#I must find a way to earn some money | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ofjunemoment · 11 months

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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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whumpsday · 2 months

Text

Kane & Jim #55: Feeding

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker

happy 2 year anniversary to kane & jim~! hard to believe it's been 2 whole years since i started writing...

wrote while listening to melodies of refresh by tenno gabni

Kane woke and looked to the door. Just like every morning the past week, it was a normal door. No silver. No lock.

He changed and washed his face, creeping upstairs with the hesitancy of someone who knew he wasn’t allowed, despite knowing full-well that he was: Jim had made that clear. He felt too quiet, his ankles free of chains.

It was early morning, early enough that the sun hadn’t risen yet–that terrifying tell-tale glow didn’t shine from behind the curtains. Jim wouldn’t be awake for hours, resting upstairs while Kane slunk around in the dark, in his own house.

Kane couldn’t fathom how much trust that must have required. He still couldn’t believe he’d earned that much.

The fact that Jim was still feeding him his own blood was a miracle in itself. He’d given a time limit of one month. One month for Kane to get used to freedom, to going out on his own, traversing society like a normal person after years as a prisoner. An adjustment period, Jim had called it, his mercies never-ending in the face of Kane’s fear of running to and from the border on his own.

There was no way Kane could ever repay it, not in a thousand years. But he at least had to try.

He turned the knob on the stove. It was something familiar, having owned a stove himself for heating up the contents of blood-packs in his time before he came to own Jim. Human stoves, like their food itself, were more complicated: four burners instead of one, all with dials offering various degrees besides just ‘on’ or ‘off’.

And it was something he hadn’t done since before.

The circle of flames flickered to life, blue and hot and threatening.

He quickly turned it back off, luckily managing to control his strength and not break the delicate knob.

Deep breaths, Jim had said, more times than Kane could count now. Look at me. You’re okay. No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe here, remember?

Kane took a deep breath in, playing Jim’s soothing affirmations through his head, exhaling slowly. That’s it, there you go, the memory of Jim’s voice encouraged. You’re alright. No hurting.

After a few more of those, he turned the burner on again. The flames flicked back to life, and Kane watched them silently.

Jim woke, shook off the nerves, and marked another day off his calendar. Seven days down, twenty-one more to go, and then no one will take his blood ever again.

He could stop it now, if he wanted to. He knew he could. Kane hung on his every word like he was some kind of divine prophet. But once he stops, Kane has to start getting blood from vampire territory, and he’d have to talk to his parents to get the money to buy it… and it was too obvious he wasn’t ready.

Jim knew that feeling, going from years of captivity and isolation to suddenly being a person again. He knew how hard it was, even with support. There was no reason for Kane to have to rush into it immediately. The guy could barely go outside at night on his own he was so afraid, and he was a vampire. No, a month’s time would do him well.

Still. He couldn’t help but count the days until it was over.

As he stepped into his slippers and headed downstairs, he stopped in his tracks, hearing someone futzing around in the kitchen.

It was going to take Jim a while to get used to that, Kane roaming freely in his house. At night, even. He knew he could ask Kane to leave once he finds his bearings, but… despite the deep-seated terror, he knew he was safer with Kane here than without. Kane brought Laken home, after all. If any vampire came for him, Kane would save him, too. At least, he hoped so.

He continued down. “Kane?”

“Good morning!” came the cheery reply. That set Jim’s nerves at ease, at least. Right. Kane was friendly, now.

“Morning. You sleep okay?” Jim asked. As he made his way through the living room toward the kitchen, he noticed a distinctly… delicious smell. That couldn’t be right.

“Better! And you?” Kane appeared in the doorway, a big, fanged grin lighting up his face. It was a sight Jim had already long gotten used to by now, one that brought him pride instead of fear.

He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. Hey, are you, uh… cooking?”

Kane held out a hand. “I am! Please come sit?”

Now he was smiling, too. “Haha, okay.”

Jim took his hand and let Kane lead him to the kitchen table, where a plate full of blueberry pancakes sat. They looked a bit off–undercooked, a little torn up–but the fact that they were there at all was astounding.

He sat down. “How did you even do this? You don’t cook.”

“I watched you,” Kane admitted sheepishly. “In the mornings. I really wanted to make you something, and I didn’t want to waste food by just guessing and doing it wrong, so I started paying close attention, and this seemed like the easiest thing to copy… are they okay?”

“Well, let’s see!” Jim cut into one– definitely undercooked. It oozed out around his knife, but Liz’s failed attempts at cooking had given him ample practice in this field. He popped it in his mouth without a care. “It’s great, Kane. Especially for your first time ever cooking anything. Thank you.”

Kane brightened up even further at the praise, sitting in the chair adjacent. “I know it’s not the same at all, but I wanted to feed you too, somehow. Like you feed me. I was wondering… if you could teach me to cook?”

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” Kane insisted. “I really, really do. But I don’t want to impose! I can always ask Laken.”

Jim cut away the less-done bits of the pancake he was working on, scooping up another bite. “Alright, if you’re really sure. Yeah, I can teach you. Doesn’t human food smell, like, really bad to vampires, though? Like it’s rotten or whatever?”

“I’ll manage.” Kane bore no obvious worry of the issue. Clearly, a bad smell was not something that registered to him as a concern any longer. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t until Jim had finished his breakfast and was about to get up that Kane spoke again, the smile fading from his face. “There was something else, actually.”

“Oh?” Jim put his plate and utensils back down.

Kane got down from his seat to kneel on the floor.

“Kane, buddy,” Jim said softly, sliding into that placating tone he always used when trying to calm the vampire down from one of his panics, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. It’s– it’s to show respect. Please.” As Kane looked up at him with those intense red eyes, Jim could see no fear at all.

“Well, okay then, I guess. What’s up?” he asked.

“I want to thank you. For everything,” Kane spoke carefully, as though each word was precious. Rehearsed. “For taking me away from the hunters. For not hurting me, even though you could have, even though you had every reason to. For helping me calm down when I panic. For feeding me, your own blood, even though it’s so hard for you, just so I wouldn’t starve. For giving me clothes and bedding and music and happiness again. You gave me my life back, but I owe you so much more than just my life. Because without you, I wasn’t dead, I was– I was there. And you saved me.”

Tears welled up in Kane’s eyes as he stared up reverent, overcome with emotion. “And I was thinking about all the times I’ve apologized to you, I was too afraid to do it right. I was just– I really was sorry, I’ve been sorry for a long, long time, but in those moments, I’ve always just been focused on not being hurt… but you would never hurt me. I see that now. Jim, I am so, truly sorry for hurting you. For every single time I hurt you, big and small, for those five years and since, I am so, so sorry. I was unimaginably cruel to you, and no one deserves that, but especially not you. I know that back then I told you the opposite, but I was wrong. You deserve to be happy! And I took that from you.”

Kane placed a hand over his heart. “And I swear to you, I will make it my life’s mission to give you back that happiness. I am loyal to you, Jim. Forever.”

He put his hand down. “That–that’s all. Thank you for listening.”

Jim sat in silence for a moment, absorbing it all. Wasn’t this why he’d originally taken Kane in? Wasn’t that the excuse he’d used– he wanted Kane fear-free enough to have an actual discussion about back then, without him devolving into a terrified, sobbing mess? He could do that, now. How long had he been waiting to hear Kane admit that he hadn’t deserved it after all? Fifteen years?

Oh, he was so unprepared for this conversation. He needed all kinds of psyching-up before they could have that talk.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Kane added quietly. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Right. Yeah,” Jim said, snapping out of it. Just because Kane was ready didn’t mean it had to be now. It could be any time, when he was ready, too. “That’s… wow. Hey, it’s okay,” he tried, far more comfortable comforting Kane than the other way around. He grabbed a tissue, handing it to him. “I mean, not the–not what you did. I mean it’s okay now. Um, thanks, is what I mean, I guess. For really apologizing.”

Kane wiped his eyes. “It’s the absolute least I could do. Everything I have is something you’ve given to me. Nothing hurts anymore.”

“Good.” His sincerity brought a smile to Jim’s face. “You know, maybe cooking isn’t the best idea if you’re afraid of burns? It’s not gonna happen every time, but even I get myself once in a while. Just thought I should warn you.”

“You give me blood,” Kane pointed out. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. “Plus, you’ll be there. Right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Jim patted him on the shoulder.

Kane smiled back up at him. “Then I’ll be okay.”

taglist in reblogs

#kane and jim #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #recovery whump #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker

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gojoidyll · 18 days

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Imagine someone putting all their debt onto you. Somehow, someway they manage to trick the IPC with various hackers tagging a $700 million debt to your name. The unknown criminals getting away with $700 million while you're stuck being dragged away by the IPC.

"What money?! You think if I had $700 million lying around I would be here of all places?!"

You were currently on trial. Your hands cuffed as you stood before the podium. No one watching believing a word you say.

"For the last time! I didn't take $700 million, damn it!"

At the end of the day, however, it didn't matter how much you pleaded and begged your case. No one believed you which was how you found yourself working for the IPC at $14.50 an hour. Which meant it would take you 48,275,862,068.966 hours in order to earn $700 million to pay back the IPC. And you didn't even incorporate the interest rate yet...

"What am I going to do," you muttered while holding your head in your hands. Your new uniform being issued to you as you found yourself on a ship to your new assignment.

"You seem a bit down, friend."

You ignored the person who spoke. His name was Aventurine. Someone who was making far more than you and probably didn't have a debt to pay. A debt that wasn't even yours to begin with that is.

"Oh, don't ignore me now. You're supposed to listen to your superiors, remember miss 700 million."

That got a reaction out of you as you snapped your head to look at him, "don't call me that! Someone passed their debt to me! I never borrowed anything from the IPC."

Aventurine shrugged, "I don't know about that. Playing the innocent act like that. You must be a really good liar-"

"But I'm telling the truth," you lamented again.

But as Aventurine smirked and continued talking with amusement, you found that no matter who you talked to - no one would believe you or helo you out.

And you weren't some genius either, so finding that one who tagged this debt onto you wouldn't be a cake walk either.

Running away also wasn't an option. You weren't rich enough to get a space ship and where you came from - anyone would turn you in for a quick buck.

In other words, you were stuck.

And Aventurine couldn't be any more pleased. He was glad to finally have you right where he wanted you.

He knew he wouldn't be able to leave the IPC, so giving you that $700 million debt was the only way to get you to be by his side. Hopefully you won't be too mad if you ever found out he was the one who did this to you.

#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine

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jeonride · 8 months

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dreamt of heaven

SUMMARY; and oh, he brought you to heaven while you were sleeping

FEATURING; xu minghao x afab!reader

TAGS; fluff, established relationship (fiance!minghao), wonwoo and mingyu mentioned as his co-workers, smut (MINORS DNI)

WORD COUNT; 2.4 K

WARNINGS; profanity, somnophilia (with consent ofc!), slight voyeurism, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, use of pet names (angel), praises

NOTES FROM KALA; i missed him. that's it.

jeonride's masterlist / join the taglist here !

The entire room inside your shared apartment is dark, the lights have been turned off. Leaving only the yellowish nightstand lamp still on. The distinctive scent of aromatherapy candles also wafts in as Minghao opens the apartment door, taking off his shoes and placing them on the shelf by the door.

Minghao's smile slowly fades, turning into a sullen expression of sadness. If you've turned off all the lights, you're already asleep. Minghao has bought some sugar-coated donuts at your favorite cafe on the way home because he remembered your chat saying you were craving donuts while drinking tea with him before going to bed.

Well, he can't blame you either. It's his fault for coming home too late and Minghao did tell you not to wait for him to come home if you're tired. He said you should go to bed if you're sleepy because Minghao feels guilty when he comes home to find your eyes red and you've fallen asleep on the sofa. He loves you dearly, and seeing you sprawled on the sofa made him feel guilty that he couldn't get home sooner.

Minghao put the box of donuts in the fridge. That's okay. The two of you can chat with some donuts and tea tomorrow morning, since tomorrow is Saturday and Minghao has the day off. He will make sure you'd spend time together tomorrow.

Slowly, Minghao opens the door to the shared bedroom. He didn't want to make any noise, worried of waking you up. He knows you must have had a hard day too. It isn't just Minghao who is tired of working, but both of you are tired of constantly earning money to keep living. His body moves closer to you, who is already fall asleep. And when he gazes at your sleeping face, oh, he's falling harder for you.

You look perfect tonight, wearing a baby pink satin nightgown that goes all the way up to your waist, revealing your panties in a matching color and your smooth skin because your constant movements while sleeping. Minghao swears he can't see any single flaw in you. He loves everything about you, he cherishes every body part of yours. And tonight, you look like a little angel sleeping gracefully on the bed, so peaceful with the tint of red on your cheeks.

"What a heavenly view," he whispers. Full of adoration towards your figure. Minghao climbs onto the bed carefully, wanting to be near you, wanting to smell your perfume that always makes him addicted. His hand gently strokes your hair, whispering compliments to you, as if you were worthy of adoration. His angel whom he will guard and cherish wholeheartedly.

"Angel, I had so much fun today," Minghao says. He starts to tell stories, and it is a natural urge within him. He likes to tell you about his day before going to bed, and if you're already asleep he'll still tell you in a half-whisper voice even if you won't reply to his ramble. He just loves to share his experiences with you, as if you were a bank to store all of his precious memories.

"I'm going to be promoted to general manager at the office. And I was like 'Oh, really?!' This isn't a joke?' I was so happy when I heard that. Then Mingyu said that I should treat the marketing division if I become the general manager one day." Minghao laughs softly, sounds endearing to be heard. His eyes focused on you who doesn't react, unbothered by his light touches. Meanwhile, his mind is recalling what happened in the office, Mingyu was so excited that he unconsciously threw his assignment paper and hit the cold co-worker Wonwoo, who protested by giving him a death glare. Minghao is always amused by the antics of his co-workers, especially Mingyu's clumsy behavior, and often gets scolded for showing up late to meetings.

"That's okay, I'll treat them for being such good friends. And I'll also take you to a candlelight dinner with me, angel." Minghao moves his forefinger to tuck the stray hair on your forehead behind your ear. "I miss to go on a date with you. I miss walking the streets while holding your hand and arguing about which restaurant we should go to." Minghao's hand that was originally on your head slowly travels down, touching your cheek with his forefinger. Oh, your skin feels so soft against his.

Minghao doesn't get tired of cupping your cheeks like you are a little girl to him. His smile grows even wider, this time a giggle also escapes his mouth due to the explosion of affection towards you. You are so adorable and Minghao is sure he will bite your cheek if you aren't sleeping. You are lucky this time.

But as his forefinger slowly descends, to your chin, then makes its way to your chest and then your cleavage, Minghao gulps. Then his eyes darted back to your face, checking to see if you'd wake up if he touched your breast, but gladly, you didn't.

Minghao strokes your chest with his forefinger, making patterns around your nipple. Oh, you not wearing a bra like this makes Minghao want to pinch your nipples that are visible from under the satin nightgown.

As his forefinger moves to your nipple and rubs on it, both of your nipples automatically get hard, sticking out for Minghao to stare at. Minghao's other free hand also moves to rub your thigh, up and down. Delivering an intimate sensation with his sensual touch but you still didn't move, undisturbed.

His hand slowly spreads your legs apart. Touching your clothed clit and rubbing circles on it. The action succeeds in making you let out a soft, gentle moan, which makes Minghao's hand movements stop in an instant. His eyes glance back at your face, talking with his eyes 'Oh, did I wake you up?' But you still have your eyes closed, sleeping. You didn't wake up, just let out your pretty sound and spread your legs even more for Minghao like someone having a wet dream. Minghao grins at the sight of it.

Okay, then, Minghao can do something while you're fall asleep, right? Your body allowed him to do so.

Minghao rolls over the bed, positioning his body to sit between your legs. His face lowered, facing towards your clothed cunt. Minghao bites his lower lip as he painstakingly pulls down your panties. They didn't come off, just down to your calves. At least he gets access to spread your legs and of course, a full shot of your pretty cunt that's getting wet because of his rub on your clit earlier.

Minghao swallows hard his saliva, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. You look so delicious, that little cunt of yours is so fucking pretty, a sight Minghao will never bore to see.

"You got such a little pretty cunt, angel," he says as he breathes through his mouth heavily.

Minghao's face comes closer to your cunt, and his tongue licks your clit a few times, it is delicate and feels like a kitten's lick. It's light, but it affects your body. It feels tingly, and you let out another moan.

"Sssh, everything's alright, baby," he reassures you, while he's working down there to satisfy your sleeping state. Minghao had never felt this horny to fuck your body while you were asleep. You once said it was okay if he wanted to use you to satisfy him when you were asleep because it's hard to wake you up from your slumber.

But Minghao has never done it, it's never crossed his mind to fuck you while you are sleeping. He thought it was weird. He'd rather finish himself off by pumping his erection in the shower. He felt... guilty about doing it while you were sleeping so soundly. He just didn't want to disturb your slumber.

But tonight is different. And he wants you so badly, so turned on seeing you in that satin nightgown that's been lifted to your tummy, and how you spread your legs unconsciously for him.

"Such a good girl," he praises when he finds you're still sleeping soundly. Maybe you make those pretty noises because it's a spontaneous reaction to having your sensitive body parts touched.

Two of Minghao's fingers go into his mouth, sucking on them. He tries to collect his saliva there and he lines it toward your entrance, trying to stretch you out. Meanwhile, he goes back to licking your clit, his tongue lapping at a not-too-fast tempo and occasionally his pink lips suck on your clit, licking in a circular pattern. Minghao's two fingers are already halfway into you when you moan again while opening your eyes only to find your fiancé eating you out while staring at your face.

"H-hao? What are you doing?" you ask rhetorically. You know what he's doing, of course. Your eyes see how the man's face sinks between your legs and how your stomach muscles tighten from his suction on your clit, as well as his fingers scissoring inside you.

"Making you feel good?" He chuckles. "Go back to sleep if you're still tired, angel. Don't mind me."

You shake your head as if to say I don't want to sleep, already not sleepy then try to sit up properly. Your palm cupping Minghao's cheek, "Look at me, Hao."

"Hm?" he pauses his movement for a while, two fingers still inside you. "Is there something wrong? Should I stop?"

"N-no! It's just..."

"Hey, angel. If you feel uncomfortable it's okay," Minghao reassures you, voice getting softened.

"Hao... I just, miss you. I mean, I don't want to fall back asleep. I- I want you to touch me..."

Minghao smiles back at you, and it always charms you. You don't know how those words affected his heart. Because you said it with your innocent-sounding voice, with your mouth half open and your cheeks red, oh, he can feel his cock twitching inside his office pants that tighten from his erection.

"Angel, I haven't showered yet," he replies with tenderness in his voice, not wanting to disappoint you. "I don't want to make you get dirty because of me. I just arrived home and-"

"I don't mind, Hao. I'm okay with you getting me dirty. I- I missed your touch..."

Minghao's heart beat so fast in an instant, not expecting you to say it. His ears turn red, and he begins to forfeit control of himself. "Shit, angel." a gasp escapes his pretty lips. "You've done something t o me."

"And what is that?" you tease. Oh, Minghao looks surprised as he stares at your seductive expression. God, you just woke up and immediately teases him like this?

Minghao grabs your right hand, kissing the back of your hand as his tongue also traces your skin, making you giggle cutely. "Hao, it tickles!"

You can feel Minghao's smile forming against your skin. The kiss slowly descends, he kisses the knuckles of your fingers, your fingertips, and then places a soft peck on your engagement ring. Your heart swells at the way he treats you. He always treats you like a princess, like an angel. Like the most precious thing he owns.

Your eyes widen as Minghao moves your hand that he just kissed to his crotch, and there it is, his hardening cock, twitches when your hand grazes over it. Creating frictions that sends shivers down his spine. "Angel, let me make you feel good, please?" his eyes are already filled with hunger for you, for your body, and his voice is beginning to grow raspy.

You nod in embarrassment, but your hands move instinctively to unbuckle his belt while Minghao unbinds the tie around his neck, tossing it to the side. You help each other to undress.

Minghao loves to be skin-on-skin with you, and when he removes the nightgown from your body, his gaze is full of desire to own you completely. "So fucking beautiful," he whispers into your ear, kissing your earlobe lightly. "Angel, you're such a blessing to me."

You moan under his touch, you feel the arousal juices coming out more and more from your cunt. Minghao lays you back on the bed, while he sits on his knees to insert his digits again inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit making you moan louder than before.

"H-hao..." your legs spread even wider for him. Your body misses Minghao's touch badly, missing how he treats your body to satisfy you.

He leans closer for a kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip as you open your mouth for him. His other free hand wipes away the sweat that forms on your forehead. "I know, angel. I know," he whispers between kisses. "Let me bring you to the heaven, angel."

You bite Minghao's lip as you feel your nipple being played with. Pinched, then your chest is squeezed hard by him. Your hand that has been on Minghao's waist slowly goes down to his abdomen, then your hand holding the base of his cock gently. The man lets out a low sigh as he feels your hand wraps around his shaft.

As Minghao plays with your clit and his fingers move in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot just right, you pump his cock that's been hard since fifteen minutes ago. His cock is flushed, and the tip releases more precum when you rub circles on it. Determine to make him feel good too.

His digits are scissoring your cunt rapidly now, following the tempo of your hand.

"A-ah, Hao!" you moan, as his fingers keep hitting your sweet spot with a speed that keeps increasing. Your hands are also getting faster at giving Minghao a handjob. Your kiss gets messy as you both moan into each other's mouths while Minghao starts to buckle his hip into your fist.

"A-angel," his breathing gets heavier. He ends the kiss just so he can stare at your face showing the expression that you are so lost in pleasure. He lands a kiss on your forehead, all while he is still fingering you and feeling your cunt tighten around his fingers.

"Let's spend the whole damn night with me, will you? Let's make each other feel good,"

taglist: @jiniesclub

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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

Note

Since you wrote dee and Bee as adults drabble will you be doing the same for shank’s daughter

I gotcha! Had this brewing for a bit but hope you like it!

Vivian As A Adult

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Check out Old Man Series! <-

• Vivian set off on her own, wanting to be like her Idol Monkey D. Luffy- The Pirate King.

• Being trained by The world's current best Gunman and a Yonko had some extreme benefits. She was training to be the Best Gunner in the world. However no one really paid much attention to that- It was more that she was a pretty girl who looked fairly similar to a famous Emperor of the sea.

• She set out on her own at 17, wanting to get a head start on her pirate career... which had started out as sort of a flop-

• No one wanted her on their crew, both out of fear of what it could lead to from her father and doubts about her abilities. Assuming she must be a spoiled brat with her ego inflated-

• And truth be told- Vivian was terrible with money... horrible infact- She went broke in less then a month and with bleeding pockets didn't know where to turn-

• Till she stumbled on a old acquaintance- non other then her former childhood crush Dracule Alucare- He had recognized her immediately and bought her a meal. The two talking and agreeing to temporarily join together- Especially since

• Both their navigation skills were lacking however and it didn't take long to find trouble again- This time by Alucares old 'Ex' who thoroughly beat his ass {Literally} and took the ship captive.

• Knowing if both of them were captured it would lead to trouble, so Vi being small enough to take cover on the ship and watched Alucare get taken. Knowing he wouldn't be killed off that quickly especially since Lyra seemed to have a vendetta against him and wanted to prolong it.

• So once sure the coast was clear she set off to rescue Alucare and make sure they didn't get killed.

• Weeding through the security to make sure it was light for the escape. She met up with Alucare and a grew of blue haired twins- Later learning they were The Buggy Twins.. Which sounded familiar but she didn't want to think too much on it.

• The teenagers managing a narrow escape from the Marines and setting off to the sea- truthfully without a true plan and only wanting to save their own asses-

• "Where is my Bounty?!" She said screamed looking over the stack of new wanted posters that had been delivered- it had been a week since the Marine Ship incident and Vivian didnt see a wanted poster for herself anywere! Groaning into the table as she felt the papers being yanked from her hands.

Alucare looking over the posters and snorting a laugh. She glared at her peer as he stared at her..

• Despite all of this, Vivian is probably the best marksman of this era- A true devil in her craft as she can hit any target bullseye. The Marines hadn't forgotten her nor her abilties on the navel ship being forgotten... as it seemed the reason the ship seemed to quiet was that the Marines later found 63 men with perfect bullet holes in their forehead well stashed away on the ship.

"Maybe you have too low of a Bounty?-" Alucare teased, earning a harsher glare from the red head who smacked him in the head with a spoon which he got pelted with perfectly on thw forehead-.

Clearly wanting to mess with her as he reached into his shirt picket and slammed down his own, Vi snatching it quickly and damn near hissed as she read the paper-

'GOLD GAZE' ALUCARE

Updated Bounty: Formally 50,000,000 Berry

Wanted Dead or Alive

Current Bounty: 85,000,000

'Gold Gaze' Seriously?" Vivian sighed at the choice of Nickname. Alucare shrugging as well-

"Well I didn't pick it.." He defended, the twins now coming up to see what the commotion was all about. Alucare sharing his wanted poster with them-

"Not Bad!" Bee said and him and Alucare shared a high five- Weirdly the two seemingly growing close in a chaotic lawful and chaotic evil sort of way..

"Your guys bounty is higher" Alucare pointed out which Dee shrugged at.

"Yeah but you got a better Nickname then us-" Dee said- As the three repeated 'Gold Gaze' in a series of different voices. Vivian staring at them all like she was in a sick form of hell...

"I hate you guys..."

• Shanks of course keeps track of Vivian, even if she's out on his own he had eyes and ears everywhere.

• It seemed the marksman of the Pirates had made sure security was light-

He smiles brightly and starts to laugh hysterically- He didn't know if this was some sick form of Karma or the universe repeating itself-

However that morning it seemed to be the newspaper that informed him- Opening up he went to see what new thing was happening his eyes widening at what he saw.

New Pirates on the Scene!

🌅 The Sunset Pirates! 🌅

Marines say they disapeared and appeared with the rise and fall of the sun-

Including In the Crew-

- Dee Dee The Jester - 150,000,000 Berry

- Bee Bee The Joker - 150,000,000 Berry

- 'Gold Gaze' Alucare - 85,000,000 Berry

And New Pirate {Unknown Name- nicknamed}

'Crimson Shot' - 85,000,000 Berry

- Wanted Dead or Alive -

Shanks shook his head, recognizing his daughter's skills immediately and the rough sketch of her as well- He knew her identity would be revealed soon enough. However that didn't matter, if anything it would boost her credibility.

"Good Job Vi- You did it.."

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #dad shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #dracule alucare #buggy twins #Vivian one piece

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localityghost · 11 months

Text

☆𝑷𝑰𝒁𝒁𝑨'𝑺 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬☆

𝑭𝒕.𝑲𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒋𝒊

◇—ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ||𝑲𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒋𝒊 𝐱 ʏᴏᴜ♡

◇— ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ||Looks like someone's a little broke Maybe you can pay Baji a different way

◇ —ᴄᴡ||Meanie Baji,𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠,𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭,𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, Oral M!receiving, Oral F!receiving, squirting

Tags|| @bimbohub

It was 7:30 P.M you were quietly sitting on your couch waiting for your pizza to come since it was the weekend and college was killing you slowly with all the tests and exams you had to do, and to top it off, you got no breaks, so this was indeed a moment of peace for you thankfully. You scrolled on your phone, reading some Instagram stories. You didn't care about what you were wearing at the time, just your panties, a cinnamon roll top with cute fluffy ears near your cleavage area, so nothing much to even cover your brownish skin that shined a bit of a gold color when hit with light or sunlight for that matter.

You continued to scroll quietly on your phone while waiting for your pizza. It was an essential choice of pepperoni and cheese, nothing too extra or too little on it, just enough to satisfy you. Hearing the doorbell, you got up, leaving the comfort of your lovely couch to answer it. You see a tall man with black hair draping down his back and some still in his face. He's wearing a pizza worker uniform with a stupid little smiling pizza logo on it as he holds your pizza in his hands. "Order for Y/N," he said in a monotone voice as he snuck glances at what little clothes you were wearing. He then opened his mouth to speak more "That'll be 24.99$," he said. You groaned and fetched your purse from your room, only to find out that you were running short on the price of the pizza. You sighed. This day couldn't go worse for you as you returned to the door twiddling your fingers as you stared at the guy, "I...don't have enough money to give you. Is there another way I could possibly repay you?" you asked the guy scoffing "Seriously? Why order a pizza if you didn't have enough money for it?" you facepalmed he was right why didn't you check how much you had first? You look up at him again, only to find him staring at your cleavage. You see a toothy grin appear on his face. "Well, there is one way you could pay me back...for making me come all this way, sweetheart," he said the way he spoke, sending waves down to your pussy which caused you to shift your legs, rubbing your thighs a bit Baji then set the pizza box down on the nightstand by your door as he pinned you to a wall as he tied up his hair into a ponytail "It's gonna be a long night..."

It was a long night, indeed. He started biting your neck as he rubbed your cloth pussy, earning soft moans and whimpers from you, which caused him to smile at the view showing off his sharp fangs as he left marks on you. Your top strap was already draping down your shoulder. Baji then picked you up and sat you down on the couch, sliding down your white-laced panties as he spread your legs, rubbing his finger on your already wet pussy as he tasted the slick "Mm, call me the pussy inspector because it looks like you need to be inspected" he said as you see him descend down in between your legs nipping your inner thighs before brushing his tongue against your clit which caused you to whimper as you clasped your hand over your mouth as you hear Baji slightly laugh from the reaction to his advances he gripped the fat of your ass as he began to let his tongue run through your folds, he must be experienced because the way he was lapping you up was insane the head game with him is crazy, Baji was enjoying himself as your muffled moans were like music to his ears each time his tongue slid through your slicks and making you even wetter with his saliva you felt your stomach twist a warning you were already gonna cum from his advances the last straw was him sliding his tongue right into your entrance sending a shock up your spine as your back arched as you then came your juices dripping from your inner thighs as you heard Baji chuckle lowly "Look at you, all messed up cause of me I'm honestly flattered" he said grabbing your thigh and throwing it over his shoulder "But were not done yet princess you gotta pay up for wasting my time". You've been sitting here for what? An hour as Baji's tongue lapped at your pussy, licking and sucking all the juices that came from it, it just seemed he could go on forever if you let him as he pulled a 5th orgasm out of you, finally raising from his crouched position wiping his mouth "that was fun now onto the good part" he said taking off his belt as he slid it off the loops of his pants as he sat down on the couch.

Seeing Baji's hard-on made you question how big he was as he motioned for you to come closer. You got down on the ground and scooted right between his thigh as he slid his cock out. He was big and lengthy, definitely a lot of girth to him as he smeared the pre-cum around his tip. It was like you instinctively opened your mouth. Baji smirked as he tapped it against your tongue before taking the back of your hand and pushing you down on his length. Not giving you any room to breathe, your head bobbing up and down on his length, your muffled moans made him laugh again as your already wet slick dripped on the cute Sanrio carpet you had in your living room. This was so embarrassing, but you liked it as he continued to be rough as he pressed your head down against him. Surprisingly, he was neatly trimmed down there, so you hit a soft patch every time you were pushed down. After a good 30 minutes, he pushed you down for the final time blowing his load in your mouth. He then yanked your head upwards. "Swallow," he said, commanding you as you swallowed his somewhat sour but creamy cum going down your throat. He then turned you around, bending you over. "I got one more load to spare and it's gonna go deep in that sweet pussy..." without warning, he shoved his cock into you, which caused you to grip the sides of the table, the straps on your top fully off your shoulders as Baji grabbed the fat of your tits removing them from the security of your cute cinnamon roll top you could feel him occasionally squeeze your cute little buds as he laughed bending down as he licked the shell of your ear "Names Baji, Baji Keisuke remember that name for me sweetheart remember whos fucking you dumb on this table," he said as they table rocked form how rough he was thrusting into you each thrust making a lewd sound between you two from how hard he was thrusting the wet slaps between you and his hips filled the room as you moaned out loudly as Baji sped up the pace being down over you as this time he grabbed both of your tits the snapping of his hips getting sloppy and more "Fuck...g'nna cum, gonna cum right into this pretty pussy" he said breathlessly as his right hand slid in between your thighs to rub your clit causing your orgasm to hit you like a freight train as you squirted all over his cock Baji releasing in you in that timestamp his white cum coating his shaft along with your slick you dropped to your knee. Baji, who was out of breath, then said, "You owe me a sleepover"

Open collab with @toychick!

#tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers smut #localghostsblackgirlfics!#tr smut #tokyo revengers smut headcanons #tokyorev smut #tokrev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #baji x reader #baji keisuke #baji x you #baji smut #baji

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fillinforlater · 4 months

Text

Blonde: Chapter III

Female Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 2500 words

Tags: angst/fluff, another bad day, losing your dignity, illness, someone who cares, there is a fever dream, Gaeul's relationship, struggling with your identity, we got a twist at the end

Inspiration: "Why Am I Like This?" by Orla Gartland

(A/N: Finally, another chapter to this slowly developing plot. I jope you enjoy it. @firagaarmor for obvious reasons)

"Didn't you say 108,000?"

"No, sir, it's 180,500 won."

"Oh, I see."

The old, fragile fingers of this confused, bald man creep back into his purse, trying to find another bill in what is probably a maze of money and plastic cards for him. You wouldn’t mind it one bit, you get paid either way and on usual nights, traffic is so little that barely anyone else gets inconvenienced. However, tonight is rather unusual. Apparently everyone forgot something and is now in a haste to buy said something. There is a long line of impatient stressed moms, annoyed teenagers and everything in between or beyond showing or voicing their disapproval.

It’s not you, you’re not the cause for their stress and discomfort, yet the customer’s toxicity still flies to you like you’re some kind of magnet. It all comes back to stab you, with passive-aggressive remarks or the glances up and down your small frame. Doesn’t really help that you only had cold ramen noodles, sweets and a little bit of bread in the past five days and that the ice cold showers make your nose itch with an impending cold. God, you must look pathetically miserable, even for your standards.

After the man finally gets his cash together, the checkouts are fast, heartless, and your heart aches for her to be at the end of the line. Gaeul—with her bright hair and even brighter smile to greet you when she is out buying drinks again—she could really save this evening. You yearn for her encouragement and presence more than for the next hot meal. Maybe even more than for the next two hot meals.

But there is no blonde angel to save you tonight. With the last customer buying their groceries, the lights die one by one, leaving you in a mostly empty store, alone with thousands and thousands of tasty and not-so-tasty products you’d love to put into a pan and fry. The thuds of your sneakers on the floor almost drown out the grumble in your stomach or the sniffling of your nose as you walk into yet another cold night with nothing to look forward to.

I fucking hate this shit.

You want to vomit, throw yourself off your bed, tear every single strand of your dark hair out as you dial your mother's number again. You hope it’s over quickly, but one can never know with her, especially if she still stubbornly refuses to help you. Take deep breaths, try to keep your head straight though thinking has become more and more exhaustive with every calorie you’re missing.

“What is it?” your mother groans, though you find her tone to be a lot more amused than last time. Someone is cheering and laughing in the background, drowning out even the loud TV.

“The bills, mom. I still have no electricity, no hot water, no heater.”

“Oh right.”

A response colder than your room. You try to straighten your back to speak to her loud and clear, with at least some authority, but you feel yourself crumble when the clanking of bottles loudly booms through the speaker.

“Did… did your boss finally pay you?” you carefully ask, earning an immediate response.

“Yes, he did.”

“Then why didn’t you pay the bills?”

Silence, except for the crime drama running in the back, finding all the suspects and then the killer, as they always do. This case right here is totally clear, no one needs to investigate for more than five minutes to find out that she is at fault, yet it feels like you're on trial, awaiting your parole, which for some reason is still in the balance.

“You know, sweetheart,” your mother cheekily responds, her saliva loudly flopping around in her mouth, mixed with the disgusting flavor of cigarettes and beer. “I really worked hard for that money. It’s my money. In the end I can decide what happens with it.”

Oh God, don’t do that, please for the love of—and don’t call me sweetheart.

“You can’t be serious,” you barely chirp out, your heart throbbing, crumbling like your entire body as you can see your entire foundation, the fragile remains of your fake stability finally falter. You can never cover all of your expenses with this one job and you can’t quit school now, not after getting so close to finally finishing it. You need her money and she seems to finally use it against you.

“It’s just the truth,” she responds nonchalantly, her voice a lot lighter and higher in pitch than usual. You hear someone cackle in the background.

“Sweetheart.

Don’t call me that.

“How about you—

Don’t do this.

“—start begging for my money. C’mon! Get on your knees and beg for it! I’m tired of funding your lazy, incompetent lifestyle. You should be so grateful for my throwing money at you all these years.

“I didn’t hear you! Get your lazy ass out of your bed now, and on your damn knees.

“Beg for it.”

Laughter from behind her. It's not the TV.

A hot shower, warm noodles, a cozy bed—they never felt so wrong, so disgusting. Even as your life objectively improves, it feels horrible, like you had to sell yourself and your soul for it to happen.

Your knees are still drawn to the floor. You might sit in a chair, listen to teachers all day or sit at the checkout, pulling items over the scanner, your knees still feel like they should get on the floor and beg.

Please let me pass.

Please give me more money.

Please leave me alone.

Please ignore my embarrassing existence.

"Hey."

"Uhhh, good evening, ma'a—Gaeul?"

Gaeul's dainty fingers catch your shoulders as you slump forward, against the checkout counter and almost fold over. Your body, devoid of energy, loses all tension.

“Hey, hey,” Gaeul calls out to you, and like the caring mother you never had, the warm palm of her hand cups your forehead. “Oh lord, you’re so hot! You’re definitely sick, what are you doing here?”

“I-I have to work,” you respond, a wave of something hot and heavy pressing down on your brain. This lava burns itself into you and makes every thought process excruciatingly hard. You haven’t even noticed it until now. “I’m not sick, every-thing is fine.”

Your smile is weak, dozy and fake, it cannot fool Gaeul a bit. Her beautiful face falls into deep wrinkles of worry as you can barely lift yourself out of her supporting arms. There is an awkward pause between the two of you, only interrupted by another customer clearing their throat. You try to get back to scanning, but one of Gaeul’s cans slips through your fingers a couple of times.

“I don’t think you should do this,” Gaeul says quietly, softly. “You don’t need to prove your toughness, it’s okay to be sick for a few days. I think your boss will understand.”

“Really, Gaeul, I’m okay.” The final can, straight into the blonde’s bag. Through your blurry eyes you can barely make out the color of her jacket, or sweater, or whatever it is—either way, it definitely suits her. “Thanks for worrying though.”

Why did I push her away like this? Why didn’t I listen to her? Why am I always like this?

Everything is hot and everything is cold. You need another jacket or the cold will get worse, but it simultaneously feels like you could die from overheating if you don’t start throwing away layer after layer of clothes. The way your body feels is close to how the inner mechanisms in your brain work in this fever haze. There is nothing, no thought, no conclusion, nothing that matters—yet everything is suddenly relevant.

Objects and details you’ve never actively released before come into focus of your decreasing sight, that one tile in the corner, just as dirty and unspecial as the rest, the second package of gum, purple and pink, the spooky hum when the door opens that never appears when it closes. So you stumble out of the store, tripping over your feet until the fever finally strikes you down.

The concrete, its gray color, is darker the colder it gets. It’s also harder, torturous to lay upon, scorching hot skin on freezing tarmac. Suddenly, brand new sneakers, black and white, small feet, about as small as your own, though they could be—

“Oh my God!”

—a bit bigger, judging by the length of the stockings covered legs that—

“Here, I’ll help you”

—disappear in a plaid skirt, above a combo of thick winter jacket and—

“I knew this was bad. Taxi!”

—a girl, whose hair is both silver and golden, a blonde close to whiteness, nonetheless it looks like a crown adorning and framing her perfectly formed features.

Gaeul.

You’re lost in a dream. A school full of students, their ages varying drastically and you do not recognize a single face. The teachers seem a lot more familiar, though they float through the room carelessly, gravity not applying to them. In fact, gravity only applies to you, as the rest of the students fly around the room with their chairs and desks.

A frame of an angel, her hands brushing your cheek, scorching hot, so she puts a wet towel on your face. That’s so nice of her, you must be sick. Sick or not, you cannot miss the day you go to the zoo with the floating class.

The zoo is filled with people, nothing but people. People that look at odd people. Those that have to stand on one leg, those that can’t talk properly, those who like weird things. You can hear your whole class laugh hysterically at all of them, so weird, so wrong, nothing better than to laugh at sickos and be glad that you’re not one of them.

“Uhm, hi.” A voice in the far background, damp, behind a shut door. “Care to explain why you have another girl in your bed?”

You feel like you have to explain yourself, but words are nothing more than concepts in your head, also the zoo is calling, you have to watch the lively corpses float through the water tanks. Luckily, someone speaks for you. The angel.

“She’s a friend and she is sick. That’s all there is to it, Yujin.”

"Oh, really?" The other voice is skeptical, eyebrows raised and she looks for a clever response. “I guess she got sick while laying in your bed? Gaeul, don’t lie to me, okay? Just be straightforward with me.”

“I—” the angel stutters and falls silent. You however found a new enclosure in this zoo which stretches in all directions. This one is rather empty and the enclosure is also no enclosure, just a mirror with a writing above it: ‘Sicko girls that like other girls’.

The reflection is you, of course, in all your—

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” The other voice, now a tall woman of incredible beauty, twirls a couple of golden strands of the angel and tugs them behind her ear with a weak—dishonest, you feel—smile. “The long hair suited you better. I really liked that.”

“I know, Yujin.”

The reflection is you, in all your fault and imperfection, far from perfection and any heavenly being. You are no angel, just a sicko girl that likes girls—and the whole class is laughing.

You open your eyes, but the aching, hot pain in your temple and a heavy, wet towel on top of it make actually seeing, realizing anything a pain in the ass. Just the outline of a small face looking down on you, very familiar, very pretty—oh, what a relief to have Gaeul be the first thing you see.

“Wh-where am I?” you ask past dry lips.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Gaeul turns around and quickly reaches for a bottle of water. “Here, drink this, your body needs a lot of water now. You’re in my—my friend's apartment.”

“Damn, then it must have been real fucking bad—”

You cover your mouth, realizing your loud curse in a foreign room, foreign bed, where are your manners, they might have foreign customs. Gaeul’s eyes fall shut when she begins to lightly chuckle.

“Don’t worry, she’s not here right now,” Gaeul says. “You’re all good. B-but you can’t stay here forever. Just rest up and—you have somewhere to stay, right?”

You carefully remove the towel from your face, catching all the drops running down your forehead as you think about home, your home, finally warm because you threw away your dignity. You’d love to not go there, tear up the contract for rent and run away to something new—into independence.

“Yeah, yup, I—I have a place, don’t worry. Sorry for all the trouble, fuck, I don’t even remember what—I did it again.”

Now Gaeul is holding her stomach, laughing, hitting the blanket that covers your legs and you join her. Though you might sit upright, you feel like falling over, the dizziness, Gaeul’s laugh, they make you feel like you’re still in that dream with the angel. The angel, so ethereal, but made fragile by this voice. A woman.

Suddenly, yours and Gaeul’s face are almost touching, her arms are on your shoulders, yours on her side, her petite frame is in your palm. The laughs have faded, smiles remain but you feel your heart racing. The smile fades and you’re tense. Gaeul is right there and she is so, so pretty.

“You sure you’re alright?” Gaeul asks as she sees your blush. You blush even more and avert your eyes.

“Y-yeah, thank you. You helped a lot. But—

“—are you okay too, Gaeul?”

That’s a smile full of uncertainty, a hint of anger, a glow of hurt. Gaeul’s eyes sparkle and you’d love to blow some life into them. Even better, all the love you have for her, you want to pour it into her and give her power. But no, you have no idea nor any plan to do such a thing. So it’s Gaeul who helps you out of the bed and hands you one of her sweatshirts that isn’t drenched in sweat.

“You are the one with a fever, I’m as healthy as ever!” Gaeul is so bright and her smile shines like a star. In a different universe, she is already a celebrity with a perfect red carpet smile. Fake.

“I didn’t mean that.” In a surge of confidence and worry, you reach for Gaeul’s hand and everything's in slow motion. “I-I’m scared that you’re not happy, that something isn’t right, that—Gaeul, I heard you talk to your friend and she seemed—”

“Look, I—she isn’t my friend.”

Gaeul looks at you.

“She is my girlfriend.”

Gaeul still looks at you. Now it’s your turn to fake a smile and get it over with.

...

(A/N2: Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more chapters, though it will take time until the next release)

#kpop fluff #gaeul fluff #ive fluff #female idol fluff #female reader #female reader fluff #kpop angst #gaeul angst #ive angst

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sanctum-of-ramshackle · 1 year

Text

Egg Waffles, anyone?

[TWST AU]: MC/Yuu sells waffles (and other desserts) to get by.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, what if MC/Yuu starts selling the Hong Kong-styled Waffles and other delicious snacks from their home world? That way it can provide enough Madol for both Grim and themselves than whatever allowance Crowley has given them. (Cheapskate bastard-)

[Gender Neutral MC/Yuu]

[TW]: Little bit of Ace slander

[(A/N)]: I actually work at my mom’s dessert bar and we make fresh waffles with ice cream + toppings or just plain with the option of adding sugar powder. Another note is if you don’t know what it looks like. It’s something like this:

[Original Image Source]: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.cnn.com/travel/amp/hong-kong-bubble-waffles/index.html

[(A/N)]: There’s also a recipe I found that maybe anyone can try out.

[Egg Waffle recipe]: https://youtu.be/VNDvNUpT-f8

youtube

Ever since falling into Twisted Wonderland, MC/Yuu and Grim were the only ones staying at the abandoned building widely known as the Ramshackle Dorm at Night Raven College.

With money being tight and Crowley who probably is a stingy crow, the two need to find a solution for their financial troubles.

Then MC/Yuu remembers something: The Egg Waffles.

MC/Yuu: Wait! I have an idea to earn more Madols!

Grim: Really?! What?

MC/Yuu: Egg Waffles!

Grim: *Confused* What waffles?

MC/Yuu: They’re waffles that were sold back in my home world. They’re delicious. It’s like mini edible pockets: crispy on the outside, fluffy in the inside. I don’t think anyone around here thought of this. Come on. Let’s experiment.

For the next week, the Ramshackle Dorm is filled with the scent of freshly made waffles.

The smell even attracted some troublemakers: The ADeuce Duo.

You see, Ace and Deuce only want to visit their friends as someone wanted answers for Professor Trein’s history assignment. (Looking at you, Ace. You jerk /j.)

Deuce only came along to try talking Ace out of cheating- Taking advantage- purposefully finding answers without effort.

*Sighs* Who am I kidding? He will and always find shortcuts to everything- Little Bastard Boy…

Anyway, the two Heartslabyul students are heading to the ol’ dorm and when they arrived, the fresh smell of Hong Kong style-Waffles hits their olfaction receptors.

Ace: Prefect, we need your-

MC/Yuu: Ace, Deuce! Thank god you’re here. Quick, try these samples. *Shoves some waffles in their mouths*

Deuce: *Muffles* Mm! These are…delicious!

Ace: *KOFF!* *KOFF!* What was that for?!

MC/Yuu: Sorry. I needed honest reviews for these waffles. I’m planning to sell some so Grim and I won’t suffer in money troubles.

Deuce: They tasted amazing. What kind of waffles are they?

MC/Yuu: They’re called Egg Waffles that originated from a country back in my world. Traditionally eaten as plain, but they are trendy with ice cream and other toppings added inside. Anyway, there’s work to be done before it’s ready for everyone.

Ace: Wait. Before you continue these experiments, you did the assignment for Professor Trein’s class, right?

MC/Yuu: …Do you want another waffle shoved up your a-?

Anyway, the ADeuce duo left, with some waffles.

The following week, MC/Yuu asked Crowley if they can open a small business within their dorm so they won’t pester him every time for allowances.

Surprisingly he let them. (Not for their sake, but he also heard rumors within the school that the Ramshackle Dorm is scented of baked goods. He wanted to try them.)

Now, business is open!

[Waffle Joys Official Opening!]

MC/Yuu: I can’t believe this isn’t a dream. We’re gonna be okay, Grim.

Grim: You said it! Can’t wait for limitless tuna… *Salivating from the thoughts of tuna cans*

[Doorbell jingles, revealing the First Years as the first customers.]

MC/Yuu: Welcome to Waffle Joys!

Ace: Yo, MC/Yuu!

Deuce: We came by to congratulate you on opening day.

MC/Yuu: Aww thanks guys.

Sebek: What are the specials? I must know as I heard you can make some with ice cream inside. Not because of me, but for Waka-sama.

Epel: Yeah! I want one before Etiquette class.

Jack: Small snack after practice.

MC/Yuu: Coming right up! They’re based on familiar desserts.

[🧇THIS WEEK’S WAFFLE SPECIALS!!!🧇]

Cherry Pie Waffle

Purin Waffle

Cinnamon Apple Waffle

Sweetened Pear Waffle

Macaron Delight Waffle

[After waiting for their orders, they got their respective desserts and thanked their friend before heading out back to their usual routines.]

MC/Yuu: *Counting the money* You think this will start a successful business one day?

Grim: I think so? Whatever. As long as I get tuna.

MC/Yuu: *Sighs* You and your tuna.

[DING! DING! DING!]

MC/Yuu: Welcome to Waffle Joys! Wait, Azul?

Azul: Charmed to see me, Prefect~?

Jade: It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Prefect~

Floyd: Hey, Koebi-chan!

MC/Yuu: Azul, I’m not falling for another deal after what happened back then. What is the real reason why to came to Ramshackle?

Azul: Oh, how harsh of you to assume I would drag you into another deal.

MC/Yuu: Just spit out what you want.

Azul: I want your business to collaborate with the establishment of the Monstro Lounge.

MC/Yuu: *Wields up their waffle iron* Absolutely not. First of all, I started this business because Grim and I aren’t getting enough support from Crowley and second, how do I know I’m not trapping myself into another unfortunate end because of you?

Azul: I’m not making you a deal. I only decided to come by because, well…

MC/Yuu: *Realization hits them* I’m stealing your customers, aren’t I.

Azul: *Grasps on their shoulders* How did you do it?

MC/Yuu: Easy. I just remember something nostalgic and whipped them up with modern takes.

Azul: *Lets go* I need you at Monstro Lounge. Now.

MC/Yuu: No way. If you want your “precious regulars” back, how about advertising both our respective eateries and with a fair price on our ends. Is that fine with you?

Azul: Hmm…If it attracts more customers, then it’s a deal.

MC/Yuu: *Slams an unsigned contract in front of Azul* By my contract, not your Unique Magic.

Azul: *Taken aback* How long were you holding this?

MC/Yuu: Since I first experimented, I knew you’ll come around.

[DING! DING! DING!]

MC/Yuu: Welcome to Waffle Joys!

Crowley: Greetings, Prefect!

MC/Yuu: Crowley, this is surprising to see you as you’ll only come because of “favors.”

Crowley: Oh no no! I only came to try this Egg Waffle because some students were posting pictures on MagiCam and it’s trending.

MC/Yuu: Well, I did ask permission and you given in the idea. So what waffle would you like to order?

[10 minutes later]

MC/Yuu: Here’s your waffle, Headmaster Crowley! Enjoy your order!

[He ordered a Charcoal Black waffle with Black sesame ice cream and sliced toasted almonds, sprinkled with powdered sugar. On top of that is drizzled with condensed milk.]

[Now Crowley joined the Waffle Frenzy.]

Now I’m imagining that if an Overblot breaks out, MC/Yuu would pull out their waffle iron.

Then, “WHAM!!!”

Knocks over the person in despair, coughing out a Blot stone (Which they caught before Grim could eat it).

The Overblot victim comes back to their normal state, and MC/Yuu gives them a waffle as an apology since they “didn’t know their own strength.”

✨[Reblogging helps creators and creates more content.]💫

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #twisted wonderland mc #twst mc #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #Waffle Maker!MC #Waffle Maker!Yuu #Dessert Master!MC #Dessert Maker!Yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Youtube

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

Note

You said the phrase "the mysteries of publishing" and honestly that's wild to me. I knew the publishing industry was shitty, but I had no idea it was also mysterious/secretive because the vast majority of what I know of it has come from you and Brandon Sanderson, and both of you are very up front and open about your gripes with publishing

There's always been systemic gatekeeping from traditional publishing (lack of diversity in publishing is not an accident, it is intentional), and there have always been a few jerks in indie-pub who intentionally give out bad-faith advice to try and sabotage the "competition," but they get called out by the community pretty quickly.

Where things can become (unintentionally) mysterious, is when people look at all the information available to them and freeze because they don't know where to start.

Indie and self-publishing is daunting, not just from a creative aspect, but administrative as well. It can be especially difficult if you struggle with executive dysfunction or other information-processing issues.

But if you take your time, ask questions in writing groups/forums -- reach out to author friends if you have them -- or even just contact customer service, you usually get it figured out.

This recent trend-- and it's gotten really bad over the pandemic-- with people conflating being an author with being an influencer, (and some do both well, but many don't.), and there's an almost MLM (multilevel marketing, not men-loving-men. Just clarifying seen as how this is Tumblr 😅) vibe to the way some of them are pushing their platforms harder than their work.

And people think, hey, this person has a million followers on TikTok; they must know what they're talking about!

So they sign up for the "classes" being promoted by these influencer management hubs, and while I am sure some of them are legit, if a lot of them are getting the same emails I'm getting, it's the bare minimum shit that you can find on google.

Maybe if you're lucky, they'll talk you through figuring out international royalties. Chances are they'll just regurgitate David Gaughran's 'Let's Get Digital: How To Self-Publish And Why You Should' -- WHICH YOU CAN GET FOR FREE-- and frame it behind girl-boss empowerment vibes spun through the lens of being a boss-babe author.

When truthfully, this person probably earns more from your clicks and views than anything they've written. There's more money to be made in the hustle of appearing successful and pretending like this wealth of information is secretive and unknown.

And I want no part of that.

#author stuff #influencer culture

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trashy-tries-writing · 1 year

Note

Hii! 🍄Anon is back!!

You said you welcome requests for and about Ravine, right? So I was wondering if I could ask about some of the cod mens reaction to Ravine being a GOD TIER cook?🤤 Like no one would expect him to be able to make such delicious meals but when he does, one bute and you are literally sent to the Gates of heaven. Like you are GONE! Unless you think he's an absolute awful cook? Which in that case just do the opposite. I feel like there be at least one person who would eat his cooking no matter how awful it is (Cough Soap Cough).

Like most people food is the quickest way to my heart so I feel like this be an interesting situation!🍕

Anyways thanks again for liking my dumb random babbles about how cool i think Ravine is! Have a cookie for your prize! 🍪

(Omfg it’s so hard to write with no motivation, jesus 💀 Anon I am so sorry for the wait and if this is a little disappointing😰)

Hi hi 🍄Anon👋

(Thank you for the cookie 😋)

Ravine is a pretty good cook since he took many job offers he could get to earn money for his daughter’s surgery ( Oop he had a daughter?! <o< )

(Soap really be trying not to hurt anyone's feelings but his own taste buds. I feel like Gaz would leave it in his mouth and then spit it out when the cook isn’t watching🤣🤣)

It must have been a hard month for Ravine to volunteer to cook. He sees the team starting to slouch and drag their feet across the dirt like dead weights. At the end of the month they were moving around like shrimps.

Ravine made a whole list for each individual of 141; Los Vaqueros and decided to cook their favorite. (No one will ever know how he got that information.)

Soap is the first one to leave his room and follow the heavenly scent slowly filling the area, then Gaz, Alejandro and the rest.

They are surprised to see Ravine standing in the kitchen and moving around like it was the back of his hand.

The longer they stare from the doorway the more some eyes trail down his body. The sleeves of his t-shirt barely showed the skin of his arm that was hidden behind arm sleeves and his muscles bulged with every move.

Alejandro was tempted to whistle at the back view but Rudy, who had known him for a long time was shaking his head at him but didn't say a thing otherwise.

Gaz slowly steps closer to the cook, commenting how good it smells, to hide the fact he wasn't even eyeing the food in the pan but his arm sleeves that squeezed his biceps just right.

Soap leans away from the doorway to join Ravine's other side, his gaze drifting from the pan and spatula to his hands that were freed from the gloves he always wore. He licks his lips unconsciously at the gracious view gifted to his eyes.

Ravine seems to have different thoughts.

"Out."

"...Huh?"

Gaz and Soap find themselves kicked out of the kitchen with the door closed on their faces. It earns them a chuckle from the others at their expressions.

In Ravine’s eyes the kitchen was just another battlefield, one mess would trigger a second and third. Especially with the giant knives around, Ravine rather not have blood spilled.

The team find themselves at the table and they can’t believe their eyes at the various food displayed in front of them. They all subconsciously turn towards Ravine who leaves the kitchen with a plate of his own.

Rudy kindly asks him if he was going to eat with them but feels disappointed when the cook shakes his head.

He points inside the kitchen at the fridge, “Desserts.” and leaves the amazed group to eat in his room.

Ghost turns his eyes back at his plate and takes a mouthful. It felt like he was eating at a really fancy restaurant, not that he would ever go to such a place.

They serve a giant plate with one bite of food on it and then make you pay over 1000. Such a waste of money. Compared to that Ravine’s food was actually to die for and he would actually pay him that much to cook for him again.

Gaz kind of feels emotional. After such a long and rough month, homemade food was the best for the tiring heart. It was even better when the food tasted like it was cooked by a god.

With each bite, more saliva fills their mouths and a groan of satisfaction leaves them.

Soap swears he saw angels for a second.

Alejandro couldn’t stop complimenting with his mouth still full and Rudy nodded alongside him, both feeling like they were flying among the clouds, weightless and light as a feather.

Soap was the most curious about Ravine. Well, he was the one who showed his interest more verbally and visibly.

The men have so many questions and their curiosity slowly drags them to the depths.

Like is there anything Ravine couldn’t do??? The perfect soldier, a cold looking man but didn’t shy away to show kind gestures. And now they find out that he definitely worked as a chef before and now they want to know more about his life before he became a part of the military.

Hell even Ghost shared more than Ravine ever did and some of the men met Ravine waa-ay before the others.

The food was wolfed down and the plate almost licked clean. (Soap definitely licked it clean without any shame.)

They felt more energetic than the hellish month started and felt thankful for Ravine’s kind gesture. It just bothered them that Ravine was eating alone in his room again, probably working on engine stuff they did not understand while they were sitting in the cozy atmosphere with each other’s company.

Price steps away from the group to check up on the lone man, a bowl filled with watermelon and mango in his hand.

He knocks on the door and waits for Ravine to let him in.

Price can see the plate on his desk, not even halfway done eaten with stacks of paperwork on the other side. He pats the soldier on the back, sighing slightly before telling him to take it easy for once.

“Aye.”

He leaves the fruit bowl beside his dinner and feels content when Ravine visibly perks up. A soft smile spreads on Price’s lips and he would have ruffled his head but the helmet was in the way.

“Enjoy son.”

Extra:

Rudy and Gaz didn’t let Ravine back in the kitchen when they saw him at the sink, about to clean everything himself even though he made such an effort to cook 6 different dishes for them.

They wanted to hug him because it was really delicious but Ravine was already backing away when they inched closer. So they shut the door softly on him so he wouldn’t come back to clean.

Soap and Alejandro really want Ravine to cook again but don’t want to bother him because he’s always busy with something else.

When they find out Ravine likes watermelon and mango, they definitely went to buy more so the fridge was always stocked with it.

Ghost lent a helping hand to Ravine whenever he could to thank him for the wonderful dinner.

Price makes sure he has less paperwork if he can help it.

#MW2 #cod mw #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod x male reader #mw2 x male reader #x male reader #141 x male reader #John Price #Kyle Gaz Garrick #Simon Ghost Riley #John Soap MacTavish #König #Phillip Graves #Alejandro Vargas #Rodolfo Rudy Parra #Los Vanqueros

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kasagia · 7 months

Text

Would've, Could've, Should've...

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/Darkling x heartrender! Kaz Brekker's sister! reader Summary: Your life would have been completely different if it wasn't for Aleksander. You regret meeting him... but saints only know that he is the one who can make you feel this way... Warning(s): angst, death, blood, violence, manipulation, falling in love with the wrong person, toxic love, Aleksander is a little manipulator and the reader enters his web, the reader rebels, they love and hate each other, kind of dark! reader? Inspired by "Would've, Could've, Should've" - Taylor Swift SPECIAL FOR 10K LIKES AND 500 FOLOWERS 💙🖤 Thank you once again!! Words count: 11,6k+ Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

If you would've blinked then I would've Looked away at the first glance If you tasted poison, you could've Spit me out at the first chance

You were a thief and a paid killer. In Ketterdam you were known as the sister of Dirtyhand, Dreg's second bastard. But that was before you met him... or before you were commissioned to kill him.

You were in a bind then, a messed-up situation. Your elder brother, Jordie, died, and your younger brother, Kaz, was your dependent. You both had to work hard to earn money for food and a dry (but often cold) place to sleep.

That's why you packed up. You left your brother with the promise to return and provide him with a place to stay while you were away. You exchanged as many letters with him as you could. You learned that he was doing well in Ketterdam, slowly becoming the head of one of the most important gangs. You helped him build his "empire" as much as you could, travelling around the world and making money by killing your targets.

But everything went to hell and your life changed completely on the night of a winter fete in Ravka.

You had a very simple task.

Disguised as a servant, you were to deliver the glass with poison to the Darkling, mingle with the other servants, and leave. None of the nobles ever paid attention to the service. Especially when you cover your face with makeup, making it look so dull and ordinary that no one will remember it.

But Darkling was different... you were supposed to find out about it soon.

Everything was going well. You walked over to him and handed him a poison glass, avoiding eye contact with him. But as you walked away, glancing discreetly to see if he raised his glass to his lips, you noticed he gave you a second glance.

You shivered.

He stared at you intently without even blinking. You felt mesmerized under his gaze, like you couldn't take your eyes off him even if you tried... but you didn't even want to try to save yourself from the gaze of his dark eyes.

And just as he was about to raise the cup to his lips, a commotion ensued around you. One of the paid hitmen you worked with has been identified.

The general threw down his glass and gave chase to the hitman. You took this opportunity to run out of the ballroom unnoticed.

You were lucky the general didn't drink the poison after all. If he did, it would be harder for you to leave Ravka and go back to your brother, since you all got disclosed.

In retrospect, you'd rather he'd drank that poison... maybe he'd have gotten rid of you at that first night.

If I was some paint, did it splatter On a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter If you got to wash your hands?

You ran through the corridors until you bumped into one of the people who worked with you. You were breathing heavily from running from the pursuers of the First and Second Army.

"These Grishas dogs are everywhere. They caught Kostrov. We have to get the fuck out of here before their crazy Black General catches us too."

"Kostrov is caught? Shit. He'll turn us in before we leave the walls of this damn palace." you knew very well that if that was true, it was only a matter of time before the man revealed your hiding places. You must run away from there. And as soon as possible.

The voices of the soldiers and their quick steps rumble around you.

"Please tell me you have a plan."

"I always have a plan." you answer confidently and take her by a hand. You lead her through the corridors of the Little Palace until you are outside.

You are heading towards the exit gate when Grishas suddenly appear in front of you. You both stop, looking uncertainly in their direction. Fortunately for you, your disguise makes them a little less suspicious.

"You, get back to the Grand Palace. It's not safe here, servant." they said to you. "You're coming with us." they say, taking your co-worker by the hand.

They drag her towards the Little Palace, but she doesn't give up that easily. She breaks free from their grip, hugs you from behind and puts a dagger to your throat.

"One step closer and I'll kill her." Grishas' joined hands, ready to use a small science. You feel her dagger pierce your neck gently. Blood drips onto your collarbone just like the drops of your sweat. From this position, you can practically feel both her and your heart racing.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, angry at her.

"We'll both get out of here, or no one does." she growls furiously in your ear, backing away slowly. The dagger digs deeper into your skin as she realises there may be no way out of this situation.

You let out a loud scream, and suddenly her grip on you loosens. She falls dead to the ground, and you are right next to her. You press your hand against your throat and try to stop the bleeding. Your eyes study her lifeless body intently.

There are no injuries. No blood. No wound. One of the heartrenders must have stopped her heart.

You look around at the Grishas who are now coming towards you, and in a panic, you realise that there is not a single red kefta among them...

If it wasn't one of them then...

You shake as an unlikely thought comes to your mind, and the world slowly begins to blur into blurs as you feel the blood flow more freely from your neck and seep into your clothes. The dull, thumping beats buzz in your head, making it even more difficult for you to remain conscious.

Black material flashes before your eyes. You feel someone's strong arms lift you up. And before you completely lose your consciousness, you can feel HIS heart pumping warm blood rapidly. Yours is getting slower and slower.

And you wish you had died in his arms right then, before it all started...

A few hours later, you wake up in the Little Palace infirmary. You find out that you are a heartrender, and with your scream, you knocked down not only the woman who worked with you on this assignment (luckily no one knows about your identity and what you were really doing in the palace), but also the Grishas who caught you both (for the second time, the saints took watch over you, so you only knocked them unconscious for a moment).

Ah, and the Black General brought you here himself… the day like others.

Ooh, oh All I used to do was pray Would've, could've, should've If you'd never looked my way I would've stayed On my knees

You were kneeling in the chapel. The stained-glass windows and images of saints gave you a kind of solace in a strange way.

You often prayed to the saints. Even though there weren't many believers in Ketterdam in anything but profit and money.

You believed that they were somehow listening to the prayers of the people on earth… you just didn't know why they chose to so painfully ignore the cries for help for the lifes of your family.

You clutched a letter from Kaz in your hand. The tears had long since stopped falling from your eyes and had already dried on your face. After all, how many hours could you cry while sitting on one of the pew?

You didn't want to leave him like this. He was your little brother, and you loved him more than anything. Yet he threw it in your face for choosing your own comfort over his well-being. That you wanted to join the ranks of saints, forgetting who you were and leaving behind your past.

As if staying in the Little Palace was your choice.

You were thrown into the role of Grisha. You didn't even know how to control it... yet you were able to hold back thousands of hearts without any training or learning about small science.

You were capable of much more than an ordinary heartrender. You could manipulate the blood. Move people at your will, controlling the movement of blood through their veins and into their muscles, manipulating people's bodies to your will.

And you found out all this in just a few weeks.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on your joined hands. You were tired. Tired of being forced to accept a life you never wanted. You were a thief and a paid killer. Not any Grisha.

In the distance to your right, you heard a faint heartbeat. You sighed. Another bonus of discovering your powers. The sounds of the hearts of people around you overwhelmed you to the point that you had to hide in some secluded place to get rid of the pounding in your ears.

It sucked. And the man who was responsible for your miserable situation was standing right next to you now.

"I wouldn't take you for someone who prays to saints." his whisper echoed throughout the chapel. You turned your gaze away from him. You started looking at the stained glass windows in front of you.

"Maybe I just admire art, general."

"On your knees, with your hands together?" he asks sarcastically. You ignore the intense look of his dark eyes on you. He sighs, sitting on the pew next to you. "And it is Aleksander. I've told you many times."

"Shouldn't you be planning a war or something like that?" you huff, earning a small chuckle from him at your annoyance.

At first, you were afraid of this terrible, Black General of the Second Army. Over time, however, you allowed yourself to be more impertinent towards him. (When pretending to be an obedient Grisha irritated you to no end, you got into a fight and ended up in his war room while he was scolding you. You guess that you fascinated him not only with your powers then.)

"Shouldn't you get enough sleep for training with Baghra?" you groan in despair at his words. Baghra... another reason to run away from this place as fast as you can.

You get up from your knees and sit on the pew next to him. Kaz's letter tucked safely in the sleeve of your kefta, but you wonder how long it will be before he notices the unusual stiffness in your left arm.

"I'm not going there. This woman will kill me one day and tell everyone that it was my own incompetence that did it." his soft chuckle definitely shouldn't make your heart beat faster. You were glad he didn't have powers like yours to find out about this embarrassing fact. "I'm also a little concerned about you knowing my timetable." you say, actually suspecting that the general's good intentions are based on something completely different than your well-being. You still didn't know how you sold him the story about how the orphan from Ketterdam managed to become a servant for Ravka's royal family and didn't pass a single test during her stay in the Grand Palace.

"I care about every Grishas. Some require my attention more than others." He says, shifting his gaze to the stained glass window you were staring at.

Sankta Ursula of the Waves

"You can mock all you want, but I believe in them. You have to believe in something if you want to survive in Ketterdam."

He trembles slightly. He thinks you haven't noticed, but you have. He clears his throat and looks down from the image of a Sankta to look at something else in the chapel.

"Why you pray to her?" he asks, and you, not knowing the importance of this question at the time, shrug and simply say the truth.

"My brother crossed part of the sea alone when he was only 10 years old. If not thanks to the saint's help, I don't know how he survived…" you tell him.

You don't know why, but he has such an aura around him that you just WANT to tell him everything. It was easy to trust him enough to share some of your secrets... After all, everything that's in the shadows is safely kept from the world, right?

And in those dark eyes and that mysterious, confident smirk you could get lost so damn easily…

If you knew better, you would have tried to push him away from you instead of spending nights with him in the chapel, talking about your past or when he "accidentally" joined you, or in the palace garden when he "accidentally" wanted to walk around the lake in the moonlight. You have unknowingly let him to direct you straight to his intricately woven spider web.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

Genya has provided you with a wonderful kefta. However, its red was different from the others, Corporalki. It was more bloody, wine-like, and so dark that one could say it was mixed with black.

Aleksander said he needed to recognise his best heartrender, and this kefta, too fanciful for your taste, was supposed to be a symbol of your importance to the Second Army. As if the ridiculous amount of black thread he had ordered to use to decorate it wasn't enough of a sign that the Black General favoured you over his other soldiers.

It was one of many celebrations in the Grand Palace. However, on this occasion, the Tsar and Tsaritsa decided to invite the Grishas as well... or rather, have them entertain a crowd of self-righteous nobility on the occasion of the anniversary of the Ravka uprising.

You weren't a Ravkan. You weren't interested in some artificial celebration, but the general almost forced you to come to this stupid holiday with others... at least you could drink wine secretly with Genya and Fedyor.

You felt the blood flowing freely through your body as you danced with some other Grishas. You laughed carelessly for the first time in a long time and let yourself spin around as the handsome blonde held you in his arms.

The others' heartbeats hummed softly in your ears as you allowed yourself to let go of control a little. The orchestra's music effectively allows you to drown out the sound your powers have picked up.

Being so distracted, you didn't even notice when Grisha leaned closer to you and started whispering something in your ear. You laughed at the ridiculousness of his flirtatious offer and were about to reject him when suddenly an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into a strong chest.

As soon as the familiar smell of burning wood and musk mixed with kvass enveloped you, you relaxed. Suddenly, the possessive, too-tight grip on your waist where his large hand was pressing against your stomach and holding his breasts too close to be appropriate didn't bother you as much.

And if, instead of inhaling his scent and perfume like some drug and getting high on it, you saw the death glare he was sending towards the guy who was only flirting with you, maybe you would understand that it was better to run away from him as far as possible instead of melting into the soft fabric of his black kefta and appreciating his muscles you felt through it.

But you couldn't think of anything else but how lucky you were that your summer keftas were so thin.

“I'm going to steal Miss Y/F(ake)/L/N for a while." he says as if he has every right to you. But you are too intoxicated (both by his close presence and the wine you drank) to notice that something is wrong.

And instead of yelling at him like you should have, showing him that you weren't a thing he could take whenever he wanted, you blushed as he turned you towards him and gave you that damned, dangerous smirk that made many Grishas women swoon.

"You looked like you needed saving." he whispers into your ear, gently touching his bearded cheek to yours.

You bit your lip, looking at him as he pulled away from you, perfectly playing the role of gentleman and your fucking knight on a black horse. Too perfect for you to notice then...

"Thank you, general, for caring so much about an ordinary heartrender like me." you tease him as he leads you in a dance.

"My best heartrender." he replies, running his hand down your back, making you shiver. He suddenly dipped you down, forcing you to lean on his hands and trust that he won't let you fall on the floor. You were so close in his arms that you felt every breath he takes matching yours.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Grishas whispering about you, but you don't care. Not while you have him with you, not while he's looking at you with such curiosity and admiration that you feel like you're the only damn person in the room. And you see his eyes linger longer on the black stitched decorations of your kefta on your waist and chest.

"Be careful, Ivan will be jealous." you tease, giving him one of your prettiest teasing smiles, and you almost hold your breath, seeing a hint of something akin to lust in his eyes, as dark as his shadows.

"He has his Fedyor." he replies, pulling you slightly closer to him, and you know he can feel your rapidly beating heart.

He was dangerous—everything you should avoid—something that young and naive girls were warned about. But you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And the fact that such a special, powerful man like him was interested in the thief and killer from Ketterdam like you made you unable to push him away.

You liked his attention. The way he touched your cheek tenderly as he brushed the hair from your face after riding with him. The way he sought your presence and the way he showed up at unexpected moments when you really needed someone. The way he gently grabbed your hand, amplifying your already formidable powers so you could practice bigger, more impressive things with him than with Baghra.

He made you felt special, chosen. And with every single second you spend with him, you wanted more from him…

He left you with the tingling feeling of his lips on your hand after thanking you for dancing. He walked away from you, giving you a second glance and a wink. And then you knew he would be your death...

And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

"I do not like winter." you say, sitting in one of his armchairs in the war room, warming your hands by the fireplace.

Baghra forced you to train outside, and the cold ingrained itself into your bones. You tried in vain to warm yourself up using your power. The old witch, seeing your incompetence, only let you go when your lips turned blue enough from the cold. And Aleksander was bustling around you now, wrapping an absurd amount of blankets around you and making tea for the two of you.

"Why is that?" he asks, placing the warm mug in your cold hands. You smile gratefully and take a sip, deciding that he did it perfectly, just as you loved it. Which, by the way, wasn't so strange, knowing how many sleepless nights you spent in that chair talking with him.

"My brothers once took me to a frozen lake to go ice skating. I fell into an ice hole, almost froze to death, and got a terrible cold. My mother said that I miraculously escaped death. My parents spent all their money on doctors and medicines for me. And as a result, my brothers and I were strictly forbidden to go out without her supervision. As you might expect, they weren't very grateful to me for this."

You see him swallow and stare into his cup in silence. You don't miss his tense shoulders and the frown on his forehead as he mentions something—something very bad, judging by the pale knuckles of his hands as they grip the cup tightly.

You slowly get up and put your mug on the table. You walk up to him and kneel in front of him. You take the cup from his hands before it breaks under his force, and you slow down his rapidly beating heart with your power to calm him down a bit.

The touch of your soft, gentle hands on his brings him back to reality. His dark eyes stare at you with great intensity, assessing and wondering something deeply as he pierces your very soul.

"I fell into the freezing lake too." he finally says, lowering his gaze to your joined hands. He plays with your fingers and draws patterns with his fingertips on your palm as he weighs his words, not looking at you, as if he might break down under your compassionate pattern. "I was 13 years old… two other children, my dearest friends, attempted to drown me in that freezing lake."

A cold chill runs through your body. You unconsciously squeeze his hands, trying to catch his gaze.

"Why?" you whisper, shakily, imagining that cruel moment.

He doesn't say anything. He lifts his head and looks at you, and he finds something in your gaze that makes him decide to stare hopingly into your eyes with his dark irises that reflect the glow of the fire in the fireplace for a while.

He sighs, closing his eyes, and suddenly you feel your hands tingle where your skin meets his. And it's not the usual feeling that washes over you every time you're in his intoxicating presence.

NO.

It was something bigger, more powerful, and much more addictive than anything, than Darkling himself was already to you.

"Use your power. Listen to the heartbeat." he whispers his command quietly, completely unlike the way he expresses his orders. And if you opened your eyes, you would see him staring at you intently, watching the reaction on your face.

And then you hear it. Thousands of heartbeats, you feel every flow of blood in the bodies of thousands of people present from the Little and Greate Palace, even throughout the whole capital.

Overwhelmed by so much power, you let go of his hands and breathe heavily, still feeling the blood rushing through your veins and that warm tingle spreading throughout you.

"What... what the hell was that?" you ask him in shock, trying to catch your breath. "How... how did you..."

"You know what an amplifier is, right?" he asks, sliding out of his chair and kneeling in front of you.

He reaches up and slowly tucks your hair behind your ear. You flinch at first at his touch, and he freezes, but you quickly nuzzle into his hand when you notice that you no longer feel as much power emanating from him to you as you did with his earlier touch.

"Yes, but..." you freeze, realising what he's implying. The impossibility of it all only stuns you for a moment. But so many impossible things have already happened in your life that, in the end, this little piece of information doesn't make that much of an impression on you. But you can't say the same about what you found out... about what he must have gone through in his childhood. They practically hunted him like those animals that enhanced Grishas' abilities. "Oh, Aleksander." you whisper and lunge at him to hug him tightly to you.

And by the short sigh he let out as he buried his face in your hair, and by the way it took him a moment to undoubtedly return your strong, tender hug, you knew that this wasn't what he expected, that this wasn't the kind of reaction he was used to seeing.

If only you knew back then that he would start using his memories more often as a weapon in the fight for your feelings, your affection, your forgiveness, and your compassion, then you would rather he left you in the dark, for him to never start sharing THE REAL parts of him with you.

If you never touched me, I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was

Ravka's love day celebrations are… more successful than you would like to admit.

You went to breakfast, convinced that you would spend today's day off alone, locked in your room or gossiping with Genya about anything other than the romantic, tense atmosphere in the palace.

You were wrong.

It started with you being presented with various flowers from various Grishas along the way, asking if you would spend the evening with them. And they were various proposals. Dinner, a walk in the palace gardens, a horse ride, even spending the night with them (which you found disgusting).

You entered the dining hall and sat down in your usual seat, responding to Fedyor's teasing as you placed a bouquet of all the flowers you were given on the table next to you.

"You don't want to take them from me? Ivan would be happy." you try to shush him but he just laughs more.

"Better tell me which ones are from the general." he teases you, picking up one of the flowers and hitting your shoulder with it.

You tense up and blush slightly. You make sure to mask the beating of your racing heart so that Fedyor can't use it as a clue to your true feelings for the General, which have developed over the months you've spent in the Little Palace.

"None. And it better stay that way. As if all these women didn't look at me with hatred anyway. Can you believe that for all these flowers, no one brought me my favorites? Or any sweets?" you complain jokingly, digging into your food and trying to act as if you were unimpressed by his comment.

"And what are your favorites?" he asks casually, also starting to eat his food. You answer him and then suddenly someone sits next to you. Inferni - Luke, the one you danced with at one of the events and your faithful library buddy, gives you a shy smile.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asks, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

You feel Fedyor's eyes on you, but you try to ignore him. The heartrender flies away, leaving the two of you alone. You don't know how to answer Luke. He was that classic nice, funny guy that any woman would kill for attention. And probably, if your life were different, you would gladly accept his invitation and reciprocate his shy flirtation.

But you can't and don't want to do it. You don't feel an ounce about Luke what you feel about a certain dark-haired man in a black kefta. And when Inferni's hand connects with yours, you mentally compare the feeling to the tingling excitement that the mere look of Aleksander's dark eyes stirs within you.

Fortunately, you're not the one who has to answer. A grunt from the two of you makes Luke let go of your hand. You both stare at your general, who stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He approaches you slowly and catches your gaze with his dark irises before looking at the Inferni sitting next to you.

"Unfortunately, Miss Y/F/N will be busy tonight." he replies, not even trying to hide from you the silent, unspoken threat he sends with his gaze towards the boy who tired to ask you out.

Luke nods and leaves with a quiet: "Yes, General."

Alexander looks at you, and for a moment, that's all you do. And if you were a little more careful, less blinded by your fascination with this dangerous man who, for some reason, puts you at the centre of his universe, you would try to get away from him as far as possible.

But you are not.

He offers you his hand, patiently waiting to see if you take it or reject it. But you both then know that you are too deeply enchanted by his intoxicating appearance, too mesmerised by the sound of his voice, and too hungry for his touch to allow yourself to lose his attention for even a moment.

So you gently placed your hand on his. He wraps it in a safe hug and helps you up. He pulls you a little closer to him so that the materials of your keftas rub against each other. And the overwhelming amount of black embroidery on it practically hides the red material underneath, matching perfectly to the general's black kefta. This obvious match only now seems trivially obvious to you.

And if the Grishas had any doubt that you belonged to the Dark General, the fact that he pulled out your favourite flowers from behind his back and handed them to you with a small, charmed smirk as you took them from him and buried your nose in the petals told them so quite clearly.

In that moment, you too realised how deeply you felt for this man.

That's why, when he leans towards you, his bearded cheek brushing yours, flushed from the overwhelming feeling that overwhelms you in his close presence, you don't object when he whispers in your ear:

“I'm about to kidnap you for tonight.”

The rational part of you screams at you that this is a bad sign, that he is saying it with too much confidence and hunger in his eyes to be considered mere flirtation and not an act of pure possession and dominance.

But you don't listen.

You don't want to listen.

You want to drown in those dark brown irises, be consumed by his darkness, if it meant that for the rest of your life he would look at you as the only person he wanted.You want to finally feel wanted. Needed. Chosen. The one and only.

And the fact that it was this most powerful Grisha who made you feel this way only fueled your desires more and blinded everything your mind was screaming to your deaf heart. A heart that was deaf to everything that wasn't HIM.

"I can't wait." you whisper back.

And you know, by the way he nods at you and walks away with his usual confidence, the twinkle of victory in his eyes, and the huge, satisfied smile when he realises you're watching him closely until he's out of your sight, that you are gone for good and there is no going back to who you were. That he has clawed his way into your soul too deeply to ever try to deny it.

But lord, you made me feel important And then you tried to erase us

This is one of the best nights of your life.

You knew this from the moment you climbed with him to the highest tower in the Little Palace, which was used to teach little Grishas astronomy lessons.

He laid down with you on the blankets and pillows he had prepared, especially for this occasion, and let you lean against his chest as you both gazed at the stars. You, safely wrapped in his arms and blankets, listened to his slightly accelerated heartbeat as if it were the sweetest music you had ever heard. And the fact that he rested his chin on top of your head, occasionally whispering something in your ear about the constellations in front of you, quickly became by far your favourite place in the world.

"For a long time I only slept under the stars. My mother and I always had to be on the run. We couldn't find a permanent place. People would try to kill the Darkling's son as soon as they found out about my existence."

You lift your joined hands and press a kiss to his as you continue to listen to him. You feel shivers run through his body. You learned, with the time you spend with him, that he was completely unaccustomed to the tender touch of another.

"They were my only solace in the darkness."

"Were you afraid of her? And your shadows?" you ask, turning in his arms to look at him properly. He shifts his gaze from the night sky above you to you and disentangles one of his hands from your grasp to caress your cheek tenderly.

"A bit. I couldn't control them then... they were... unpredictable. My mother used to mock me and say that I was no summoner if I allowed my own power to rule me."

"Aleksander." you whisper, tears in your eyes as you see the pain written all over his face. It was there every time he mentioned that cruel woman. You hold one of his hands tightly and say, with all your conviction and unwavering faith in this man, "You are the strongest person I know. You've been through so much... I'm probably not even aware of half of it yet, and yet, look where you are and what you have achieved. There has never been and never will be a better Darkling than you. You are caring and attentive; you take care of your people, and the Grishas under your rule are better than ever."

He stares at you, frowning halfway through your speech, and something like guilt shines in his eyes as tears begin to form.

You don't know it yet, then.

You don't know why he feels guilty. You don't know why he shivers as you lean into him to press your lips together in your first kiss. You don't know why his hands are shaking as he cups your cheeks. You don't know why, as you try to undo the buttons on his kefta, his hands suddenly stop yours. You don't know why he pulls away after a moment, whispering something under his breath as he practically runs away from you.

All you know for sure is his heart beating madly as he disappears from your sight and the tingling of your lips after the kiss the two of you shared a moment ago.

He hasn't come near you since that night. In fact, you feel like he's trying to avoid you at all costs. And in hindsight, you curse yourself for not taking the hint. That you didn't move away when he tried to make it easier for you.

But you were too stubborn, too longing for his presence floating around you like his shadows, to simply give up and do what's best for you. So you knock on his chambers in the middle of the night, and when he opens the door, you both know you're too far in all of this to try to ignore an attraction between you—this ache in your chest after not seeing each other for weeks.

You don't know who kisses who first. Or when he pulls you towards him and closes the door behind you to pin himself against it. You have no idea who took the other's kefta off first or when you found yourself in his bed as he tried to kiss every part of you. You know you feel safe, warm, loved, and at home. And it's a feeling you haven't felt in a very long time. And so did he. That's why you get lost in each other, completely disregarding the fact that, in the end, you would probably both tear each other's hearts out.

Oh, you're a crisis of my faith Would've, could've, should've If I'd only played it safe

He finds you kneeling by his fireplace as you slowly burn letter after letter you wrote to Kaz that he sent back to you. The bastard didn't even open it.

It's been a long time since you kneeled before anything other than him. Your faith in the saints was crumbling with each passing month in the ranks of the Second Army. If the saints were so powerful, why did they continue to allow Grishas to be treated worse than dogs?

You didn't understand it. And the next bottle of Aleksander's kvas that you opened only confirmed your belief that the saints sucked, your brother was an ungrateful scoundrel, and your boyfriend was the only good thing that happened to you. Boyfriend… it felt weird for you to call him that, but you had no other idea in your half-drunk state.

You put another letter into the fire when you suddenly feel a pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you into his strong chest. You sigh, appreciating his scent and the warmth that emanates from him. His shadows slowly wrap around the two of you as you both kneel in front of the fireplace and the burning letters to your brother.

"Are you playing Inferni?" he asks teasingly as his hands go to the bottle of kvas you're holding, and he takes a sip from it.

"Possible. Did you have to grovel before the king again to get money for Grishas for uniforms, training, and food? Which should actually be his fucking duty to provide this for the soldiers who are bleeding for him and other royal snobs on the Fjerdan border.”

"Possible. Don't say it out loud or elsewhere. I don't want to see that pretty ass through the bars in the dungeon."

"We both know you'd save that ass and drag it back to your bed." you both giggle like fools. You lean more into him and sigh satisfied when he starts running through your hair, playing with it.

"Possible. Very much. Who deserves your hatred?" he asks curiously as you throw another letter into the fire. "Be careful not to set fire to my chambers. I have some nice, matching keftas here for the two of us."

"I'm glad you find it amusing that my brother is a dick." you complain a little, wondering what keftas he's referring to besides the ones you're currently wearing.

He insisted that you have at least one all-black one with red embroidery. Of course you agreed. You wanted people to know you were his.

"He didn't respond?" he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You take his hand in yours and start drawing patterns on it with your finger. You cling to his claw-like ring and play with it for a while, spinning it around his finger.

"He actually did. He write a big 'Fuck you' at the back of one." you say thoughtfully as you shift your gaze to the letters burning in the fireplace. Maybe it was actually better to stop trying to establish contact with him for a moment and give him space to think?

"Don't think about him. You don't need him." he says, nuzzling your temple with his nose. You frown and turn your head to look at him.

"He is my brother... that's a bound that never die." you speak strongly, convinced that you are right.

The determination in your eyes makes him fall silent, staring at you as he thinks about something, or maybe someone, as he mindlessly plays with your fingers—a nervous habit he showed every time he held you against him and he thought about his past. In moments like these, you just wanted to kiss the sadness and pain from his face.

"Maybe." he finally whispers back, lost in thought. Suddenly, he shakes his head slightly and flashes back to you from his memories. "Maybe it is better for him like that? To only care about himself. To show that he is not emotionally connected to anyone. Maybe he is trying to keep you safe?"

"Why live without love? Without someone close to you who waits for you and cares for you? Who believes in you? Who would have your back at your worst and when you need a rescue?"

"Sometimes people have no choice. It's safer to live alone. To care only about yourself. You know that your actions won't hurt anyone, and if they do, it will only hurt you."

"I would rather live one life in the arms of my love than hundreds of them all alone and in meaningless glory."

He tenses, but his grip doesn't loosen around you. If anything, he grows stronger, as if he's clinging to you to make sure you don't go anywhere further than his arms reach.

He kisses your temple and pulls you in so that you're straddling his lap. He strokes your neck and collarbone gently, and after a long, tender kiss, he whispers into your lips:

"I need to get out and visit a few camps near the fold. Come with me… I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you stay in these arms of mine as long as possible." he teases you, but you know his question-order has more meaning than he is willing to admit.

For the first time, neither of you are alone. You have someone to come back to at night, someone to talk to about your problems, someone to hold in your arms. And it's both a pleasurable and addictive feeling for the two of you.

I would've stayed on my knees And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

Sun Summoner. Saint Alina. Ravka's Savior.

The girl received more titles and merits, more hope placed in her than many saints to whom you prayed. You would feel sorry for her if she didn't completely rob you of YOUR Aleksander.

And you would endure it. Really. If only that little saint hadn't accidentally blurted out his name at dinner while she was talking to you.

And that's why you stood crying in your... his chambers. You were packing instead of getting ready for the winter fiesta celebrations, fully ready to mend your broken heart on the borders of Ravka, preferably in some camp near Fjerda, so that you could vent the anger, despair, and disappointment boiling inside of you to them.

Although you preferred to keep the heart of a certain little saint rather than some Fjerdan or Drüskell, and to be honest, that desire scared you.

Kaz was right. You chose comfort. You could have tried to escape from the Darkling better and put more effort into your escape plans instead of letting yourself be slandered by that damn bastard who gave that sunny whore a kefta in HIS colour after a WEEK. You waited fucking months for him to give you the black kefta you wanted, which was now hanging in his closet, abandoned like a rag.

In your anger, you packed your things blindly, oblivious to your surroundings. That's why you flinched when suddenly HIS hands gently held your arms, preventing you from packing any further.

You don't turn to face him. You don't make a move, waiting for him to say something as you listen to his heartbeat.

"Where are you going?" he asks, but you know he's only doing it to analyse his next move, to come up with a reason in his head why you'd want to leave him, and he's trying to quickly come up with a plan to talk you out of it.

You may not have known what a son-of-a-bitch he was, but at least you knew him almost as well as you knew yourself.

"On a vacation." you huff and shake his arms off of you. You close your leather suitcase with a bang and turn to face him. He notices that you're wearing your red kefta—the first one that clearly wasn't trimmed with a ridiculous amount of black embroidery typical of heartrenders.

"Y/N..." he sighs and reaches for you, but you pull away from him before his hands land on you and your traitorous body succumbs to his familiar touch.

"Don't. Don't even start it. I know what you are going say all to well."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, frowning at you. You look away from him and sit on his bed as you tie your travelling shoes and make sure you have your daggers hidden in them.

"Oh, you know. That typical 'It's not you, it's me' talk. And the classic 'I don't feel the same about you anymore. And it's my fault, not yours.' Just spare us this crap and let me go somewhere where I don't have to watch you cling to that sunny bitch."

In an instant, he's on his knees in front of you, clutching your hands in his. You know that looking into his damn hypnotic eyes will ruin you, but you're too weak to resist him.

"I admit... I've been busy with the Sun Summoner lately... but she's not the one I return to every night. She's not the one I think about every free moment; she's not the one I want to hold in my arms..."

"But she's the one who got the kefta in your colours from you. She's the one who learned your name before I did. The one you trusted right away when I had to earn your trust every fucking week here. She's your equal. Your goddamn complement. I won't stand in the way of your great, epic love and play the role of the other woman, only because you get used to having me around." you say mad and push his hands away from you.

And instead of letting you go and making the one damn right choice in your life, he stands up and traps you in the tight embrace of his arms and shadows.

You scream, squirm, and try to struggle out of his strong arms, even going so far as to pathetically punch his chest with your fists, but weakly enough that it seems more like a frantic act of your despair and hurt than an actual attempt. hurting him.

“Milaya, moye serdtse… (Sweet girl, my heart.)” he whispers in your ear, his hands caressing your back tenderly as you tremble against him. "You are the only light of my life. Moi sol ye tselai. (My sun and stars.) There is no one else, and there never will be. Alina may be the Sun Summoner, my opposite and complement, but it is YOU who challenges me, you are my EQUAL. It is you that I want to return to every night, you are with me... you are the one I want to always have with me."

And then it feels so romantic and sweet, so right, when he kisses the tears from your face and pulls the ring from his pocket to slide it on your finger after his quiet: "Kei onolich yash, milaya?" and your little, almost unnoticable nod.

It feels so good when he throws your leather suitcase off the bed in one move and lays you on it, worshipping you all night long and assuring you that he is yours and yours alone. You feel loved. Wanted. Chosen above the one and only Sun Summoner.

And in that moment, his warm, soft lips on yours, his cold hands caressing your body heated by him, the shadows floating around you that he accidentally released, and the sound of his pounding heartbeat in your ears were enough for you to forget that he was planning to gain Alina's trust in a nefarious way. It was so easy to explain it to yourself. It was so easy for you to convince yourself that he was a good man. It was definitely easier than admitting the obvious, painful truth.

After all, that was all you two wanted... to never feel lonely and unimportant again.

God rest my soul I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close Stained glass windows in my mind

The fold is dark. Cold. It doesn't resemble Aleksander's shadows at all. Your fiancé is also nothing like the version you knew.

Version. That's exactly what he was showing you.

Another version of him. Another of his hundreds of lives. You were so naive and stupid. He had to handcuff you to the deck of the ship so you could finally understand what he was really like.

And so you found yourself in the front row, watching the Black Heretic widen his fold.

He has the nerve to walk up to you and brush the hair out of your face that has been ruffled by the wind his squallers have summoned. And he does it with such tenderness that you almost believe in the truth of his feelings. Almost. The handcuffs blocking your power and hidden beneath the fabric of your black dress—another one of his sick ways of marking his ownership—are a stark reminder of how he has degraded you and how he has reduced your role to nothing more than a pretty toy on his arm so that he is not alone in his madness.

"Please... I just want to talk." he whispers, his hand never leaving your cheek as he caresses it with his thumb with utmost care.

You don't look at him. You can't anymore. His face is a blatant reminder of your stupidity and naivety. Your greatest weakness and desire - all hidden in the face of a handsome devil in front of you. A Starless Saint you used to pray to in the past...

"I don't care how long it takes you, but in the end, you'll understand and come to accept that there was no other choice. That I'm doing this for us. For you. For all the Grishas." he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You're shaking. And you curse yourself for doing this, both because you're afraid of him and because his mouth still manages to tear down all the walls you put up because of him around your heart.

"Do not touch me." you snap at him, furious. Trying to at least pretend that you really hated him with every fibre of your being.

This doesn't discourage him. Even the other way around, he pulls you closer to him, tangling his hand in the back of your hair to whisper into your ear:

"I will banish this attitude from you in time, moya tsaritsa." you freeze at his words, realising his true plan—to expand the fold and take over Ravka. He wanted to become a tsar...

"You must be delusional to think for even a second that you will take control over Ravka and put me by your side."

"Isn't that what we promised each other? Stay with each other no matter what? I have seen what you truly are, and I never turned away. I never will." he's trying to convince you, and you know that if it weren't for the numerous lies and half-truths he fed you, you would join him.

You wouldn't care about what he did, what he intended to do, or who he would hurt to fulfil his sick plan that had been hundreds of years in the making. You feel weak and naive like never before. All because of the man, you decided to give your heart and all your devotion.

"I promised this to General Kirigan. Not to the Black Heretic, poisoned by his maniacal beliefs and blinded by the grip of authority and power. No matter how hard you try, you will never have control over anything. Your shadows and pride will be your undoing, Aleksander."

You gasp when he suddenly grabs your jaw roughly, tightening his fingers around your bones and preventing you from saying anything. He glares at you, a combination of betrayal and pain in his dark eyes as he tries to decide what to do with you. And you know that if you were anyone else, he would have used his shadows on you long ago.

And for a moment, you wish that he could finally free you from the suffering, hopelessness, and inner conflict you feel every time you look at his face.

"You shall be right by my side... no matter what you think about me." he promised you, which almost sounds like a threat, and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, near your lips. "You will understand; I know you will... we have all the time we need."

Before you can ask him about the meaning of his words, hell begins to break loose around you.

And you don't know what amazes you more, the fact that Alina is able to resist the bond and summon an incredible amount of light, or the fact that your brother appears next to you, and with the help of some mad hatter with a gun who turns out to be a fabricator, they free you. Kaz and his people take you away from the fold, Aleksander and his Grishas.

You are free.

Only your heart seems to be bleeding, left far behind you in the hands of a man you don't know if he's still alive.

And for the first time in several years, after you have a very emotional conversation with your little brother and after you promise to help the Sun Summoner, you allow yourself to cry quietly in the room they rented in some old inn.

And the worst of it all is that you don't cry for who you were, for the lost years in the Little Palace, or for how Aleksander changed you and transformed you in his image. No. You cry over him because you don't know if you'll ever see that damn bastard again.

And to make matters worse, you find a picture of a Starless Saint in the room. And you know that Aleksander, dead or alive, will haunt you for the rest of your life.

And his engagement ring resting safely on your finger is obvious proof of that.

I regret you all the time Can't let this go I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

Baghra teaches you how to control and summon shadows.

Yes, Baghra, Aleksander's mother, who apparently turned out to be on your side, teaches you how to control and summon shadows.

During one rather nasty fight with Drüskelles, it turns out you can summon a fucking shadow cut.

And after Aleksander starts haunting you in your dreams and even in broad daylight, just like he does with Alina, you realise that she's not the only one who got an amplifier from him.

And so you found yourself in a library near the village where you were hiding, trying to find any information about Morozova and his amplifiers. And the women sitting across from you weren't much help.

"Why does he haunt her more than he haunts me? Could it have something to do with the fact that the bond between us is falling apart or is less durable than theirs?" Alina asks Baghra. You roll your eyes at her.

"He obviously has other… priorities." the old woman replies, clearly insinuating the motive for these priorities.

"Maybe please stop insinuating such nonsense?" you mumble over your book, trying to read the text.

It didn't help that you were distracted by their conversations and hadn't slept in days, too afraid of meeting him in your dreams. He was all you could think about anyway.

"I'm just stating facts. The boy constantly thinks about you; you think about him. You seek and reach out to each other unconsciously and appear before the other eyes."

"I'm not at all…"

"I wouldn't embarrass myself more if I were you." Kaz says, walking alongside Mal, Inej, and Jasper. Everyone but him is carrying large stacks of books for your wonderful group to look through.

"At least this one has a brain." Baghra comments, insulting everyone at the table. You can see from Kaz's look that he's rather pleased with her comment. "It's better for you that you're a cripple." you huff, amused, seeing Kaz's expression revert to his trademark cold stare. He frowns grumpily as he plops down on the couch next to you.

It was in good enough condition to allow you to lean on it for a while. That's why you took the opportunity and placed your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Are you going to meet your geek?" he asks teasingly, and if you didn't know him, you'd think the snarky tone was meant to mock you.

"You better keep an eye on your girlfriend, Kazzle. She's far too good for you," you whisper back to him and smile victoriously, hearing his heart speed up at the mention of Inej.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

You agree and allow yourself to fall asleep for the first time in days, hoping someone will wake you up if Aleksander invades your dreams again.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners You and I Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts Give me back my girlhood It was mine first

As soon as you open your eyes, you realise that you are in a different place, somewhere you have never been before. You look around the room and stop in front of the mirror. You shudder as you realise you're wearing the black kefta HE once gave you.

"One day without your annoying presence, is it that much to ask?" you say, turning around after you saw his figure in the mirror.

You shiver, realising that he's much closer than you expected. For a moment, you wish you could pinch yourself to get out of there. It would definitely make life easier for your battered heart.

"You're so successful at avoiding me that I have to take advantage of every opportunity you give me, milaya." he says and takes a step towards you.

You automatically step back, making him clench his fists, keeping them to himself. He sighs and looks at you again, his dark brown eyes scanning your soul, trying, as usual, to find something to convince you to come back to him.

"Please… I just want to talk. You know I would never hurt you." he makes his cute, kicked-up puppy face. Your stupid heart hurts to see him so... broken, but this time your brain is screaming over your heart's pleas for mercy to this man.

"Do you want to talk? Then maybe you can tell me why you put an amplifier in me? Why did you let me summon your shadows?! Why did Grishas have to evacuate from the Little Palace, and why is the king hunting us like Fjerdans and Drüskelles?!" you ask angrily, unconsciously moving closer to him with each sentence you shout at him.

"You can try to make me a monster if it makes you feel better, but I am not your enemy. And you know it. Everything I do, everything I have ever done, I've done for Grishas. And everything I ever do will be for Grishas and for you." he says, as usual, maintaining that damn composure that makes you hate him more. You hate that he pretends he's perfectly fine while you're falling to pieces every day you walk without him by your side.

"Lying. That's all you can do. Lie, manipulate. Tell me, how many gullible girls have you fooled with your beautiful eyes and idealistic talk? How much girlhood have you taken and used for your own benefit?" you ask him, wanting to hurt him, wanting to cause him the same pain he gave you when you found out the truth about him, and your world crumbled around you like a house of cards. Because that's all your life was. Illusion. An illusion created by a man you couldn't hate like he deserved you.

"I've never taken anything you didn't give me willingly."

"I gave you everything just not to lose you. You made me dependent on you; you made life without you seem like cruel torture; you showed me things that I can't even feel with anyone else; you manipulated me so well that I don't feel that I exist without being by your side." you accuse him with tears in your eyes. You're letting them fall freely as you look at his shocked, hurt face. "And every pain you brought me was like fucking heaven. And the worst part of it all is that I would still be your fucking faithful follower and completely surrender my battered soul to you if only you hadn't fucking lied to me."

You let yourself fall apart in front of him. You let him touch you again as he tenderly cups your cheek and pulls your head to his chest. You cry into his kefta, hugging him tightly and digging your fingers into his back as he presses his lips against your head and holds you tightly in his arms.

"I hate you. I hate you." you cry into his chest, inhaling his scent like a drug.

"I will always love you, milaya." he says calmly, but you feel the drops dripping on your hair, and you let yourself believe that they are his own tears as you stand there in each other's arms, clinging desperately to each other.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

Fedyor struggles with Ivan's grip. However, both you and the two heartrenders know that this makes no sense.

The two of you (and Baghra, whose whereabouts you were unaware of) were captured by Aleksander's men. You both actually volunteered. You were supposed to distract attention from the rest of your group of world saviors. Aleksander took the throne as he had predicted. And Ivan now leads you before the new tsar.

You walked through the corridors of the Little Palace, knowing this place all too well by heart, and you wondered if, when Aleksander was building it, he always had in the back of his mind that it would serve as his royal residence in the future. You were actually surprised that his first order wasn't to demolish the Grand Palace.

"Moi tsar." Ivan's voice pulls you from your thoughts. You weren't even aware that you had already reached the throne room.

"Finally. Interrogate the prisoner. Tsaritsa stays here." he says, and you feel his gaze on you, but you don't give him enough satisfaction to grace him with your gaze.

Fedyor swallows. You give him a sympathetic look as he walks away, with Ivan holding him tightly. What can war do to two people in love? You think. At least Fedyor knew how to hate Ivan... not like you.

There's an awkward silence between you for a moment. Only the rustle of his royal kefta and the heavy steps he takes in his shoes make you look up at him. And you hold your breath.

Of course, you had heard the rumours about his visit to the fold, leaving him with souvenir scars from his encounter with volcras, but well... it wasn't your fault that you immediately thought how hotter he was because of them. And with a crown on his head and a black kefta with red embroidery, he looked amazing. He had no right to look like that when you stood in front of him in your brother's oversized shirt and pants borrowed from Inej.

"Tsaritsa?" you finally ask with a sneer, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I knew you'd react to that." he says with a smirk, walking over to you. "I promised you this, remember? And I keep my promises. Even if I didn't really know you, Y/N Rietveld." you flinch at the sound of your real name, which you somehow managed to push from your memory. You also notice his clear reference to what you told him then in the fold. 'You lied to me too. About your identity. A paid killer. That's why you were at the palace, right? That's why I got the cup from you, with poison in it, if I'm not mistaken?"

"As you can see, quite miserable if you're still alive. Besides, I tought telling you half a story was not a laying at all?" you say, looking at him defiantly. He just laughs and stands in front of you, chest to chest, as you stare at one another.

"Is this how it will be now? Using each other's words against each other?"

"You can let me go, and then you won't have to talk to me at all." you say and he laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear and caressing your cheek with his thumb.

His fingers wander along your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, to your shoulder, and to the handcuffs on your hands, blocking your power.

"That's not the option. You are staying right where you are, right where you belong. With me." he says, and to your surprise, he removes the handcuffs from you. He takes your hands in his and presses his lips on the small, almost imperceptible marks on your wrists from handcuffs. He also didn't miss the opportunity to fondly stroke the engagement ring he gave you, which is still on your finger. It makes you blush unwillingly. "I can be your monster and force you to stay to make the whole situation easier for you."

"I would never choose you. Blood is thicker than water." you say, furious at his suggestion that you would choose him over your brother.

"But you can't leave without any of this, can you?"

You become silent. Because he's right. You can't live without him, and you have no idea what awaits you next, but you know that you will have to lose someone. And you are afraid of the end result more than anything else.

Suddenly, he stands behind you. You feel his chest rising and falling with each breath on your back as he suddenly raises his hands. There is something heavy, metallic, and heavy on your head. The bastard gave you a damn crown.

"It's you and me, Y/N. And we are all we need anyway." he says and places a kiss on your temple. He presses his nose, inhaling your scent and hugging you tightly, pressing you against him as his shadows circle the room and wrap around the two of you. You can't deny it and say that you don't feel comfortable at all, that you don't feel the relief that his presence once brought you. Because you do. You've always done. "I will give you the world, everything you want... all you have to do is stay."

You don't protest when he places a gentle hand on your jaw and tilts your head to kiss you. You don't try to break free from his grip as he deepens the kiss, expressing all the longing, anger, and affection you feel for each other. And you eagerly push him to his throne, to straddle him and prove that you want him as desperately as he wants you.

Oh, God rest my soul I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close Stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

You stood next to him. Just like he wanted. This was your plan before you even came back to him. Fedyor also got back into his good graces and gave them information, and you tried to convince your stupid heart that you were doing the right thing. And now you watched as Alina fought with him to destroy the fold.

And you're really prepared for him to die. You replayed this moment a thousand times in your head as you lay by his side in the Little Palace, watching him in his sleeping state.

What you are not ready for, and what the volcras around you make you realise, is life without him. Without his shadows. Without his voice. Without his dark eyes. Without his touch.

You're still trying to fight with it. Convince yourself that you are stronger and that you can do it. But when you see Alina pick up a Grisha steel dagger and aim it at Aleksander's chest, you react automatically.

You link your hands and form a cut faster than you can process it, and in a moment, the Sun Summoner ceases to exist.

It's just you and Aleksander in the fold.

The world stops for you. Your hands shake as you realise what you've done. And if it weren't for Aleksander's quick reaction and logical thinking, the volcra would have sniffed you out before you could take a step. He guides you out of your crease without even stopping for a moment. But you know it doesn't make sense. You will both perish without light.

Volcra attacks you, despite Aleksander's best attempts to keep them away, and cuts your arm. You scream as suddenly a bright light flows out of you along with your blood. Both you and Aleks freeze and stare at the strong beam of light from your shoulder.

Aleksander tightens his grip on you. You feel him as he amplifies the light within you and brings you out of the fold. You stop only when you are a few metres away from it. You kneel on the ground tiredly, mentally both cursing and thanking the saints, because you have no goddamn idea how you survived this and why Alina's powers transferred to you.

Aleksander is quickly at your side and wraps you in his tight embrace, whispering something you don't quite understand yet. You're too focused on the fact that you can't feel his heartbeat anymore. Your own powers are gone...

And with that, you realise that Y/N Rietveld had long been buried six feet deep beneath the walls of the Little Palace when your eyes met the devil you sold your soul to for the first time.

You gently push Aleksander away from you and kiss him, knowing that this is the only thing that can calm the storm of thoughts raging inside you as you absorb new revelations.

The fold claimed many lives. And it will absorb more than one in the future. It was the tomb of many common people as well as Grishas. And you know it buried Y/N Rietveld/Brekker today.

But a completely new person came out of it. Y/N Morozova. And she was no longer going to pretend that her soul knew anything of her old life anymore. She wasn't going to waste another night wondering how her life could've, would've, or should've gone. Not wasting another moment in the arms of the love of her arms, wondering if it was right to care about him. You didn't play it safe. So now you're going to take what life has got for you. And not alone. Never alone anymore.

"Let's go home, Sasha." you ask him, whispering.

And after a tender kiss on the forehead, you know that you couldn't have made a better decision. Maybe your soul has always been under the care of the saints, specifically this Starless one?

In any case, being the devil's wife suited you.

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munchmemes · 8 days

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taylor swift lyrics, ttpd: the anthology edition, part two

i look in people's windows

▸ i had died the tiniest death. ▸ i spied the catch in your breath. ▸ i still ponder what it meant. ▸ does it feel alright to not know me? ▸ i'm addicted to the 'if only'. ▸ i look in people's windows like i'm some deranged weirdo.

the prophecy

▸ i got cursed like eve got bitten. ▸ i guess a lesser [person] would've lost hope, a greater [person] wouldn't beg. ▸ please, i've been on my knees. ▸ i don't want money, just someone who wants my company. ▸ who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy? ▸ i'm feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen. ▸ even statues crumble if they're made to wait. ▸ i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.

cassandra

▸ in the streets there's a raging riot. ▸ when the truth comes out it's quiet. ▸ do you believe me now? ▸ they say, what doesn't kill you makes you aware. ▸ they knew. they knew the whole time. ▸ blood's thick but nothing like a payroll. ▸ i was onto something. they all said nothing. ▸ no one heard. not a single word was heard.

peter

▸ is it something i did? ▸ i thought it was just goodbye for now. ▸ you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me. ▸ promises oceans deep but never to keep. ▸ are you still a mind reader? ▸ life was always easier on you than it was on me. ▸ we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon. ▸ love's never lost when perspective is earned. ▸ the shelf life of those fantasies has expired. ▸ forgive me, [name], please know that i tried to hold on to the days when you were mine.

the bolter

▸ i can confirm i made a curious child. ▸ excellent fun till you get to know them. ▸ oh, we must stop meeting like this. ▸ all my fucking lives flashed before my eyes. ▸ i've been many places with men of many faces. ▸ hearts are mine for the breaking. ▸ there's escape in escaping.

robin

▸ long may you reign. ▸ you're an animal. you are bloodthirsty. ▸ way to go, tiger. ▸ you look ridiculous and you have no idea. ▸ buried down deep and out of your reach the secret we all vowed to keep from you. ▸ you have no room in your dreams for regrets. ▸ the time will arrive for the cruel and the mean. ▸ you'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline.

the manuscript

▸ i'm not a donor but i'd give you my heart if you needed it. ▸ if the sex is half as good as the conversation is, we'll soon be pushing strollers. ▸ afterward i only ate kids' cereal. ▸ years passed like scenes of a show. ▸ looking backwards might be the only way to move forward. ▸ at last, i know what the agony has been for. ▸ now and then i re-read the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore.

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence starters #lyrics rp starters #lyrics starters #roleplay meme #lyrics rp meme #lyrics meme #taylor swift lyrics rp meme

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maraschinomerry · 1 month

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Little Pink Heart

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle

Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death

Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship

A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)

Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.

“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.

The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.

“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.

“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.

The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.

“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”

“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.

“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.

“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.

The temperature plummeted.

A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.

“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.

You lunged towards your rapier.

The Visitor lunged towards you.

Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.

“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.

You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.

“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”

The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.

“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.

—

You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.

There.

Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.

Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.

You moved closer.

You stopped.

Your face fell.

He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.

“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”

He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.

“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.

“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.

—

You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”

You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.

“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”

You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?

“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.

The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.

“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”

You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.

Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”

You would have reached for his hand if you could.

—

Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.

Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.

Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.

“She's in pain,” she said softly.

“Of course she is, she's dead.”

“No, something's different.”

He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”

She shushed him. “I can almost…”

Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.

No.

He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.

“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.

—

It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.

“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.

Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.

You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.

“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”

Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”

Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.

“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”

“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.

“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”

Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”

She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.

—

Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.

He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.

“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.

“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.

“Promise?”

You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.

He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”

“It's okay.”

It's not your fault.

#lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #fem!reader #ghost!reader #angst #lockwood and co fic

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