wanting to regain your balance.

“Oh, sorry,” Your words are a clear contrast between your actions, as your hands linger on for longer, lashes fluttering when you look up at him, the light of the cold room twinkling in your eyes. Jaemin swears he feels your hands squeeze ever so slightly before you let go, shuffling out of the room with a carton tucked by your side.

He doesn’t know how to confront you about it; it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the sudden burst of attention he’s receiving from you, it’s just that it’s both not enough and too much. He wants more but he doesn’t want to risk popping a boner while taking a sixty-year-old woman’s order.

Every time he thinks he’s got you cornered, something always comes along to save you, like the call of a customer, or Kun coming through the curtains to get some hot water, even though his sightings are as common as blue moons.

So when Jaehyun asks you two to restock some of the items into the storage room as a part of your closing shift, Jaemin thinks the opportunity is basically being graced into the palm of his hands.

“The stuff might be a bit heavy, so be careful with your posture when picking up the boxes,” Jaehyun tuts, scrubbing his wok clean. “And remember to lodge something between the door, it still gets stuck from the inside. Don’t go home too late, but also don’t half-ass things as well.” Jaemin almost shivers when he hears her mom echoing back the same things to him in his head.

“Jaemin, do you know that door wedge we have at the back? You can use that, sometimes even I forget. Kun’s trying his best with the handle.” He steps over the freshly mopped places, going past and at the cashier, placing your tips in your dedicated storage boxes.

“Okay we get it Jaehyun, but if you keep speaking we won’t be done unti—” The front door shuts before you can finish what you were saying, but you only let out a light sigh before finishing up with the mopping, with Jaemin drying the cutlery with a towel.

“I’m gonna start with the boxes first,” Jaemin nods his head at you, seeing you go through the back door and towards the storage room. Jaehyun and Kun were kind enough to place a few boxes inside, but there were some still littered outside.

When a few minutes pass and Jaemin is all done, he still sees the extra boxes outside, not having moved a bit. He calls for your name, just to see if you’re back there.

“Yeah, I’m here, just—” You grunt, balancing the box on your knee as you take its contents out, placing them on the shelf. “Trying to sort this. Can you help me with the boxes outside? Be careful with the door, I have my shoe lodged there.” Jaemin rolls his eyes at the third reminder of the day, before shutting the lights off from inside the restaurant and picking up the boxes near the door, stacking them on top to only use one trip to the storage room. The light from within shines a silver lining across the now dimmed restaurant, as Jaemin nudges the door open with his leg, careful to avoid your shoe as you had advised.

He places the boxes down with a groan, straightening up and stretching his back. “That was a piece of cake,” He smiles cheekily at you, to which you barely react, handing him the box you were balancing, opting to take the items out from his hands, making the process more efficient.

“Are you having fun?” Jaemin speaks again, not letting the silence between you two stretch out for too long.

“With putting these things away? Not exactly my definition of fun,” You look at him questioningly, picking up another item while glancing at him.

“Not with the packages,” He shakes the one in his hand for emphasis. “I meant ever since that night at the park, where I called you cute—”

“Pretty,” You mutter, and the word slightly shocks you both, as Jaemin sees your shoulders stiffen. You have been doing everything on purpose, because you, too, put some meaning into his attempts.

“You keeping tally on how I compliment you?” putting the box down, he opts to look at your face as he says this. It’s not every day that he gets to tease you like this, so he uses this opportunity to rile you up a bit as you do to him, body inching closer to yours.

You feel the heat radiating off of him and onto your back, as you place down the last item in your hand on the shelf and turn around, only to be startled at the proximity of you two, Jaemin inching closer with the box discarded at the side. This close to him, your eyes tilt up to look at his, mischievous iris’ grinning back at you.

“I don’t…” Jaemin’s eyes glance at your lips as you start, parted open now as your mind blanks on what to say next. The distance between your bodies shortens, and you feel yourself craving for something. A simple touch of his hand at your sides, the heat of his breath at your cheek, the soft push of his lips against yours.

Your tongue brushes the corner of your lip at that thought, an action Jaemin can’t miss with how close you two are.

“You don’t? Don’t what, don’t know what I’m talking about? Finish your sentence pretty,” Jaemin’s hand raises, and your chest flutters at the anticipation of his touch, only for it to deplete when he places it on the wall beside your shoulder, getting closer and closer.

You want to scream, needing him to just do something, anything, but your body still inches back, wanting to see how far either of you can prolong this. Jaemin notices your game, leaning his head in and bringing his lips to your ear.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything for you, just gotta have you use your words, baby.” At this your eyes flutter, fists clenching at your sides to gather up the courage as his warm breath fans against your neck.

“Can you kiss me?” Your eyes look at his as you push his body back by his shoulders, wanting to look at him as you ask for him, for more. Smile slowly softening, he leans in and places a peck onto your lips, plush skin pressed against you, both of your eyes closing shut. Before you get to do anything else, he parts back slowly, seemingly done. But you’ve barely even started.

“More,” You mutter before placing your arms around his shoulders, pushing both of you closer to one another as you lean in, kissing his lips once again, catching him by surprise. His lips are only still for a split second, before he reciprocates, pushing against you, giving you exactly what you asked for.

“Your hands, please,” You mutter in between as they slowly turn from innocent pecks to open-mouthed kisses, your own hands coming to his biceps, wanting him to touch you.

“Where, baby?” He sighs against you, hands grasping yours, ready to be guided.

“Everywhere,” You clasp your hands together, before grabbing his wrists, placing one at your waist and the other underneath your boob, arching your back in encouragement and contempt of finally having him closer. And Jaemin listens well, hands squeezing and thumbing at your body over your clothes skin, before roaming them around. Slithering one behind your back, pushing your body flush against his, chests brushing as he rushes to kiss you more, lips pressing against you feverishly. Your arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, wanting your boobs to be pressed against him fully, nipples perked with arousal from him, having the both of you pushed back and against the wall as he follows your lead of wanting to be all over each other.

Except walls don’t click shut.

But Jaemin either doesn’t notice or pays it no mind, continuing his quest of ravaging your lips, not that you mind, as he squeezes the flesh of your boob and brushes a finger over your clothed nipples, biting lightly onto your bottom lip as your mouth parts slightly from the pleasure, soothing it with a swipe of his tongue.

“Jaemin,” You try calling for him, voice coming out a bit hoarse as you pull back slightly. He takes that as a sign to venture more.

“What is it, hmm? Want me to go lower?” He doesn’t wait for your reply as he angles his head down towards your neck, breath tickling against your skin as he nips at it lightly.

“No, Jaemin. There’s—” He chuckles at you, looking into your eyes with a smirk now adorning his face. He raises his eyebrows at you while he scans your body pressed against his, and that shouldn’t affect you as much as it did.

“What, does my pretty baby want more?” his smile now turns slightly giddy, placing a sweet kiss on your lips before bringing both hands to your sides, squeezing slightly making you react to the sensitive spot being handled. “I can’t fuck you here, as much as I’d love to. But I don’t wanna be looking at a box of fortune cookies—”

“Jaemin, we just closed the door.” And you physically see Jaemin react to this, as he processes your words with a confused look, before the light in his eyes dims and his face falls, looking frantically between you and the door behind you. He searches at the bottom of the door where you had lodged your shoe, only to see it past the frame, squeezed from the pressure of your bodies against the door.

He’s about to apologise profusely, mind scrambling to think of a way he can get you two out. But before he can get too far, you plant a kiss on his cheek, and another one on his lips when he turns his head to look at you. You let out a light sigh as his hands find themselves back onto your body, pushing your hands towards his jacket, wanting it off. He shucks it off and throws it behind, hands grabbing at you again as you bring your fingers to rake at the hair at his neck.

“But—” Jaemin cuts himself off with a whimper when your hand grazes under his shirt, the cold press of your fingers against his warm stomach, fingers splaying themselves against his taut muscles, grazing your nails lightly making his body flush even further.

“Fuck, the door,” He tries again, but falls short as his head falls against your shoulder when your fingers linger past the seam of his pants.

“Later, I need to feel you,” You mutter. “Someone will come by tomorrow morning anyway,”

“Oh, fuck.” Jaemin curses as you palm his dick over his pants, his hips bucking up and into your touch, wanting more of you against him. His hand pushes your shirt up, tucking it before he slips his fingers behind your back, reaching for your bra and taking it off once the hooks are undone. His hands cup at your boobs, vision glazed over you as he squeezes them together. He leans in with his mouth parted, looking up at you and making eye contact, whining slightly in lieu of asking for your permission. It’s hard to wait for your word when he’s just as desperate, wanting your touch and scent all over him.

“Jaemin, please,” You pant, hand flying to his hair and gripping softly, scratching your fingers against his scalp as an initiative. “Make me feel good, I want your mouth on me,”

He swipes his tongue against your perked bud, before blowing lightly and saying “Anything for my doll,” mouthing at your breast, before closing his lips around your nipple, sucking in as his free hand occupies itself with your other boob, slightly scraping his nail against you before pinching your tit. The pain and pleasure shoots through your body, as you moan his name, nails scratching his head.

Your whimpers and whines turn Jaemin on even more, as he swipes at your bud one last time before pulling back, tipping your face back towards him and kissing you again.

“Want your fingers…been thinking about this so much,” You reach for one of his hands, guiding him to the apex of your thighs, looking at him as you press his fingers against where you want him the most. Even through the thick fabric of your pants, the push of his fingers against your core has you whining, happy for some friction but wanting, needing more.

As his hand goes to unzip your pants, he replaces them deftly with his leg instead, pressing his knee against you.

“Fuck,” You sigh, as he presses himself closer to you, body now flushed against yours, thigh stimulating your pussy through your pants, mouth at your cheek, jaw, neck. Jaemin is completely overpowering your senses, yet you want more.

“Pretty doll, letting me do all of this to you.” he pushes your pants down, leaving you in your underwear and your shirt tucked up, fixing it every now and then to pinch at your tits, loving when you keen against him. “Wanting me to do all of this to you. Have you thought about me a lot? Bet you thought about us sneaking off right here so you could suck me off, or maybe thinking about me taking you right behind the counter, forcing yourself to act normal with my cock in you,” He hums against your ear, swiping his tongue against the shell before biting lightly on your lobe, wanting you to remember his touch all over you.

You’re not entirely sure what he's saying, yet you nod your head up and down, moan slipping past your lips at the light swipe of his fingers against your clothed core, doing anything to get him to give you more.

Jaemin chuckles, “Is your mind going blank already? I barely did anything to you baby, do I have to dumb it down for you and remind you?” His condescending tone is the only thing that registers in your head; that and the fact that he’s not doing anything, hands splayed still at your sides, his knee not pressing hard enough against you, with no signs of more.

He leans in and presses a sweet peck against you, before his hand squeezes your cheeks together, an attempt of garnering your attention back.

“If you want something,” He leans in, just a breath away, but moves back when your eyes lock on his lips and lean in. “You gotta tell me. I’ll only do what you want me to, got it?”

Nodding your head, you add a breathy ‘yes’ when Jaemin raises his eyebrows at you.

“Good girl,” He smiles, and it only makes your head just the slightest bit dizzy. But you’re brought back when you feel the press of his thigh against you once more, a friendly reminder of what you’re missing out on.

“I want your fingers,” You start, voice wavering a bit, getting shy from having to voice your dirty thoughts. But the press of his finger pads against you edges you on even more, encouraging you to continue. “Always look so good doing the most mundane things. Want you to fuck me with your fingers, fuck,” Jaemin proves to be a great listener, as he quickly makes work of shoving your underwear aside, commenting how you’ve ‘soaked through your panties and my pants, messy girl’. He rubs against your clit, building up a rhythm, before rubbing his fingers against your folds, soaking them in your juices thoroughly before the pad of his fingers press against your hole, making quick work.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jaemin grunts at the squeeze of your walls against his two fingers, filling you to the hilt and shallowly pushing. “Bet you would feel so good around my cock,” You moan at his words, eyes falling shut as you rest your forehead against his shoulder, giving him better access to whisper such filthy words to you.

“So fucking dirty, getting off of my fingers in public like this. You’re lucky it’s late, no one gets to see you like this,” His fingers quicken their pace, the hot feeling in your stomach tightening as the palm of his hand smacks against your clit, other hand occupying itself with gripping your ass or tweaking your nipples. “Only I get to see you like this, messy and undone. All mine for the taking.”

“All yours,” You echo back, head burrowing further into his neck. As you feel another finger push into you, his pace making you clench tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched whine when his other hand comes down to stimulate your clit. Mockingly, Jaemin repeats back your moan in the same high-pitched voice, twisting the end of it to sound like a question.

“Is my baby close?” He pecks at the side of your forehead, a sweet gesture contrasting the pressure of his fingers against you.

“Please, Jaemin. Don’t stop,” You feel yourself grow hot, storage room now feeling stuffy as you separate from his shoulder, head tilted back against the door as your senses are overwhelmed.

“You’re so hot, fuck.” He smothers the pool of drool gathering at the corner of your lips, spreading it onto your cheek before leaning in for a kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, too close and fucked out to makeout steadily, just wanting to feel him against you. Curling his fingers against you, you feel yourself ripping over the edge as he presses his other hand against your stomach and swipes his tongue over yours, sucking at the tip of your muscle before finishing it off with a peck.

“Let go, pretty. Show me how messy your cunt can get,” Fingers fucking into you, with a final rub and pinch of your clit you break off into a silent moan, hands clutching at his shoulders as you tense up, finally reaching your high. Jaemin’s fingers keep a steady pace as he helps you ride off your high, now going slower than before. But his fingers don’t stop even when you calm down, seeing how far you can go as he overstimulates you.

“Hurts,” You cry, but don’t make a move to stop his ministrations, hips pushing up into his touch, panting against his mouth when he kisses you again, pushing his fingers in and out of you. After a few more seconds though, your whine lilts painfully and you weakly push at his hand, to which he relents as he slows down the pace, before pulling them out carefully.

“It’s gonna feel icky for a bit, so bear with me,” Jaemin softly murmurs, reaching above to a shelf that conveniently holds paper towel rolls. The emptiness that is left emphasises the tiredness you feel, as your shoulders slump and you lean back against the door for further support. Jaemin folds the towel and dabs at your core, cleaning you up to the best of his abilities before he wraps his clean hand around your waist, manoeuvring you to lean against the wall, carefully pulling your shirt down and underwear and slacks back up. He slides the two of you down slowly, and you open your eyes to look at him, tiredness slowly wearing away as your heart flutters at his gestures.

“You okay?” He hums, his back now pressed against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with you as he gently smoothens his hand down your scalp, before cupping your face gently. You nod your head, leaning in and pressing a kiss against him.

“More than okay, that was so hot.” He chuckles at your words, poorly concealing the smug look that overtakes his features.

“I’m glad at least one of us had fun,” He teases, which makes you feel shy, as you spare a glance down to see a chub at the zip of his pants. He waves you off, adjusting himself a bit before sliding his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“With what we did just then? I’ll be able to come for days even just thinking about you,” He laughs softly as you squeeze his hand in warning, before resting your head against his shoulder, with Jaemin reaching over for his jacket discarded earlier on, tugging it over your legs to provide warmth.

“You haven’t made a mistake today,” You mutter, breaking the silence that had settled as you play with his fingers with both your hands. Jaemin can only look at the side of your face as you say this, before getting comfortable and pressing his cheek against your head. “How could I when you have such high standards to meet? I need to be on your good side,” Your scoff holds no mean intentions, glancing at him briefly over your shoulder.

“You’re already on my good side,” He faux gasps.

“You’re telling me you liked me this whole time? I didn’t have to prove myself to you?” Jaemin squeals as he sways side to side, before wrapping himself around you and swaying you along with him.

You’re shy when you speak up again, muttering “I’ve already told you how I thought.. about you,” He tsks as he meets your eyes again, eyes going down to look at your lips that you bite nervously.

“Don’t even think about talking about that, I don’t know how long I can stay working here and pining after you.”

“But… I like— wait. Do you not like working at the restaurant?” Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, Jaemin tenses a bit at the information he let slip. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s ungrateful for your efforts, but the soft gaze that you give to him only soothes him.

“Okay, I’ll be honest. I think you’ve noticed by now that I’m not the most, flawless, person ever.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve made a few mistakes? No way,” He whines at your tease, as you bite your lip to contain your laughter, nodding your head to get him to continue.

“I’m just not really good at keeping part-time jobs like this. Things that need me to physically and actively do things. I once got fired from a scouts guidance group because I would give badges to the kids when they asked.”

“…Aren’t scout leaders there by volunteer? How can they fire you?”

“That’s my point!” He grumbles against you, bringing your head back down to his shoulder when you lift yourself to look at him, not wanting to look at you directly in your eyes. “And working as a waiter is definitely not easy, because I have to guess when a customer wants to order before they actually call me, and help with food and dietary needs and advice, and be smiling and happy all the time even when the old ladies pinch at my cheek and call me handsome like I’m some three-year-old golden child.” You pat at his bicep soothingly, fingers squeezing as he rambles on, letting him pour it all out.

“Well,” You bring your hands up to your lips, pressing a light kiss at the back of his hand before settling it back against your legs. “If you hate the job so much, why not quit and find something better?”

He stills as you ask this, thinking about your question. He hasn’t ventured far from the initial annoyance of having the job, not thinking of the reasons why he’s staying in contrast with the million reasons why he doesn’t want to. But the tingling feeling left at the back of his hand seems to be enough of an answer.

“Because I get to spend my time with you,” You squeeze your lips together as he says this, not knowing if you should cringe or swell at his words. You giggle lightly when you see him fall shy, hiding his face into your shoulder.

“Okay, then don’t quit,” You quip when you realise he’s not going to come out of hiding anytime soon, opting to play with your laced fingers instead. “Stay with me. You can deal with customers who ask if we have duck on our menu even when we clearly don’t, and try your best to not burn your finger on the sizzling plates, or get locked in the storage room overnight.” Jaemin feels bittersweet at the scenarios you provide, torn between what he should do.

“Or you can ask me out and then quit,” You shrug, conveniently avoiding his sudden gaze on you as he sits up. “Up to you,”

“I can do that?” You glare at him.

“I’m gonna blow up, Jaemin. I can’t believe you haven’t—” He stops you with a peck to your lips, now grinning like a maniac. “Can I be your boyfriend?”

“What will I gain?”

“Uhm… unlimited head?” You clench your grip on his hand harder. “...And a very deep and meaningful emotional connection where we fill each other's gaps and lift our—”

“Unlimited? Can you promise?” He’s about to agree without a second thought, before he sees you raise a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“..Yes?”

“Then yes, you can be mine.” He sighs contentedly now, cuddling himself back into you.

“I can’t wait to quit.”

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the sound of a door hinge and a sudden shine of light. You try to bring your hand up to shield the onslaught of the sunshine, but the weight on your hand reminds you of your position, with Jaemins head tucked on your shoulder and yours stacked on top, hands still laced and legs slightly tangled into each other. With a squint of your eyes, you look up at the figure standing at the door.

Jaehyun’s facial expression doesn’t change much, other than the slight parting of his mouth. To you, this means that not only is he shocked still, but also somehow angry and maybe … confused? If the left side of his lip is slightly tilted down; you’re still trying to learn.

“Jaemin,” Your hoarse voice calls, shaking the boy next to you lightly to wake him up. He whines, lips mumbling gibberish into your shoulder.

“The doors open, Jaem,” That wakes him up a bit more, as he squints towards the open door.

“Oh,” He says, and then Jaehyun clears his throat. “...Oh,” The two of you rise slowly, as Jaemin places his jacket over your shoulders.

“So,” Jaehyun starts when the three of you step out of the room, the two of you now standing like students being punished for their wrongdoings. It takes all his willpower for Jaemin to not raise his hands in fists over his head.

“Funny you ask, boss. Remember when you told me not to close the door?” Jaemin thought he started off strong before he saw you looking at him with wide eyes. Jaehyun’s lip tilts to the left.

“How could you ignore the only warning I gave you? Not only did you lock yourself in that room, but her too? You know how dangerous that is, what if we didn’t have a Sunday shift to open for? This liability costs you, Jaemin.” At that, the boy feels his posture straighten.

“Am I..?” Jaehyun's frown is the strongest expression Jaemin has ever seen. He feels like doing a backflip right now.

“Fired? Of course—” And it probably is rude for him to whoop as loud as he did, but Jaemin is on cloud nine, having bagged a person like you and being liberated from having to mop the floors like clockwork. He cups your cheeks and kisses you square on your lips, laughing at the surprised squeak you let out and the bliss he feels. Taking and shaking Jaehyun’s hand, he turns and walks out of the place.

Jaehyun sighs. “This is who you were rooting for?”

Your cheeks feel hot from the sudden public display of affection, before shrugging. “He’s cute. And he’s always trying his best.” You try as your hand clutches at the sleeve of the jacket he’s lent you.

Ever since being fired from the restaurant, Jaemin feels like he now has the best of both worlds, going to the restaurant after your shift to pick you up, or spending time with you as your boyfriend throughout the week, not feeling like he only has to look forward to a shift to see your face. You’re also happy with this shift in your relationship, spending your time with him freely.

But Mark isn’t.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have asked her out and kept your job. You don’t even get to use your twenty percent employee discount.”

“I mean, if I’m an ex-employee then I can’t see why I couldn’t.” Mark grunts as he smacks at Jaemin, leaving the latter with a pout on his lip as he rubs at his shoulder.

“I miss the Mongolian lamb, man. Can we not go back at all?” Jaemin thinks about it briefly, his mind going back to the restaurant and how you’re probably working your Friday shift at the moment. “I don’t see why not,” he hums, thinking about planning a day when both he and Mark can drop by, but he is dragged to his feet and is being pushed to wear his shoes and shrug on a jacket, before he is out the door with Mark guiding him through it all.

“Welcome to Tao Village. Oh, hi,” You look up from the slip of the phone order you just took, seeing Jaemin and Mark standing at the door. Jaemin’s lips break into a smile as he sees you, already enamoured even when you’re in your work uniform. Mark merely smiles and nods his head as a greeting, before lifting up two fingers, gesturing for a table for them.

As the boys take their seats, you go up to them with a bottle of water and ask Mark if he wants his Mongolian lamb dish for today. He clasps a hand to his chest, touched. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“It’s all you order, really.” You write down his order into the slip in your hand, before looking at your boyfriend, who’s been gazing at you fondly, barely concealing adoration. You tap at the menu in front of him, encouraging him to voice his order.

“I want you,” Jaemin’s smile is menacing as he says this. Mark visibly shrinks in his seat, but you barely blink. “Gross, dude,”

“A dish's name, Jaem. Or I’ll tell Jaehyun that you’re here.” At that he pouts, leaning back before asking for fried rice, and a glass of red wine.

Mark gets his dish on the sizzling plate, and Jaemin spends two whole minutes trying to make sure that your fingers didn’t get caught on to the hot pan. You smack at his hand to get him back to his food, to which he flings his hand back, making impact with his glass and conveniently spilling the red drink all over. Mark blinks twice at the scene unfolding, pausing when he almost shoved a piece of lamb into his mouth, before continuing when he sees the wine only seep into the tablecloth and not anywhere near him.

Jaemin looks between the cloth and your expression. “Look at what you did,”

“What I did? Your hand was the one that smacked into the glass. You didn’t even try to catch it?” Jaemin ignores your words, waving at your words as if they’re merely pesky flies.

“It’s okay, I can forgive you but you have to compensate in another way,” He smirks at you, before his fingers slowly inch towards your waitress' apron wrapped around your waist, thumbing at the fabric tied around you. “Maybe a pretty girl like you can go out with me?”

You smile sweetly, clasping his hands into yours and rubbing your thumb into the back of his hand. You place it down on the table, your smile not dimming as you shake your head. “You have to pay for that, kind sir,” You nod your head in mock shame and guilt. Jaemin’s smile dims as he looks at the red-stained tablecloth.

“It’s part of the Tao Village policy.”

OKAY the part where jaemin *mocks.. u hehe was completely inspired by @/sunpopz haechan fic called ‘free falling’ !! give that a read bc its soso good

thank you for reading! let me know if you enjoyed it <3

#jaemin x reader #nct jaemin smut #jaemin smut #jaemin fluff #nct jaemin x reader #nct scenarios #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #jaemin scenarios #jaemin hard hours #jaemin oneshot #nct dream oneshots #na jaemin smut

2K notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 6 months

Note

Hi how have you been?💗 Would you maybe consider writing some angst for Alexia/Barcelona x reader where like maps and Ingrid start start to notice reader getting thinner and eating less but Alexia is so wrapped up in media and stuff that she doesn’t notice until reader faints at training. Then Mapi shouts at alexia and there’s some angst but it has a softer ending? ❤️

i remember everything.

alexia putellas x reader

warnings: eating disorders, pain n angst with a softer ending.

“Ale we’re losing her.”

Alexia hated a lot of things, winter, bad drivers, the colour orange, the Spanish federation, France, patchy makeup and cherry flavoured candy. The thing at the very top of her list though, was people telling her what to do. Alexia was the best player in the world, she was a force to be reckoned with, she did not need people telling her what to do with her life or relationships.

“Maria, she’s my fucking fiance, I would know if something was wrong with her, this is none of your business.”

Alexia was typing furiously at her phone, something that she seemed to always be doing lately. If you were lucky enough to catch her time for a few minutes, chances were her attention would end up being caught by replying to some email or text from her agent and manager. It was never ending, and anybody who had been a part of Alexia’s life before and after her had seen just how much her life had changed in the past two years. In this instance, Mapi and Alexia were out for drinks, trying to catch up but it was proving to be impossible with most of Alexia’s attention on whatever it was she was replying to this time.

“This is what I’m talking about, you don’t have enough time to talk face to face with your best friend, how does that prove to me that you have enough time to look out for your girlfriend?”

Alexia’s eyes rose from her phone, her fingers pausing.

“Maps, I know my fiance, I’d know if she had a eating disorder, I’d know if she was struggling, I lie in bed with her every night, I wake up with her every morning, I train with her everyday, I know her.”

Mapi’s eyebrow rose up at her forehead, it was weird for Alexia to meet her gaze, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“When was the last time she was sick? When was the last time she burnt something in your kitchen? When was the last time your dog ran away? You wouldn’t know because every time those things have happened in the last few months she’s called me, because you’ve been out of town. You're busy, we all understand it, not everybody can be La Reina, not everyone is you, but not everybody is your fiance. Her smile that normally lights up the room, it’s not there anymore, nothing about her is the same anymore, and I’ll be damned if she dies on your watch because you are being too insolent to acknowledge it.”

Mapi stood up from her seat at the bar, downing the rest of her dirty martini and giving Alexia a final parting frown.

“Go home to your fiance and actually look at her, eye to eye, lover to lover, and try and tell yourself that she is fine.”

Mapi exited the bar, disgruntled by her failed attempt at an intervention with Alexia, the slightly older woman simply didn’t want to listen to her and what was Mapi supposed to do about that? Alexia was stubborn and bullheaded, but she was like Mapi’s sister, she was Mapi’s blood, more than anybody else. Mapi had no idea where she’d be without Alexia, possibly dead in a ditch somewhere. Alexia had been the fristr person to haul her out of bed on a bad day, drag her out of clubs when she was so drunk she couldn’t see straight, Alexia was tough love, she forced Mapi to live until Mapi herself wanted to live. Mapi was more than grateful, but she also wasn’t going to let the love of Alexia’s life slowly kill herself because Alexia was too consumed with her own career to even realise.

The drive home for Alexia was slow and stressful in a way she’d never experienced. Alexia in her heart wanted to believe Mapi was wrong, because how could she be right? Alexia saw you everyday, she knew you better than anybody else, and she hadn’t noticed any of the things that Mapi had been talking about.

When Alexia does get home it’s to a silent house with no lights on, something thats fairly regular for her, considering the abnormal hours she normally egts home at. She leaves her keys and coat at the front door, reaches down to pet Nala who she must have woken up because the fluff ball has major bedhead. Alexia pours herself a glass of water from the tap before cautiously making her way into your bedroom. When she does finally make it to the door it’s hanging open, you sat on the bed, the lamp being the only source of lighting whilst you read from underneath it. You look so peaceful, so perfect, that Alexia considers leaving, sleeping on the couch. But she’s too angry, too consumed with her feelings, too emotional to take into account how much her actions affect you. She figures that in the last few months she’s probably drifted from you more than she's come close, which is probably concerning considering that the months leading up to a wedding you are supposed to be in premarital bliss.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

Alexia’s voice is even, she moves into your shared wardrobe, pulling off her slacks and crop top and searching for a pair of her pyjamas.

“How was your day?”

You sound so hopeful, so curious. This is the only time of day msot weeks that you get to talk to Alexia and when it’s not too late you try your hardest to stay awake, hopeful tat maybe this time Alexia will return your eagerness.

“Fine.”

Alexia finally finds her pyjama shirt and shorts and changes into them quickly before moving back inot the bedroom.

“O-kay, how are you, how was Mapi?”

There’s so much hope in your voice, something that Alexia hates. She lets her eyes roam your body quickly, discreetly, not in a way that would make you think she was trying to start anything. She doesn’t see anything different. She doesn’t notice the fact that you no longer wear short sleeves or cropped shirts anymore. She doesn’t notice that your ribs now jut out from your skin, instead of being covered by a healthy amount of skin and fat, how could she? She doesn’t notice the patches across your scalp that are now missing hair, she doesn’t know that you no longer get your period, she doesn’t notice that your nails are now brittle and crusty, something that you’ve come to hate about yourself, just another dot point on the list of things that you detest about your body.

“Good.”

Alexia’s one word answer hurt your soul, more than Alexia ever had.

“If you don’t want to talk you can just say that.”

Alexia doesn’t slip under the covers like she’d planned to, instead her jaw clenches and hardens, a defence mechanism of hers that you’d never manage to crack.

“What are you talking about, we’re talking, I’m just tired.”

Your face falls at her snap, your eyes falling back to your book and marking your page before dropping it down on your bedside table, a little huff leaving your lips as your eyes drift upwards to meet Alexias.

“Alright, you must be absolutely exhausted every single time we talk then.”

It’s bold, especially considering that Alexia seems to be in a completely rotten mood, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because this is all she does and your becoming sick of it.

“Oh my god, I don’t come home every night just for you to make it seem like I’m a shitty girlfriend.”

It’s so Alexia, so Alexia to always somehow make herself the victim, somehow make it you who is the one in the wrong.

“Are you joking? You didn’t agree to come home to our house?”

Alexia moves herself further away from the bed, to the very edge, her eyes and jaw just as stubborn as each other.

“What do you want me to say? I’m tired, I want to sleep, not listen to you whine about whatever your fucking whining about, I’ve been in interviews all day and all I wanted to do was come home and sleep.”

Alexia was always in interviews, always doing something that was your fault, it wasn’t your responsibility to sort out her calendar, or to make her less of a good football player, it just happened to be the way the cookie crumbled.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I just had a really fucking bad qweek and I wanted to talk to you about it, because your supposed to be the fucking person I can talk to, but it’s fine, we can talk tomorrow, or next week, or next year, whenever your not tired.”

Alexia exhales, Mapi’s voice plays through her head, this is her in, this is her opportunity to not be such a fucking jackass.

“No, tell me about it.”

Anything you wanted to say, you swallow, it’s a hard job, but your suddenly so scared of Alexia, so scared that she’ll see you the same way you do, she’s never around to reassure you that you’re enough for her, and you honestly don’t feel like you are anymore.

“It’s fine, honestly sleep.”

You peel back the covers beside you, but Alexia stays still on the other end of the bed, just looking at you.

“You obviously want me to ask about it or you never would have brought it up.”

Alexia knows that it’s a dickhead move, but she’s at her wits end, she’s tired and your beginning to piss her off.

“Why do you make it seem like talking to me is a chore?”

Alexia has a schedule, and she figures sometimes talking with you is a chore, because Alexia doesn’t have time, some days talking to you is just another box for her to tick.

“How many times do I have to say that I’m fucking tired before you udnerstand?”

Alexia’s tone is so harsh, so angry, a tone she long ago promised herself she’d never use with you, ever. But right now every single rule she has for herself is being broken and when tears spring to the corners of your eyes she can’t help but feel guilty.

“If you’re so tired, go to sleep, I’ve told you that already, you’re starting an argument for no reason.”

Alexia cocks her head, trying to absorb what you’ve just said to her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever, I don’t want you fucking talking to me for the rest of the night though.”

Alexia never used to swear around you, or at you, but the part of her that was once so sweet and gentle with you is now gone, long forgotten under the facade that has become La Reina.

“Okay, I love you.”

It’s Alexia’s last chance, her last opportunity for redemption. You give her a few seconds, and when you get nothing in return your heart shatters.

“Please say it back Ale.”

Alexia’s face is emotionless, absolutely devoid of anything that made Alexia, Alexia. It reminds you as to why you are so scared to let people in, because of the damage they can do and the damage they can find. Alexia no longer seems concerned about any of those things, only concerned about herself.

“Alexia.”

She slips under the covers beside you, but her body and face is stock still, so stubborn, so hurt, so fucked up. It’s the final straw for you.

You pull the sheets away from your body, wrenching yourself up and out of the covers, tears streaming down your face as you rush into your wardrobe, pulling out whatever clothes are within arms reach and stuffing them into a bag.

When you emerge Alexia is looking equal parts concerned and shocked.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

In the moment, all you want is to be loved, feel loved, and it’s clear Alexia isn’t prepared to do any of those things.

“You need rest, I don't think either of us are going to get it whilst the other is in the house, I’m going to stay with Mapi for a few nights. When your ready to love me I’ll be there.”

With that you leave the bedroom, pick up your keys and drive into the darkness of the middle of the night, tears flowing freely down your face as the bleary night lights of Barcelona pass by.

It took every single bit of energy left in you to make it up the stairs of Mapi and Ingrid’s house, your knuckles pounding against their door until it swung open, to reveal Mapi and Ingrid, both looking like they’d just crawled out of bed and equally as shocked as each other.

It was then that you broke down, fat, big tears streaming down your face and sobs falling easily from your lips.

“I love her.”

There’s a silence so loud between the three of us as Mapi pulls you into a hug, Ingrid closing the door behind you and the two of them helping you into their house, pulling you into their bed and bringing you into a big hug. All you can do is focus on your breathing, in out, in out. Your hands tears at the broken skin and nails, you can’t manage to meet either of the womens eyes as you cry in their arms, they don’t seem to mind, they only tighten their grip on you.

“It’s okay hermosa, we’ve got you, we won't let go.”

You can’t do much more than cry, you're grieving your life, grieving your lover, grieving everything that you’d just lost in a matter of minutes. Your hearts torn to shreds, undecided about whether or not to let Alexia hold onto a breaking thread and risk the plummet. She’s given you absolutely nothing, no hope, no faith, no love and yet there she goes. She’s let you go. You're only feeling some of it, you know that there is going to be a day, not far away, where you're going to have to see her at training, laughing and smiling with your teammates, people who she’s loving through everything. You're losing her. You lost a version of her that was once so caring, who gave the warmest hugs. You’ve lost your 2 am conversations and your forever and always. You lost the person you’d promised you’d stay around till the very end with, if she hadn’t pushed you away, if she hadn't just loved you none of it would have happened. Alexia Putellas Segura was never yours to have though it seemed, she was for everyone else, the fans, the club, the country. Alexia Putellas was a thought, not a person.

There was a reason why you didn’t eat anymore, you’d become obsessed with trying to be perfect for Alexia, she hung out with models and super stars on the weekends, and yet you were just you. You were so unworthy of her love and attention that you couldn’t really blame her for falling out of love with you.

“She doesn’t love me, she never has.”

Maria hates it when those words leave your mouth, because it couldn’t be further from the truth, Alexia is just shit at showing you it. She knows that her bestfriend loves you more than anybody else in the world, that she would give up everything to be there for you, she just hasn’t noticed that you’ve needed that.

You sniffle into Ingrid’s chest, your fingers tapping against her thigh and your legs shaking from underneath you. You’ve never felt heartbroken before, Alexia has been your day one, and now it feels like you're just done, like everything the two of you have ever worked for together is just completely done.

“She loves you more than you know hermana, but she doesn’t deserve you if she’s going to continue to hurt you.”

Now that Mapi has you in her arms, she can feel just how much smaller you are, how much you’ve shrunken and how emaciated you are. She internally curses Alexia and her stubbornness, the world is so loud that Alexia Putellas has become deaf to your needs, to your happiness. Sometimes her best friend is one of the most impressive people she’s ever met and sometimes she’s just stupid, stupid for letting the love of her life feel so worthless and stupid for letting you walk out the door, something that could be the stupidest decision of her life.

You're positively exhausted, and it doesn’t take much of Ingrid’s back rubs and comforting Norwegian words that you don’t understand for you to be lulled into a painful sleep.

As soon as the two are certain your asleep the move you into the middle of the bed, Mapi looking over the top of you concernedly at Ingrid.

“She needs helps.”

Ingrid can’t find any part of her brain that disagrees with her other half.

“She needs Alexia to take her foot out of her ass and be present.”

Mapi nods her head, her eyes falling to your own face, even in your sleep you lok disturbed, your eyebrows knitted across your skin and a deep frown on your lips.

“Si, well if Alexia won’t then we have to, she needs to know she’s loved. She’s lost so much weight elksling, she hasn’t been eating or looking after herself.”

Ingrid nods, equally worried as her girlfriend about the health of their bestfriend.

“Get some sleep, we’ll figure it out in the morning.

When the two women wake to find you missing from their bed, it takes a search of their apartment to find you deep asleep in their spare room, neither of them question it. They make you breakfast, you don’t eat it, insisting that you're feeling nauseous. When they try to talk about Alexia you shut them down, you’ve created a mental fortress, one that Alexia and your health and emotions aren’t apart of. They invite you to stay with them for the foreseeable future, and you can’t find any reason to say no.

The following days leading up to the first pre-season training are all the same, you hardly sleep every night, sitting up late out on their porch and waking up at the crack of dawn. Mapi knows that your health is teetering dangerously, you hardly eat, you only leave the house to workout, you are a skeleton of a human being. Mapi doesn’t know what to do, you don’t care about anything anymore, or maybe you care so much that it’s all being numbed out.

It’s the first training session when everything turns to shit. She’d found you balling your eyes out in a change room cubicle beforehand, as soon as you’d spotted Mapi you’d pulled yourself together, terrified of being vulnerable in front of her. It only got worse though when you stepped out of the tunnel and onto the field, to be faced with Alexia, standing casually on the field, chatting with a few of your teammates. Your heart plummeted at the sight of her, the woman that you’d made so tired, so unhappy, laughing and messing about with your teammates. You pushed Mapi away when she tried to comfort you, walking straight to the sideline of the pitch to start your warm up. You made it through half of it, your body hurt though, in a way that it never had before. You only made it through one of your sprints before you were face planting into the turf, your whole body completely done. Your bones sunk into the grass, your body just giving up.

It was Mapi who made it to you first, flipping you over, her eyes searching your unconscious face. She knew this was going to happen, knew it was only so long before your body stopped letting you overwork it.

“Alexia.”

Mapi screamed at the top of her lungs, desperate to draw anyone's attention, specifically your fiance, or ex fiance. Everyone turned to face the two of you, Mapi knelt down on the turf, rocking your body back and forth as she tried her very hardest to awaken you, a task that was proving to be unsuccessful. The whole team rushed forward, Alexia at the front of the pack, collapsing beside Mapi on the ruf, taking your head in her hands and shaking it furiously.

“Someone get a medic, y/n, come on, wake up for me, get up.”

There was more emotion in Alexia’s voice than Mapi had heard in months. Mapi hated that it took you passing out for Alexia to care, and suddenly her protective older sister instinct kicked in, pushing Alexia away from you, taking her hands and distaching them from your unconscious body.

“Get the fuck away from her? She has to be unconscious for you to give a fuck? This is your fault, you let it get this bad, if you actually loved her you would have realised ages ago, but you don’t do you? You don’t love her like she deserves, you only love her when it’s convenient for you?”

The words bring tears to Alexia’s eyes, Mapi’s words awaken something in her, a realisation that she’s right, Alexia has given a blind eye to you and now you were seriously hurt because of it. She scrambled away from your body, suddenly overly aware of just how much she’d hurt you. She pushed herself out from the group, running away from all of them, running away from you, running away from her problems, running away from her life that she’d fucked up so badly.

One of the girls had called 112, clawing Mapi away from your unresponsive body as the medics tended to you, plastering a oxygen mask on your face that was far too big, sitting wrongly on your bony face. They loaded you up onto a stretcher, your cold body attached to more cords than you had extremities.

Mapi managed to fit herself into the ambulance with you, clutching your hand the whole drive to the hospital, praying to herself to let you be okay, to let everything work itself out.

When you woke up it was painful. Your eyes blinked furiously as they tried to focus on anything besides the infuriating white light that was clouding your vision. It took a few seconds for your senses to kick in, but once they did it only hurt more. The sound of constant beeping, movement and noise pollution crowding you ears. It was then that you spotted Mapi and Ingrid at your bedside, your eyes darting furiously between the two as the blood rushed to your ears to protect you from the overstimulating noise that was crowding your brain.

Mapi stood up, her hand intertwining with yours. She was trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear anything, your ears making you practically deaf. Mapi held your hand and it seemed to be enough, enough to tell you that everything was okay, or as okay as it could be. Slowly your anxiety slipped out from under you, and your hearing came back, allowing you to focus on what Mapi was saying to you.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s all okay, your okay, take some deep breaths for me.”

Your eyes darted to the IV’s and cords that were connected to you, the feeding tube that went through your nose and down your throat, the oxygen cannula that also rested on your nose, the countless IV’s that were connected to your arm, making it far harder to move your arm at all.

“What happened?”

Your words were choken, your throat dry from lack of liquids. Mapi solved this problem, reaching to your bedside and lifting a glass of water to your lips, you took tentative sips, the water soothing your dry throat.

“You passed at training, malnutrition and dehydration. The doctors think that you’ve been struggling with anorexia for a little while, that you haven’t been eating properly.”

Suddenly everything stopped for you, the words leaving Maria’s mouth making you gulp on nothingness. It felt like you were being choked, big imaginary hands wrapping around your throat, preventing you from saying anything in your defence. It felt like your organs were all eating each other up in your stomach, a uneven discomfort spreading across your torso.

“Nobody is judging you, you’ve been through a really tough time, what matters most now is getting you back to being healthy and happy. Barca is in full support of what you want to do, you have lots of options, inpatient, out patient, moving in with Ingrid and I fully.”

You didn’t want any of those things, you wanted Alexia and it hurt for you to admit that.

“I want Ale.”

Maria frowned at your words, she was still furious with Alexia.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, you deserve better then her hermosa.”

It hurt you to hear Mapi regard Alexia so lowly, when a few weeks ago Alexia had been her best friend in the entire world.

“I want to see Alexia, I know she’s here, let me see her.”

Ingrid stood up, walking out the door of your room and out into the waiting room, retrieving a particularly heart broken blonde from the room and dragging her into your room.

The way your face lit up when you saw Alexia made Mapi feel sick, she wasn’t going to let Alexia hurt you again like she had.

Alexia’s cheeks were tearstained, her eyes distant as they met yours. It hurt her in ways she could never explain, seeing you looking so lifeless in a hospital bed, you were conscious, but all life had been drained from your body, you truly looked like a skeleton.

“Mapi, give me and Alexia a minute will you?”

Mapi looked like she was about to argue, but Ingrid’s hand on her wrist, tugging her out of the room was enough of a distraction, the Norwegian woman closing the door behind the two of them.

“I’m so sorry, I was such a bad girlfriend-.”

You stopped Alexia grovelling by lifting your hand.

“You fucked up, you hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt before. It fucking sucked Alexia, never seeing you and when I did see you, you were always on the phone or tired or not in the mood. I understand that you are very busy, and that you can’t control your schedule, I’m not having a go at you for that, you are allowed to be tired. I’m pissed off because I was struggling, really fucking struggling and all you gave a shit about was yourself, you don’t understand how stressful it is to explain what’s going on in your head when you don’t even understand it yourself. You are supposed to be my person, the person I can ask and tell anything and you didn’t want to be that and I detested you for that. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t spend everyday hating you, because this is what it does to me. I can’t live without you, but I also can’t live beside a version of you that doesn’t love me like I deserve. I want to try us, I want to try again, because if I stand even a chance at keeping myself alive and being happy whilst doing it, it’s going to be in your arms, but I need you to understand that, I need you to understand that you need to be here for me, regardless of what’s going on in your life. You know I’m proud of you, I’m your biggest supporter, so right now I need you to be that for me.”

Alexia nodded like a goldfish at you, more tears flowing freely down her face.

“How bad is it?”

You bit down on your lip, everything that made Alexia, La Reina was gone, all of her barrier broken down, so that the only person standing in front of you was your Ale, the Ale you loved so very much.

“It’s not good, I haven’t been looking after myself in a long while, Anorexia they say. They want me to go into outpatient or inpatient, or move in with Mapi. I don’t want to do any of those things, I just want to be with you, happy with you, with you there to look out for me, I just need you to commit to that for me.”

Alexia nodded quickly, her head shaking furiously as her blonde hair swished back and forth beside her head.

“Please, if you’ll have me. I’ll take time off, whatever you need, I’m here for it all, I’ll spend everyday for the rest of our lives making it up to you, I promise, please just let me love you.”

You patted down on the space beside you on the bed and Alexia hesitantly sat down on the space, hovering on the bed, making sure she wasn’t touching you, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. You were starved though, starved of everything that you’d been missing the last few weeks, you reached out for her, pulling her to sit beside you on the bed, your head coming to rest against her stiff form. It took a few seconds to get her to relax, but when she did she lifted her hands up to your thin hair, carding her fingers gentle through it, trying her hardest not to notice the amount of hair that was falling out as a result of your health problems.

“I love you Ale.”

Alexia was so focused on you, that she didn’t even really hear the words.

“Ale, say it back.”

Your stern tone seemed to awaken her, she pointed her head down to yours, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and murmuring,

“I love you mi amor, more than you will ever know,”

It calmed your soul, a part of your heart that you didn’t know existed finally resting, enough to let you slowly drift off on Alexia’s chest, allowing you to sleep better than you had in months. Alexia found herself following you, the sight of you finally relaxed making her so much more content.

That was how Mapi and Ingrid found the two of you, sound asleep on your hospital bed. Mapi was a little bit annoyed at how easily you’d forgiven Alexia, but she couldn’t find it to be mad at the Catalan for very long, approving of how happy you looked at rest in her arms.

#woso #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #barca femeni x reader #wfc barcelona #barcelona women #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #liga f #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #mapi león #older sister mapi leon #made me cry #love angst

872 notes · View notes

onyourhyuck · 10 months

Text

Dog Sitting Gone Wrong. | Z.CL

— Prologue: “You hired a babysitter for your dog?” + “Daughter actually, she’s my daughter.”

— Summary: You were hired by a rich man to babysit his daughter, when you arrive you realise his daughter is a dog and you’re now dog sitting while he is out running errands.

— Genre: SMUT. Kind of Crack and Fluffy too. There is literally no Chenle smut on this platform this is a crime. Daegal is mentioned here hehe. Y/n has a slight fear of dogs. Chenle’s literally the best single dog dad ever. Things get very spicy in the kitchen… Kitchen sex, praising and use of the term ‘Pretty Slut’ in the fic.

— Notes: I love this concept I feel so proud coming up with it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you heard you’re hired by a rich anonymous man to babysit his kid you didn’t mean you were going to baby sit a freaking white dog that’s now sitting on the floor looking at you like you’re some burglar ready to be gnawed.

The rich man himself didn’t specify but you’re pretty sure he wrote to you a message that contains ‘daughter’ and not a ‘dog’ in the text so now you’re confused if this is the right man. You’re doubting your eyes right now too.

Who in the world hire a babysitter to look after their dog? It’s like he’s purposely trolling you but when Chenle saw your daze expression mixing in like a cocktail at a party event he realised your expression was actually true and you seem confused.

You look at the handsome man with white-ish platinum hair and beautiful pale skin matching the colour of his hair. It makes him look like a real size fairy. Your eyes spoke a lot more than your brain could ever comprehend right now because zero words can describe what you want to say.

“Where is your daughter?” You ask deadpanning at the man.

Chenle looks back at you as if it wasn’t freaking obvious it’s not like Daegal is hard to miss is she? He points his gaze down at the fluff ball in front of your figure and your eyes meet with the dog again. She really didn’t seem to like you, in fact every time you look at her Daegal seems to be sinking her teeth or at least imagining she is sinking her teeth into you.

He points out bluntly now. “Right there, that’s her.”

You want to laugh. Actually you’re not sure if you should laugh or if you should cry. You forgot to mention, you’re freaking terrified of dogs. You’ve always been terrified of dogs and heck you’re now forced to look after one? You’re not sure if the money is worth it anymore but then you remember how much he’s willing to pay you and you stand your ground; maybe the money is so worth it.

Your gaze turns back to Chenle away from his dog now. “You hired a babysitter for your dog?” You said with a confused trial you’re trying so hard not to offend this man, you are in his freaking mansion after-all. However you like to admit his house is pretty damn fancy and modern. Everything looks designed based on his own taste.

If only you were this rich that you can afford a babysitter for your own pet. Heck. He’s paying a lot of money to dog-sit this animal and you’re terrified by the idea of it.

Chenle seems to quip in to interrupt and cut you off when you called his daughter a dog. Of course he knows Daegal is a dog but she’s much more than that to him and he didn’t really like the tone you used either when saying how he hired a babysitter.

“Daughter actually, she’s my daughter.” Chenle points out to you with a little glare and you found yourself nervously sweating.

He seems pretty darn serious and protective of this small harmless dog right? Surely she is harmless. Well you hope she is because if she comes any closer to you and bites you, you might actually cry.

“Right… and I’m Shakira.” You say under your breath now sarcastically although you made sure that Chenle couldn’t hear you at all.

You turn to Daegal and then to Chenle again as you speak with a little sigh. You have no choice but to accept this situation. The money is big, you should survive a few hours and just dip to get the money after.

“So how long will you be out doing your errands?” You now ask him as you change the topic conversation around.

You need to know how long you’re going to be stuck with this dangerous beast in the house.

Chenle spoke back casually leaving you off guard. “I’ll be back at 9.50pm.” You stare at the man with widen eyes. What? That late!?

You’re left wondering what on earth does this man have to do that he’s gone for full thirteen freaking hours leaving you alone with his dog that he claims to be his daughter. Was this man even worth it? Can you stand being in this house before your own panic attack comes and says hello to you and murders you? It’s either going to be your own anxiety killing you or this bloody dog in front of you growling at each step you make with your feet.

You let out a little nervous laugh. “Haha… no problem. Yep. I can handle it.”

But the money? It’s a literal jackpot. You need it.

Chenle gives you a smile when you said you can handle it as you try to hide your doubts away from this man, all because he’s freaking loaded. Oh the things you do for money is insane. Chenle grabs his coat from the cloak hanger and puts it on. He then turns to you once more and gives you long list of instructions to do.

It seems like he put up a whole list that you can do for Daegal if anything comes up.

Which makes you nervous, why does he need a long ass list? You hate to admit but this dog lives better than you.

“Okay so Daegal likes cold waters, do not use the hot water. You need to groom her with delicate oils and brush, remember this. You can’t give her too many treats or else she might get fat I don’t want her to be too big.”

You stare into the open space as he said many more things that you will need to do for this dog and it’s almost like she’s human to him. It makes you wonder how can this dog be so pampered and loved while you have to work a 9 to 5 shift babysitting and now you’re stuck with a dog that by the way you have a rational fear of dogs; no matter the size or the breed. You’re just scared of them from very bad experiences when your childhood was going on.

You heard Chenle’s voice break off as he calls you out into reality. “Y/n you with me? Did you get everything I said to you?” He now asked you and your eyes move to watch him again and you clear your voice.

“Uh yeah, i got everything don’t worry.” You now said and nod giving him a little approval expression because you just gotta fake it till you make it right now. There’s no way you’ll remember everything he just listed on.

“Okay good, I’ll see you later. Just give me a call if you need to know anything.”

The door opens and you watch the man leave which then leaves you finally alone with the enemy in the house. You slowly turn around and see little Daegal looking quite intimidating for your own good and safety. She was on her feet stomping and growling at you now a lot more and she’s threatening to jump and attack you, god knows why and god knows why you’re trembling against a small dog like her.

You feel your voice tremble and your eyes are stuck onto the white fluffy dog as she’s watching you with every corner of your movements. She saw that you’re trying to walk around her and just make a run for it and you let out soft stutters.

“G-good doggy yeah… goooooodddd doggy…” You say with a little bit of a scared tone as you then run around the corner and make a run for it now out of the corridors at the front entrance. It was like a reception area almost.

This must be the most embarrassing thing ever. You’ve never struggled to babysit before anyone. Literally all kids love you. Animals love you. So why was Daegal chasing you and barking at you across the house that you’re running away from her? She’s literally out to get you for some weird reason.

Maybe Daegal doesn’t like you specifically? Chenle never really mentioned Daegal to ever be an aggressive dog but she really don’t like you.

You stand on the couch now with a pillow protectively like a shield when Daegal caught up in the fancy large open side living room. This modern house has at least four floors you believe, it’s freaking huge and it has a basement and attic too. It’s insane how big this house was. You’re kinda thankful because you can’t believe what would happen if there was barely any space and you’re stuck in such a small house with Daegal — might be your last time alive. But this wasn’t the case. This house is pretty huge and you have enough space to run away if Daegal ever comes at you.

Daegal takes a step forward and you push the pillow in her face. “Ah! Stay back! I swear, I have a pillow I’m not afraid to use it!” You’re just threatening a dog now and you feel stupid and kind of ridiculous. This wasn’t part of your cv job application. You didn’t put ‘I love dogs’ on there because you’re terrified of them!

The next thing you know it Daegal bite the pillow and you had to retreat back like a soldier running away from the other team during a war. You jumped off the couch and went towards the kitchen now. You find dog treats in the separate container and you desperately take a few out and when you hear Daegal running around the house looking to get you.

You found her standing in front of the kitchen marble flooring and she saw the treats in your hands which made her now seem a little more distracted and calmer.

You feel relieved because you gave her at least five pieces. Somehow you have a feeling Chenle mentioned not to overfeed Daegal…? Right? Your brain was fumbled you don’t remember, you weren’t actually listening either but it doesn’t matter anymore because Daegal wasn’t chasing you around like a freaking hound ready to kill you anymore which was great on your side.

You rub the back of your neck as you sigh in relief. “Phew close one.”

Maybe you can survive a little in this house before you can find another thing ready to sabotage you and murder you.

You decided to take a few hours of just keeping away from Daegal and giving her space while you’ll be on your phone scrolling to keep yourself busy. As the hour passed another hour went by. Now you’re stuck in the space spot on the couch for four hours. The four hours turns into five hours and you feel boredom overtake your body and your legs.

You never felt so bored before on a job.

In fact you shouldn’t be on your phone like this when you are babysitting but in fact you have no idea how to deal and take care of a dog — specifically you don’t want to approach the dog at all considering your phobia of them.

But then something smashed and fell into pieces in the background from the living room and you’re left there panicking. You quickly stand up and put your phone away on the couch. Your legs rush towards the kitchen to see Daegal chewing on a bunch of tissue paper rolls now shredding them to shrewd bits and all the saliva catching on the white paper.

You feel your face fell into a dark hole resembling a black hole from space sucking everything in. You can’t help but feel like this was your fault for not paying attention to Daegal in the first place right now.

You kneel down slowly with a spatula and poke Daegal away from the toilet rolls. She barks at the spatula and backs away when you managed to successfully wipe her away from the paper.

“Ugh… Daegal your dad is gonna murder me if he knows what you’ve done right now.” You said a little bit squeamish to see the saliva on the paper. You’re going to have to start cleaning this up.

You pick up the pieces of shredded paper and start to clean the floor by wiping it away and putting the rest into the trash bin however you then witness pieces of glass, a vase more in specific, to be broken on the kitchen floor and pieces of roses laying on the floor with a pool of water flossing the kitchen.

Your mouth never fell so fast and your jaw never dislocated so fast at the sight of the mess Daegal made.

The voice comes out as scared as a doe can be when a predator was in sight. You’re no longer scared, you’re frightened by the sight of the mess. The vase looks like an antique. God it probably costs more than your fortune and house you’re renting! Daegal really was out here trying to sabotage you or something.

Never mind if Chenle was going to murder you over toilet rolls being bitten and eaten by his daughter, well he certainly is going to kill you now over this expensive vase!

“Your dad is definitely going to murder me now when he finds out about this.”

You bite your bottom lip as you start to pick up the flowers and then putting them on the counter as you pick up the vase pieces. You suck in your breath. This is going to be terrible terrible news for Chenle. God you can’t even imagine what he’s going to say. You should say goodbye to your bank account because you’re going to be in DEBT now.

And what more? Your life fortune? Wasted. Your university loan? Oh god you can say goodbye to that too.

‘Maybe I can glue this together? He won’t know right…’ You sigh trying to fix this mess up but you know Chenle isn’t stupid.

Daegal barks when she saw your sad depressing expression because you’re literally pulling at your hair over a broken vase now and well, it looks like you’re seeing your end coming. You’re saying goodbye to everything too.

Heck you’re even planning your funeral it looks like it in your head because this vase is going to cost a lot. You bet everything in this house costs so much that even the toilet paper is probably made up of silk, god knows what.

Your eyes stare back at Daegal who’s stepping on your feet trying to get your attention. “What is it? Do you have something to say huh? Look what you did!” You said lifting one singular piece of the vase to Daegal as you start to scold her for ruining something this precious.

Daegal barks back and you scowl as you found the dog to be backchatting at you. “Because of you your dad is going to give me first class ticket to heaven. Or worse maybe hell.” You announce with a dramatic sigh and put the vase back down on the kitchen counter.

She barks again and you retort your eyes at the dog who seems to be wanting to show you something. You follow now Daegal as she was pawing at a certain cabinet and you raise your eyebrow wondering what on earth was this dog trying to show you?

You open the cabinet to fiend your curiosity and when you do you see an exact replica of the vase in the cabinet. Your eyes widen staring at Daegal.

‘Was Daegal… perhaps trying to show me this replica?’ You can’t help but think this was not a coincidence.

You stand up and grab the vase filling it up with water and then putting the flowers inside. The vase was placed back into the original spot again and you hate to admit it but it looks the exact same. It looks like the incident never ever happened.

So maybe you won’t be dying today.

The broken pieces of the previous vase would be thrown in the plastic bag and hidden in the cabinet you reckon no one’s going to look for it there. You look at Daegal who looks pretty satisfied that you replaced the vase.

Technically it was Daegal’s fault it broke but maybe it’s even more of your fault for not keeping an eye on her.

You sigh giving a small pat on Daegal’s head. “You know missy, you’re not so bad after all.” You tell her and Daegal gives a little wag on the tail.

You might be able to tolerate Daegal. Your fear around her has lessened. But that doesn’t really mean your fear of dogs is gone. Maybe Daegal is slightly more tolerable to deal with. Less intimidating now than earlier when she chased you around like you’re some intruder.

As the time went on you decide to give Daegal a little shower like Chenle told you to give her. You made the bath run a little and Daegal would be pampered with all sorts of water and such. You even gave her little bubbles which Daegal was playing with.

You hate to admit but she’s a pretty cute dog. You never really see a dog chasing bubbles before up close anyways.

After the shower you dried her off into a towel and saw that her fluffy white curls were drying quickly and giving her this mane sort of thing. You can’t help but laugh and you look around the giant bathroom. It had everything looking so expensive even the bathtub was looking so expensive and antique-like. You feel like anything you touch will cost you a fortune if you break it.

Your eyes look for bottles of oils that Chenle mentioned and the hairbrush to groom them hairs that are looking a little messy. You bring Daegal on top of the bathroom counter now and you look at her brushing her ears with her paws.

“You know they say pets look like their owners, I can kinda see what they mean by that now that I’m looking at you.”

Your voice sounds like it’s teasing Daegal as you’re now rubbing the oils around her hair and you hear the dog give a little bark wagging the tail. It’s like she’s telling you to stop teasing her and what not but you can’t help it. She does really carry Chenle’s personality with her sometimes, or maybe his entire presence sometimes.

You tilt your head grabbing the hairbrush and starts to slowly brush the dog hairs. You don’t mind to pamper Daegal anymore. You really don’t mind her. At first you were scared and it was clear Daegal didn’t quite like you.

But she seems to be pretty used to you now being in the house so you suppose it went both ways; neither of you liked one another and now you’re pretty settled.

The time goes by soon enough and you see the time was reaching nearly the 9pm mark and you’re certain you and Daegal were done with the shower. You put Daegal back down and let her run around. Meanwhile you would clean out the bathroom and then leave closing the lights.

All you have to do is now wait and what not so you can get paid and then leave. But you won’t lie you feel almost empty now that you’re reaching the end of your job shift. You’re not sure why?

You lay down on the couch and you see Daegal jumping in cuddling right next to your stomach as she seems to take a good spot close to you to fall asleep. You feel yourself falling into dreamland yourself too. Your eyelids feel heavy and you let them close to the darkness. The dreamland was calling you and you accept the sleepiness you’re feeling and so on. Your body goes down into light slumbers and with Daegal fast asleep next to you.

The time you two slept together in this position you were left feeling the most safe. You don’t usually feel this safe and you take a while to fall asleep but all it took you was to cuddle with Daegal to make you feel so sleepy that you forgot you were even falling asleep in the first place.

By the time it goes by now Chenle came home and he wonders why the house was so suspiciously quiet?

The man takes off the shoes and his jacket back to the cloak hanger and he looks around not even seeing a sign of his dog who usually comes towards the door or waits at the door for him to arrive home. When he came forward searching now in panic all of that vanished and dissolves like raindrops falling into a large pool of submerged water the minute his eyes found you and Daegal curled up sleeping together. He stops in front of the couch and lets out a surprise sigh.

He really thought something bad happened but this was surprisingly quite wholesome? Daegal never really sleeps with anyone else but Chenle. She isn’t quite fond of other people.

But she seems pretty fond of you.

Chenle moves his hand to shake your shoulders a little and your lips fell apart letting out a tiny little sigh from the groggy tiredness and your eyes open seeing Chenle’s handsome face in front of you. You slowly get up and you see Daegal is still fast asleep.

Your soft sigh as you woke up made Chenle admire you and actually he found you pretty cute when you’re asleep. “Oh… when did you get back?” You now ask a little question as you slowly begin to stand up as you leave Daegal resting on the couch.

“A few minuets ago.” Chenle explains back in reply. He follows you to the kitchen so you guys can speak a little more clearly. He finds the house to be clean and nothing to be wrong.

It looks like you handled babysitting his daughter well.

Chenle trails looking at the vase, he smiles at the flowers. “Ah good they’re blooming.” He said a little proud that the petals are blooming and you clear your voice looking away from the vase.

“Sooo, did I do a good job babysitting?” You now said wanting some validation, you know it doesn’t hurt to know if you did well or not.

Chenle looks up amused when you’re not clearly seeking some praise and he watches your eyes linger on him with little red cheeks as you feel the eye contact make you start to look flustered a little. Chenle really has a strong gaze that puts this invisible grip around your neck. Although you like it you do, it’s something no one else has over you and only Chenle. Yet you only met him today and spoke to him few times you feel some unbelievably high tension between the both of you.

He takes a step closer and you feel Chenle’s arms putting on the sides of the counter that you’re leaning against now. Chenle’s face moves a little closer to your face to speak.

“You want some praise, is that it?” Chenle now asked you and you give a little nod as your eyes couldn’t be anymore obvious you’re literally eyeing this man’s lips like they’re the only thing you want to look at. “Yeah… doesn’t hurt to hear it…” You tell him softly and he smirks leaning closer.

“Good job, Y/n.” Chenle said reconnecting lips against yours now as he kissed you a little more powerfully than he at first imagine he would. Never in your mind have you thought you’d be making out with a rich man you babysat his daughter for him. You feel a violent connection in your stomach explode like fireworks.

You loved to though. The praise he gave you when he said good job. You kiss him back now even more with your hands connecting to his face as your body was lifted on the kitchen countertop. Chenle ran his hands up against your thighs.

You feel his tongue work his way with your tongue letting them dance as if they were fire and ice. You feel your mouths move on the side some more and you tilt your head even more, Chenle’s fingers pinch at your thighs through your jeans and he rubs and squeezed then too liking how they were feeling so soft and squishy.

You let out a little groan when Chenle connects your lips into another hungry kiss when he pulled away only momentarily to keep you gasping and wanting him even more. He really knows how to play you like a fiddle. You’re growing weak and weaker the more he kisses you. You’re growing addicted.

Your breathes were panting and your voices were singing practically from how good the kiss feels and feeds on your urges to do even more. Chenle’s hands didn’t take a minute to slide his hands at your back undoing the strap between your bras as he kissed you even more.

The shirt and the bra fell off and Chenle enjoys how your breasts were already a little tight on the top. He kissed them down gently and then he saw your arms on the side take off his shirt pulling it off his body. Chenle lets you strip him clean and you connect your mouths again.

It’s like kissing wasn’t enough but you guys keep on kissing and kissing. He’s addicted to you and you’re addicted to him. That was exactly what it was.

But even if you’re addicted and you’re close enough, but you can’t get anymore closer because you’re literally pinned against each other as Chenle ran his tongue across your neck and down to your breasts licking and teasing them with his teeth, you’re practically begging to be under his skin, because you wanna be so close you’re literally as one thing. Chenle feels the eagerness inside him grow even more.

“Oh good gracious… god…”

You let out as your head leans back when Chenle cups his hands over your wet cunt as the cold countertop made the sensation even more intense and difficult to handle.

Chenle slips himself inside taking the chances now or never. He never once thought he would be fucking someone in his own kitchen, as well as that someone being the babysitter he hired. But oh well? Chenle can’t say it’s a bad thing because you made him growing hard and hard behind measures so now he’s going to relive this experience with you.

And you’re enjoying yourself he can tell when you let out a soft smile when he kissed your neck, he heard a little giggle it looks like you’re ticklish on that side and he found that quite cute of you.

“You ticklish over there?” He says softly as he brushed his lips on the same spot that made you laugh quietly.

“Yeah…” Your voice says in response was you let out a soft groan when Chenle was at the same time slowly sinking into your pussy putting in his length in the hole as you’re feeling everything become tighter and squeezing out while at the same time he’s stretching you clean.

Chenle gives him a little smirk kissing the same ticklish spot on your neck. “You know you’re pretty cute.” He tells you as he rubs your back with his hands. One hand stays on your back while the other rests on top of your thigh, you feel him keeping his hands there and you blush when he compliments you like this.

He thinks you’re cute? You feel flattered and shy.

Chenle kissed down your lips again and he loves that he made you glow red on your face, he enjoys your reactions. His pelvis slowly moves and you groan in the kiss. He can see your vibrations from your voice creek in and he swallows them all as he keeps on kissing you while he’s now starting to slowly thrust inside you.

Your lips quiver when Chenle pulls away from the kiss and you finally groan at the motions as Chenle’s focusing on thrusting in and out of you as he keeps you in place on the countertop in the kitchen. Your bodies were pushing up on one another and you feel so delicate while floating with the pleasure.

It feels like nothing you’ve quite experienced before.

But you like it a lot and you don’t want it to end. Chenle’s thrusts makes you feel like you’re floating in the sky and around without any worry in your head.

You’re enjoying this a lot more than you anticipated and it turns you on so much as Chenle’s eyes never leave your face. He seems to enjoy the eye contact and you’re staring at him resembling like a deer on the road with headlights.

He enjoys the little trembling pupils he sees in front of him and he kissed you sweetly as he runs your hair back from your face, the thrusts only pick up the pace but his kisses were so slow placed.

Chenle wants to take a picture of your flushed face everytime he thrusts inside you so deep he sees that your own mind was breaking apart because of him. Chenle will take a forever photogenic memory of this and he will always look back on it because you’re the most beautiful person he laid eyes upon this close while he’s taking you in his own kitchen.

The situation itself at hand was exciting him because he’s not usually the person to sleep with someone he met on first day. But he has a feeling you’re different. He whispers down admiring you even closer. He kissed your ticklish spot again and you flinch with groans flowing past your teeth. “You’re so pretty, pretty slut, you know that Y/n?”

You stutter out breathless. “P-pretty? Really… oh god…” you cave in when Chenle leans even deeper inside you as he tugs on your inner thighs squeezing them with his free one hand on top of your thigh.

“Mhmm… so pretty. No wonder Daegal likes you.” He whispers as he kissed your lips once again and Chenle feels himself getting closer and closer to an exit. You found yourself jerking forward against his thrusts now as your orgasm was at the door and Chenle was pumping you with full of himself inside your beautiful walls that take his shape.

You raise your eyes to the ceiling above at the bright shining lights blinding you now and you lift your arms putting one at Chenle’s shoulder as he’s cramping your bodies together.

Your highs were chased at the end together, he feels you release right after he did and your ears pick up on his low voice growing out.

Chenle takes a moment to take a look at your face again and he gives you a little smirk when he saw your eyes already looking at him, like you’re admiring how beautiful he looks too.

“I already transferred the money to your bank.” He said back and he rubs your cheek with his inner thumb.

“I’ll keep paying you the same amount if you become my permanent dog sitter. What do you say y/n?”

You never expected this job to go this way. But you found yourself agreeing to the deal, and somehow you just know this Dog Sitting Gone Wrong.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu. Reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out!! <3

974 notes · View notes

lisbeth-kk · 10 days

Text

Sherlock fandom

The Greatest Gift

Sherlock still remembers the day like it was yesterday. The sixth day of July. He turned seven and a half years that day. And every birthday gift up until then had never come close to this marvellous surprise.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Mummy said, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

He did as she asked, but slow because he didn’t know what awaited him when his eyes were wide open. How could he have predicted that his life would change forever after that moment. He wonders if his parents knew all those years ago, that they literally gifted him his first best friend.

Sherlock opened his eyes and on the floor in front of him was a basket. Inside the basket was a dog. A living breathing dog. His dog he realised after a while. When those chocolate-brown eyes met his, Sherlock zoomed out anything but the puppy who struggled to get out of his prison.

His fur was wavy and some places curly. The colour of it was auburn. An Irish Setter.

“What will you call him?” Father prompted.

Sherlock startled, having been totally engrossed in watching the dog’s pathetic tries to get his small frame over the top of the basket.

“I get to name him?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Of course, Sherlock. It’s your dog,” Father told him.

“Do you like him?” his mother coaxed.

By the tone of her voice, Sherlock discerned that it wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

“You can pick him up, you know,” his father said mirthfully. “It’s clear that he won’t be able to get out of there by himself.”

Careful, so he didn’t frighten the animal, Sherlock sat on his knees and leaned over the basket to lift the dog up. Seconds after an eager tongue licked his face and Sherlock giggled.

“It tickles!” he exclaimed.

His parents chuckled and told him he had to train the dog to obey, to teach him what was allowed and what wasn’t.

“In due course. Today you can play all you want with him,” Father assured him when Sherlock looked sceptically at his parents by the mentioning of rules.

Every morning after that, when Sherlock opened his eyes to a new day, Redbeard was there, ready to follow him wherever the day would take them. They became inseparable and Redbeard was quite obedient and didn’t need all the training and commanding his parents had mentioned. The dog was happy to follow Sherlock everywhere and if his master told him no, Redbeard refrained from doing whatever shenanigans he’d been up to at the time.

***

“Open your eyes, love,” John whispers.

Sherlock gets a sudden flashback to a certain July day almost six decades ago. Just like then, he opens his eyes slowly, and just like then he’s gobsmacked by what awaits him. At his feet, in their Sussex cottage, is a basket with an English Cocker Spaniel, red in colour, inside, looking expectantly up at Sherlock.

“John.”

It’s all Sherlock’s capable of uttering. In a fluid motion, unsuitable for his age, Sherlock seats himself on the floor beside the basket and stretches out his arms. The puppy comes eagerly and just like Redbeard did all those years ago, licks Sherlock’s face with fervour.

“Easy, my sweet,” Sherlock coos burying his hands in the soft and curly fur.

He looks over at his husband who’s seated himself beside Sherlock, with a bit more effort.

“The kiss will have to wait, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says, his face still damp from the greeting.

John chuckles.

“You always make it up to me. Do you like her?”

“Oh, yes, John. She’s adorable. How did you keep this a secret?”

“A puzzle you can figure out later, my heart,” John teases. “What will you name her?”

“Hudders, would be appropriate, but I’m afraid our former landlady’s ghost would hunt me for eternity if I did. Hm…how about Queenie?”

“Perfect,” John agrees. “One drama queen and one…what role would she…”

“John!” Sherlock exclaims affronted, which makes the puppy bark.

“Ah, I see…she’ll be your protector,” John quips.

“Mm. I guess one more couldn’t hurt,” Sherlock ponders.

“Agreed,” John says emphatically. “Now, let’s get up and you can wash that beautiful face of yours so I can get that kiss you promised me.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @safedistancefrombeingsmart @phoenix27884 @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at @helloliriels @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF249 #open your eyes

112 notes · View notes

hopelesswritergall · 10 months

Note

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Boris pavlikovsky x cutecore fem reader? Or miles Fairchild x cutecore fem reader headcanons? I’m fine with either one if you want to,have a lovely day!!<3

Alright I’m writing this in one sitting please bear with me… let me know if you find grammar issues. English isn’t my first language and I want to learn!

General Taglist: It’s quite lonely here……

TW: mention of fighting, bloody nose, bruises. Yandere tendencies

Meeting him

Alright Boris and a girl who wears mostly pink. Unlikely combination but it’s true.

You were the stereotypical girly girl. Pink? You loved it. Lipstick? Pink. Clothes? Pink. Notebooks? Pink. Hell you were almost like barbie and had a pink mood.

You were doing pretty good in school and kept your grades up. Boris on the other his grades were sinking faster than the titanic.

There was a group project coming up for English. You have to read a book, present and write an essay. This would be the chance for Boris to get his grade up.

“Hey Theo! Come on man, let’s do it together!”

“Unfortunately Mister Pavlikovsky, the groups will be decided by me.” Miss Clarence spoke.

Boris sunk back into his chair, well if he isn’t with Theo, he isn’t going to do shit.

“Hmmm. Let’s see. Boris you will be paired up with……. Ah of course! Y/N!.”

Y/N? Who the fuck is that?

Boris knew he should know the face that belongs to the name but he doesn’t.

Suddenly his vision is filled with pink and he nearly has a heart attack.

“Jesus woman, don’t you watch where you’re going?!”

“That’s a way to introduce yourself. I’m y/n! We’ll be partners for the next project”

Aww hell no. He couldn’t.

“Miss Clarence. Is there anyway we can switch partners?”

Getting to know him:

It was week 3 of the project and Boris hadn’t done much yet. You decided to play a game so he would do stuff and he would get “rewarded”, almost like a child or dog..

“Alright Boris, for every 5 sentences you write, you can ask me a question! That way we can get to know each other!”

“And why should I do that? I can just let you do all the work.” He crossed his arms and leaned back

“Otherwise I’ll only hand in my part and you’ll fail. Don’t think you’d wanna do the year over again, do you?”

He grumbled a bit before writing, he finished the first sentences pretty quick. “Fine, Uhm what is your favourite gift to receive?”

“Oooo, great question!! I love teddy bears, flowers or books!! But I love every gift that someone put effort in.”

You guys talked for some longer and Boris, not wanting it, felt more of a connection. He really wanted to fall through the floor.

Some things during the relationship:

Boris once got into a fight with Mark (only the OG’s will remember my hatred towards Mark) because Mark insulted your clothes. Was it worth the trip to the hospital to check out his nose and knuckles for? Yes. Everyone that makes you cry deserves to rot in hell.

He steals you little stuff from the stores. He will often give you a bracelet or a flower. You even got him to make a flower crown together. You had to swear to not tell anyone!

You guys watch a lot of television together, a LOT

He is very protective of you, always asks what colour you want something in, despite already knowing the answer deep down..

#x reader #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard x reader #boris pavlikovsky #yandere boris pavlikovsky x reader #boris pavlikovsky x reader #yandere boris pavlikovsky #the goldfinch #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x y/n

340 notes · View notes

astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will.

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?”

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter).

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.” You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?"

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better.

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.”

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that.

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much.

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen.

It’s chaos.

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries.

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room.

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap.

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him.

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life.

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know.

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay.

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve.

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him.

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.”

You’ll lose him forever.

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about?

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has.

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely.

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent.

You need to protect him.

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why.

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated.

It’s all very… un-Steven-like.

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either.

Definitely not Steven.

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you.

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign.

Stay away. Do not engage.

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least.

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect!

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous.

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it.

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning.

A red fucking flag.

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen.

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank.

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish?

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank.

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic—

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.”

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language.

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door.

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this.

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again.

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key.

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off.

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place?

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words.

You Is Steven okay?

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet.

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes.

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing.

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake.

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise.

Marc He’s safe.

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life.

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again.

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day.

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner.

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him.

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you.

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you.

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult.

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter.

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head.

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it.

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way.

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress.

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside.

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer.

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now.

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer.

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence.

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge.

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth.

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely."

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank.

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she?

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?”

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks.

You point to the postcards.

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth.

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her.

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him.

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious.

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says.

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?”

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second.

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or–

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them.

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss.

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to.

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window.

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before.

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.”

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst.

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression.

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly?

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him.

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies.

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing. And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time.

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you.

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half.

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear.

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said.

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well.

What reason does he have to lie to you? None.

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say.

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine.

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier.

You When’s Steven coming back?

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely?

You He has his performance review at work on Monday.

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again.

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square.

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night.

“Good morning,” you call out.

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it.

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed.

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank.

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence.

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself.

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic.

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.”

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right?

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”.

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn…

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.”

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing.

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait.

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies.

Wow, this man is blunt.

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity.

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.”

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe.

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.”

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer.

Except it doesn’t come.

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks.

“I like Switzerland.”

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted.

Marc shifts his feet slightly, redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely.

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink.

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat.

Shit…

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it.

“You’re hungry,” Marc states.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo.

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book.

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one.

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi. Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts.

Marc Yeah. He’s safe.

You When’s he coming back? We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel?

Marc No. He’ll be back.

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again.

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it. When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message.

Marc Thanks.

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!

1K notes · View notes

widowbitessting · 1 year

Text

A Trio of Brats

How would each of our ladies react/handle R, if while on the elevator up to the penthouse, during a heated discussion, R spanked their ass and said “you’re being a brat”? 😈

18+ ONLY. Minors Do Not Interact.

Pairing: NatashaxReader|WandaxReader|CarolxReader|NatashaxCarolxWandaxReader

Words: 8137

Warnings: Smut, so much smut, strap on, edging, fingering, mommy kink, daddy kink, captain kink, hair pulling, no touching allowed, punishments, Dom/Sub relationships [there’s more but I’ll tag later]

This is my own work. You are not allowed to copy, steal or claim as your own.

If you would like updates on my universe, please feel free to follow littlelivslibrary and make sure notifications are turned on; as a tag list is no longer an option.

- Natasha’s POV -

“You’re not bringing a puppy into the penthouse, Baby.”

You frown over at the back of Natasha’s head.

She is still standing facing away from you, gazing out of the windows.

While you stay near the doors.

She’s been standing like that ever since the two of you had walked into the elevator.

After you had been badgering her the entire car journey to be allowed to bring MJ’s puppy with you.

It’s safe to say you know you’re grating on Natasha; possibly reaching her limit - but does that stop you?

No.

Because there is a cute little puppy on the line.

You can’t back down now.

No. It’s too vital.

And you want to bring the puppy up to show Wanda and Carol.

No matter what Natasha, ever the bossy boots, says.

“I don’t get why though.”

“Because, dumb girl; I don’t want a flea covered, yapping thing let loose in my home. It was bad enough when you brought Hedwig here.”

Your mouth falls open.

“Hey that was mean! I’m not dumb!” You say. “And she doesn’t have fleas. MJ’s keeps amazingly good care of Spider-pup. And Hedwig was a wonderful guest.”

“For someone who frequently locks herself out of her house.” After hearing the name of the dog, Natasha finally looks around: “Spider…pup?”

“Yeah.” You reply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s dating Peter Parker…the biggest Spider-Man fanboy around. Plus, she couldn’t bring herself to yell Princess in the park.”

“And Spider-pup was the way to go, clearly.”

“Yeah.” You reply, edging forwards a little. “Plus I know Spider-pup has a thing for redheads too.”

Natasha’s eyebrows raise and you quickly back peddle.

“Not in a sexual way! She just loves red headed people. Like, adores them. She’d be on your lap all night, Natty.”

You’ve reached her now and you’re about to twirl some of Natasha’s red hair between your fingers, and offer her your best puppy dog eyes; when her hand grips your wrist tightly, stopping you.

“The mongrel still isn’t stepping a paw into my home, baby girl.” She growls. “Nice try.”

You try to snatch your hand away but the older woman holds you firm.

“Now stop pestering me over an animal, Y/N.”

You gasp.

“Did you just full name me?”

“Yes I did. Because you’re being a brat.”

“I’m hardly being a brat…” You reply, before adding on: “Natasha.”

You’re being slammed into the handlebar before you can even protest.

You’re now looking at the view outside, with the hand Natasha still has in a bruising grip, pinned behind your back.

You let out a whimper, moving as the bar digs uncomfortably into you.

“What did you just call me, Y/N?”

“I don’t remember?”

“Don’t. Lie.” Her free hand smacks your ass hard. “Don’t make me ask again.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“I called you Natasha.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Because…?” Another hard slap and you wince.

“Because I felt cocky.”

“Such a dumb little baby.” Natasha drags your other arm behind you; pinning both hands in one of hers. “What’s my name, little one?”

“N-”

She slaps your ass so hard this time that you let out a cry, trying to get your wrists free.

“Colour, kitten?”

“Yellow.”

Instantly Natasha spins you around and kisses you deeply; humming when you physically melt into her.

“Good girl, thank you for communicating with me.” She smiles down at you. “What’s my name?”

“Daddy.”

“Good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

“I’m still not letting that dog in my apartment.”

She lets you go, seemingly knowing that you’re nearing their apartment and as she walks, you catch her muttering something under her breath.

“You’re being a brat now.”

You slap Natasha’s ass before you can really stop yourself.

And end up swallowing thickly.

“Holy shit.”

Yep, you’re gonna die.

You’re dead.

MJ, you’d better say something good at my funeral.

Natasha turns around, completely ignoring the doors that are now opening.

“What was that?”

She’s glaring at you.

Daring you to say it again.

What the hell, right?

“You’re being the brat…” It’s nothing more than a whisper but you say it.

Natasha lets out a chuckle.

A low chuckle that has you quaking right where you stand.

You glance behind her at the doors which are now closing.

Natasha catches the door without taking her eyes from you.

“Well if I’m the brat then that makes you the Dom, baby.” Natasha steps out of the elevator. “So I think I’ll go ahead and put myself in a time out; you’ll be able to entertain yourself without me, won’t you?”

The colour drains from your face.

“What?”

Turning without another word, Natasha leaves you standing there, completely dumbfounded.

You’re quick to move when the doors shut you off from her, and you manage to weasel through, hot on Natasha’s heels.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

But you don’t get a response from her the entire walk up through the apartment and down to her office.

When she gets there, she offers you a glance and a small, smug smile, before vanishing quickly inside; shutting the door behind her.

For the entire hour she is in there, no matter how many times you knock on the door, attempt to pick the lock - something Natasha herself had taught you - and begged; literally begged, the red head just wouldn’t open the door.

For the entire hour.

The entire long and extremely boring hour.

You end up leaning your back against the door as you text MJ; doing nothing short of complaining of how mind numbingly bored you are, when the door suddenly shoots open and you’re sent flying backwards.

Landing in a thump between Natasha’s heeled feet.

“Hey detka, still here?”

“That was mean, Daddy.”

The red head shrugs.

“Have you finished being a brat?”

“Should I be asking you that question?” You ask.

“Another hour it is.”

You jump to your feet quickly.

“No, no! I’m sorry! Please.”

Natasha is smug as she keeps the door open for you and you scramble inside.

“Well seeing as you apologised…I think it’s time for the good girl to get her reward then…isn’t it…”

You all but jump into her open arms and wrap yourself around her like a koala.

Natasha attacks your neck with vigour, licking and biting at the skin you have to offer her, all the while walking you into the room towards her desk.

You squirm and let out a small whine.

“You’re packing.”

“Would you expect anything less from me, kitten?” she asks coyly.

Natasha drops you unceremoniously on her floor.

“No. Never.”

“Knees. Now.”

You get into position instantly, hands resting on your lap.

“Think you can suck my strap for me? Get it nice and wet for that pretty pussy, baby?”

Your mouth opens automatically, watching with eager eyes as she unzips her pants and takes out her strap.

“Look, baby girl. I made sure to choose your favourite too.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

Natasha cups your face and rubs her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Such a good girl.” She says, “Now stick out that tongue.”

When you do, she spits directly onto it and makes you swallow.

“How did I get lucky to get such a good girl, hmm?” Natasha asks. “Can you suck daddy’s cock for me? Make me feel good?”

You surge forwards without needing anymore instruction.

Sucking most of it into your mouth, you move your hands to Natasha’s legs as you fight the urge to gag almost immediately.

You hear Natasha coo at you as you struggle.

Knowing this wasn’t your forte.

She grips the back of your head and gently guides you down her faux cock.

Enjoying the way your eyes are already brimming with tears.

You wretch loudly and Natasha coos you again.

“Poor baby, doing so well on my cock - such a good girl.”

Spit dribbles down your chin.

When your nose presses into the fabric of Natasha’s pants, you force yourself to breathe through your nostrils.

Trying so hard to stop gagging.

“You okay, detka?”

You give her a thumbs up and it urges her to continue.

Her grip on your hair tightens as she grabs the strands and pulls you back, before dragging you back down.

Over and over.

Until your throat has gotten used to her member.

Until you’re sucking her into your mouth with much more ease.

“There we go, little one. Get it nice and wet for your pussy.”

She fucks your face a few more times, softly pounding her hips into your mouth; forcing her cock down your throat.

When she pulls out, strings of spit still connect you to her strap.

It’s one of the hottest things Natasha has ever seen.

Your chin and neck are covered in drool.

Natasha leans down and kisses you sloppily, humming when you try to suck her tongue into your mouth,

Before hoisting you up off the floor and down onto her desk.

She automatically pulls at your shorts so fast that you’re sure they’re torn.

Natasha flips you on your stomach, fingers dipping into your wetness.

“So wet already, detka.” She murmurs, “did you miss daddy?”

She slaps your ass.

“I did; so much.” You pant, “I’m so sorry for being a brat. So, so, so sorry.”

“Thank you for all the apologies, baby.”

When she finally thrusts into you, your eyes all but roll back and your head screams: “Finally!”

You moan loudly.

So loudly.

“That’s it baby, taking my strap so well.”

Natasha keeps on slowly pushing inside of you, knowing that it's driving you mad.

Once she’s fully inside of you, she pauses for a second, allowing you to get used to her length, to the stretch that parts your walls, before she pulls out slightly and thrusts back in.

“Oh good girl.” Natasha sighs, pulling out again.

When she slams in, you let out a startled moan, near head butting her desk.

Her new pace is just brutal, holding your hips as she pounds over and over into you.

Natasha is chasing her high, just as you are yours.

The end of her strap rubs deliciously against her clit.

Mix that with your moans and the sounds coming from between your legs, Natasha is already close.

“You’re such a good girl when you want to be, kitten.” She lets out a shaky breath.

You preen under her words, shuffling on the desk as you start bouncing back on Natasha’s strap.

“That’s it slut, take my cock.”

You angle your hips down, jolting when it hits the spongy spot inside of you.

Oh, that feels so good.

Christ, how were you so close already?

But then again, you've lost all sense of time.

“Is my little baby gonna cum?” Natasha asks, voice slightly breathless.

“Uh-huh. Please, please can I cum, daddy?”

Not bothering to give you a verbal reply, Natasha pounds into so fast you’re sure the back of your thighs are going to bruise.

She watches with glee as your hands wrap around the edges of the desk to try and stop your body jolting with each thrust.

Your moans bounce off the walls.

The coil in your stomach tightens as Natasha constantly hits your g-spot.

“Cum. Cum now or don’t bother at all.”

Your orgasm is torn out of you, just as is the exhausted scream that follows; your legs tremble and you would have slid off the table right there and then if it wasn’t for Natasha holding your hips in death grips.

A few more thrusts and Natasha reaches her high too; slamming into you one final time before she lets out a whine and stills, body shuddering.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your legs have become jelly. Your pussy too sensitive to take anymore.

Natasha pulls out, quickly leaning down to lick a long strip through your folds before standing up straight and turning you round.

When she kisses you, all you can taste is your own arousal.

You pull back and lick the tip of her nose.

“Am I forgiven, daddy?”

“Yes, detka.” Natasha smiles. “How does a shower sound?”

“A shower sounds amazing.” You reply, grinning.

“Good.”

You reach down to pick up your shorts but the redhead snatches them from you.

“You won’t be needing them, silly girl.”

You can’t help but grin.

“Yes, daddy.”

You walk to the office door, turning when Natasha calls your name.

“I’m still not letting MJ’s dog in my home, Y/N. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

- Carol’s POV -

“No. Means. No.”

“Oh come on, Carol!”

You follow the blonde into the elevator, a box containing the most delicious pie you have ever tasted, in your hands.

“No, kitten. You heard me. We are not eating pie before dinner.”

You stand next to her as she beeps her card and presses the button for the penthouse.

“Car, come on. What’s the worst that could happen, hmm? We don’t eat all of our dinner? Wow, call the cops now.”

“The worst that could happen is you getting put in your place, little girl. Don’t make me throw that pie out of the window, because I will.”

You hold it closer to your chest.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Using her full height against you, Carol towers down at you and narrows her eyes.

“Try me.”

You shuffle back, taking your precious pie with you.

Carol follows.

“I see this thing as my child; you throw this out and you’re throwing my…like heart out too…”

“God you’re so fucking dramatic.” Carol rolls her eyes. “Plus you want to eat that pie. How sick is that?”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, unable to think of a snarky reply.

“That’s what I thought.” Carol replies, “want me to shut that mouth for you, kitten?”

Glowering up at her, you do it yourself.

“Are we finished going on about this stupid pie now?” She asks.

“S-stupid pie?” You look down at the box. “Carol, I’m hurt. Hurt! This pie is not stupid; it’s a beautiful creation and I think I’m in love with it.”

Carol laughs, exasperated.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, baby.”

“Y’know what else is cute, Carol?” You ask before holding the box out. “This pie. And it’s cruel for us to wait to eat it until after dinner.”

“Y/N…” Carol warns. “I’m getting sick of hearing about it. I mean it. We’re eating it after dinner. Or not at all.”

You glance down at the box in your hands.

“Fine.”

Smiling, Carol leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I knew you could listen to instructions; good girl, kitten.”

“It’s amazing what happens when you threaten my pie, isn’t it?”

Carol smirks.

“It sure is.”

The two of you settle down, Carol taking her phone out of her pocket to check a couple of emails while you find it really hard to not roll your eyes.

God, the whole thing is stupid.

What was the big deal anyway?

Food is food, right?

You open the lid and inhale the sweet smell of the treat in your hands; mouth instantly filling with drool.

Your stomach rumbles.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry.” You scrape a little of the crust off with your finger and pop it into your mouth. “Can’t we just, like I dunno; nibble the crust, Carol? Consider it an amuse-bouche.”

You’re too busy giggling at your very pitiful joke to notice Carol.

Maybe if you had you could have gotten away from the situation.

Doubtful.

But maybe.

The pie is snatched from your hands before you can fully process what’s happening and thrown on the ground.

"Hey!"

You’re then pinned by the blonde, back bouncing on the elevator wall; where, not even waiting for you to reply, Carol’s hand trails up your chest, tickles at your neck before settling in your hair.

She grabs a handful, relishing in the way you flinch, readying for her to yank.

“Kneel.”

“Excuse me?” You say.

“You heard me, kitten. Kneel. Remember your place.”

You shake your head.

The final nail in your coffin.

Carol’s hand slams down on your shoulder and she pushes you down onto your knees.

You quickly find it difficult to maintain eye contact with the incredibly smug woman standing over you.

The second you look away, she cocks her head to the side.

“Where you looking at, kitten?” Carol asks. “My eyes are up here. You know I like looking at your pretty eyes.”

You make yourself look at her.

And as you part your lips to talk, Carol roughly pushes two fingers into your mouth.

“Brats don’t get to talk.” She growls.

You choke as Carol’s fingers hit the back of your throat; and when you try to pull back, the other woman doesn’t let you, the grip on your hair tightening to keep you in your place.

“Where are you going, baby?”

Carol fucks your mouth a few more times before keeping them lodged between your lips; loving the way your eyes widen and you gag around her.

Carol doesn’t miss the small intake of breath through your nose when her boot grazes your core.

She pulls her fingers from your mouth, deliberately pressing down on your tongue to just earn one last gag before her digits leave fully.

Spit dangles from her glistening fingers and she wipes them clean on your cheek.

“Stay.”

You look at her in confusion; watching as she crosses the elevator to hit the STOP button; causing you to nearly fall out of your kneeling position from the floor.

When Carol returns to you, you try to speak again, voice your innocence, but she raises an eyebrow and your voice dies in your throat.

Her feet shift and one slips between your spread legs.

“There’s a good girl, that’s what I thought.”

You stay where you are, legs spread on the elevator floor with one of Carol’s feet between them.

“Look at you,” she mockingly pouts, “on your knees for me. Right where you belong.”

Carol lifts her foot and smiles when you jerk.

“You think bad girls have the right to try and get off on my feet?”

She moves her foot and you all but whimper when the contact leaves you.

“But considering you look so fucking cute right now…I’d say you deserve…something…” Carol’s face is incredibly smug. “Go ahead and hump my shoe, slut. I'll allow it.”

Your eyes go wide.

“W-what?”

“You heard me, baby.” Carol says. “Or is that dumb submissive brain of yours too fuzzy to understand simple instructions?”

Her boot goes back between your legs and presses right against your clit.

“Hump my fucking shoe or I’ll turn your ass red. The choice is yours.”

You move automatically, despite the humiliation slapping you right in the face, and grind yourself down onto Carol’s shoe.

The friction feels amazing and it causes your eyes to flutter.

“Oh.”

“Go on. Get yourself off on my shoe. It’s a nice sight, I won’t lie.”

You roll your hips and groan.

When you try to sit up, to rearrange yourself on her shoe; Carol’s hands slam firmly on your shoulders again and shoves you back down; grinding you against her boot.

“Fuck, c-captain.”

“What was that, baby girl?” she asks.

“Nothing, captain; I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you need something in that mouth of yours…to keep you quiet. What do you think?”

You go to reply when two of Carol’s fingers re enter your mouth.

“Suck them.”

You’re quick to do as you’re told, sucking on her digits as if your life depends on it.

“There’s a good girl. Knew I’d find better use of that mouth instead of talking utter shit.”

You gag loudly when her long fingers poke at the back of your throat.

“You know,” Carol continues, shifting her boot to make you groan, “you’re such a good girl when you’re not complaining about your stupid pie.”

Something clicks in her brain and she smiles deviously down at you.

“I think I might take you up on your offer from earlier, sugar.” She continues, gripping your jaw tighter when you try to speak.

And then just like that, everything stops.

You can only watch helplessly as she moves away from you and picks up the box.

You miss how good her shoe made you feel.

You clench your thighs, pussy throbbing.

When she opens the box lid, you can’t help the pathetic whine when you see your delicious pie in front of you.

You swallow thickly.

“It smells delicious, kitten.” Carol says; eyes snapping to you when you open your mouth again.

You watch, mouth agape as she breaks off a part of the crust and pops in into her mouth; moaning loudly when the buttery flavour explodes on her taste buds.

“And this is just the crust, I can’t wait to eat the whole thing.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh? And what’re you gonna do about it, brat?”

You’re on your feet in seconds, legs shaking from being knelt down for a long period of time.

“You’re the one being the brat now, not me.”

How you manage to slap Carol’s ass before she pins you to the wall is beyond you.

Yet somehow you manage it.

The blonde is seething.

“Say that again.”

You meet her eyes and all the courage you have vacates your body.

“I-I’d rather not, thank you.”

“It isn't a request, Y/N. It's an order.”

“I -”

“3.”

“Don’t count!”

“2.”

“I said you was the brat!”

“And why did you call me a brat?” Carol asks.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh? An apology already?” Carol grins. “Where did that bratty energy go?”

“It left. Really quickly.” You pout slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry, baby?” She leans to kiss your jaw. “Really sorry?”

“Mhmm.” You whine when her teeth nip at your skin.

“I guess that’s okay then isn’t it, if you’re really sorry.”

You’re sceptical at first - because why would she let you get away with being a brat so quickly? - but when her hand slips into your pants, the scepticism dissolves.

Her long fingers circle your clit and you let out a small whimper.

“Does that feel good, kitten?”

She grabs your jaw with her other hand.

“Use those words, baby.”

She says this as her fingers dip inside of you, pulling back before she fully does.

“Yes, captain.” You whisper. “Please.”

“Oh such a good girl, using her manners for her captain.”

She lifts you with no effort, yanking your pants and knickers down to your knees before shoving two fingers easily inside of you.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby girl. I love it.”

Carol moves you again, carrying you across the elevator with her fingers still inside of you and somehow - you’re not sure how - presses the button to make the elevator move.

Your back ends up pressed against the elevator doors and you gasp when the cool steel presses against your ass.

“What if someone comes in?” You gasp out.

Carol adds a third finger, enjoying the way you react to her stretching you out.

You whimper, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

“Then you better cum fast, baby girl.”

You nod.

You can do that.

You wrap your legs around her waist, moaning when Carol growls.

Her teeth find home at your neck and she bites and sucks at what you have to offer her.

“Gonna mark you up,” she says, licking the large red mark she had just made.

You grind against her hand.

Her fingers squelch inside of you. “Everyone will know who you belong to.”

“You, captain. I belong to you!”

Her thumb rubs at your clit and you have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming out.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.”

“Oh god, yes, right there - please!”

You’re stuffed with Carol’s fingers, clenching around them as she moves and curls inside of your pussy.

Lewd, wet noises fill the elevator.

It should be embarrassing but it isn’t.

Not when you’re feeling this good.

“Mmm, close, so close.”

It’s almost obscene how quickly they can make you cum.

“I’m gonna c...!”

Your body tenses -

- and Carol abruptly removes her fingers from you, throwing your legs down as she goes.

“What? What are you doing?”

You hastily pull your pants back up, breathing heavily.

“Brats don’t get to cum, silly girl.”

Your eyes all but bulge from your head.

Sucking her fingers, she grabs onto you when the doors to the elevator open, stopping you from tumbling out.

You don’t even notice, far too enraged by your denied orgasm.

“What?! That’s not fair!”

“Shall we make it a week of edging then instead of just tonight, kitten? ‘Cos that wouldn’t be fair.”

You hastily shake your head.

“I - let’s not be too hasty now.”

“That’s what I thought.” Carol towers over you. “Now, fetch your pie and come along little kitten. You’ve got a long night ahead.”

- Wanda’s POV -

“I can’t believe you dropped your coke, Y/N.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally!” You’re all but pouting as you stomp into the elevator to the penthouse. “I was looking forward to drinking it too; stupid curb. I could have broken my neck.”

“Bit dramatic there, detka.” Wanda smiles, slurping her drink, just loud enjoy to make you glare.

She moves the reusable carrier bag to rest in the crook of her arm. “I’d have caught you.”

“You were doubled over laughing, Maximoff. When would you have caught me?”

“After I finished laughing, duh.” Wanda hands you her drink.

You accept it happily and inhale a large mouthful, momentarily struggling to swallow all the carbonated bubbles.

“Also, Maximoff, huh? Channelling your inner Natasha and Carol there are you?”

You shrug as you continue to drink her soda.

“So what if I am?”

You watch as Wanda commands the elevator to take you to their floor before coming to stand in your personal space.

She taps your nose.

“I prefer you calling me Wands.” She whispers, leaning down to take the straw into her mouth. “Or mommy. I know how much you enjoy calling me mommy.”

She says it with such nonchalance that it takes your brain a second to understand what she just said to you.

“I don’t…you…” Your voice trails off and you suddenly find you can’t keep Wanda’s eye contact.

She giggles and your brain mercifully starts to work again.

“I love how flustered that makes you, baby. You’re so cute.”

“Oh whatever.” You scoff, shoving Wanda away with a smile.

She lets out a giggle but doesn’t budge too far from you.

“It’s so easy to do. Even when I’m not fully in dom mode, I can still make you blush. Talk about giving me an ego boost, sweetheart.”

“I can easily burst your bubble, Wands.”

“Oh yeah?” She raises an eyebrow. “Go on then. Burst my bubble. I dare you.”

“You dare me?”

“Mhmm. I’m waiting.” She checks her watch. “Although, if you make me wait any longer I might end up ageing a few years…”

“I -” You start but when Wanda’s lips suddenly find your neck, you falter. “That’s….that’s mean.”

“Use your words, baby.” She sucks on your skin. “Go on.”

“I…just…” You’re begging your brain to function. It becomes increasingly difficult, especially when Wanda drags her teeth over your collarbone. “Y-you…”

“Yes, baby girl?” Wanda moves up to suck your earlobe into her mouth. “My not-at-all-flustered-baby-girl.”

You shut your eyes and try your best to focus.

“I’m not - I’m…” You swallow thickly. “I’m not flustered. I don’t get easily flustered.”

“Just admit defeat, baby.” She kisses along your jaw until settling on your lips, kissing you once, twice, three times. “My flustered girl, I love that I can do this to you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, detka.” Wanda mercifully pulls back slightly, giving you enough space to regain some control of your thoughts. “It’s so hot.”

Your cheeks blush.

“Even if you do try to lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mhmm.”

“Tell that to your crimson cheeks, baby girl.” She winks before stepping fully out of your personal space. “You cutie pie. Trying to lie to your mommy. You know I don’t like liars, sweetheart.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, mommy?”

She leans down and recaptures your lips with her own; holding the side of your face with her free hand in a gentle caress.

It’s a tender moment.

And you fall fully into it.

“For that, I’m gonna play our new video game when you’re in school this week.”

You pull away from her.

“You what?”

“You heard me, baby.”

You let out a whine, frowning.

“But that’s not fair!”

“It isn’t?” She asks, grinning, showing her pristine white teeth. “How so, baby?”

“B-because you’re gonna learn all the tricks and I’ll be at a disadvantage when we play!”

“Aww,” Wanda mock pouts down at you. “Such a silly little thing. You won’t be at a disadvantage.”

“So…wait, you’re not gonna cheat?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“I didn’t say that.” Wanda replies. “I’m gonna learn everything whilst you’re stuck in class. You’re not gonna be at a disadvantage, detka; you’re gonna be at a loss when we play.”

You gape up at her.

“And then when you get home to me, I’ll make you a bet that I just know you won’t be able to refuse…”

“I’d be able to refuse it.” You mumble in a hushed tone.

“Shh baby, mommy’s speaking.” Wanda bumps her nose to yours. “When you lose my bet, your ass is gonna be mine.”

“I - I won’t fall for your bet.”

“You won’t?” Wanda asks. “My stubborn, proud, little girl, won’t accept a bet I lay out for her…won’t take the chance to try and prove me wrong?”

Oh you can feel the moment your eye starts to twitch.

“No…I won’t fall for it, Wanda.”

Wanda smirks.

“I think you already have, buttercup.”

The elevator dings, catching Wanda’s attention.

“Come on, kitten. Mommy wants a cup of coffee.”

She turns and you find yourself staring at her ass.

You glare at her.

“You’re being such a brat.”

Those five words alone are going to get you into trouble.

But you don’t stop there.

No.

Of course you don’t. It’s you.

The temptation to spank her overrules any logical thoughts you have and, without fully thinking the idea through, you smack Wanda’s ass.

With a lot more power than you had anticipated.

The older woman jerks, a surprised noise passing her lips.

She turns to you slowly, both eyebrows raised in shock.

You stare at her.

Just as shocked.

“I - you…”

“Did you just spank my ass, little one?”

“No.”

“Again with the lies.”

“I’m not -”

Her hand is in your hair so fast; palm scraping against your scalp before her fingers latch down, hard.

You let out a tiny squeak as she holds you where she wants, eyes glaring down at your stunned face; your eyes lidded in pleasure.

“Did you smack my ass, baby girl?” Wanda asks.

You’re finding it really difficult to maintain eye contact with her.

“So what if I did?” You ask, the adrenaline from Wanda pulling your hair fuelling your brat energy.

“Oh, so that’s the mood you’re going with is it?” Wanda’s smile grows. “For a second I really thought you were gonna chicken out on me, sweetie.”

You avert your eyes from her gaze and Wanda quickly rectifies it; hand dropping from your hair to grip your chin.

She lifts your face up, tilting her own head to the side when you try your best to keep from looking at her.

“Aww, is the little baby too afraid to look me in the eyes now?”

“No.”

“Then look at me.” Wanda orders simply.

When you still refuse, she sighs.

“Come now, baby girl; look at me or I’ll let Natasha and Carol deal with you.”

You tentatively peak up at her.

Wanda’s grip on your chin tightens.

“Ignore me again and I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days; is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Good girl.” Wanda kisses your nose. “Coffee?”

“Coffee sounds perfect.”

Two minutes later and the two of you leave the elevator, hand in hand; softly discussing your upcoming game night plans, when you hear it.

Gentle moans coming from the front room.

While you pause mid step, Wanda continues on, dragging you with her without stopping to check if you’re okay.

“Wanda!” You whisper, “I think they’re busy!”

“Who? Our girlfriends, you mean?”

You’re blushing.

“I know that.” You reply, gripping her hand as you climb the stairs. “But they’re having alone time.”

Wanda can’t help but grin.

“You’re so fucking adorable, baby. Come on, it’s okay. They won’t mind. If anything, seeing us watch will spur them on…”

What you’re met with, is Carol kneeling between Natasha’s bare legs as she laps away happily at her pussy.

Natasha, with her hair shoved messily on her head, has her eyes screwed shut.

Her hips jerk and she gasps, then letting out a little sigh when Carol inserts two fingers into her.

“There you go, my love.” Carol mutters, moving away to kiss Natasha’s inner thigh.

“If you make me squirt on our couch, I won’t be impressed, Danvers.”

“Challenge accepted, Romanoff.”

Carol throws Natasha’s left leg over her shoulder and pulls her closer.

Casting a devious wink up at the red head, Carol licks her lips and dives back in, feasting on the other woman like it was her last meal.

You can only watch, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes gaze over Carol’s toned arms pinning Natasha in place.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Wanda asks, glancing at you. “See something you like?”

“I’m just -”

You’re too enamoured by Natasha and Carol to even notice Wanda moving around you; placing her things down before going to stand back at your side.

She moves your hair from your neck and peppers kisses at the skin you offer to her, grasping your body to stop you from pulling away in surprise.

“Hush now,” She whispers, earning fresh goosebumps to rise where her breath tickles you. “You wanna watch them with me, baby?”

You let out a breathless moan as Wanda licks up to your earlobe.

She takes it between her teeth and nibbles.

“But…we…”

“Use your big girl words.”

You try to drag your eyes away but Wanda is one step ahead of you; she grabs a fist full of your hair again and keeps your head from moving.

“Watch, baby girl.”

Wanda’s right arm moves slides around your stomach to dip between your waistband.

“What do we have here?” She murmurs, dragging one slender finger over your clit. She moves lower, to the slight damp patch giving you away. “Did mommy do this? Or is it because you’re watching our captain eat daddy’s pussy?”

You drag your eyes from Carol’s tongue, watching in a daze as it disappears inside of Natasha, to glance back at Wanda.

She’s watching you both with a similar gaze; pupils blown wide with lust.

When you look back to the pair on the sofa, you’re met with dazzling green eyes staring at you.

“Looks like we’ve got some onlookers, moya lyubov’.” Natasha’s breath hitches.

When Carol turns to you and Wanda, her mouth shimmers.

“Are you two gonna join us?”

“I was thinking of something different.” Wanda replies, removing her hand from between your legs.

You let out a whine, wincing when Wanda’s grip on your hair tightens.

“Don’t think I forgot about your little stunt, brat.” She shoves you forward.

“Oh? Has our baby girl been naughty?” Natasha asks, letting out a loud moan when Carol curls her fingers.

“Our baby girl thought it was appropriate to slap my arse and call me a brat.”

You snap your head to look at Wanda; eyes wide in shock.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!”

Wanda shrugs. “I never said such a thing. But maybe now you’ll rethink your actions, detka.”

“Oh, she has been a bad girl.” Carol is grinning against Natasha’s folds.

“And I think I know the perfect punishment…” Wanda replies, squishing your cheeks between her fingers. “Kneel.”

“No I don’t -”

“I. Said. Kneel.”

Wanda’s hands move to your shoulders and she shoves you down to the floor.

You end up on your knees with Wanda’s hands clamped on your shoulders, painfully close to Natasha and Carol.

“Now, be a good girl and stay put. Mommy needs to get something just for you.”

You all but sigh in relief when Wanda removes her hands from you and she quickly leaves the room.

You move on instinct, your knees already sore from the wooden floor.

But Natasha, even with her eyes shut in pleasure, just knows you’re trying to move and she catches your arm in a vice grip.

“Mommy told you to stay, little one.”

Another harsh tug and you’re pulled forward, landing on your hands, nose bumping into Natasha’s raised leg.

“I - um -”

“Why don’t you watch daddy cum, baby girl?” Natasha gyrates her hips on Carol’s face. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

Natasha’s grip tightens on arm and you wince, automatically pulling away.

“Kiss me.”

You glance at Carol, who is leaning up from Natasha. She’s looking at you with wet lips; her fingers still working in and out of the red head.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Carol says, “kiss me. Come here.”

You do as you’re told, leaning across to capture Carol’s lips with your own.

You immediately taste Natasha’s arousal. It attacks your senses.

It coats your lips, fills your mouth and invades your nose.

You quickly get lost in it, sucking on Carol’s tongue.

The blonde pulls back, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you.

“Fuck.” You whimper.

“Now what’s this about you spanking mommy, hmm?” She asks, trailing her thumb across your lip.

“I didn’t mean it, captain.” You give her your best doe eyed look, sticking out your bottom lip for good measure.

It only earns a snicker.

“Nice try, baby.”

And just like that, Carol shoves you away from her.

With such force that you topple onto your ass.

Just as Wanda re-enters the room holding a collar and a leash.

Looming over you, Wanda motions you to sit by her feet.

You do as you’re told, quickly; earning a soft “Good girl.” to be whispered in your ear.

You’re far too infatuated with Wanda that you miss Natasha’s eyes rolling to the back of her head as her orgasm rips through her.

You want nothing more than to watch her fall apart, but the stern look that Wanda gives you is enough to keep you in place.

“You want to be my good little pet?” she asks, locking the collar around your neck. She checks the tightness and then asks if it feels okay on you.

You nod and Wanda connects the leash to the heart shaped part of the collar.

“Then good little pets obey and listen to their owners, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“I like where this is going.” Carol mutters to Natasha.

“Come.”

Crawling behind Wanda’s feet, and earning a few slaps on your ass from the other two women, she moves until she has you kneeling in front of the coffee table.

You silently watch her as she ties the end of the leash to the table leg.

“Good little pets also deserve to be punished for spanking their mommies, don’t they?”

You pout and nod.

“…yes mommy.”

Wanda walks back to Natasha and Carol, kissing them both deeply before whispering something into their ears.

Just quiet enough that you can’t fully make out what she’s saying.

You’re interested.

Curious as to what is being said.

“My devious, devious little switchy.” Natasha grins, pulling Wanda in for another kiss.

“Maybe this will teach our little brat to think before she acts.” Carol says, glancing at you.

“Tell her, moya lyubov’.” Natasha tells Wanda. “ So the poor girl doesn’t get into more trouble.”

“You’re to sit there baby, as Natasha and Carol fuck me. You’re not allowed to be involved. No touching. No whining. No moving. Do I make myself clear?”

Your face falls.

Your good girl act crumbles.

The brat inside of you rises up, screaming like a banshee.

How could they do this to you? Over something so small?!

Your eye twitches and you open your mouth to fight back.

“Behave, kitten.” Natasha orders. “Or should I take matters into my own hands and make use of our new paddle?”

The words die on your tongue.

Your inner brat dropping to hide once more.

And now you know exactly why Wanda placed you directly in front of them.

You’re in the front row seat of torture.

“That’s what I thought. Dumb baby.”

“I’ll ask again: do I make myself clear, Y/N?”

“Yes!”

A single eyebrow raise.

“Yes, you make yourself clear, mommy.”

“Such a good little pet.”

Wanda’s top gets torn off first by Carol, quickly followed by her leggings.

“You’re gonna make the cutest sounds for us, bunny.” Natasha says, nipping at Wanda’s neck. “All for us.”

“Yes, daddy.” Wanda replies, letting out a shuddering breath when teeth scrape her collarbone.

You lick your dry lips, hands curling into fists on your lap.

This is so unfair, so unfair!

You shuffle forward, yearning to get nearer; eyes watching the two women as they begin to devour Wanda.

Jealousy pangs through you.

You swallow what moisture you have in your mouth and try to move forward again.

Only, this time, the leash prevents you from moving.

It strains, keeping you in your place.

The collar presses into your neck but you don’t stop.

You continue to lean forward, determined to be part of the fun happening in front of you.

The table drags loudly against the floor and you instantly freeze, eyes going wide.

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at you.

“She’s really being determined to be a fucking brat today, isn’t she?” Carol says. “I say we add to her punishment. See if she finally listens then.”

You cower back as Carol approaches, Wanda’s long sleeved shirt in her hands.

Behind her, Natasha pins Wanda down on the sofa and kisses her deeply.

“Now, now,” she says, stroking your cheek. “Less of that. You’re safe, remember. Check in with me.”

“Green…a little yellow, but it’s because I’m nervous.”

Carol smiles, leaning down to kiss you.

“I’m only going to blindfold you, my love. Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay.” You pout up at her, “just please let me touch you. Please.”

“Poor thing,” Carol quickly kisses you again. “But it’s not me you should have begged to.”

“Wait -”

But Carol doesn’t let you finish your sentence; doesn’t let you finish your plea for pleasure.

She wraps Wanda’s sleeves around your face, tying them behind your head, cutting off your vision of Natasha kissing down Wanda’s stomach.

“No…”

You know you look ridiculous but it’s the least of your worries.

Instinct takes over and you go to grab at the offending material over your eyes but Carol’s catches your wrists before you can.

“Keep them on your thighs and do not move them. There. Some more rules for that pretty head to follow.” Carol says. “Think you can do that?”

“Um, I think so.”

“I want you to tell me what you’re not allowed to do. Now. Just so I know we’re on the same page, kitten.”

You open your mouth and Carol leans down to attack your neck.

You’re not expecting it, caught fully unaware and you let out a startled scream, body jerking back so suddenly that you tumble off your knees and onto your ass.

Again.

Carol lets you fall and you just know she’s smiling.

“Mean.”

“Mean?” Carol asks. “No, my sweet, sweet girl; this is mean.”

You’re stripped down to your underwear in record speed, despite how much of a fuss you put up.

“On your knees.”

Wanda is whimpering.

You want nothing more to see what Natasha is doing to her.

“How? I can’t see.”

Carol chuckles as Wanda lets out a soft, “Fuck.”

“Ever the fucking brat.”

One spanked - and slightly redder - ass cheek later, you’re back in your original position with your hands clenched into fists on top of your thighs.

“Now, what is it you’re not allowed to do, kitten?” she asks.

“Well I’m not allowed to see for one thing…”

A hand slithers around your throat and gives you a warning squeeze.

“With less attitude, darling girl.”

Hearing Natasha’s voice so close causes you to gasp.

When did they switch?!

“I’m…not allowed to touch myself…to whine or to move…”

“Annnnd…” Natasha encourages, finger circling your nipple into a hardened point.

“Please, Captain, please!” Wanda groans from the sofa.

You shuffle uncomfortably on the floor.

“I’m not allowed to watch.” You say. “Or move my hands.”

“Good girl, following my orders so well.” A kiss is pressed to your cheek. “Stay put now, yes? Daddy and Captain want to enjoy their bunny without the disruptions.”

Without waiting for a reply, Natasha leaves you.

It doesn’t take long for Wanda to become more vocal.

Every whimper, every moan is heightened and your body reacts when you hear them.

“Bend your legs for me, bunny.” Carol says as you let out a shaky breath. “Let captain see that gorgeous pussy of yours.”

God, you’re going to ruin your knickers.

“Fuck, she’s so wet. It’s dribbling down her thighs.” Carol continues. “Can captain eat your cunt? Make you feel good until you’re cumming on my tongue?”

Your nails are digging into your palms.

Wanda lets out a loud moan and you almost do too.

“Yes, captain, please!”

“I just wanna see, please, let me watch.” You beg.

It goes ignored.

You’re so jealous.

Natasha and Carol continue their feast.

Blissfully.

They don’t stop until Wanda is a sobbing mess.

Until she’s moaning and writhing just for them.

It should be for you.

You should be making her feel this good.

While Natasha and Carol watch.

It’s not fair.

By Wanda’s first orgasm, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been on your knees.

When Wanda cums again, the pins and needles in your legs have set in.

After her third orgasm, you’re a panting mess; and this is when you’re finally given reprieve.

The makeshift blindfold is carefully removed from you and it takes a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust to the lights in the room.

It’s Wanda who crouches in front of you, helping you switch positions so your legs can stretch.

She smiles lovingly at you, sweat glistening on her forehead.

The smell of sex fills your nose.

Your mouth waters.

“Have you learnt your lesson, love?” she asks and you all but jump to reply.

“Yes! Yes, mommy I have! I’m so sorry for calling you a brat and spanking your ass!”

Carol and Natasha appear at your sides.

They’re in varied stages of undress: Wanda completely bare, Natasha has nothing but her bra on while Carol has the pair of boxers she wears when wearing your current favourite strap.

“Will you do it again?”

Maybe.

“No. I won’t.”

Wanda cups your face with her hands and kisses you.

She pulls back and your lips are left still puckered.

“I know you’re fibbing but I’ll let it slide.” Wanda says. “Staying knelt like that. Are you all needy, baby? Is your pussy soaking wet for us?”

“Mhmm, it is mommy.” You’re pouting again.

“You look good enough to eat, detka.”

“Then eat me…”

The three women laugh and it makes you smile.

“I’m not sure…should we drag your punishment out, baby girl?” Wanda asks. “Make sure you really learnt your lesson?”

“No!” You look at each one of them frantically. “Please, don’t!”

“Then get your cute ass up those stairs, sweetheart.” Natasha orders.

“Race you.” Wanda winks.

The woman jumps to her feet and lets out a startled gasp when Carol drags her back to the floor.

“Go, baby, go!” The blonde shouts, wrestling to keep Wanda down.

Natasha helps you up and gives you a shove.

“Go on! Carol won’t be able to hold her forever!”

Grinning, you dart past the two forms wriggling on the floor and charge up the stairs, letting out a frantic laugh when you hear footsteps start to follow you.

You’re the first to the bedroom and when Carol finally makes it there too, four bodies collide and fall onto the bed in a heap.

You don’t resurface until the following day.

Your new game, for now, is completely forgotten.

Hope you enjoyed!! Go and take a cold shower, that’s an order😏

Also thank you to Maxy for helping with the gifs! *mwah*

#submission #18+ only #no minors #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #natasha x wanda x carol x reader #sugar mommies #sugar mommies!asks #sugar mommies suggestions #sugar mommies au #sugar mommies drabble #sugar mommies drabbles #over 8000 words #damn

581 notes · View notes