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ofjunemoment · 1 year

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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

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igbylicious · 9 days

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whichever way [woosan x reader] pt9

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: You visit Wooyoung at work, where one of your ground rules is tested.

wc: 7.7k

ch. warnings: gratuitous Seonghwa cameo, angst, a fight that lasts for like 15 minutes oop, sorta hurt/comfort, non-sexual bondage, dom San, sub Wooyoung, sub reader, rope space, mentions of past arophobia and amatonormativity

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

a/n²: there is no smut bc i split this chapter up for length — but the next update will make up for that, promise!!! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

a/n³: in-fic time, less than a day has passed between the end of chapter 7 and the start of chapter 9. this feels worth mentioning, considering what happens in this one lol

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

The florist shop where Wooyoung works has a colourful and refreshing showroom, filled with creative flower arrangements, lush potted plants and idyllic garden ornaments. Sweet fragrances permeate the air, bright sunlight comes in from the large storefront windows.

The place is small and packed tight, greenery within arms’ reach wherever you stand; but organised and clean enough that it does not overwhelm the eye. And your vantage point by the counter gives you a nice overview of the store, including its two employees currently at work — but right now, they’re not exactly busy with selling flowers.

“Just relax, hyung!” Wooyoung says, exasperated, waving a hand at his friend and coworker. “Look natural!”

He has a camera pointed at Park Seonghwa; an absolute sweetheart and strong contender for the title of ‘most attractive person you have ever met’.

(A title that Wooyoung and San and literally every single one of their friends are in the running for. You’re still not convinced they didn’t hire their entire social life from a modelling agency.)

You watch them with amused interest. You’ve only met Seonghwa twice before, but he had enthusiastically greeted you when you entered the shop earlier. Now all that bright friendliness has faded, replaced by a stiff smile that’s stretched uncomfortably across his face.

“I don’t look natural?” he asks, nervous in his role as a model. “Why do you need me anyway, isn’t all this for the webshop? Why aren’t you taking photos of the displays?”

Wooyoung sighs impatiently, shaking his head at Seonghwa’s obliviousness. “Are you kidding me? The internet is gonna eat your face up. This is going on all the socials, hyung, we’re going for a viral sensation here! Viral! Now go stand next to those hibiscus and look pretty, alright?”

While Seonghwa moves around the store for a good spot, Wooyoung shakes his head and gives you a pointed look.

“Can you believe this? Man has a phone bursting with selfies and now he gets camera shy? I really thought this’d be a cake-walk.”

You giggle at Wooyoung’s mumbled grousing, and give him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. You never actually planned to visit Wooyoung at work today, but after last night activities, you’d been overtaken by an unshakable urge to check in on him.

He’d been yours to take care of, bound and blindfolded, and you can’t shake off an oddly protective feeling, like he is still yours to take care of even now. (San also always insists on dropping by at your place after an intense scene. You always poked fun at his overprotectiveness, but now you understand his chivalrous instincts a little better.)

There really was no need for you to worry; Wooyoung is energetic and upbeat, firing off jokes at Seonghwa in an attempt to relax him.

“What if I pretend to be a customer? Just to set the scene, distract him from the camera,” you suggest to Wooyoung. “But no pictures of me!” you add quickly. “I don’t need to be on this place’s instagram or whatever, alright?”

Wooyoung perks up at your offer. “Yeah, that could work! Come, hyung, pretend it’s just another day on the job.”

He ushers you to join Seonghwa between the colourful dahlias and asters, where you exaggeratedly clear your throat and roll your shoulders, readying yourself for your acting performance.

“Okay, so help me out here,” you tell Seonghwa, overly serious. “Let’s say I want to give my neighbour some flowers. What type of bouquet would I need to communicate my sympathies because his boyfriend never stops bullying him?”

“Oi!” Wooyoung protests, but he has to bite down a laugh to keep his camera steady. “Hwa, maybe you should put together something for a poor guy whose boyfriend’s neighbour keeps bullying him!”

But Seonghwa lets out an adorable giggle, and his smile relaxes now you’ve put him onto a task — no matter how silly the task is. “Well, edelweiss are often associated with courage, that seems appropriate here, right?” he says, meandering through the store. “Or what about some red camellia? Means ‘to persist with grace’ in hanakotoba.”

“San does show remarkable grace throughout his many struggles,” you agree solemnly.

“Same can’t be said about you,” Wooyoung retaliates with a grin.

You stick out your tongue at him, very much proving his point. But then you quietly hang back while Seonghwa enthusiastically digs into the particulars to fulfil your fake request. Your distraction works exactly as intended; now that he has relaxed, his natural sweetness gets a chance to shine on camera.

Seonghwa continues babbling about flower language at you, until the photo-shoot is put on hold when a soft bell chimes through the store. The door opens, and an actual customer steps inside.

Seonghwa helps the distraught-looking young man, who seems to have made some disastrous choices in his relationship — but you don’t listen in on their conversation for too long. Instead, you and Wooyoung reconvene at the counter.

He takes you through his haul of photos, badgering you for feedback. Your lack of expertise never seems to stop Wooyoung from valuing your opinion, always eager to hear what you have to say. So you point out the photos you like best, and happily let him use you as a soundboard.

He nods thoughtfully when you admit to liking the photos where Seonghwa is still just slightly nervous; there is endearing about his tentative smile, making his beauty approachable rather than intimidating. “Maybe you could a few from that side of the store too?” you suggest, gesturing to an area to the side. “The succulent arrangements there are really cute.”

“Oh, good idea!” His eyes flicker over the displays, and already you can see the gears in his head turning, working out the best angles and observing how the natural light falls.

“Do you want me to take over the camera for a bit?” you ask.

“You? Why?”

You shrug, idly looking through more of the photographs. “You said you wanted a viral sensation, right? Getting some shots of you definitely won’t hurt.”

“Are you saying I look sexy?” Wooyoung grins as he leans on the counter, running a deliberate hand through his hair.

“No, that’s what you’re saying. I never used that word,” you tease him. “…But yeah. You look pretty sexy.”

You see no point in lying. There’s something unreasonably appealing about Wooyoung in a dark green apron, fitted around his slim waist; especially combined with a simple off-white shirt, rolled up to his elbows to show off his veiny forearms. He has his hair partially tied back into a half ponytail, the loose strands falling attractively into his face.

Wooyoung lets out a pleased giggle, bumping his shoulder into you and sticking close. His fingers reach to play against your wrist, tapping and drawing circles on your skin. He’s been acting especially clingy today, making you wonder if he also feels the remnants of yesterday’s scene just like you are.

Either way, you don’t give too much thought to his touchy-feely mood, until you keep looking through the photos — and see yourself back on the screen.

“Woo, didn’t I tell you? Not me!” you complain, whapping him on the arm, but it’s hard not to be struck by the picture; the way he has caught your face in the sunlight, your eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as you play customer for Seonghwa. Wooyoung has always had an uncanny ability to capture your happiness in his photos, bringing your inner joy to the surface. Sometimes the intensity of your own expression catches you off guard, making you wonder if your smile ever used to be that wide before.

Wooyoung pats your shoulder reassuringly, holding you into a half-hug. “This photo isn’t for the socials; it’s for me,” he grins and leans in, his lips suddenly pressed against your skin for a firm peck on the cheek.

You freeze instantly.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, but then his memory kicks in. “Ahh right, sorry sorry! No kissing when we’re not— Yep, got it.”

“Yeah,” you say awkwardly. It’s fine, you tell yourself. Wooyoung forgot a boundary, he corrected himself; that’s all. Drop it and move on.

But Wooyoung, caught up in his playful mood, is not dropping it. He tilts his head, his eyes curved with a happy smile of mischievous curiosity. “So really, not just on the lips, no kisses at all? Any room to haggle out a deal? How about… on the top of your head?” he teases, pretending to move in. “Or the tip of your nose?”

Wooyoung keeps feigning more attempts at a kiss, treating the line drawn by your ground rule like a tightrope, balancing right across and threatening to topple over.

And there is no safety net underneath, not for you.

Your good mood shrinks away as Wooyoung happily jokes around, a tightness freezing you up. “No, no don’t,” you say, stiffly pressing a hand against Wooyoung’s shoulder to push him back. “Don’t fool around, Woo. Not this time.”

A strange mix of guilt and discomfort tangles sharply around your chest. Discomfort at Wooyoung’s flippant reaction to your boundary, guilt for having a boundary against one of his preferred displays of affection in the first place.

Wooyoung sobers up when he sees how badly he misjudged the situation. “Hey, sorry alright?” he says, raising his hands in apology. “I didn’t realise it was a big deal.”

In a way, you agree. The kiss itself didn’t need to be a big deal, not if Wooyoung had just let you shrug it off.

But either way, it is part of a big deal.

Once again, you hear the clock in your head, ticking away until the end of your arrangement with San and Wooyoung. Right now, it’s louder than ever.

Most days you just try to enjoy the moment, and avoid thinking too much about it. Now the full weight threatens to come crashing down on you, right in the middle of the flower shop.

Usually you imagine it ending by a slow drifting of interest; a gradual, undefined shift where you fade into the background noise of each others’ lives. Still friends, hopefully, but no longer closely entangled the way you are now.

But the kiss is a blunt reminder that things can also shift in a different direction; San or Wooyoung might grow to want things, feelings, that you cannot offer them. You are happy with the way things are now — but how long before they aren’t? What if this one small stupid kiss is the first of many clashes? What if this is the first sign of some inherent incompatibility between their needs and yours?

What if they ever decide that what you can give them isn’t enough?

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you stay stiffly, trying to keep the tight spool of emotions contained.

Hurt flashes across Wooyoung’s face at your obvious attempt to brush him off. “I’m worrying about it a little,” he says, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “You know I didn’t—”

But Wooyoung swallows down the rest of his words when Seonghwa joins him behind the counter with an armful of flowers for the customer. Wooyoung magics on his friendliest smile, amicably chatting away with the distressed young man while Seonghwa deftly assembles a beautiful arrangement of soft rosy and lavender hues.

Together they comfort their upset customer, assuring him his girlfriend will love these, though you know they’ll be like two gossiping aunties the moment this poor guy leaves the store.

You try to relax during the wait, but suddenly the store’s sweet floral aroma is cloying to the senses, threatening you with a headache.

You just want to get out, take a few deep breaths of fresh air, and ease down your discomfort without Wooyoung constantly casting glances at you. His bright customer service smile hides most of his true expression, but there is definitely a worry in his eyes, and you can’t stop thinking about the earlier hurt on his face.

The customer leaves with his flowers and a soft jingle of the door chime, and Seonghwa turns to Wooyoung.

“How about we do a video too? Talk the boss into making a tiktok account for the store?” Seonghwa suggests, his nerves fully flipped over into excitement now that he’s gotten comfortable with the camera. In his enthusiasm, he clocks a beat too late that something is off with his coworker. “Uh, Wooyoung? Everything alright?”

“Not sure,” Wooyoung says, lines drawn on his brow as he looks at you. “Are we alright?”

“Yeah, I just— I’m gonna head back, see you later, okay?” you say, the headache no longer just a threat.

Wooyoung’s worry falls away from his face to make way for disbelief, and an annoyance prickles to life as you try to brush him off — again. “Wait, are you serious? C’mon, it’s only like five minutes ‘til closing time, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t be like that.”

Unsure, Seonghwa looks between you and Wooyoung. “Hey, why don’t you just leave early, Wooyo?” he offers. “It’s pretty quiet today, I got this. My turn to close up shop anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wooyoung hesitates, but gives in when Seonghwa gives him a friendly nudge. “Yeah, see you tomorrow. I owe you one, Hwa.”

The way back to the apartment building is quite possibly the most awkward that things have ever been between you and Wooyoung — which is saying something, considering the whole ‘you walking in on him and San having sex’-thing that kicked all of this off in the first place.

Neither of you bring up what just happened, honouring an unspoken agreement to wait until you’re back home. There are a few stilted attempts at smalltalk, like you and Wooyoung are both trying to keep some thin thread of connection alive; but there is mostly just silence.

Wooyoung quietly trudges next to you with his face drawn, hands stuffed in his pockets, and plenty of thoughts on his mind. (You can’t help but wonder; how many of those are second thoughts?)

It’s a painful contrast with how affectionately clingy he was before, but thankfully the apartment building is just one quick subway stop away, and then it is only an elevator ride up to the top floor. You follow Wooyoung into San’s place without really thinking about it, like that’s just where you are supposed to be.

Inside, Wooyoung shucks off his shoes and barely waits for you to follow him into the living room. “Okay, we’re home, can we talk now?” he says, looking back at you with a tight expression on his face. “Cause that back there? That wasn’t cool.”

San, who had been hanging out on the couch, puts down his phone and blinks in surprise at the heavy tension that just walked into his apartment. “What wasn’t cool?”

“It’s not—” you start, but Wooyoung bluntly interrupts you.

“I kissed her.”

“Wait, you what?” San says, now outright startled.

“On the cheek,” Wooyoung explains, then crosses his arms as he turns back to you. “And no, I shouldn’t have — but when you tried to ditch me like that? That wasn’t cool either.”

His frustration is contagious, and you feel yourself responding in kind. “You know what else isn’t cool? You doubling down on the whole thing and making a laugh of it instead of just backing off,” you bite at Wooyoung.

Anger blooms inside you; anger that has very little to do with that stupid kiss on the cheek.

Every time you have to remind him or San of a boundary, it feels like you are speeding up the clock on this relationship, rushing closer towards the end. And you can’t help but resent Wooyoung for making you do it twice.

“You think I like telling you no? I don’t!” you snap, the frustration now burning behind your eyes. “Whenever I gotta push back against something, I feel like I’m pushing you away. I don’t want that! I don’t want to push you away, so just— Stop making me!”

“Make you?” Wooyoung snaps back. “I didn’t make you do anything yesterday. You started on that whole ‘we can still be friends after we stop having sex’ business all on your own, and that felt like a pretty big shove to me.”

Poor San looks completely out of his depth, uncertain as he glances back-and-forth between arguments, but his eyes widen at Wooyoung’s words. “Wait, you want to stop this?” he asks, staring at you in shock.

“No, of course I don’t!” you say, flustered that San’s takeaway is the exact same as Wooyoung’s had been. “Why do you guys keep asking that?!”

“Because you’re the one who brought it up!” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes at you.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Shit. That’s… actually a good point. “Not because I want us to stop,” you say, your heated anger slowly cooling down to brittle embarrassment, “I’m just…”

“Wait, hang on, hang on,” San says, finally willing himself into motion.

Carefully, he takes your and Wooyoung’s hands, then leads you to sit on the couch with him in the middle. He doesn’t let go of your hands.

“So let me get this straight. You” — he looks pointedly at Wooyoung — “are upset because you don’t want her to push us away. And you” — he turns to look at you — “are upset because you also don’t want to push us away? So what the hell am I missing here? Aren’t you on the same page? Can we please maybe entertain the idea that you guys aren’t actually mad at each other!”

Now it’s Wooyoung’s turn to cool down, the frustration seeping out of his shoulders. He sighs, something releasing in his breath, then meets your eyes with a tentative grimace.

“I’m not mad at you,” he admits awkwardly. (San lets out a sigh of relief.) “What you said yesterday… maybe it shook me up a bit more than I realised.”

You mirror his grimace, struggling to meet his eyes. “I’m not mad either,” you say, equally awkward. “Sorry, I didn’t really think about how that question could sound to you. I was just looking for reassurance, I swear.”

San squeezes his hand around yours, daring a cautious little smile now the thorn has been taken out of this conversation. “Reassurance for what?”

“Just what I said,” you say with a rueful laugh, unsure how to explain better. “That we’ll still be friends even after things between us change.”

Wooyoung makes a noise of exasperation.

“No but see, that kinda pisses me off,” he says, getting worked up again. “Listen, I get what you were saying, that we don’t know what will happen in the future. But why are you so convinced we’re stopping this any time soon? Sure, we don’t know if it will go on forever, but isn’t that the same for anything? Hell, who can even say if San and I won’t ever break up either?”

“Um, I can?!” San interjects, giving Wooyoung a distressed look.

“I didn’t— Sannie, I’m not saying we will!” Wooyoung says, interrupting his own vehement monologue with a fond laugh, patting at San’s hair. “I just mean you never know! But bringing up stuff like ‘after’ and staying friends…” Wooyoung looks at you with a faded smile. “It made me feel like you got one foot out the door already.”

His words sink in slowly… and for the second time today, you’re forced to admit that Wooyoung sure is making a good point.

(And despite everything, you can’t help but feel a small burst of happiness at Wooyoung’s complete distaste at the thought of ending your arrangement.)

“Maybe… yeah. Maybe I do have a foot out,” you say wryly. “Past experiences have turned me into a bit of a pessimist, I guess. But if they taught me anything, it’s that whenever I got something more involved going on, one of two things always happens. Usually, the whole thing just… dissolves. Not always on purpose, but it does. We’re having fun, but then the fun wears off or it isn’t convenient anymore or something else comes along that’s simply more important.”

“You’re important to us,” Wooyoung protests, sulking.

“Yeah, well. I’m important to Hongjoong too. He still left,” you say sharply, and for the first time, you allow yourself some bitterness in that truth. (Obviously you would have told him to go, had he asked. He never asked. And really, what right did you have to expect him to? You are ‘just’ friends, after all. But fuck, it hurts.)

Wooyoung flinches back, blinking in surprise at your tone, and a fresh wave of guilt bubbles up inside you. You hate it. Why, even in the privacy of your own mind, do you feel guilty for not wanting to be put in second or third or last place for once?

You sigh, reaching across San’s lap to rest a hand on Wooyoung’s thigh. “Sorry Woo, that wasn’t fair,” you say, not thinking too much on if that’s true or not. Right now, you’re tired and just want to smooth things over, not set off another argument.

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung mumbles; and for a moment you worry that it is not fine at all. He stands up, shoulders low from fatigue as he stares at the floor — but then he grabs your hand without even meeting your eyes and pulls you up on your feet, right into a hug.

His grip on you is so tight it knocks the breath of out of you. One of his hands finds the space between your shoulder blades, fingers clinging at the fabric of your shirt, while the other cups the back of your head, drawing you even closer into his warmth.

You can’t see his face, burrowed against your shoulder, but you think you can hear a muffled “you couldn’t push me away if you tried”. A cautious smile curves around your lips, and you gently return his hug, carding your fingers through his dark hair.

It only takes a moment for another set of arms to join the fray, and you let out a soft ‘oof’ as the full strength of San wraps around you and Wooyoung, his firm body pressing into yours.

“You guys scared me,” he pouts, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear me? Are we all good now?”

You free up an arm to clutch at San’s shoulder; still a bit unsteady but reassured by their dual presences. “Better, definitely,” you allow with a soft smile.

Wooyoung lifts his head up. There is no anger in his face, but the furrow of his brow still hasn’t relaxed. “We are good,” he mumbles. “I still feel kinda shitty. I know I fool around a lot, but it was just supposed to be a bit of fun. Never meant to actually upset you.”

“I know,” you say, gently brushing through his hair. “It’s okay. Sorry I tried to shut you out.”

San looks from you to Wooyoung, gears turning behind his eyes as he sees you’re both not fully at peace yet. “Let’s take it easy tonight, alright?” he says with an encouraging smile. “You two go freshen up or take a nap or something, I’ll order some food, and after that we’ll make sure everyone gets all nice and relaxed. I may know just the thing.”

A ping of curiosity goes off at San’s last words, but you know asking won’t be any use; he likes to keep his surprises. “Thanks, San,” you smile back, “and thanks for snapping us out of it.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta be the sensible one around here,” he grins — and lets out a tiny, cute yelp when Wooyoung lovingly bites his shoulder.

“You think you’re the sensible one?” Wooyoung says in teasing disbelief, right back to his menacing ways.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Yeah, I’m with Woo on this one,” you say. “Sense? San, you bark at Byeol.”

San makes an offended noise. “Byeol grew up around pups, she doesn’t speak cat!” he defends himself, endearingly earnest.

“Ah yes, perfectly sensible,” Wooyoung drawls, exchanging a grin with you; and as your eyes meet, you know that things will be alright between you.

San tries to glare at you and Wooyoung, a look that is completely neutralised by the pout on his lips. “You two really want to piss off the guy who’s about to buy you dinner? That a road you want to go down?” he threatens, but there’s a poorly hidden, happy gleam in his eyes.

Wooyoung throws his arms around San, pressing an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. “Love you, babe!”

You hug San with equal enthusiasm, nuzzling against his shoulder. “Thank you, food daddy!”

“‘Food daddy’?!” San gives you a startled look but quickly sighs in defeat, patting you and Wooyoung on the head. “Fine, fine. Go take a shower or something and I’ll handle it.”

A long shower and a hot meal later, you find yourself in the familiar space of San’s bedroom; the white walls contrasted by dark sheets and curtains, with their the monochrome artwork of vast mountains and woodlands. A place you’ve come to associate with safety and pleasure; a place that eases the tension in your body just by breathing the air between these four walls.

Soft music drifts through the background; one of San’s easy listening playlists, relaxed and unobtrusive, and he even took the time to light a subtly scented candle. The atmosphere is quietly intimate, but also distinctly chaste, with none of the usual heat.

You are kneeled down on the bed, doing some light shoulder stretches to warm your body up, comfy in a basic sports bra and a pair of sleeping shorts. Wooyoung is dressed in a shirt and baggy boxers — and adorned by lines of rope stretched across his chest, already halfway into a box-tie. He submits to San’s work with a languid smile, slowly letting the outside world slip away.

“Of course your ‘thing’ would involve rope,” you tease San, then sigh in bliss at a particularly satisfying stretch. “Don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Hey, if it works, it works,” San says with a wink. “Besides, you sure were eager enough when I pitched the idea.”

To literally tie you and Wooyoung together? A little on the nose, perhaps, but god San had looked so cute when he suggested it, so proud of himself for his ingenious plan, and you’d hardly object to such a thing anyway.

You realised long ago that bondage is a bit of a favourite between San and Wooyoung, and they are no strangers to non-sexual forms of rope play either. Both for the intimacy and calming benefits of the act itself, and to test out complex ties or positions in a low intensity environment.

San finishes the box tie on Wooyoung, securely cinching both his arms and wrists, ropes crisscrossed prettily across his chest. Already you can see the shift on Wooyoung’s face; in the right mood, rope is one of the few things that truly slows him down, its soothing effect reaching all the way into his very core.

“Everything good?” San asks, his voice like velvet while he checks the knots. “That’s it, slow your breathing,” he hums, raising and lowering a hand in time with Wooyoung’s breath, guiding him deeper into an almost trance-like state. “Focus on the smell of the candle, how the rope feels against your skin, holding you in. Nothing in the world except the three of us in this room.”

He tenderly cups Wooyoung’s cheek for a soft kiss, lingering close as their foreheads touch.

“I’m right here, I’ll be right next to you,” San whispers. “Just keep your eyes on me, alright?”

You smile softly at San’s reassurance. Even when he is forced to divide his attention between two subs, San always finds small ways to stay connected, especially when one of you is in a vulnerable state.

Wooyoung briefly rubs his nose against San’s, then lets him go with a content sigh. A familiar warmth spreads in your chest at being the witness to their intimacy, their willingness to share unguarded moments of delicate happiness.

Then San turns to you, and treats you to a moment of delicate happiness of your own with a light brush of his knuckles across your cheek. “You ready?” he asks with a small grin, looking far more relaxed himself too. Like the act of tying up Wooyoung unwound something inside him as well.

You nod, filled with gentle anticipation. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then let’s get started,” he says, holding up a piece of rope with a playful spark in his eyes.

You settle down while San goes to work, a feeling of serenity washing over you with the knowledge you are in safe hands. He is as meticulous as always, an easy rhythm to his movement, like the cords are an extension of his body, wrapping himself around you.

San’s slightly calloused fingertips brush against your sports bra and against bare skin. Even with zero intent on arousal, there is a sensuality to the way his hands move over your body, leaving a trail of rope that are not unlike his fingertips; slightly coarse but still soft. There is no restraining element to your decorative harness, but it feels secure around you, grounding your senses. With every cord San lays across your chest, he reduces the world further down to just this place, this moment; no thoughts, no worries, no conflict.

You glance at Wooyoung to find him watching you with a slow, dopey smile, all his earlier tension evaporated. His smile widens when he notices you looking, and your own lips curve up in response.

The diamond chest harness snugly hugs your breasts, and you feel the odd urge to preen, filled with a surge of confidence at how they accentuate the soft curves of your body. You arch your back just lightly, and Wooyoung bites his lip with a breathy laugh; he will always respect the need to show off.

“Looks nice,” he says, slightly raspy from the effort to summon his voice.

“Back at you,” you hum, casting an admiring glance at Wooyoung’s body and the ropework. “San did well.”

San strokes the back of your head, and gives the nape of your neck a small, appreciate squeeze at your compliment. “Ready for the next part?” he asks, looking from you to Wooyoung with a quiet intensity in his eyes, fully absorbed in his role of caretaker.

Once he is sure you are both still comfortable and in a good mind-space, San helps you down on the bed, on your side with one arm outstretched in wait. Then he helps Wooyoung to lay next to you, your arms neatly wrapping around Wooyoung’s waist as you scoot close, until your chests are pressed up against each other.

Wooyoung gives you a half-grin, his trance-like slumber disturbed by the change in position. He is close, so incredibly close that you can see even the faintest blemishes on his skin, tiny faded scars and small traces of acne. There is something mesmeric about them, grounding you deeper into the reality of the moment, the reality of him.

“Yeah, I like this,” Wooyoung sighs, wiggling closer while San ties up your wrists behind Wooyoung’s back, trapping you together.

“Good,” San says, his eyes curving as he finishes the last knot and looks up at you. “How about you? Still comfortable?”

More than comfortable; small jolts of excitement are firing off inside your veins at Wooyoung’s proximity, but you take a few slow breaths, guiding yourself back into the easy-going atmosphere. “Very,” you joke, squeezing your arms around Wooyoung. “As far as methods of conflict resolution go, this is definitely a new favourite.”

“See? Told you it was a good idea.” San grins at you, grabbing another length of rope; his work is not done yet. He starts on Wooyoung’s ankles, whose expression has gone thoughtful at your comment.

Tied up the way you are, there is no escaping Wooyoung’s pensive gaze — but you don’t try to, meeting his eyes while he is brought into an even deeper state of constraint. He slowly blinks at you, pupils dilated in the dim light of the room.

“What was the other way?” he asks.

“‘Other way’?” you frown, trying to work out what Wooyoung is talking about.

“You said that whenever you’re involved in this type of situation, there are two ways for it to end,” Wooyoung says, still looking at you intently. “You never told us the second one.”

San perks up in curiosity at the question.

Ah shit. You groan, reflexively trying to hide your face in your hands — but they are securely locked behind Wooyoung’s back, so all you do is pull him in closer into the soft cushion of your chest. He is happy to let you, the ropes of your harnesses pressing into each other.

“Wait, is it embarrassing?” he asks, almost a little too eager; Wooyoung loves embarrassing stories.

“Not— not exactly,” you quickly disillusion him. “I told you it usually ends because interest fades, right? Well, the other way is… the opposite, pretty much.”

“Too much interest?” San asks, his hand now on your ankle, nudging you to bend your knee and hook your leg over Wooyoung’s.

You breathe out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah that’s spot on, actually,” you say, following San’s guiding touch. Your hips neatly line up with Wooyoung’s, and San starts to anchor you together. “Last person that I had a friends with benefits type of deal with, he… Well, he started to have some romantic ideas about me, about our deal. When I couldn’t feel the same way about him, he made it real damn clear he took that personally. Blamed me for wasting his time. Now… Now I don’t know if we ever really were friends at all.”

Saying it out loud hurts more than you expected, a painful reminder of how he’d seen your friendship as nothing more than a stepping stone.

You had genuinely liked him, enjoyed his company, but none of your time together had any intrinsic value to him except as a prelude to romance. Didn’t matter that you’d been upfront from the start; he’d still convinced himself that his feelings for you would magically change yours, like he was the one person who’d finally ‘fix’ you. His word, not yours — and that had hurt the most of all, threatening to undo all the work you’d done to teach yourself you were not broken in the first place.

Frustratingly, sudden tears burn behind your eyes. It is the vulnerability of the bondage, you tell yourself. It is because you are tired. It’s definitely not because of some asshole who’s not worth a single spare thought. Dammit, you can’t even wipe your face right now, forced to try and push back your tears through sheer willpower.

Wooyoung scoffs loudly, breaking your concentration.

“What a fucking asshole,” he says, shaking his head. He tries to grab onto your hands, still tied behind his back, but the best he can manage from this position is for his fingers to graze against your wrist. “His loss, if he thinks any time spent with you is a waste.”

“Agreed,” San says, squeezing your knee. The ropework around your leg is half-finished and forgotten. “The friendzone is criminally underrated, if you ask me,” he says, and somehow he manages to be joking and completely earnest all at once. “And our zone? Some cool hot gal lets me be her friend, and she’ll let me smash? I fail to see the problem.”

You hiccup a laugh, tears shaking loose from your lashes. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right. I’m a damn platonic catch!”

“Damn straight you are!” San grins, his hand warm and reassuring on your leg.

Wooyoung still looks intensely at you, his eyes flickering across your face, tracing your tears. Briefly, the thought strikes you that he wants to kiss you.

Right now, with your bodies trapped together, there is very little you actually could do to stop Wooyoung from kissing you again — but you do not panic when he leans in, filled with absolute trust. A trust that Wooyoung proves himself to be deserving of when he just clumsily brushes his nose against your cheek, an awkward attempt at wiping your tears.

You start to giggle when you realise what he’s doing, and Wooyoung joins in when he realises how futile and ill-conceived his efforts are. “San? A little help here?” he laughs, leaning back to his original position. He shakes his head at his own silly impulse, his bright smile even more beautiful and contagious from so close-by.

San does not hesitate, grabbing a tissue from his nightstand before he lays down behind you, leaning over to properly wipe your face. He does not return to his ropework, opting to stay close for a proper cuddle. His cheek presses against your shoulder, an arm slung heavily across your waist so his hand rests on Wooyoung’s hip.

“Just, for the record,” San says, his voice so close to your ear it raises goosebumps, “all jokes aside, I really am happy with how we are now.”

You manage to turn your head just enough to give San a grateful look, gently bumping your forehead against his. “Me too,” you say, and hesitate for only a moment to say more. “You… you guys do know I care about you, right? Like, a lot.”

“We do,” he smiles, dimples and all, while Wooyoung tries to squeeze his hands around yours again.

“But sometimes that only makes more difficult, to try and figure out how to navigate all this,” you say, grimacing again. “Even now? Right now? Some tiny part of me is worried that I gave off the wrong signal by saying that. It’s like I’m trapped in some weird split, and I’ll either push you away or lead you on, even by accident.”

Wooyoung chuckles dryly. “You get stuck in your head a lot, don’t you,” he observes almost conversationally.

“…Yeah,” you admit with a chuckle of your own.

“You know,” San says gently, “it’s not like I never thought about this kind of stuff either. Where it’s going, when you might break things off. Maybe I should’ve brought it up myself, I don’t know. Maybe I was worried where that conversation might go.”

Wooyoung blinks in surprise. “Wait, you also thought we might stop having sex anytime soon?”

“…You really never considered that??”

“Not until yesterday! Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

“I just—” San shrugs, a little helpless. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

(It is an odd thought; all this time, you wondered how much time you’d have before San and Wooyoung inevitably moved on, while San wondered the very same thing about you.)

Wooyoung’s frown returns, and he shifts a little against his restraints. “Hey, you know I don’t like it when you don’t talk about what’s bugging you. Even if the thing bugging you isn’t me.”

The last part is light-hearted, but you can still sense his concern, a history of past conversations in his voice.

It is a new side they are showing to you; allowing you to witness not only the intimacy of their happiness, but the intimacy of their disputes as well. Somehow it’s both uncomfortable and a comfort at once; you are literally trapped between them, but there is something revealing about this kind of vulnerability, their willingness to let you into their lives. The pretty and the unpretty parts of it.

“I— Yeah no, you’re right. I should’ve,” San says quietly, reaching to brush his fingers across Wooyoung’s cheek. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, but there is a budding grin on his lips. “Seriously, this all would’ve been sorted out so fast if either of you just talked to me about it. Idiots.”

“I did talk to you!” you splutter in protest.

“Yeah and here we are, not twenty-four hours later! Case closed!”

(Damn, he really won’t stop making great points today.)

“No, not ‘case closed’,” San says, huffing a laugh. “That’s what I was trying to talk about!” His face goes a little softer, leaning over your shoulder just enough so he can make proper eye-contact with you. “Listen,” he says gently, “we don’t have to work out anything definitive right now, but I— we’d like it if you stuck around for a long time. If you want.”

He rushes to add the last part, like he’s worried even the tiniest hint at anything remotely resembling a commitment could make you bolt like a startled deer — and you can hardly blame him for that.

You give him a quiet nod, unable to do much more right now than acknowledge his offer, then you look at Wooyoung, to see where he is at right now.

“Yeah, I’m with San,” Wooyoung says earnestly, but you spot the playful gleam in his eyes even before he opens his mouth again. “Seriously, what do I care if I get to kiss you or not, if it means we get to keep you around? I’d rather learn a little self-control than miss out on you.”

You exhale a soft, fond laugh. “Thanks, Woo. I know what a sacrifice that is for you,” you tease him, but you squeeze your arms around him a little tighter to make clear you really do appreciate it.

“Oh, it’s a huge sacrifice. Don’t you dare think I’m treating this lightly,” Wooyoung says, absolutely treating it lightly “Do you even realise just how much I love smooching my friends? So. Damn. Much. You better be grateful!”

You’re fully aware of how much he loves it; you’ve seen often enough how he — and San — menace their friends with kisses the same way you like to menace Hongjoong with hugs. In hindsight it’s a small miracle that it took this long for either of them to slip up and lay one on you at the wrong moment.

You try to move your arm to reach back and touch San, and are mildly surprised when you can’t, still restrained by the ropes around your wrists. They’d almost been forgotten, like they are as natural to your body as wearing clothes.

“…Hey, is it weird that we just had this whole heart-to-heart while me and Wooyoung are tied up?”

San just shrugs, giving you a small grin. “As long as it works for us. That’s how we’re doing this whole thing, right?” But it does pull his attention back to the bondage, and he testingly feels at your bindings. “Does it all still feel good?”

“Really good,” you sigh. “Definitely worth revisiting this type of thing under different circumstances. Ah… I think Wooyoung agrees,” you blurt out the last part; his cock gave an enthused twitch at the suggestion of doing this again, noticeable even through his boxers.

“Oh, does he now?” San purrs, running his hand over Wooyoung’s chest harness.

Wooyoung is predictably shameless. “Hey, I’m enjoying myself. I’m all for a redo without clothes getting in the way.”

“Then we’ll make that happen soon, for sure,” San says, biting his lip. “Want me to untie you now, or stay like this for a bit longer?”

You and Wooyoung exchange a look, coming to an unspoken, unanimous agreement. “Bit longer.”

San hums, the heated look in his eyes softening back into affectionate warmth. He nestles back against you, throwing a leg over yours to hook his ankle around Wooyoung’s; creating another connective thread between the three of you as the bedroom settles into a relaxed, almost dream-like space.

You’re still restrained, but you have never felt less trapped. Instead you surrender your body and mind to the rope, to San, even to Wooyoung, although he is just as tied up as you; and you know you are welcome here, your presence treasured for exactly the way you are.

The feeling lingers even after San carefully untangles you and Wooyoung, enveloping you like a soft, serene glow.

You feel it in the gleam of San’s eyes as he rubs circles into your wrists, gentle deep pressure to encourage your bloodflow. You feel it in the weight of Wooyoung’s head resting on your shoulder, so quiet that you think he has dozed off until he giggles at an exchange of small jokes between you and San.

You feel it even after you leave their physical presence behind to turn in for the night; it’s right there in the ease of your thoughts, in knowing they won’t carelessly discard you.

The timer has stopped, no longer ticking away in your head. Instead San’s offer echoes through you, resonating stronger with every repeat.

“We’d like it if you stuck around, for a long time. If you want.”

In truth, you never gave much thought to what you actually want the future with San and Wooyoung to look like, other than some vague idea of ‘existing in each others’ lives’. You always assumed the choice would be made for you, and to fill in any details would only set you up to get hurt.

Now they have extended a hand to fill in those details together. And you don’t know what it’ll look like exactly — a platonic commitment of some sorts, something that works for the three of you regardless of traditional conventions — but you do know that you want to stick around. For a long time.

The next morning, you wake up to find a 4AM text from Wooyoung.

hey so non-sexy kissing is off the table but i can still bite u right

You snort tiredly, still half-asleep. Like he hasn’t been doing plenty of that already! But you resolve to go see him today, and give an in-person demonstration to show him exactly how you feel about bites.

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #san smut #wooyoung smut #ateez imagines #ateez fic #woosan x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez #san #wooyoung #ateez scenarios #san ateez #wooyoung ateez #igby’s writing

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buckyhad · 9 months

Text

Forever

Pairing: Dark!Carlos Sainz x reader

Warnings: NC thats it, based on this request!

Carlos was the sweetest boyfriend you have ever had, caring, tending to your needs, loving.

Until he got jealous, every little interaction between you and another men was a reason for him to lash out at you. Nothing serious, it was normal for your boyfriend to feel that way sometimes.

Except that time went he took it a little too far.

"That's the dress you are wearing tonight?" Carlos asked furrowing his brows.

"You don't like it?" You asked a little bit sad, tonight was another gala with the drivers about something you didn't remember anymore, choosing a red long dress, with a low cut and a high slit that you loved.

"Yes, I like it, but you are showing a lot" he said.

"Its just a part of my leg".

"Whatever" you knew he was already working himself up so you just decided to leave it there, thinking that going to the gala and getting some drinks in his system would help him calm down.

But you were so wrong.

You two arrived at the place an hour before, Carlos got some strong drink while you choosed some water, Carlos hated when you drinked.

Alone in some corner while Carlos was at the bar again, waiting for his order, when Charles, Carlos' teammate went to say hi to you, making Carlos start to march where you to were happily chatting, getting there just in time.

"I really like how that dress looks on you" Charles said touching the strap of your dress.

"Thanks you, I love the colour a lot" you said blushing a little bit, taking a step back from the monagesque.

"I know, she looks so nice" Carlos said with his hands on the pockets of his pants "We are going amor, grab your things".

---------

"That's why you used that dress? So you would get compliments from Leclerc?" Was the first thing he said when you got to the hotel.

"No! I really liked how it looks on me!".

"Stop lying!" He said grabbing your arm.

"The fuck is wrong with you" you screamed at him trying to get of his grip.

"You know how much I love you, why do you need to flirt with other guys?"

"I wasn't flirting" you whispered "I'm going to go now, let me go, please".

"I'm sorry amor, I didn't mean to grab you, I'm just so mad" he said looking at you with those pretty big brown eyes "Please, no te vayas (don't go)".

"I just need some time, to think you know".

"Te amo (I love you)".

"I know" you said closing the door and making your way out.

-------

You rented a small apartment on Spain, wanting to be alone for a week, not talking or seeing Carlos.

But he had other plans, leaving at least 50 missed calls per day and thousands of unread messages.

-----

By the fifth day without knowing anything about him, someone knoked on your door, being as tired as you were lately, you just opened the door without looking.

Feeling a hand on your mouth while the person closed the door you felt their breath by your ear.

"You need to be more careful, someone could hurt you" Carlos said.

You tried to take his hand off while he was pushing you towards the table.

"I'm going to take my hand off, you better not start screaming" he said and chuckled "At least not yet".

"What are you doing" you started crying, feeling how his hand pushed your upper half onto the table, and hold you there, while his other hand pushed your dress up and your panties down.

"Read your texts with Charles, 'I'm so sorry that you fighted with Carlos, I'm here if you need anything'" he recited while starting to get his tip wet with some spit.

"Please, he just wanted to be nice. You've lost your mind" you cried feeling how he pushed inside you "Carlos you know I'm not in anything, pull out. Please" got out between sobs.

"Well, you would be mine forever now".

A/N: I'm sososo sorry this took so long, I've been studying for an exam (went sl fucking wrong) and now I've another one, anyways, FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE, happy Carlos won today, sad how they didn't listen to Charles AGAIN

#charles leclerc smut #f1 fanfic #lando norris smut #carlos sainz smut #max verstappen smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #pierre gasly smut #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #dark!carlos sainz #carlos sainz x y/n

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wasteddmoondust · 1 month

Text

pineapple || james potter

pairing: james potter x reader 1,219 words, teacher and james go on their first date! what could go wrong? a/n: can you tell i am horrible at titling my fics... somehow i just need it to relate to what happens. so uh. enjoy!

prev. chapter

You feel your heart going absolutely crazy. You know it's first-date jitters, but somehow it feels worse this time. It's nothing special, really. You try to tell yourself. Just another first date. Just like other first dates (that has turned to nothing...) And now this first date is the father of one of the children you teach. Yeah, nothing special.

After several attempts to make yourself busy by looking at your phone, you hear your name. It's James and he's walking up to you.

"First name basis already?" you ask smugly.

He chuckles, "What? Sorry, I guess I'll just call you-"

"Please don't, I hate being called that outside of work."

"Got it."

The two of you walk together and he leads you to a quaint coffee shop, James swears by the coffee made here. When the orders are made you find a seat and sit down.

"It's been a while since I've been on a date," he says, hands fidgeting with the receipt.

"Same here," you admit.

He stops playing with the receipt and furrows his brows. "Really? But I'm the parent."

"And I'm the one taking care of your kid for a whole day, 20 kids, actually."

"Huh... and you don't even meet people in the industry?"

You snort. "Unfortunately no, a lot of them are older and married with kids. There's no one to date there. Trust me, even the older teachers try to make me get on dating apps. If anything, you're doing them a favour."

He grins that grin that makes your heart do a little flip. Oh god, it's happening, huh?

"I'm happy to do that."

You continue your conversation, keeping it light with small talk. Then, a waiter comes by to give you your meal and you both thank him. James' phone dings, he checks the message and he replies to it while you patiently wait for him.

He looks back up at you and keeps his phone. "Sorry, my best friend is taking care of Harry today, he was just sending an update."

"That's alright. Is he doing okay?"

"Harry?" he asks, looking a little nervous. His arms are resting crossed on the table. "Uh- yeah. He's fine. Not so sure about Sirius. He just said he's letting Harry use his tattoos as a colouring book."

You laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. He does love to colour. Have you always wanted to be a father?"

James looks stunned, but laughs it off. "Not a normal question for the first date, is it?"

"Well since you already are one," you shrug.

James thinks for a while before answering. "Yeah... I've always wanted kids... Well I'm sure you've seen from the documents I sent to the school when Harry enrolled. I'm widowed..."

You nod, you do in fact know this, you had read through those documents for every child. Understanding their family structure and dynamics can be a big help in understanding the child and improving their development in school and at home.

"She uh- had complications at birth and didn't make it." He let out a sigh and shrugged. "So now it's just me and Harry. And I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I do."

"You know you can talk about him, right?"

James looks down and purses his lips. "It's just that... other people I've dated weren't really... keen on the fact that I have a kid. You know, another person's child and all."

You tilt your head down to try and make eye contact with him. Somehow, your hand reaches out to his. "You know that doesn't matter to me, right? I already knew you had a son, hell, I even taught him for a whole year, and I still accepted your date."

His mouth forms a small frown, but his hand grabs yours anyway. "I just didn't want to seem weird."

"You're not. Promise," you give his hand a squeeze.

"Is it too early to want to kiss you?"

You both stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing, making him laugh too.

James starts to tell you about Harry, and visibly gets more comfortable the more he does it. He tells stories from his first words to potty fails. He shows videos and pictures. From there, the both of you fall into an easy rhythm of branching from topic to topic in your conversation. You exchange bites of your food. Before you know it, you're laughing while your meal is long done and you're both on your second cup of coffee.

For some reason, you feel an itch in your throat.

Nonchalantly, you ask, "Did your pasta have pineapple?"

"Yes, why?"

"Firstly, who the hell puts pineapple in pasta? Secondly, I think I'm having an allergic reaction."

James sits up in a panic. "Oh god- I'm so sorry-"

You cough into your first. "It's fine, it usually doesn't react as bad as it used to but I like to stay away from pineapples anyway. I'm not gonna die. Can you get me some cold water, please?"

He immediately stands up and gets you a glass from the counter. You down the glass in seconds and you feel better.

"I'm so sorry that was embarrassing-"

"You're sorry? I gave you a bite!"

"I forgot to ask, it's my fault."

He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you"

"James, trust me, it's fine-"

"I'll bring you on a second date."

You furrow your brows. "You just saw me cough my lungs out from an allergic reaction and you still want to bring me out?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness.

"I mean... I still find you attractive after all that so if you find me attractive after I rambled about my own child to you though you have taught him for this past year I don't see why not."

At this point, you're pretty sure your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you've been doing the entire time.

Despite your protests, James insists on driving you home. When you reach the entrance to your apartment building, he tells you to wait before rushing out of the car to open the door to the passenger's side. You giggle and take the hand he holds out to you as you step out of his car.

He tugs the hand that is holding yours to make you face him. He's so close, you're desperately hoping your cheeks don't show how flushed you are.

"So... same time next week?" you suggest.

He nods. "No pineapples this time, guaranteed."

"And you're allowed to talk about Harry."

He beams at that, looking down and letting out a sigh before looking back at you. "Is it still too early to kiss you?"

"Yes, but for now I'll give you this," you press a kiss to his cheek. You slowly walk towards your building, your arms stretching until you gently let go when you're too far away. "I'll see you next week!"

And like that, you disappear into the building. James is left standing there, still in disbelief of the entire day.

He lets out a sigh, smiling, and gets into his car. He 's so excited to tell Sirius when he gets home.

a/n: if i'm being so honest i have zero idea how most allergies work so please don't get technical with me... also!!!! thank you so much for the love on part one eek i am on a roll i'm so happy to be writing this series.

taglist: @willows-lane @celosiastarr @nsr-15

#marauders x reader #marauders imagine #zee writes #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter x you

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livelaughlovesubs · 1 month

Note

NINIII!! I have a tiny little incy wincy request :3 … ermmm how abt making dazai wear a maid dress and then fucking him afterwards ?? (｡>\\\<｡)

And a little over stimming wouldn’t hurt.. ( ´ཀ` )

Again, sorry if I’m bothering u!! Don’t gotta do this request if u ain’t feeling like it! Have a great day nini, love uuuu!! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

- 🎀

Heyyy 🎀 anon! Good to see you again, I haven’t heard a lot from you lately though :< anyway, thanks for the support and the idea, excuse me for a second. JAKOAKSKA DAZAI IN UGHH MAID DRESSES AHHH, SO CUTE OH GODDDD

Dom!reader x sub!character - reader is gender neutral

Warning: teasing, hair pulling, lingerie, role play (master/ servant), touching inappropriately, clothed sex? (A tiny bit)

Edit: this ended up being sexual tension without actually getting to the fucking part - ig it’s cuz I write dick in dick out too often so I like writing the foreplay aspect more :’)

“What’s this?” You asked, curiosity peeked when you saw dazai hiding behind a locked room. He’s been staying there for at least 15 minutes now with the door shut tight, leaving you clueless. “It’s a surprise~!” Whenever you’d ask questions related to whatever he was doing, he’d give the same reply. Did he really need to make this so mysterious? Today wasn’t even a special day, so why was he being silly again?

Defeated, you sighed and simply went to the kitchen to grab something. Then you made your way over to the couch, deciding to wait until he’s ready. There wasn’t much you could do other than this. Another minute passed, and you finally heard the sound of locks getting unlocked. Your eye went immediately to the door, staring with anticipation. To your surprise, it was actually him. It took you a moment to properly grasp the situation.

There he was, standing in the door frame all confident like always. This wouldn’t have been surprising if it weren’t for the nice looking outfit he wore, which was a maid costume? A black top with long sleeves paired with an ankle long skirt in the same colour, as well as a white, pretty extravagant or frilly apron. The apron hung from his shoulders and has been tied around his waist, creating a ribbon behind him. He also had a headband on his head, along with some gloves. The outfit would have looked professional if it weren’t for the many excessive ribbons decorating the dress, like the ones on his sleeves or headband, as well as his heels.

It’d be an understatement to say your jaw dropped and you were flabbergasted. Sure, you had some ideas what he could have being doing in that room, and this idea has come across your mind before. Even so seeing it in person was still shocking to say the least. With his usual confidence he carried himself over to you, which was impressive even if the heels weren’t that tall. He stopped in front of the couch and did a few twirls. The dress fluttered around in an elegant fashion, captivating your attention.

“It looks great..” you whispered, eyeing him up and down. The outfit was really pretty and refined, it gave off high class vibes. “Of course it is, I picked it out for you,” dazai said with a smug look on his face, before kneeling down and resting his head in your lap. Despite the reality, you had troubles believing dazai really brought this. Knowing him, he would have gotten something more erotic instead of settling down for elegance.

For a while, none of you moved. He kept nuzzling against you while you stroke his hair gently. Until you grabbed his wrist and slipped your index finger inside his gloves. “There must be more to why you wore this, no?” The brunette didn’t have an ounce of surprise on his features, he has been expecting such a reaction from you. “There is no deeper meaning to this, did you wish there were some?” At the same time your hand kept advancing, though he let you do so without any resistance. Now you were slowly slipping the glove off of him. Those were latex gloves, how mischievous of him, or should you rather say thoughtful?

You shook the glove in your hand a little, getting rid of the folds. He watched you do so, revealing a moment of vulnerability to you. Making use of that small frame, you suddenly tugged at his hair, making him throw his head back. “Err..?” A small yelp left him, this position made him arch his back too. The headband fell off and his eyes were now glued to your hand holding his glove. Since when was it so close to your lips? It was your dominant hand too.

Slowly, without rushing it, you put on the glove, all while tugging at his hair with your other hand. Then you bit the end of the fabric and pulled it down, wearing it. Your gaze didn’t leave his for a moment. Noticing how he had a slightly dumbfounded expression. “What’s wrong, dazai?” You cooed, though it almost seemed like you were mocking him. Before he could say anything in opposition, you continued, “oh dear, stand up, or the outfit might get dirty.” What a roundabout way of giving him orders.

The male obeyed, standing up slowly and leaving the headband on the floor. With each moment spend here in your presence, the tension seemed to increase. He grabbed the end of his apron, waiting for your instructions, smiling excitingly. “You know you can just order me around, master.” Dazai teased, wanting to push your buttons. This game of tug was balanced, none of you wanted to fold first. “I’m just your maid after all.” He added, now holding the skirt and raising it, giving you a small glimpse of his legs while he bowed. Stockings. You saw stockings. Was he perhaps wearing lingerie underneath it..? It’d make sense, considering how long he took in that damned room.

“Haha..” you chuckled a little, he seems to have caught onto your little challenge. The hint you dropped was too obvious huh? If that’s the case, time to speed things up. Once again you surprised him, this time by grabbing his waist and changing your positions. Pushing him down to sit on the couch while you were hovering above him, pressing a knee against his clothed crotch. “Hmm~! Hey now.. that’s not fair.” He gasped, breathing heavily. “I’m your master, not a fair player.” That answer seems to have shut him up. His hands grabbed your leg, you weren’t sure what he was trying to do. Moving your knee away or pressing it down?

Nevertheless you had to move it out of the way for your next move, so you did that. A disappointment whine followed from the male. “No need to get all needy already, I’m just getting started.” You smirked and your weaker hand held his dress up, revealing the real surprise he had been hiding. “Ops~ I guess you exposed me~?” He grinned, as if he didn’t plan this from the very start. Your prediction was right, he did wore some nice looking undergarments for you. Black lace covered his smooth legs, up until his thighs. From there on it was attached to his panties by a string, all of it black and laced.

“The fabric is pretty uncomfortable you know?” Dazai voice his thoughts, pulling a pitiful facade. Of course you knew what he was implying, which is why you deliberately ignored it. He just loved this power struggle between you two. Even though he knew exactly where his place was, he just wanted to rile you up. Without answering his previous statement, you moved your hand to his back. At least you tried, the apron was preventing you from doing so. That’s why you settled for his sacrum, caressing that part gently before moving lower and groping his butt.

A squeak filled with anticipation escaped him, feeling the latex rub against his skin. Soon the cheeky smile turned into a seductive one, melting with pleasure all due to your touch. His entrance clenching while his dick slowly got hard, rubbing against the cute panties. How he wished to just beg you to fuck him senseless, but that would spoil the fun, no? Yet all this foreplay was making him impatient~ what should he do? In the end, he settled on whispering with a pleading tone, “oh, master, please make this servant dirty.”

REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED

Part two!

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

Note

hey înes so i think my family forgot about my birthday which is today (just a rushed store bought cake) so can you write something about the grid surprising the reader who is a driver to whichever team you choose 🥹

Note: happy birthday, dear! ✨️I hope you had a lovely day 🥳

"Do you think she'll like it? I got the prettiest cake they had in there", Charles said as he set the box on top of the table.

"Really? That was the nicest one there?", Lewis asked as he looked at the baked good from all angles.

"I could've baked something that looked a little bit better", Pierre offered.

"Could you?", Carlos slapped the French man's back.

"I wouldn't eat anything baked by any of you", Lando chirped in, "where's Oscar? He walked here with me! I've lost him already", he muttered.

"Oscar is the one in charge of bringing Y/N here - Mick said it would be too suspicious if I walked with her", Max offered.

"I also got her the present we agreed on", Lance set the bag next to the cake.

"I'm sure someone did, but just in case - do we have candles?", George butted in.

The groans leaving everyone's mouth was enough to let him know no one did.

"Candles are overrated, anyway", Daniel tried to keep the humour.

"Oscar and Y/N are on their way here - they just stopped to talk to Toto", Mick said as he got inside.

When you walked up with Oscar into the meeting room, you were expecting the stewards to be mad at you, "I think we're late, Oscar!", but you were met instead with cheers and balloons thrown at your face.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Y/N!", they all cheered as you looked at all your friends gathered in the same room.

"We still wanted to make something special between us without the team recording and all of that", your teammate Max said as he showed you the cake, "it's not homemade and we're not sure how good it is, but it's the thought that counts?", he squinted.

"This is amazing, guys, truly", you cooed, "I bet it tastes amazing - even if those colours are not natural on the slightest", you took some of the bright red filling with your finger and licked it.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader #charles leclerc blurb #max verstappen blurb #daniel ricciardo blurb #lewis hamilton blurb #carlos sainz blurb #mick schumacher blurb #pierre gasly blurb #george russell blurb #lando norris blurb #oscar piastri blurb #lance stroll blurb

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sleepyangelkami · 6 months

Text

FADE INTO YOU j.todd

☆ WORD COUNT - 1.1K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - slow dancing in the kitchen with domestic bf!jason

☆ WARNINGS - tooth rotting fluff, petnames, intended lower case, nothing I write is ever proofread 🩷

jason's days off were rare, but when they actually happened, they were the best. even hero's like him had to take a couple rest days. today was one of those days.

the living room was dull aside from the little lamp to your right, next to the couch you were laid across, head on your boyfriend's chest as he read the words scrawled across the page slowly. his voice was soothing, so much so that you actually found your eyes falling shut, head gone limp against him.

jason would swear on the bible that he was a grinch, that he hated christmas more than anything. but only you would know how big of a lie that was. frost covered the windows, completely blocking your outside view although the curtains did a good enough job anyway. your christmas tree was sat in the corner of your living room, tacky an decorated in different coloured baubles along with the tacky red and silver tinsel and the blue and gold lights that were never turned off.

it was nights like this, you snuggled up in your christmas pijama's, as he was, matching of course, with christmas decorations sprawled across the entire room that he realised just how much he loved it. though, he was sure that there was one thing he'd always hate about this time of year. the goddamn cold.

when he realised you had fallen asleep on him, he placed the book on the side table, standing up and drawing the reindeer blanket over your shoulders to keep you warm.

his feet moved towards the kitchen where there was little to no light. it was attached to the living room, so the only beacon of light was the tree and the lamp.

his eyes glanced towards the clock that wrote half seven. on his days off, you spent every minute together. today, you had both travelled up the country for a little christmas shopping before stopping home to see the christmas lights. you were going to go for dinner too but you both decided you were too cold and you wished to be home as soon as possible.

the fire lit, heating up the entire house. he realised how long it had been since you'd eaten. he himself wasn't too hungry but he knew how you'd be, sleepy or not.

when you did wake, it was to the smell of food and the sound of low music. the music had been on before you'd fallen asleep, low and muffled but even so, you could hear it. you found yourself smiling into the armchair of the couch, eyes strained on your boyfriend's back as he cooked whatever it was he was making.

he was in a red fluffy pijama bottoms with pictures of little christmas trees, presents and ginger bread cookies along with a plain black t-shirt. you wore the same bottoms only with a black crop top, clinging to your skin comfortably. when you first mentioned matching pijama's, he quite literally laughed in your face.

now look.

as good as the food smelled, you were really more bothered on who was standing in front of the frying pan.

jason had sensed you waking up minutes ago so the feeling of arms wrapping around his wide torso didn't frighten him. "hi, sleepy." he grinned, looking down at the food he was stirring.

"hi, jay." your head buried into his back. "what're you doing?" you mumbled sleepily.

"makin' you some dinner, baby." your stomach felt empty, hungry but you'd seemingly always forget around him. perhaps it was because he made you feel so... full. "wanna sit by the couch 'n watch a movie while i make it?"

despite the fact he couldn't see your face, you shook your head. "jus' wanna be with you." when you got sleepy like this, he was all you wanted. not food, not a movie, not even your family, you just wanted him, your jay.

he hummed with a smile as he turned around, grasping you in his arms. you let him move so that your head was in his chest, not his back. he allowed the food to cook. he held you like that, moving one hand to turn up the music slightly. it was a slow, pretty song that reminded you a lot of him. it was funny because it reminded him of you too, you were both just too shy to say it. "feelin' okay, princess?" you nodded your head dumbly. "day wore you out?" he could read you like a book. if that was true, you were his favourite storytale.

you hummed this time, allowing him to slightly sway your bodies to the song. he did it slowly, so slow it took you a second to register. "what are you doin'?" you mumbled, lips turning up at the corners.

"me?" he feigned shock. "I'm not doing anything, angel." though as he spoke, he led you away from the oven and stopped between it and the counter. you stood in the middle of the kitchen with him.

with one hand on your waist, he used his other to pick up one of your own, your left one to be exact. you'd danced with him many times at one of the wanye gala's. but this. this was different.

this time, the song was one of your own, one that made you smile and think of him, your jason. this time, there wasn't hundreds of eyes on you, whispers through the crowd about jason todd, bruce wayne's son and his 'date' were you his girlfriend? or just an escourt? how long had you known one another? who were you?

none of that mattered now.

you could breathe in and breathe out. all you could smell was jason's cologne and the cooking off in a distance. the sound of the music was relaxing, slow but your feet moved with jason's. this was slower than you'd ever danced with him before, including the slow dances at the gala.

with your head on his chest, eyes closed shut, you could hear the low humming of jason with the music. the small whisper of his voice as the words of the song began. it was quiet, but enough for you to hear.

as the music slowed to a stop, you moved away slightly, glancing up at the man you called your lover and loved him you did. he smiled down at you, his entire world.

his hand moved to cup your face, other one brushing his fingers against your own, dancing upon your skin as he kissed you slowly. in that moment, you felt your knee's actually go weak. you kissed back, of course, lips slowly moving against his own.

he pulled back, lips in a tight grin. "you up for some dinner?" he mumbled, quietly.

you nodded your head, completely overcome with him. "can we watch the muppets christmas carol while we have it?" you loved that movie, as did he.

he chuckled quietly, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. "of course, princess, go set up the tv." and that was exactly what you did.

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

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bedsyandco · 2 months

Text

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐭𝐳𝟏𝟏

✰ PAIRING — fem!reader x trevor zegras

✰ SUMMARY — in which trevor tells his gf about a dream (or vision) he had!!

✰ CONTENT — established relationship. just plain old fluff!!

✰ WC — 1K

✰ NOTE — missed my annoying little guy (affectionate) and this was the result. I hope you enjoy <3

You would have never expected Trevor to be the needy one in your relationship. In all your previous relationships, you’ve always been the one who was the most affectionate, the most “clingy.” It was obvious to you now how much more invested you were in those relationships than your previous boyfriends.

From the first moment you met Trevor, you could see that he had a lot of energy. He was bouncing from person to person, chatting animatedly, and he didn’t sit still once that night. Not until the party had died down and the room was nearly empty. And even then he had sat himself on the couch and talked his head off to the girl that sat next to him. You didn’t mind though, you still found his rambling equally endearing today as you did that night.

So maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that all that energy Trevor has, directly got invested into you and your relationship the second you started dating. From planning spontaneous dates every other night, surprise love notes in your car, flowers every time he went to the grocery store, hands constantly on your body somewhere, and kisses always being pressed to your skin, it was safe to say gave as much as he received, if not more.

“g’morning baby,” trevor says, his voice still husky with sleep. he tightens his arms around your waist and pulls your body into his, wrapping both his legs around yours as he presses a kiss to your head.

“good morning trev. sleep well?” you ask, running your hand through his messy strands and he tries to snuggle even closer to you, his head resting on your chest, half of his body covering yours.

“mhm” he hums, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

it always started like this. a kiss here and there. you knew soon enough trevor would be pressing kisses everywhere, until that wouldn’t satiate him and he’d start getting this mildly annoyed expression on his face. hoping it would encourage you to replicate the kisses on his body too. not that you needed much convincing.

“I had a really great dream. I was sad I woke up for a moment until I saw your face,” Trevor mumbles, tracing your nose, and you smile, pressing a kiss to his head.

“What was the dream about?” you ask and Trevor opens his eyes slowly, lifting his head to he can look down at you, meeting your eyes.

“Actually I don’t like calling it a dream. Let’s call it a vision,” Trevor says and you smile

“A vision?” you question, amusement clear in your voice and your eyes and your boyfriend nods

“Yeah. Dream sounds far off. Vision is something I know will happen one day,”

“Okay. What did you see in this vision,” you ask

“We were sitting on this porch. It was a huge porch, like one of those old big farm house porches you know. And you were wearing one of your big colourful ugly sweaters-“ he says and your gasp cuts him off

“You said you liked them!” you say and Trevor laughs softly.

“I do like them, baby. They have character,” he says and laughs even harder when you hit his shoulder softly

“Saying something has character is just another way of saying it’s ugly,” you say, pouting slightly and Trevor smiles, his eyes swimming with adoration as he presses a soft kiss to your nose

“You make anything and everything look good. Even sweaters with character,” he says and you just shake your head unable to keep your smile from mirroring his

“Anyway, so you're wearing one of your big colourful ugly sweaters and these white fuzzy socks. we’re sitting on this porch swing, your feet in my lap. There’s this lake nearby, and it’s early morning. And the sun rises perfectly over that lake and I probably would’ve thought it’s the prettiest view I’ve ever seen if I didn’t get to wake up to your pretty face every day,” Trevor says, a look of awe on his face and he gently caresses your cheek and you swallow thickly

“Trevor,” you whisper and he kisses you softly

“Wait, I haven't gotten to the best part yet. We’re sitting and watching the sunrise and I’m telling you something, probably spewing a bunch of nonsense like always, but I’m making you laugh so it doesn’t really matter. And as you’re laughing, the cutest little girl runs up the stairs towards us. And she looks just like me, but God the laugh, that was all you baby. I wish you could’ve heard it. It was like liquid sunshine in a bottle. And we just sat there watching the sunrise together,” Trevor says, his serene expression changing when he sees the tears, you didn’t even know had fallen, on your face.

“Why are you crying sweet girl,” he asks, kissing your tears away and you take a shuddering breath

It wasn’t what he had said that made you emotional necessarily, although it did make your heart clench with the utmost joy to think of that future with Trevor. It was the expression on his face while he relived this dream, this vision, with you. The sheer bliss on his face, the softness of his smile, the adoration in his eyes. The way he so clearly and visibly yearned to have this with you. The confidence in his voice that he knows this isn’t just some far fetched dream, but something that will become reality for both of you one day.

“I love you so much Trevor. There’s no words I can use to make you understand how much,” you say and he smiles softly, kissing you again

“I love you baby. Endlessly. you and your ugly sweaters,” he says and you laughs

“I’m gonna throw those out now,” you say and he gasps dramatically

“You can’t! How are we gonna recreate my vision without the ugly sweater? It’s a crucial piece” he says and laughs as you playfully push his face away.

#trevor zegras x you #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras fluff #trevor zegras imagine

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elliesbelle · 1 year

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 5

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, slight slut-shaming, brief mention of death, minors do not interact

word count: 2.3k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the isa song “sometimes you lose your soulmates”

Present Day

Though you didn’t exactly enjoy Mondays, it was at least the one day of the week when you got to wake up naturally instead of at the crack of dawn. Your first class isn't until noon, so when you wake up at 9:30 in the morning, you decide to get your day started early.

You weren’t always the type of person to completely do themselves up just to go to class. Maybe in freshman year for the first few weeks, but you were a seasoned vet now. Most of the time, some leggings and a simple shirt or sweater sufficed. But after such a shitty weekend, you figure you could at least make yourself feel good by looking good.

After half an hour of getting ready, you look yourself over in the bathroom mirror. You smile, fairly satisfied with your appearance. Despite the cold breezes of Saturday night, the forecast called for a rare warm day. As a result, you allowed yourself a floral sundress, decorated with a puffy knitted, button-up jacket on top of it in case the season’s true weather decided to show. A pair of simple white sneakers finished your outfit; not the most stylish, but practically, you still had to walk around campus.

Your lips shine from the bit of lip gloss you’d applied. You’d only applied some light mascara on today (you figured that your Literature and Sexuality class did not warrant your bold, false eyelashes). You’d lightly painted your eyes with colours that complemented those of your sundress, blending them seamlessly onto your eyelids. As you did this, that one memory that was prodding you two days ago became clearer.

“I have no idea how you do that so naturally, dude.” Ellie’d said, watching you in awe from the foot of your bed.

Her ocean green eyes watched the meticulous strokes of your makeup brush applying eyeshadow to your lids. It was early on in your “friendship” and it was still a couple more weeks of her calling you “dude” before you became “babe” and “baby.”

“It’s not that hard, honestly. Just takes some practice.” You’d said, trying to keep your hand steady as you grew nervous under Ellie’s watchful gaze.

“Nah, it’s natural talent. You’re an artist.” She’d replied.

You’d scoffed, saying, “Ellie, all I’m doing is my makeup. You’re the actual artist, remember?”

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “I just draw. You’re the artist here.” She’d said decidedly, eyes full of admiration as she continued to stare.

You’d blushed furiously then, and you would continuously do so when you’d replay that memory the months following after.

But it was two years later and now, the memory instead has you staring at your reflection tight-lipped and frowning.

Why is she still everywhere?

It was roughly a fifteen to twenty-minute walk from your apartment to the university. You lived in an off-campus apartment complex that was in a decent location from both the school and a downtown area nearby. It was less convenient than living on campus like several of your friends still did, and this certainly wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you were planning out your social college experience. But after the freshman year events of Rafael’s death and Ellie’s abandonment, you were far more comfortable where you were.

You liked walking anyway. You found solace in the strolls you took, accompanied only by your thoughts and headphones.

About five minutes into your trek to campus, you pull out your phone to text your friend Tara.

A couple of minutes later, you were just officially entering the campus when Tara texts you back.

You continue walking as you frown down at your phone. Dina had spent most of the previous day at your place, cheering you up and taking your mind off Ellie. Your group chat with your other friends was blowing up and by the end of the night when Dina had left, you were overwhelmed by the amount of unread texts you had. The group chat remained unopened until right now.

The chat consisted of your friends Tara, Sidney, Astrid, Rebecca, Kristen, and Mina. You’d met them all in freshman year. Tara was your assigned roommate and Astrid was Dina’s. They were all initially casual friends, ones that you saw on a usual basis and got along well with, but they weren’t necessarily very close. You were better friends with the gang from Jackson. But after you came back to campus for sophomore year, you detached yourself slightly from Dina and Jesse, knowing full well that Ellie had them first. They both tried to remain closer to you; but they remained inseparable from their childhood best friend, not fully knowing what events led to what “broke up” you two. It wasn’t the same and it was a much different dynamic with this other friend group, but the girls were there for you all the same.

Reluctantly, you click on the group chat named “Wilson Crew ❤️‍🔥” (Wilson Valley had been the name of the freshman dorm building most of you had resided in the first year). Scrolling up to where you’d left off, you scan the messages your friends had left the previous day. Your eyes grow wider and wider the more you read.

The previous day, Tara, who worked at a campus coffee shop called Ruston Coffee, was tasked to train a new girl. To her, your other friends’, and now your shock, the new girl Tara was training was Freshman Girl. The same Freshman Girl who stayed glued to Ellie’s side for most of Saturday night. The same Freshman Girl who drooled over Ellie’s every word and move. The same Freshman Girl that mistook your Ellie’s signature lavender-laced joints as lilac. The same Freshman Girl who wore Ellie’s old motorcycle jacket the entire night.

It turned out Freshman Girl did have a name: Daniela. Your friends had sent messages with different levels of shock and horror. Kristen called her a whore, to which Sidney agreed, to which Astrid reprimanded and told them both to be nice. Mina sent memes as a response. Tara also texted that Daniela would be working with her again today.

You look up. Ruston Coffee is just down the way. You don't have to go in. You can skip coffee for today and hide out in the library instead.

“I’m not expecting you and Ellie to magically make up. I won’t try to get into the middle of it because I know that’s between you two. But you definitely need to figure out this out, babe. This doesn’t seem like something that should remain unresolved.” Dina’d said.

“But don’t also let it affect all the other parts of your life, okay?" She continued. "She shouldn’t be stopping you from hanging out with me and Jess more often or going out to parties we’re at or anything that involves Ellie in some way. Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.”

And Ellie certainly shouldn’t stop you from getting coffee. If you want to get a coffee and relax before class, Ellie should not be getting in the way of that.

You take a deep breath and march towards the coffee shop, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack and feet stomping in rhythm to good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo blasting loudly through your headphones.

A bell above the door tinkles as you enter Ruston Coffee. The shop was a little busy, most seats taken up by other students sitting with their laptops or biding time before class. There's a line of people by the register and you begin approaching it until you hear your name being called.

Your friend Tara waves you over by the counter where orders are usually dropped off. In one of her hands is a straw and your ready-made mocha frappe.

“You’re the literal best, Tara.” You sigh, pulling your headphones off and walking up to her.

She hands you your coffee order.

“No problem.” She says, smiling. “You know that I don’t mind.”

“Thank you for indulging in my caffeine addiction,” You say, whipping out your phone and sending her $6.

Tara frowns and says, “You better not have given me a $3 tip this time.”

You sip from your straw.

“Dude!” Tara reprimands, laughing.

“$2 tip!” You say, defensively.

“Just for a $4 coffee.” She chides, shaking her head.

You shrug.

“So uh,” Tara begins, her voice lowered slightly. “Did you see what I said in the group chat yesterday? Cause you weren’t responding.”

You gulp.

“Uhh. Yeah, I did, just now. Sorry, Dina was at my place yesterday, so I was busy—”

“Nah nah, it’s cool, man. But like. You saw what I said about that girl, right?”

“Is she here?” You ask, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“Not yet. But—” Tara checks her watch. “—she’s supposed to be here in less than five minutes or so.”

Fuck.

“Oh, okay.” You gulp, your heart rate increasing.

“Are you okay, dude?” Tara asks.

“No, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. “How did training her yesterday go?”

Tara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.

“Literally the worst. She kept on looking at her phone instead of listening, she left one AirPod in her ear the whole time, she kept asking when we were gonna be done. And now I have to go through it all again once she gets here.”

You give Tara a sympathetic look.

“I hate that,” You say, sucking on your teeth. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not hire her?”

“We’re short-staffed as fuck, so we don’t have much of a choice.” Tara sigh.

One of Tara’s co-workers comes up behind her and attempts to elbow her ribs which she dodges easily.

“Get back to work, Maclay.” He says, putting down two cups of coffee next to her before heading back towards the register.

“Fuck off, Khanh!” She replies, shooting a middle finger to his back.

“Should I let you get back to work?” You ask.

“Nah,” Tara reassures. “I wanna shit talk this Daniela girl first before I have to deal with her this morning.”

“Do you know how often she’s gonna be working with you?” You inquire.

“I’m not sure yet, but if Bonnie thinks she’s gonna stick me with a lazy new girl this early in the year—”

You hear the bell above the door tinkle as someone enters the coffee shop. Both you and Tara look instinctively at the new arrival. Tara groans silently and your throat goes dry.

Freshman Girl Daniela walks in. Wearing Ellie’s jacket once again.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Crap, I gotta go now, I guess.” Tara whines begrudgingly.

“Y-yeah…” You say, unable to take your eyes off of that same jacket that used to often adorn your shoulders back in your freshman year. You hate that it looked good on Daniela.

“I’ll see you later, dude.” Tara says, wrenching her elbows off the counter and walking towards the register.

“Good luck.” You reply.

You aren't exactly subtle with your stare, but thankfully Daniela doesn't seem to notice. It's a little different seeing her now in the daytime. She was very pretty, you have to admit to yourself. She has a short, pixie cut that complements her sharp bone structure. She's wearing a bright yellow tank top below Ellie’s jacket that clings to her lean figure, making her stand out slightly. The light makeup she has on looks so simple and natural.

Daniela wasn’t Ellie’s first conquest since you ended things with her. She didn’t waste much time dating around after you all came back for your sophomore year. You’d avoided her as much as possible so you wouldn't have to come face-to-face with the girls she’d get involved with. You still heard about them, of course, and you were sure there were even more than the ones you’d known about.

But Daniela was the first you were forced to encounter. You weren’t prepared to be thrust right into Ellie’s love life once more. But here you are, staring at the most recent fling of the girl who you were once so desperately in love with.

As Daniela lazily makes her way through the shop towards the back, you eventually tear your eyes off her and head straight for the exit.

♫ Maybe she’ll come through / If he waits some more

But she doesn’t / No, she doesn’t ♫

You're leaning against one of the trees in the quad, backpack laid next to you and headphones back on your ears. Your next class is in the building right behind you, but you still have a while until it started.

♫ It’s not like the movies / Like you dream it’ll be

Sometimes you lose your soulmates / And sometimes they leave ♫

Your journal and pen are laid out on your lap but abandoned as your fingers pick at the grass around you. Your mostly empty coffee cup sits next to you, condensation dripping into the soil. Your eyes are completely glazed over, watching the clouds in the sky.

♫ She’s not a girl you forget / She’ll run through your head

With all of the moments / You loved but now dread

To remember / Burning like—♫

Your hands and voice react quicker than your mind does. Your sudden movements cause your headphones to fall onto your neck. After a second, you realize that you had shrieked and that your hands had flown up to your face to catch something. As you bring the object down to look at it, you realize it was a football.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!”

You look up to see a tall girl in a dark t-shirt and grey sweatpants jogging towards you, a dirty blonde braid bouncing behind her.

“Abby?”

author's notes:

sorry for the delay in uploading this! i'm back from my brief vacation, and after i settled in after getting home, i almost immediately plopped down in front of my laptop to finalize this ldksfjsdlkds

not very chockful of ellie in this chapter, i know, i'm sorry! y'all got plenty last chapter! but don't worry, more will be coming up soon. i just enjoy keeping y'all in suspense.

i just wanna mention that most (if not all) of the names that i use in this fic are picked out people in the games themselves. also tara's last name is maclay as an homage to my lesbian queen tara maclay from buffy the vampire slayer. she's not the same character obvi, but i just enjoy putting in the reference :)

freshman girl aka daniela may have been named after and based on some whore girl that my ex left me for and that i'm still bitter about it oops

i hope y'all enjoyed the surprise guest appearance at the end of this chapter! she will be integrated further into the story from this point on, so stayed tuned :)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #v #belle writes

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eyra · 10 months

Note

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

#ask #big blue sky #my writing

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youandtom2 · 11 months

Note

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

#ngl the ending was a little rushed #cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be #oh well #enjoy!#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #golfer!tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x y/n #anon asks

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