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occamstfs · 2 months

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Rosa's Cafe

Here's a longer Racial TF set in a coffee shop, Best! Occam

Matthew had clocked up more hours of overtime for his company than they were willing to pay him. He assumed that their guidelines weren’t so rigid and that he would be fine to get ahead early. These days you really need to go above and beyond to get ahead and Matthew was determined to get in the good graces of the big bosses.

Unfortunately working so hard was a misplay. His direct boss was forcing him to take Paid Time Off in lieu of the overtime pay for the past year. Now he sits at home with next to nothing to do, twiddling his thumbs until he can return to the grind. He loved back when he was a barista in college? Maybe he can get back to customer service?

Reflecting on this he takes to LinkedIn to see if there are any managerial spots open for a cafe. Something needs to scratch his itch for administration and he night as well pour coffee while doing so. In a stroke of luck, or perhaps something more deliberate, as soon as he logs in to check listings he sees a manager position at “Rosa’s Cafe.”

He auto-submits his resume to the restaurant assuming he’s overqualified before even reading the listing’s qualifications. Glancing through them he sees that they’d prefer someone fluent in Spanish. Matthew struggles to recall what if any Spanish remains in his head from taking it in both high school and college. He starts to pull up a language app on his phone before seeing that, jarringly fast, he has already been advanced to an interview for this cafe. Rosa herself sending him a message to come as soon as he’s ready.

Matthew then sprints to check himself in a mirror. He has certainly not slacked in his hygiene since he was asked to stop coming into work, partially in hopes that they’ll need him to come in any day. Today though he throws on some cologne and drives off to Rosa’s Cafe. He doesn’t stop to question how odd it is to already be on the way to an interview, minutes after submitting his resume. They must just really need someone?

As soon as he arrives Rosa is there at the door to greet him, smiling wide and welcoming him into her establishment.

“Hola Matthew! So glad for you to join us, your application was outstanding! Solamente, I was wondering why you wanted this job given your current one?”

Matthew blushes and explains his situation, struggling not to sound like a maniac for wanting to work despite the relatively cushy situation he is in. Although Rosa hears this and is impressed at his ethic, his crave to work. Rosa was more than happy to take advantage of his situation.

“Uhhh there was just one thing though, Miss. Oh uh, lo siento. Señora Rosa.”

“Sí, sí. You aren’t quite fluent en Español, are you Matthew?” He averts his eyes but before he can answer Rosa continues on, “Esta bien. You will just learn on the job sí?”

Putting on an air of determination Matthew pumps his fist “Sí, Sra Rosa! Uh claro que sí,” he attempts, stepping to the limit of the Spanish remaining in his head. Rosa gives him a look like an owner watching a pet as it tries to show off, offering an ambiguous smile before explaining her stance.

“Claro que sí,” offering a knowing nod, “I’m sure you understand why I would want a manager to speak Español, yes? En esta ciudad, in this city, there are very few places where Español is the default. I would just like my cafe to be one of them. The job is of course yours, I would be a fool not to take the opportunity. But while you’re here, mientras estás aquí, please work on su Espanol,” tacking on, “I can’t imagine it will be too long before you’re called back to your job eh? Una estrella como tu”

To her point there are clearly not a lot of people speaking English in the cafe. Matthew would guess he is probably the only native English speaker present making him blush, although after being flattered by Rosa he was ready to accept. After all he had been meaning to practice his Spanish anyway. He puts his hand out to shake her hand, “when can I start?”

“Well, mi pequeño gerente, why not start training now?” Turning around she calls over the barista Juan to introduce the two, talking to Juan at a speed that made it clear to Matthew that she was quite dumbing down her language in their conversation. She then bids farewell to the two, “adios Matthew! Tengo que ah, cόmo se dice, file your paperwork. Hasta mañana!”

“Hola Matthew, it is nice to meet you! Rosa said to show you around,” Juan smiles offering him a cup of their house roast. “Espero que, ah, I hope you don’t mind but I added canella, cinnamon.” Matthew graciously accepts the cup. He may be a world removed from his time as a barista but instantly returns to his first coffee tasting.

It smelled quite strong, darker than he usually prefers and he can see cinnamon swirling through the cup as the cup steams in his hand. He begins to bring the cup up for a closer smell although as soon as the movement begins the allure of the drink overpowers him and he drinks almost too quickly. It was delicious. He always, almost performatively, drank black coffee at his old job. Or no, his real job?

Juan sees Matthew continue to gulp down the cup of coffee waiting for reaction, though he sees very little sign of his mind processing the drink at all. Matthew’s just staring ahead, his eyes ever so slightly glazing over as he finishes the cup. He grins as it almost looks like the coffee has stained Matthew’s upper lip, offering a napkin before asking, “te gusta hermano?”

Matthew snaps back to his senses, staring at Juan as a small ring of brown starts to stain the center of his icy blue eyes. He struggles to even find the words to describe how profoundly he enjoyed the coffee. It was a passion too great for him to even begin to capture in English. “Juan, that was, cómo se dice? Is there some word better than delicioso?”

Juan laughs putting his arm around his new manager, “Ay hermano! Maybe that’s what you should do now! You just go work on your Spanish and I’ll bring you some samples! Ah, aqui, the employee handbook is in Spanish, practica perfecta!” He brings over another cup and the handbook and Matthew starts struggling through it.

Matthew figuratively bashes his head into the handbook, it’s not dense but it is per cierto not written with beginners in mind. Smirking as he notices he just reflexively thought in Spanish, going to get another drink only to find the cup emptied once more. He hasn’t been drinking nearly as much since he left the office, bargaining with himself as Juan comes to refill his cup. He can cut back his intake later, he needs to get this through this work.

And work at it he does, caffeine is not making him feel wired as usual but sensual as he continues to page through the booklet. He starts to stretch just to feel the strain in his muscles and the tension in his clothes. He looks down and sees his shirt is fitting much better than he thought it did. It’s not tight but anyone who looks can see there is muscle under there. He stares at his own body feeling strength he does not remember cultivating. Suddenly he notices it’s not only his upper body that’s filling out, as a growing package begins to demand attention under the table. These jeans were clearly not designed to handle this and Matthew is barely able to stop himself from flexing to see just how much he truly can fill this outfit and he attempts to switch gears back to working. Urgently feeling adverse to thinking any further about his body.

Struggling to find any way to distract himself he remembers being historically shit at actually speaking in Spanish. This is as good a chance as any to practice his pronunciation. Matthew begins to mouth the words in the handbook, feeling his tongue in unfamiliar ways that he swears he has done a million times before. Matthew attempts to raise his practice to a whisper and immediately goes into a coughing fit. Hope that coffee didn’t burn my throat he thinks clearing his throat and finding a much deeper voice on the other side. One that announces his Spanish progress to the whole cafe shockingly loud for a whisper though Matthew doesn’t notice. What is immediately apparent to him is how expertly he rolled an R.

He knows he could never do that, and not without trying. He probably spent half an hour practicing it his sophomore year. He reflects back on how hard he worked on Spanish in the past as his eyes start to glaze over once more. Something is off here, his hand raising to his face not notice a moustache and sloppy goatee start to push out of his face. He foes feel itchy elsewhere though, scratching at his chest and stomach, averting the more animalistic urge to scratch his pits and crotch as Juan begins to walk over.

Matthew quickly tries to meet him halfway, standing to a height just taller than the one he thought he knew to be true. His bulge grazes the bottom of the table which causes his body to convulse in pleasure. His feet are caught on the table as he falls knocking his coffee all over himself and the floor. “Mierda!” He shouts before going dark.

He awakens to Juan wiping coffee off his face, his clothes now certainly stained brown and spelling of rich coffee and cinnamon. Helping him back to standing, Juan makes sure he is alright, “quite the fall amigo! Tal vez we call it a day?” Matthew hastily agrees feeling impossibly strained and weary for what little work he has actually done. Juan continues, “Rosa said the paperwork should be good for you to start tomorrow if you can!” Stumbling to his feet Matt knows he agrees but the rest of his night is little more than a blur.

He sees Juan wink at him and knows he is going to start tomorrow. He must drive home after that since he is now looking at himself in the mirror brushing his teeth. Something seems off, he is clearly too tired to put a finger on exactly what it is. He flexes his bicep noticing he must have completely disrobed. He thought he shaved his pits recently. He scratches at his crotch realizing that his now heavier cock is also out, pawing at his pubes and feeling his bulge expand even further into his hand before forcing it into some briefs and continuing his audit.

Didn’t he have a tan? Looking at himself up and down he feels like he isn’t supposed to be this pale right? Isn’t he from? Matthew feels lightheaded and begins to collapse once more before being jarred back to reality smelling the coffee and cinnamon scent still hugging his chest. Using this second wind he stumbles into bed, neglecting to change into his nightclothes and he quickly drifts to sleep.

Matt falls into a dream that feels realer than the reality of his previous life. It’s the middle of the rush and he sees himself working at an espresso machine with Juan. He looks down seeing his body expertly maneuver around the bar, tossing cinnamon into drinks, chatting with customers in truly fluent Spanish. He pauses in this dreamscape to notice the tan he was so sure he had earlier. He sees the tattooed arms he has known for years, he worked hard enough for them after all, might as well show them off on the clock. He raises the hairy arms to flex at Juan and say something clever in his native tongue before being jarred back to reality by a sunbeam.

Matt awakens hearing his morning wood stretch his briefs to their near limit barely able to keep himself together before seeing the time and once more shouting “mierda!” He is already so late for work, they’ve been open for hours. It’s his first real day and he has already jod- he’s already fucked it up! He quickly inspects himself once more, seeing the true version of himself he saw in his dream. Seeing his recently shaved chest he quickly realizes he doesn’t have time for a shower. He smells his pits just to see how bad the damage is. His voice rumbles in his chest, “joder…”

He smells again even deeper, it reminds him of? Oh it is just on the tip of his tongue, which he begins to reach out before remembering his predicament. He throws on a dress shirt before giving one last whiff to his pits, flexing his pecs as he does so. It is so fragrant, almost spicy. Matt postpones the mystery after concluding it should certainly be covered by the smell at Rosa’s and rushing out the door. Not seeing as his chest pops off the top button of his shirt and his neat goatee begins to grow even thicker.

Matt rushes into the door and is greeted like a regular, which he is of course to be now, as the new manager. He feels a warmth in his chest as Juan brings over his first cup of the day. “Buenos días Juan!” Matt offers before going to meet the chef, Benito, as the plan was today.

Making his way back to the kitchen he smells something even more distracting to him than his body odor this morning. Benito runs over with a plate full of arepas that Matt recognizes instantly before Benito greets him, “buenos dias jefe! Rosa said you wanted us to start serving arepas sí?”

“Rosa? She said, I asked for these?”

“Si! Desde su ciudad natal no?”

Matt’s mouth is overcome as he starts to clearly drool for the plate in front of him. He has no choice but to tear into one which immediately brings him back. He loved these when he was a kid, but? Didn’t he grow up en los estados? Wasn’t he from? He fails to finish the thought in his head before it is wiped away as if fireworks are going of in his mind.

He beams at Benito as his eyes glaze over and fully darken to brown. He feels an urge to burp which he chokes down with another cup of coffee. “Ay this takes me back amigo, estos son exactamente como, like the ones mi abuela había before nos pequeños…” Matt pauses as he feels a pervasive warmth starts to grow distracting in his chest as a similar itch begins on the outside.

He doesn’t notice as his inner monologue begins to entirely shift away from English, as it should of course. He may live in los Estados hoy, but he was colombiano born and bred. He remembers how hard he worked as a child learning English as his biceps start to clearly strain the already tight dress shirt.

Matt remembers fighting for his place to get a degree at a university that did not respect his native country or tongue as he feels his voice deepen beyond baritone and into a strong bass. He remembers trying to find a place in this mierda ciudad before meeting Rosa as his chest bursts open shooting any buttons remaining off his shirt.

Rosa then enters the kitchen to see how her new hire has progressed and slyly smiles seeing his progress. She tosses a shirt at him saying in Spanish now effortlessly understood “Oi Matteo! You’re in the kitchen put some clothes on!”

Matteo shuffles to the restroom to change as he looks one last time in the mirror and sees the flawless trajabador he sees every time he checks himself out. He puts on his nametag flexing to see just how much he can strain his shirt before returning to the cafe, ready to conquer another day in the life he has worked so hard for.

#racial change #male tf #muscle tf #mental change #race change #masculinization

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igotanidea · 1 year

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Home : bat!family x bat!sister

Summary: no one gets to offend my siblings and father. No one but me. I'll make sure of it.

***

Maybe it was a bad idea to apply for that Erasmus program and leave her brothers and adoptive father alone for whole three months. Sure, studying abroad, expanding knowledge, learning language and customs was an amazing experience, but it came with the cost. The price of being in fear that her family would get themselves in trouble, pain, fight they could not recover from.

The first two weeks of her adventure was the worst, since she was waking up at most random night hours, ready to jump into fight, those vigilantes instincts and habits kicking in.

Those were the nights when she was turning and tossing in her bed unable to close an eye and in result sneaking out her dorm room and walk around the campus like the ghost. The quietness and peacefulness of her surroundings at the academy were so different from those she knew in Gotham, it was almost disturbing.

There was no denying that Y/N was the smartest in the family, even Tim admitted it once (obviously not while talking to her, but she overheard his conversation with Bernard) but at times like this she was second-guessing her choices.

Due to her specific upbringing and family background she also never managed to form any deep connection with her fellow students, preferring to stay by herself, focus on the task and putting a lot of work into expanding her knowledge and skills in technology. She never complained, but from other people’s perspective she was an eremite. Kind, polite with perfect manners when someone asked her for something or while working in group, but still highly reserved. Just like her adoptive father, whose relation to she was trying to keep a secret. And it worked up to the day when one of the lecturers accidentally called her “Miss Wayne” in front of the whole class. The second he did it the air in the auditorium froze. She might have been in different country, but for God’s sake she was studying technology, of course everyone heard about the Wayne Enterprises and the Bruce Wayne.

“You’re his daughter?” one of the boys in the lower row turned around and eyed her suspiciously

“Yes. Adoptive one.”

“Of course. He’s well known for taking kids in, right? Seems like some sort of complex or maybe even a disease” he smirked and it made the girl clench her fist. Her relationship with Bruce might have been rocky, but no one except her and her brothers were allowed to judge and offend him.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” she hissed, eyeing the guy with ice cold gaze

“Miss Y/L/N! Mister Olsen! Please calm down and sit down!” the teacher tried to make up for his mistake but it was far too late for that.

“You misspelled my name once, might as well keep calling me Wayne now.” the tone of her voice matched the gaze. She was not going to let the guy easily, but getting in trouble with the dean was not a part of her plan. “Now, can we continue with the lecture? I don’t know about anyone else in her, but speaking for myself I would love to actually learn something useful.”

***

Y/N was the middle child. Younger than Dick and Jason, older than Tim and Damian which placed her literally halfway in the family. Because of that she was a mix of responsibility and carelessness, doing her own thing, not always the right way, but still capable of getting away with a lot more than the others. Not as family oriented as Dick, feeling a bit overshadowed by Jason, highly competitive with Tim and more independent and individualistic than Damian. Still, even despite her “boss bitch” attitude, she was sandwiched between her brothers which made her the best negotiator and mediator in the family. Y/N also had a strong sense of fairness and morality and would always try her best to do the right things. Objectively, not subjectively. And making fun of her family was not one the things she could forget. However, before taking any action she had to gather intel, figure out what the guy knew and then come right at him.

***

Waiting till the end of the class was probably the greatest torture she ever had to endure, every minute stretching into infinity and when it was over the sense of relief almost made her drop the plan. Almost.

“I’m not done with you, Olsen.” she was faster to the door, stopping her potential victim from getting away.

“You want more, Wayne?”

“Please. Hit me with your best shot. What is your problem with my family, exactly?”

“Let me think” he tapped his chin. “There are so many. Like for instance, your oldest brother. What was his name again? Oh, right! Dick. Suits him quite well, doesn’t it. A prick, if you ask me. Definitely a show-off with no skills.” He scoffed “Shall I continue?”

“ Please. You got like three more people to gossip about.”

“The second in line, Jason, right? Oh, the unhinged one. Violent, mocking, thinking he is better than anyone else around, when in reality he’s just a lost, scared child. Probably a dumbass too.”

“Pretty sure he would agree with that. Now what about Tim and Damian?”

At this point Olsen was getting a bit surprised that the girl in front of him was still unfazed. Her calmness, a sign of silent inside fury making him slightly uncomfortable. Not enough to stop however.

“Drake…..” the name rolled of his tongue while the boy was wondering what words to choose “oh, he’s the gay one, right? Such a shame that the renowned Wayne family has someone like that as a member. Bet your father would never take him in, if he knew. A fairy becoming the next CEO of his renowned company. How ironic!”

“Hm.” Oh, Y/N was so much like Bruce at times and it showed in the least expected moments.

Damn that girl! How could it not make her angry?

“And …… Damian, the only biological child. Absolutely maladjusted and unaware of social norms and boundaries. Tell me, how was it like to have your youngest brother violate your boundaries and personal space?”

“It was. ….educatory. Just like it was with everything you just said. You presented yourself as someone with some serious psychological issues and possibly an unhealthy interest in my family’s life. So thank you, it truly was illuminating.”

***

“What the hell did you do Y/N?” a very alerted Dick appeared on the other side of the screen

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The girl sighted and fell onto the cushions bringing the computer onto her lap to see her brother better

“Don’t lie to me now, sis.”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

“Bruce has been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes and from what I figured it’s about something that happened on the campus.”

“The only thing happening on the campus are students who skip classes.” She mumbled “maybe except that one time when one of the boys lost some stupid bet and blew up the fountain as some sort of punishment. That was funny.”

A little grunt was heard on Dick’s side and for a second he disappeared from the screen.

“Dick?”

“Sorry, I had a little interruption.” He rubbed his forehead “Now, back onto what you did…..”

“Did you say that someone blew the fountain?” third face appeared on the screen in the corner, taking over the conversation.

“Hello, Jason.”

“Hi sis. Maybe I should have joined you in your academic career. Seems like you have a lot of fun there. Besides, I never really finished school, since you know…. I died.”

“We know.” Y/N and Dick said in unison

“Always a good opportunity to remind you, right?” he grinned “Now, sis, tell me, how was it going full rogue on fellow student? I gotta admit I’m proud of you here.”

“So that’s what this is about?” Dick’s eyes grew wider than ever “I;m gonna ask you once again, Y/N. what did you do?”

“Nothing permanent.”

“What…..?”

“Cut her some slack, Grayson.”

“Look who decided to join us.” Y/N smirked “improved your computer skills much, Damian?”

“I got tired of being left out.”

“Since when do you care about the group?”

“Leverage, sis. Knowledge is power, I thought you knew that.”

“Ok, that is enough!” Dick finally lost his patience “I’m trying to have a conversation with my little sis here. Both of you, get out of the line!”

“Mhm, keep dreamin’ Dickhead.”

“For once I agree with Todd.”

“You have no right to…..”

“Guys…..” Y/N tried to mitigate them, but deep inside she enjoyed their bantering. It was a while since she experienced it and only now realized how familiar it was.

“I was here first!” Dick yelled “And I’m the oldest”

“No one cares Grayson! You are a Bludhaven resident now. Just because you visit the manor does not mean you can keep Y/N busy using the wayne’s devices!”

“Don’t you have someone to kill in the crime alley, Jay?”

“Unlike you, I succeeded in all my latest missions.”

“Is that what you call coming back to your safe house bloodied and injured. You were on the verge of death!” Damian smirked “you were absolutely inept, that’s not a success.”

“You were what, now?!” Y/N shrieked. Her second oldest brother was sometimes too careless.

“It was not that bad, Y/N, I swear. And how the fuck do you know about it, demon?”

“I have my ways.”

“I would suspect Drake of spying on me, but you?”

“Speaking of the devil, I’m surprised Tim hasn’t already join us.” Dick muttered

“Oh, he did.” Y/N pointed out

“WHAT?” her brothers cried. Now there was another one fighting for her attention and it was not a secret that Tim was her favorite making the situation harder.

“I did.” Tim chuckled “Well, to tell the truth Y/N let me in the channel. We have our ways with technology. Something none of you could ever fully understand. “

“Of course not….”

“Cheer up, Dami. You can’t monopolize all the areas.”

“I would beg to differ.”

“Ok, everyone hold up here. I think we lost the point of the conversation. The thing was that Bruce was on the phone, probably taking to the dean about….”

“Y/N played a little prank on her classmate, is that right?” of course Tim was the one who everything best.

“He deserved it.”

“Y/n…..”

“Stop using the big brother voice on me! It’s not going to work!”

“How about we use Damian’s youngest one?” Dick teased

“I refuse to be used in this….”

“SHUT UP DAMIAN!” Dick and Jason shouted together and shared a murderous look between one another. Now they were both desperate to find out what happened since Tim would rather die than spill the bean. It was infuriating. They were the older brothers! This had to mean something.

“Ok, that’s it.” Damian stood up and the view of the empty chair in the place where his face should be was highly disturbing.

“That is not good.” Y/N said out loud something that all of them already knew. Her presumptions turned out to be right a second later when the shouting and yelling reverberated through the speakers and a blur of black and green rushed into Dick’s room.

“hey, I want to join the fight too!” Jason started up and with a speed, Wally West could be jealous of involved in the mix of limbs and screams.

“Wait! I though Dick was in Bludhaven! Tim?”

“Not today. We’re all in the manor.”

“And you idiots were talking to me through four different computers?”

“Are you actually surprised?”

“On second thought, not at all.” She sighed. It’s a good thing you are the reasonable one here…..”

“There you are, Timmy” now the situation has turned as it was Dick who appeared in the door of Tim’s bedroom “you are not getting out of this. If you want Y/n to yourself you have to fight me.”

“And me!” Jason tackled Dick to the ground with a loud thump

“Losers!” Damian jumped over their bodies and came right at Tim

Because of their actions, Y/N was the only one who noticed two men stepping from the shadows and exchanging some words. Apparently Bruce wasn’t capable of putting the boys in their places and asked Alfred to try this instead. And a single grunt from the butler did a miracle as all of them stood up and started explaining and apologizing. Funny as it was, Y/N knew that with Bruce’s arrival she was heading straight towards preaching from her father.

“Y/N.”

“Hello Bruce.”

“Did you break his arm?”

“You broke his arm?” Dick was halfway out but turned back immediately

“No.” Y/n shook her head “I broke his arm and hurt his legs.”

“Don’t forget that you also demolished his dorm room.”

“That wasn’t me. That was….”

“Did you go at him as a vigilante? Wow! Way to go, sis. Now I truly am proud of you.”

“Ok, both of you, out!” Bruce lost the rest of his patience pushing Dick and Jay away. “Now that we are alone…….” he sighed deeply closing the door tight

“I;m not sorry.”

“Oh, I know. And I’m not mad, because I’m sure you had a reason to do it. So tell me, why?”

“you…. you want to know ?”

“Of course. Look Y/n, I’m aware I won’t get a father of the year cup from you, but I care all right? Did that boy hurt you and you took retaliation? Just tell me….”

“He was talking shit about our family.”

“And you felt the urge to protect the Wayne’s honor?” Bruce smirked “this is so not like you.”

“Honor, my ass. We’ve lost that ages ago, Bruce. The only thing I was protecting was my sole privilege of mocking you. No one else is allowed to do it.”

“I’ll be sure not to tell your brothers that you miss them. “

“That would be most welcome.”

“And you have to know that we don’t miss you either, y/n.” father and daughter’s gazes met and they both nodded in silent agreement, right corners of their mouths lifting almost unnoticeable. “You coming to visit next week?”

***

Something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong and that tingling sensation became unbearable the second she climbed the manor’s stairs and reach for the doorknob with a heartrate so fast it would send anyone else straight into cardiac arrest. Y/N however kept her cold blood, focusing on what may happened inside and considering her options and strategies for a potential fight.

She could not expect that the moment she opened the door four figures would jump out from the shadows making the noise that would bring the dead from behind the grave. It startled her and as a result she stumbled back, hitting the wardrobe and making it shake. She could not expect that on said wardrobe there would be packets and packets of paint and that those would fall down straight on her making her look like some abstractionism painting.

“I hate you all.” She muttered while her brothers run away in four different directions.

“Welcome home, miss Y/N” Alfred approached her with a tissue so she could at least wipe the paint from her eyes.

“Home.” She whispered “Yes, it definitely feels like it.”

It was good to be back.

But she was still going after them. .....

Later. When they would least expect it.

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riordanness · 4 months

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electric touch — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 0.6K

warnings: none

requested: yes!! anon <3

I’ve never been someone people go to when they’re sad, or sick, or just need a comforting shoulder to lean on.

I’m usually pretty closed-off. I don’t open up to people, in fact I barely speak to anyone.

So when Willy Wonka, the famous chocolatier I work for, knocks on my door with a temperature and blurry eyes, I’m shocked.

“Mr Wonka, sir?” I ask in surprise, both my mouth and door open. “Are you alright?”

Willy shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to barge in like this, but… I need someone’s help. I’m—“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. He collapses, but luckily I’m there, and he hits me before he hits the floor. I catch him, rather unsteadily, in my arms.

“Hey, hey,” I mutter. “You’re okay. Uh… let’s get you onto the couch, alright?”

With my help, Willy stumbles over into my living room, and drops heavily onto my sofa. His curls are damp from sweat, and half stuck to his forehead. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“What do you need?” I ask hesitantly.

“Water, please,” he manages.

I hurry and collect a glass from the kitchen, filling it with cold water and ice. I also run water over a cloth, squeezing out the excess.

I drop to my knees at Willy’s side, handing him the water. I have to help him sip it, though.

I take the glass from him when he finishes, and leave it on the coffee table. I grab the damp cloth and gingerly hold it to his head, brushing away his loose curls with my fingertips.

Willy’s eyes flutter open, and he glances at me. “You’re a miracle, y/n.”

I laugh awkwardly. “No, I’m not, sir.” I dab the cloth all over his forehead. “I barely know what I’m doing.”

Willy chuckles, and his eyes slide shut again. “Thank you.”

A small smile grows on my face, without me even realising. “You’re welcome, Mr Wonka.”

“Please. Call me Willy. Everyone does.”

“Okay…” I hesitate. “Willy.”

He smiles.

I gently pull my hand away, leaving the cloth on the coffee table beside his water glass. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” I ask quietly.

“Y/n,” he says, his voice low. “You don’t have to call me sir. I’m not your scary boss, you know. I’m your friend.”

I’m lucky he still has his eyes closed, because my cheeks feel warm all of a sudden, and I’m sure that if I looked in the mirror I’d be red all over. “Okay, Willy.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence. I stare at him, memorising every bit of his face. His features. His loose, dark curls that are never orderly, his jawline that I’m always half tempted to run my finger along. His mouth, that, for some reason, I want to kiss.

It’s like suddenly I'm no longer in control of myself. Without even a second of thought, I lean forward and press my mouth to his. I only linger there a moment, then sit back.

Willy shifts, then looks at me, surprise in his eyes. “What was that for?” His voice is a little raspy all of a sudden.

I shrug my left shoulder. “I… I don’t know.”

He smiles, looking tired. Then, he props himself up on one elbow and touches me gingerly under the chin, his fingertips holding my gaze to his. He pulls me closer at the same moment he leans toward me. Our lips meet, and it’s soft and it’s desperate and it’s tender and it’s hungry, all at the same time.

It’s everything I could ever have wanted.

#wonka #wonka 2023 #willy wonka #willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader

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mondaymelon · 11 months

Text

— "𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨?" ♥

:feat~ alhaitham, kaveh x gn!reader:

⤷ modern!au, fluff✩ ⤷ they’re away at work and you miss them, so you decide to give them a call… wearing their clothes.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis @poweredbyghostadventures & @solxima, come get your sumeru men (kaveh)

ALHAITHAM’s automatic message is what greets you.

“This is Al Haitham. Currently Busy. If it’s urgent, leave me a voicemail.”

You hadn’t expected him to pick up in the first place, but you knew his work schedule, and he should be on break right about now… however, you won’t allow yourself to be disheartened!

The solution? Call him again, and again, and… well, you miss him a lot, so you’ll just continue until he picks up… eventually.

And when he finally does…

“This is Haitham. What do you want…” His stern voice trails off upon seeing you, and that your camera is on. “Love, why are you FaceTiming me? Did something happen?” The way his exasperated tone melts into one of sincerity instead makes you feel warm inside.

“I missed you.” You pout, before rolling onto your stomach. Instantly, the male’s concerned expression morphs upon seeing what you’re wearing - into one of hesitant silence.

“Is that… my shirt…?” Archons, you know exactly what you’re doing, aren’t you?

“And what if it is? Do you not want me to wear it…?”

Please don’t pout at him like that, or the stoic man might just cave in.

“Why are you…” He’s hesitant to ask, but he does so anyway.

“It makes me feel like you’re here.”

Those words make him fall silent.

“...Fuck.” He’s turned his camera off, but you’re able to catch a glimpse of the red that’s risen to his face before he did.

It’s so innocent how you’re obviously capturing his heart. ♥

KAVEH almost immediately picks up, and you can practically hear the excitement in his voice.

“Love, what’re you calling me for?” There’s distinct talking in the background, and you worry that you may have disturbed your boyfriend during an important work meeting. You try to take a look at his video, seeing people dressed in business suits behind him.

“Oh, are you busy?”

“Not at all!” You can hear his smile. “What do you need?”

“...I just missed you.”

That’s when the male notices that you’ve donned his sweater, draped too large over your frame. Your words, along with the sight he’s just beheld, is enough to turn the blonde into a blushing mess. He has his hand over his mouth, stuttering and stumbling through his words as he practically glows red.

“L-Love- i-is that my… sweater…?” He sounds shy, almost, with the undeniably apparent flush that’s dusting his cheeks and ears.

“Yes…?”

Ah, his heart is racing now, how is he supposed to concentrate on anything? “...Because you missed me?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck this…” Kaveh sighs under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. After a moment of silence, he speaks again, calling to someone off-camera. “Boss, I’m using my sick hours today, I’ll be leaving early!” You can hear a distant, “wait, what?” in the background… but it’s already too late - Kaveh’s already sprinting out of the door, beaming at the camera, slight blush still present on his cheeks.

“I’m coming back home, so wait for me!” ♥

(a/n) kaveh is so silly

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earthtooz · 1 year

Text

. . . LOVE ME HARDER !

in which: it's been two weeks. you have a resignation letter in hand and a grumpy itoshi sae who is not at all pleased at your decision.

˗ˏˋ masterlist series: first part | next part ´ˎ˗

collab series ft. sixosix earthtooz aanobrain . . . !

warnings: gn!manager!reader, pining, reader and sae r in their 20s, tension, so much pining, unedited towards the end but that's bc i have no time AHH.

"are you sure?"

you stare sadly at the two weeks resignation letters in your boss’ hand, blinking once, then twice as a heavy feeling of regret sinks in your chest, further powered by the jumbled thoughts in your brain, screaming at you to say both ‘yes’ and ‘no’. with an exhale, you listen to your heart and nod your head decisively.

“i’m sure,” you affirm. sae’s face flashes briefly in your mind and you cringe internally at the look of betrayal you can see so clearly. still, you grit your teeth and don’t back out.

“we can give you a raise or extra company benefits if that’s more motivation to stay?” instinctively, a materialistic part of you is ready to give in to the offers, but the rational part of you begs otherwise. “we haven’t had a worker like you who has been able to cooperate with sae this well.”

“thank you for the opportunity, sir, but i think it’s time to move on.”

your boss gives you a pointed look before putting down your papers with a sigh. “if that’s the case then i can’t stop you. you were a good asset, y/n, good luck with your future endeavours.”

with a thank you, you make your way out of the office, a heavy dread settling in your chest as you think about how sae would take this news. how would you tell him? you’re not that heartless that you’d just leave without letting him know but what would you say? ‘hey these are my last two weeks as your manager, lol’.

“you’re late,” a voice interrupts your thoughts and you snap back into reality, greeted with the face of itoshi sae, his usual apathy masking the subtle displeasure you can hear in his tone. you ignore the way your heart jumps simply at the sight of him.

maybe putting in those resignation forms was for the best.

“sorry. had to speak to management,” you mutter out.

the magenta-haired athlete narrows his eyes in suspicion but before he could ask you another question, you sit down in front of him and open up your diary with the schedule for the day. “okay. let’s see what needs to get done today.”

you ignore the way sae stares at you like he has something to say and you hope he’s not observant enough to see that you’re avoiding looking him in the eye as much as possible because you’d know your heart would give out from the pressure.

two weeks. two more weeks and you’ll escape itoshi sae forever, no matter how much you don’t want to.

***

you’re on the sidelines where sae is practising, furiously typing out an email on your laptop when your name gets called out, the voice coming from the entranceway of the field. it’s your boss but there’s a man of average height right behind him, dressed smartly with glasses and equipment fit for an office worker.

he must be sae’s new manager after you’re gone. bless him.

straightening up, you close the lid of your laptop before setting it aside, getting up to greet him with a small hop in your step. you ignore the way sae has stopped practising at the entrance of someone new. feeling of his inquisitive gaze burning into your every move lingers as you approach the visitors.

“y/n, this is girolan dabadie, he’ll be sae’s manager after you leave,” your boss states, gesturing to the man behind who gives you a humble wave, paired with a friendly smile. oh poor soul. you can tell he does not have the guts to work with sae.

then again, not a lot of people do. you included, which is why you’re resigning.

“hi, i’m y/n, pleasure to meet you.”

“pleasure to meet you too,” he says.

“we just thought it’d be nice for girolan here to get prepared with the ropes of his role before being thrown in the deep end next week.”

“of course, i’ll be more than happy to get you started, it is a tough job after all,” you say lightheartedly despite the last part being a sugarcoating of how truly draining it is to be sae’s manager.

and, speaking of the devil, you don’t like the way your gut churns, turbulent waves settling in your stomach in a way that makes you feel funny when you look sae in the eye. he’s staring at you so very intensely that if you hadn’t looked away immediately after, you suspect you would have combusted on the spot. there are questions that he wants answer to and judging by the glimpse of betrayal in his eyes, you can tell that it is not going to be a conversation you’ll like having.

for now, you grit your teeth and put on a professional front. this is why you were leaving, because sae looks at you too casually, too much, and you, similarly, know him too much, too casually.

leaving the training field, you can’t help but feel like you’re also leaving something meaningful behind.

“everyday you need to have the player’s schedules. most of them have promotions which you need to manage, so for example, sae has a shoot for adidas abibas next week. all you have to do is go to the shoot with him and foresee everything, the set managers there have that all under control, the only thing you need to control is itoshi sae himself,” you tell girolan halfway into the tour, now in your office space where you had schedules hung up everywhere. “these cabinet files are full of contracts, tax files, cash flows, all of the stuff that i have no doubt you’re familiar with.”

“all of these just for itoshi sae?” girolan asks, looking at the stacks of paper on your desk.

you sigh, slumping. “that’s what happens when you manage one of the most in-demand soccer players. don’t tell anyone but, it’s easier to manage the whole team than sae himself.”

eventually, the tour continues and you lead him through the rest of the spaces that he should know by heart. when you think you’re done with the introduction, it’s around 4:30, and you see girolan out to the main entrance.

“any questions? you can have my contact so that if you have any queries or concerns, you can reach out to me over the week,” you say, handing the new manager your card.

“i appreciate the crash course today, but admittedly i’m still a little nervous,” girolan confesses, “i mean, i saw first hand just how busy you are… any personal advice for the job?”

“just… good luck. it’s a handful but it’s a good experience nevertheless. at the end of the day, i’m more grateful for this role than i am not.”

“if that’s the case, why are you leaving?”

you widen your eyes, unprepared for that question. girolan catches on to your shock and immediately begins to apologise, afraid that he’s overstepped. “no, no, it’s okay, it’s a valid question. i’m leaving for personal reasons, ones that i can’t really go into.”

“i see.”

after that, you briefly say goodbye to one another, exchanging pleasantries before he leaves the building. you sigh in relief, looking down at your watch to see that you only had 20 minutes now to catch up on the outstanding work you left behind, an incredibly unrealistic time limit. you can already tell you’re going to work overtime tonight.

before you can dwell too much on that fact, a voice pops up from behind you.

“personal reasons?”

you turn around to see sae leaning against a wall behind you, completely unimpressed and disappointed. you hate it when he looks at you like that.

“yes, sae, for personal reasons,” you mutter, hardening your defences before walking past him. that doesn’t shake him off though, nothing ever does.

“and what personal reasons could that be?” he asks, not batting an eye to being waved off by you like that.

you walk a little faster. “they are personal reasons, sae, meaning that they’re none i should ever tell you.”

pushing open the door to your office with more force required, you don’t see the way sae flinches slightly at your outburst, furrowing his brows at how uncharacteristic you were acting. he doesn’t shy away though, following you into your office. you continue sorting through papers like he’s not there and that irks him even more.

“but how could you not tell me? i thought you resigning would be an important topic to bring up sooner rather than later.”

“i didn’t think you’d care.”

“so?” he spits. “i would rather you tell me than me finding out myself by seeing some random who is apparently my new manager.”

you cringe at his words. “okay well, i’m resigning as your manager. happy? be nice to girolan.”

sae groans. “were you just going to let me find out by myself in a week if today hadn’t happened? were you ever going to tell me?”

you shrug, punching some holes through some papers before adding them to an (already filled) binder. “maybe.”

sae grabs your wrist and you jump from the contact, as if his touch was lava and burns. the magenta-haired doesn’t miss your reaction, in fact, he narrows his eyes at you when he notices. you make the mistake of looking him in the eye and the churn in your stomach is back, heart skipping a beat as your hand goes limp in his.

this must be what they call a ‘moment’ in the movies, because you’re definitely having one right now, and it’s getting harder to keep your resolve up.

“sae, please leave. i’m trying to finish up these tasks before the day ends and you’re really disturbing me,” you grumble, trying not to let your voice waver. glancing away from sae, you slip your wrist out of his grasp and step away, creating some distance.

“is it something i did?” he asks. “if you’re not leaving because of the job itself then it must be the person, right? did i do something to upset you?”

“why do you care?”

“i have every right to, you’re my manager.”

“i won’t be in a week.”

“that’s a week away, you are still my manager right now and i want to know why it is you’re leaving.”

“can you not take the hint, sae? i don’t want to tell you!” you exclaim, shutting the filing drawer with a little more force than necessary.

“i won’t leave until you tell me.”

“you will actually hate me if i tell you.”

“i will hate you if you don’t tell me.”

“well then it doesn’t matter.”

“yes it does. if you’re just gonna leave me behind then i can’t see why you can’t tell m-”

“-if i tell you will you leave?” you snap. the silence is deafening, with sae widening his eyes in shock at your outburst. he nods firmly. “i like you. in more than a professional way. that’s why.”

turning around to the filing cabinet again, you reach out to pull the drawer with shaky hands, a racing heart, and a swirling stomach.

“now that i’ve told you, could you please leave?” you omit to tell him that you can’t look him in the eye. not anymore now that you’ve effectively ruined whatever-was-going-on between you and the star athlete.

footsteps echo behind you, drawing near with each click of sae’s shoes. you stiffen when they stop right behind you and there’s a moment of quiet, allowing you to hear sae shuffle behind you, a hesitant hand reaches out to cover yours, gently pulling it away from the cabinet to turn you around instead.

you don’t look him in the eye, glancing at every inch of the walls in your office just to avoid him. sae frowns at your evasion.

“can you look me in the eye so i don’t sound stupid saying what i’m about to say?” he asks, a little gentler than his usual, demanding tone, but still cold enough that your gaze cuts to meet his.

“you always sound stupid,” you mutter without thinking.

sae scrunches his face in judgement. “seriously? i was gonna say something you’d like to hear to. way to go for ruining it.”

“what, no! tell me!”

“i don’t think you deserve to know anymore, stupid.”

“hey! if i had to tell you then it’s only fair if-”

“-i like you too.”

that zips you up and a glimpse of mirth shines in sae’s eyes, paired with an almost-unnoticeable quirk of his lips upward.

“you do?” you stammer in disbelief.

“yeah.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pregnant silence between you two. no one ever really tells you what to do in scenarios like this, and the one time you’d like to use your brain and not embarrass yourself in front of sae, your mind decides to see itself out. “that’s… cool.”

“that’s all you have to say?”

“what, do you have more to add?”

“not really apart from inviting you to dinner with me.”

“when?”

“tonight.”

“tonight?” you parrot. “i can’t, i have so many tasks left to finish!”

“just leave them behind.”

“i can’t! i should get them done before i leave.”

“you leave in a week, then none of these tasks are your problem anymore.”

“that’s really not the best way to think about this, sae.”

“so thank goodness you’re my manager and not someone else.”

you narrow your eyes at him, immediately knowing what he was implying. “don’t think that this is a reason for me to stay being your manager. in fact, i’d argue that i now have more reasons to quit.”

with a ‘tch’, the soccer player rolls his eyes. “okay whatever, we’re grabbing dinner and that’s final.” he threads your hands together. “c’mon, sweets, let’s go.”

#sae x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 years

Text

A Phil update! For those who were asking.

I mentioned before that Phil works for a call centre. I'm pretty sure I've also made it clear by now that Phil's spectacular weirdness, coupled with his hatred of capitalism, means he's been mentally checked out of that job for a while now. His main focus has been his degree for the past year anyway. The only reason he's stayed is because Phil has a history of destructive impulsivity that he's been actively working on, so he didn't want to just walk out.

So there we are, scene set. Last week, he phones my husband.

"A weird thing happened in work," he tells Steff. "My manager called me into the office for a chat, but... I think it was weird? I'm pretty sure it was weird."

"Tell me what happened, Phil," says Steff.

***

Here's the story:

Phil goes into the office, and the manager fixes him with a Kind Smile.

"Phil," the Manager says hesitantly. "Do you... like working here?"

"...um," says Phil, distantly aware after Many Conversations with Exasperated Friends that the correct answer to your boss is 'yes', but physically incapable of lying. "Well. I. Um."

"Because," the manager says awkwardly. "Look, you - it's okay."

"Is it?" Phil asks vaguely.

"It's okay," the manager repeats. "I know you don't like working here. This isn't what you want to do. You don't want to stay."

"No," Phil agrees, relieved they are on the same page.

"Listen," the manager says, in an agony of awkwardness. "Look, Phil... you're such a nice guy. Just... I'll write you the best reference. But you can just... go, if you want. You can... go back to your desk and log out and just... leave."

"...okay," says Phil. And he leaves.

***

So he tells this story to Steff, who is, obviously, BAFFLED.

"Okay," says Steff. "Right. Phil. Phil what the fuck did you do."

"Nothing!" Phil protests. "I didn't do anything!"

"Okay," Steff says again, changing tack. "Phil. What have you done recently that a capitalist would disapprove of?"

"Oh," says Phil. "It's probably because I gave that old woman £200 of company money."

"...go on," Steff says wearily.

***

Here's the story:

This sweet old woman rings and says her phone was down for a couple of days. She's calling to complain, because it meant she couldn't contact her relatives, and she felt lonely.

"I'm so sorry," says Phil. "Do you want some money?"

("First question," says Steff. "Were you supposed to give any money at all for that?"

"...no," says Phil.)

So this old woman is like "Uh... yes please? Okay?"

"Alright!" says Phil cheerfully. "Let's see how much I can give you."

("Second question," says Steff. "Were you allowed to give out £200 to anyone?"

"Oh, no," says Phil. "They made it really difficult, actually, it took ages.")

"Ah," Phil tells this old lady. "I can only give you £50. Let's try that."

"I... thank you," says this old lady, already in the grip of the Heady Bewilderment that descends on everyone who speaks to Phil for a bit. "That's very generous."

"It's gone through!" says Phil happily. "There we are. I wonder if it'll let me do it again?"

"Um," says the old lady, who is starting to sense that she's dealing with a maverick doing something he shouldn't.

("Third question," says Steff. "Did she ask for more at any point?"

"Um... no," says Phil.)

"It worked!" Phil says brightly. "Do you want me to do it again? I think it'll let me."

"...okay," this old lady says, strangled. "Thank you."

"No problem," says Phil helpfully. "It's done it, I think. Shall we do one more?"

"Yes please," says this old woman, who is now convinced she's either called the wrong number or is speaking to an amenable faerie one mustn't refuse.

Phil tries again. It goes through.

...

"Do you think," Steff asks, "that this might have been a fireable offence?"

"I suppose?" Phil says dubiously. "The company has loads of money though, I don't see why."

"...no, of course you don't," Steff agrees.

"Anyway," Phil says. "I think I left on a good note. But that might have been weird, too."

"What did you do," Steff sighs.

"Well, I packed up my desk," says Phil. "And then this guy turned up who was supposed to give me some training. And I told him that I was leaving so it wasn't necessary, and then he said that he had to give the training-"

"You did the training, didn't you," says Steff.

"I did the training," says Phil.

#vote for phil #long post

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chrollohearttags · 8 months

Note

Okay Cherry if this is any good indulge me by going wild with this prompt loosely based on my life at work. If it's not good then this never happened lmaooo!

Picture this, Eren works as a salesmen for whatever company you want and one of his charges has a sweet secretary type who always starts off the phone call real formal but then slips into this cheery, almost flirty tone as she rattles on about her bad knee or the latest video game or her yarn order out for delivery last she checked 20 minutes ago (a lil self-indulgent, i know).

He always indulges her and even shares some insights on his life too so now they have each other's sun signs, favorite color, and worst month before she passes the call over to her boss to make the weekly orders.

But one week he's in her city, kinda like a "stop in and say hi to your clients/rep the company" type of deal and he finally sets eyes on the sweetheart who always has a comeback for whatever silliness she gets him to say and dammit if this man didn't almost fallover when he sets eyes on that pretty face. And fuck him side ways when he catches her retreating to the back room. He'll obviously be around the next day around closing time to hopefully take the little lady out (and give her the deepest backshots) before he has to fly home next week.

AHFHDHRJDGSHS babes your mind!!!! >>>>>> this is so genius!!! 🫠🫠🫠 I hope I can do it justice tbh because this has my wheels turning! And thank you for all the beautiful asks you sent me, I’m so sorry it’s taken this long for me to get around to them. But I promise I will be answering them all VERY soon!! 🥹🫶🏾

Eren always strived to be the best at what he done. Whether it was athletics or academics, he always excelled above his peers in every area. The same applied once he was hired as a salesman for the Mercedes Benz dealership in his city. It didn’t take long for the young associate to find success in his career field. From his devilish good looks to his suave charm…possessing the gift of gab that could sell flames to the devil. It didn’t take long before he was the highest earning employee in not the district but soon the region. In a year’s time, he had worked his way up to regional manager and oversaw the entire store.

it came with big responsibilities but even bigger perks. He got to travel to all these places on the company’s dime. Stay in lavish hotels, work poolside and even party all at their expense. But it was to be expected of a young, handsome bachelor like himself. Even so, he was as cautious as he was reliable. He worked hard to maintain his standing but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t long for the companionship of another person as well. Luckily for him, he found it in the form of someone he’d least expect. While sifting through a new client list for potential tools and parts for the auto repair team, he came across one that he had never seen before but soon, he’d become even more acquainted with them..or rather, the person who was always on the other end. Yes, the sweet, cheery voice of the babe who answered every phone call. The one who always addressed him as ‘sir’ or Mr. Jaeger and would relay his messages with efficiency along with a ‘my pleasure’ in the most angelic voice he’d ever heard. One that sent flutters all throughout his body each time he heard it. Eventually, he had to know the name of the little lady who had him grinning from ear to ear as he sat with his feet propped up on his office desk. “And to who do I have the pleasure of speaking to, miss? I’d love to put a name to that beautiful voice.” Naturally, she divulges him and reveals her identity. “The name’s (y/n) (l/n). Of course, sweetheart and love suits me just fine.” As he had spoiled you with the sweet pet names. That you’d return with a quickness and send him into a blushing fit. Very unbecoming of the normally collected and stoic man. Eventually, he’d keep the conversations going on a bit longer than anticipated or allowed just to hear more from the once anonymous woman; finding solace, comfort and routine in hearing about work and personal affairs. Chatting it up with you long after the business side of things had been conducted.

time went on and the two of you had grown quite fond and accustomed to the regular phone calls that ensued almost three times a week at this point. Laughing and joking like old friends whom had known each other forever. “I swear, I call at least three times a week and you always answer. Do they ever give you a break?” “Poor things, they’d fall apart without me. Besides, it’s not all bad. I get talk to you so I’d say I’m pretty lucky.” Of course, he loved the flattery. You would find anything to speak on just to keep the conversation going. From your newest crochet project, to his recent acquisition of those new sneakers he’d had his heart and sights set on for a while. Everything from favorite foods, TV shows and colors were revealed in the calls. The funniest perhaps, may have been the topic of astrology and zodiac signs and he had not the slightest clue about that but by the next chat, he told you his sun, rising and moon and you couldn’t help but to chuckle at the fact that he could rattle it off so easily now. “What? A man can’t get curious? It’s interesting stuff.” “Absolutely. I just think it’s so cute. Maybe we can talk about it in person one day over some coffee.”

he holds you to that offer..about a week or so after that conversation when he pays a visit to your workplace as part of a client check in. Essentially shaking hands to maintain good relations with the vendors. But it wasn’t until he went up to the reception desk that he’d get the shock of a lifetime to learn that the pretty lady sitting before him was the one behind the beautiful voice that he chopped it up with almost daily. Big, bouffant curls, round glasses on that gorgeous face with a divine complexion and the most innocuous of eyes. His heart thudded and his face visibly flushed red when you told him your name and extended a hand to properly introduce yourself. It doesn’t take long for him to return it and with a kiss to boot. “I’m happy to finally put a face to that adorable voice.” Smirking as he proceeds to turn and address your other coworkers, who were mechanics and techs, but it’s when you get up to head to the back room; inviting him along under the guise that you had some paperwork for him to complete. And he follows with bells on!..

once you two are alone, all bets are off along with every article of clothing on your bodies. Propping you up on a countertop and grasping the backs of your thick thighs because they looked too good swaying in that tight skirt. Only after a very intense makeout session. Shoving your tongues into each other’s mouths as if you were long distance lovers and not perfect strangers. Even so, it didn’t let up there…peeling your top off and groping those beautiful tits that fit so perfectly in his palms. Taking those sweet little brown nipples into his mouth and suckling as you rode his fingers that he shoved knuckle deep into those thin lace panties. “Mr. Jaeger…” crying out so sweetly that it made his cock twitch in those slacks. Hastily pulling it out as he smirked against your lips. “Please, call me Eren, baby. We’re past the formalities, aren’t we?” And that much was apparent by the way he propped your leg on his shoulder and looked into your eyes as he finally slid inside of you and began thrusting up into you. Feeding you deep, long strokes without so much as a second of breaking eye contact. Your head fell back for a second and he secured it with a hand to the back of your neck. Moaning and whimpering but trying to remain quiet because you’d be fired on the spot if caught. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Look at me while I fuck you..” spoken like a man who knew exactly how to handle a girl like you. Giving you the best dick you’ve had in ages and possibly ever!.. “you’re so tight..fuck.” Grunting as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. Leaving soft kisses along the curvature of it. You’d claw your freshly done nails into the flesh of his exposed shoulder blades; right over those tattoos he got done when he was younger. Begging him not to stop as he pounds your pussy relentlessly.

“Right there! Oh shit..” only retracting long enough to spin you around and hit you from behind. Leaving smacks on that big, plump ass that rippled with each stroke. How simple, innocent conversations about knitting and TV shows had turned into this juicy little love affair so quickly…you guys would never know. It could be attributed to the subtle flirtation or the bubbling sexual tension that could no longer be ignored by either party. Regardless, the two of you were knee (or balls) deep rather into this illustrious rendezvous. From the counter top to the coffee table where he fed you collapsed backshots. The whole thing went on until you both reached your peaks. “C’mere, baby. On your knees” ushering you to your feet so that he could paint that pretty face and tongue with his nut. To which he’d kiss you afterwards..

needless to say, he was quite smitten with you after that day. Even having flowers delivered to your desk before you arrived for your shift. Rather than communicating via company lines, you exchanged phone numbers and started texting. Where he phoned you up and invited you out to a nice dinner. Underneath candlelight at the finest Italian restaurant in town. He was a complete and total gentleman, who made that week one of the most memorable you’ve ever had.

something told you it wouldn’t be the last you’d see of the smooth talking salesman

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

Fast food reader having a yandere manager/boss??

What type of shenanigans do they get to and why do I picture the yan manager calling in the reader to their office and when the reader comes in the manager is laying on their desk in a certain "draw me like one of your french girls" pose with a rose in their mouth??

Oh God. Please not today. Standing stationary at your post, you dread the upcoming encounter with the customers next in line. The duo whisper loudly to each other, one nudging the other as they glance over in your direction. You pick up some words of encouragement over the conversation you're currently involved in and are fairly certain the piece of paper in their hand is signed with a heart. Why do so many people think this is a good idea? You hand the customer their change and ponder whether it's too late to switch to retail as the next guests approach. The one holding the note goes first. They slide it across the counter.

"Hey, uh, I've seen you in here during my lunch breaks and was wondering if yo-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. You're not even the fifth person who's given me their number this week. I'm not sure if you're one of the normal one or the kind who tries to stuff me in their car after I get off, but either way you should probably leave before my boss comes."

The customer looks dejected, but their friend steps in. "You didn't have to be such an ass about it."

"I'm only trying to warn you, and save myself the headache. They polish a hunting rifle in their office with the door wide open and I'm about sixty percent sure majority of the people on the missing persons board are the ones from this exact scenario. I'd ask if you want to order anything, but you should probably just leave. They're always watching the cameras."

"Gooood afternoon."

Well- You'll be able to sleep tonight knowing you did your best.

"I was just checking in on things, and happened to notice the line forming behind the two wastes of space who decided to harrass my favorite employee."

One of customers opens their mouth to speak, but your boss quickly shuts them down."

"Mmm, yeah, sorry- I hear you, but to be honest I don't really care. Here at this establishment, we always strive for customer satisfaction, but employee safety is the most important thing and to bother our most valued member means I don't have to abide by any rules. Moral or otherwise. Kindly get the fuck out of my store before I make you crawl out."

"I'll take this." Your Boss picks up the slip of paper and gives them their best customer service smile. "Have a nice day!"

That smile becomes just a tad genuine as the customers bolt for the door. Your boss turns to you, pulling you from your focus on the cash register as they check you for any damages. Besides the beginning of bags under your eyes, you're relatively okay. Their shoulders finally relax seeing you unharmed."

"Good. In perfect condition like always." They gently pat your cheek. "My office. Ten minutes. Don't worry about the ones you can get to."

Stocking shelves can't be much worse than this, right?

The ten minutes go by in what feels like ten seconds. The door is wide open when you arrive. Your boss has already added the note to their collection in a jar on their desk, a red line through the pages you could see. Your picture hangs on the wall in multiple frames marking you as employee of the month for years with no competition. According to coworkers, that award didn't even exist before you were hired.

You knock on the door frame. Your boss lifts their feet off the desk and shoves them underneath it along with their aforementioned weapon. They sweep the surface clean with the same rag they used to clean it as you approach and politely folds their hands as you take your seat.

"Y/n, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to my cozy neck of the woods?"

"You called me here."

"Well - yes, but I like to think we're closer than that. Like family. Heads of the household if you will. I understand most of your time here has been manning the register, but with all this attention you've been getting I think we should move you somewhere else. I'm not jealous or anything..."

They crack a guilty smile." Well, maybe a smidge, but this is mostly for your own good. Something like keeping eye on the stock or working the fryers... Maybe even something as simple as, oh I don't know- coming home with me and letting me take care of your every need."

You think over your choices. That cafe down the street is probably hiring.

#Sorta crack #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere blurb #tw yandere #yandere drabble #Fast food reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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kitorin · 5 months

Text

sweet dreams.

in which, nanami kento finally goes on a long overdue vacation

contents. nanami kento x gn!reader, 2.965k words, fluff but then heavy angst (mcd and hurt no comfort), mentions of murder (true crime stuff) but no detail of it, reader is a coward and really can't handle horror (sorry that's just me projecting)

"What did you do?"

Guilt makes your lips purse, tongue swiping over them out of habit. You didn't want to call him, to interrupt him during the night shift he ever so loathes, contributing to the things he has to do.

But with demons lurking in the dark and the sense of impending doom beginning to latch onto you, it felt necessary, especially when fear decided to be quite clingy.

"I got scared."

A tired sigh comes from the phone. "How many times do I have to tell you not to watch anything disturbing at night?"

"This documentary got really interesting. I wanted to know what happened next..." Explicit content was fine, with Kento there to cling onto and his never-ending reassurance. Your husband watched these intense shows and documentaries without so much of a flinch, unfazed by quite literally everything displayed on the screen.

You, on the other hand, was a completely different case.

The slightest raise in volume managed to steal a scream from you, and jump scares had you flinching just a bit too hard. The mere build up and suspense of the music had your heart racing, even if nothing happened and it served as a little trick.

"I'm so sorry Ken, I'll hang up so you can focus on work." You're an adult, you shouldn't be so cowardly towards a mere genre of entertainment, and you should know better not to consume it.

Your thumb reaches for the red button, and your emotions hold you back, while rationality argues not to.

"No. Neither of us are going to be hanging up."

One part of you celebrates quietly, while another insists. "But you're working. Overtime nonetheless, and I know you hate those shifts. It's best to get everything done as soon as possible and get out of there."

His voice is raspy, garnished by a sultry tone. "Love, I belong to you, not my job. I do appreciate your thoughts, but you're more important than a mere paycheck."

Fuck. There it is, his eloquent, smooth way with words.

"Still. I can wait." That was a lie, though one you were willing to utter if it meant he'd prioritise his job. "Besides, what about that higher up you mentioned? The irritating one that's childish and overtalkative?"

Kento chuckles. "He's here, but he takes his job seriously and is highly capable. I'm on break anyways. Talk to me. If you can."

"I read about the Sapporo murder case. I still feel like the culprits from the case is going to sneak up on me. Or one of the zombies from Happiness." You adored the show and its cast, but god forbid you sit through another one of its jump scares.

"That's fine, it's normal. The point of this type of media is so scare. A lot of effort is put into making sure they elicit emotion." You cling onto every word he speaks, the world around you still there, only a bit blurry now. "Breathe in through your nose for four second, pause for two. Then breathe out through your mout for another eight."

Have you brushed your teeth?"

Kento hums as a response when you answer yes.

"Where are you right now?"

"In bed, but I need to clean up and turn off some lights before I sleep."

"Ignore it. I'll do it when I'm home."

"Are you sure?" There was no point in asking that, not when you'd rather not move away from the security of the doona. "You're going to be exhausted by the time you're home."

"Doesn't matter to me." Genuine indifference to the matter displays itself in Kento's tone. "I took a nap earlier, had a coffee or two as well. I'm going to be alright—" Something in the background echoes, though you could barely decipher what you were hearing, the furious tone of the voice concerned you.

"Who was that...? Is your boss mad at you? Wait but it doesn't make sense for a boss to give you a nickname—"

For a moment or two, Kento remained silent. "No, just an enthusiastic intern. He's talkative and sometimes loud but he's a good kid."

Your former worry dissipates, so quick that it almost seemed like it was never there in the first place. "Nanamin, was it?"

He sighs, the two of you know damn well that you'll refuse to forget that one.

"It's cute! Nanamin. I like how it sounds."

Voice softening, he replies with a chuckle. "I feel like you'd get along well."

"You should invite him over then. He must adore you if he's calling out to you that much."

"If that's true then I'd say the feeling is quite mutual." All you have is his voice, yet you can say without a doubt that he's beaming, a subtlety only you'll ever know— one of the many which compose the love between the two of you.

"Keep working." You whisper as a yawn claws out of your throat.

"Are you sure? Are you okay now?"

You nod, though he can't see it. "I am. Just listening to you helps a lot."

"I'm glad."

"Do your best at work, okay? And make sure you stay safe on the way home?" You hold back a grin, even though you're alone in your shared bedroom. "I have a surprise for you when you get home."

Kento piques with curiosity. "Really?"

"Yup, I think you'll love it." You stare at your bedside table, where tickets to Malaysia were stored. "I hope you do, at least."

"If it's coming from you of course I'll love it sweetheart." It's miraculous really, how you've been together for so long yet you have to suppress the urge to squeal over his sweet words. "My boss is going to start making me work again, good night darling. Sweet dreams, love."

You fall asleep with ease that night, this time with welcomed thoughts of spending time with Kento on the shore of Kuantan, running around whilst cherishing the cold, salty water licking at your ankles; rather than the intrusive thoughts from earlier.

"You could've kept talking to them. I wouldn't've told anyone even if it took a lot of time."

Fushiguro Megumi is examining the sharpness of his blade when he reassures his teacher Nanami Kento, not looking up from his weapon, seated by the railing of the bridge.

"I appreciate that, but it'd be wrong of you." He moves his shoulders in circles, loosening his tie to wrap it around his knuckles. "I can teach you other methods."

"Pardon?"

Nanami crouches in front of Megumi. "Your breathing changed when I told them how to." The student doesn't respond. "It varies from person to person, I've tested out a lot."

Megumi still doesn't answer, averting his gaze towards the weapon that he held down.

"Fushiguro - kun. Are you scared?"

The younger finally speaks once more. "... I guess." Hesitation presents itself in his words, barely stable and his reluctance to maintain eye contact. "I won't let that stop me from completing my tasks—"

"It's okay. You're merely sixteen, you're not even old enough to drink, nor get your driver's licence."

Megumi returns to silence.

"Look at me." And so Megumi does. "To be a child is not a sin. I'm perfectly fine with withdrawing you from this operation if it's too much."

"Wouldn't that get you in trouble?"

Indeed he would. He'd tolerate plenty of discipline and anger from the higher ups. But Nanami Kento knows too well what it's like to risk you and your peers for a 'greater good', at nonetheless a ridiculously young age too—an age where you're supposed to go to regular school and be regular, stupid kids figuring themselves out; not witnessing the death of the ones dear to your heart with the sight of their corpses forever imprinted into your mind, nor have the stench of blood memorised meticulously instead of historical dates or mathematical formulas.

If it were up to him, he'd prohibit such exploitation of children. None should be performing such tasks, even if born with an advantageous cursed technique.

If the higher ups adopted the same philosophy as him, Haibara would be alive and well, and Nanami wouldn't feel his stomach lurch whenever he sees a bowl of rice, nor flinch whenever he hears the mention of Geto Suguru.

'I don't mind if it means you'll be at ease. Gojo can protect me, and if I'm unable to extract you from this operation then I'll handle everything."

Megumi takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't run away. I'll do my best. I have Tsumiki I need to return to. We should go find Itadori now."

“If you say so then, but it’s still my duty to protect you.” With a final, strong tug he tightens his tie around his knuckles. “I can't guarantee any results, not in this instable world and career. What I can promise, is that I will protect you with my life."

A determined nod from Megumi is all he needs.

Quick and efficient; that's the plan. Shibuya was already a mess, and all he wanted was the security of your arms within the four walls he calls 'home'.

"Thank you for having us."

Megumi, the one with the messy, black hair speaks coldly, though very politely, his manners were courteous and so was Yuuji. They'd come to your door and introduced themselves as interns at Kento's company. Now, they were seated in your living room, on your couch.

"Don't mention it, Ken's always been fond of the interns." You already miss him, he must've stayed overnight at the company again. "Are you okay with first names?"

Both nod.

You smile. "So, Yuuji, Megumi, what have you come here for?"

Yuuji speaks first. "It's about Nanamin, I mean Nanami—"

Without malicious attempt you cut him off. "Nanamin is fine, I overheard you calling him that last night. He was fond of it, it was quite cute after all." You chuckle to yourself at it.

The boy swallows, appearing apprehensive. He sounded so enthusiastic last night, perhaps he was the type who needed to warm up towards people first.

"Well, um."

You don't say anything, giving him time to respond comfortably.

"Nanami sensei passed away last night." Megumi finishes what Yuuji couldn't.

Your heart drops.

Temptation to make an accusation of a prank attempts to claw out of your throat, but with how their expressions scream nausea and discomfort, it'd be rude to do so.

That explained why he never kept his promise of finishing up on chores, knowing Kento he would’ve done everything to make sure he made it home to do as he said he would.

"What happened?" It doesn't feel right— and it isn't at all, but you have to figure out the truth, even if this all doesn't seem real.

"There was a fire." Yuuji whispers, barely loud enough and coherent with the tremble of his voice. "And he didn't make it out in time."

You remain silent, so does Megumi. Yuuji bites his lip, suppressing what seemed to be a sob.

"I see."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If only—" It drowns out in his bawling. "It was my fault. He—"

He completely lacked incoherency now, hiccuping as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"He helped us first." Megumi once again continues Yuuji's words. "But they recovered his body, we brought you his ashes."

He pulls out a package from his shoulder bag, wrapping it to reveal a pale blue funerary urn. Megumi places it onto the table.

"I'm sorry. If I had been capable of protecting myself he wouldn't've died saving me."

Your gaze meets Megumi’s, you're too afraid to properly acknowledge the urn, where your boyfriend was supposedly resting.

Silence permeates the air, Yuuji bites his sleeve to suppress his crying and Megumi breathes shakily.

"Don't apologise. You have no reason to. Neither of you." You've barely known the two, but the way Yuuji was sobbing broke your heart, and how both seemed to genuinely believe they caused Kento's passing. "It's not your fault. I don't think it is, and he would agree with him. He made the choice to help you, because he cared deeply for both of you. You can cry freely, I won't stop you." You muster a smile, hoping it'll be comforting in some sort of way. They're only kids, they can't be blaming themselves for the death of another they didn't cause.

Yuuji's teeth release the sleeve of his hoodie, hiccuping out what sounded like a thank you. You push a tissue box towards him, to which he accepts the offer.

"You idiot…” Megumi sniffles a bit.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” You pat him on the back, rubbing it too. You give him your phone, opening a new contact. “I’d like to invite you two to the funeral, can I have your contact details? In the meantime I’ll make some tea.”

You earn a nod, and are quick to retreat into the kitchen, hand holding your mouth shut as you slowly cry, pleading for Yuuji and Megumi to be unable to hear.

"Kento! We're here, at Kuantan!"

After a long flight and travel, you finally arrived at your destination, you had dropped your luggage off at the accommodation, the urn Megumi had given you was held up against your chest.

I've always wanted to go to Kuantan, in Malaysia. One day I'd like to build a house on a secluded beach and live there. Of course with you, if you were okay with it.

You take off your sandals, tossing them away as you approach the shoreline, the coolness of the water catching you off guard. You continue walking, until it reaches halfway up your calves.

Off goes the lid of the urn, and you toss the ashes into the beach, watching the waves swallow Kento whole. It's not long before the urn is empty, you've never had to scatter someone's ashes, yet it felt like something was missing.

In all honesty, you have no idea if Kento wanted to be cremated, you've never touched on the subject of death, probably because the two of you were so young.

But something tells you this is the right decision. Kuantan's beautiful, and he wanted to go when work and money permitted him to do so. He'd loved to read a book under the shade of that large tree over there, and would've wanted to try fishing at the rock ledge nearby. It was just the two of you here, even better.

Fuck.

As you watch him swim into the ocean, you notice the tears threatening to spill. You don't bother trying to avoid it, not that you would've been able to.

"It's not fair!" You yell, out into the ocean. You don't blame Yuuji, or Megumi, or anyone, but you're still livid. "I miss you, I miss you so much that it gets hard to breathe."

The ring box feels heavy in your pocket.

"If you had to leave this world early you could've done it later." Your cry becomes a sob. "Just one month, then I could've fucking proposed. I don't need a honeymoon or marriage, I just want your fucking answer."

In an ideal world, you'd like to think that he would've accepted without hesitation, but that fantasy doesn't compare to the pain of remaining oblivious to his answer forever.

"Who's going to comfort me now? Who am I going to spend the rest of my life with? Who am I going to cook dinner with? What about Yuuji and Megumi? They had to finish their internships without you. Do you know how hard Yuuji cried when he came to tell me you passed away?"

By no means are you mad at Kento, you could never. But anger that slowly accumulated in your heart for the past few months, and had erupted. The empty coldness of your bed stings, and the amount of cutlery required being halved overwhelms you with misery. You can’t even laugh at his high school photos anymore, the amusement from his ridiculous haircut can’t triumph over the fact that he had passed away a mere ten years later.

You’d much rather store it all away, each and every possession and photo of the man. The sight of his favourite mug serves as a harsh reminder that morning coffee with him will never happen. Listening to old voice mails seemed reassuring and almost lulled you to sleep, until you had to come to terms that he was truly gone once more.

But at least sound can be captured.

What about his scent? Eventually his clothes would lose their scent, they probably were already on that course, even with your refusal to wash them. Touch can’t be preserved, you can cling onto the memory of your skin against his for as long as you want, but you’ll never truly experience it again.

“Goodbye Kento!” Despite your miserable state you pull yourself together just enough so you can see him off with a smile. “I love you, so so much. More than anything in the world, I always will! Thank you, for being there. Th-thank you for loving me.”

You've lost the energy to yell, throat now hoarse. You venture deeper into the shore, not caring about your clothes getting wet, as your face gets soaked with your own tears.

Who's fault is it? Was it the culprit of the fire (if there was one)? Or perhaps yours, for not proposing earlier. Maybe then he would've been safe and sound in Kuantan, after taking leave. Perchance it was the heavens deciding they’d rather just not authorise him to spend the rest of his name.

Whoever it was, it doesn't matter. Nothing could bring back the warmth of Nanami Kento.

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

#nanami my beloved #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk #nanamin #jujustu kaisen #fluff #angst #nanami angst #nanami fluff #kento nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento fluff

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buffyromanoff · 11 months

Text

''Let it out''

Inspired by the Taylor Swift lyric ''you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding'' submitted by anon and @wifeofnatasharomanoff.

Summary: After being gone on a months-long mission, Natasha needs your support...but she doesn't realize it till its too late.

Warnings: Ptsd related panic attack.

Genre: Slight angst, fluffy comfort

Word count: 1.3k

----------------------------------------------------------------

‘‘Y/n, may I speak with you privately?’’ Nick Fury asked as you were about to leave after a meeting.

‘‘Uh, yes, of course, boss. What is it?’’ you replied.

‘Why don't you have a seat, Agent?’ Fury gestured towards a chair.

The look on his face gave it away. It was about Natasha.

‘Is she okay?’ Your voice trembled as you fought back your tears that were ready to come out.

‘Physically, she is fine, but... she's going to need you.’ Nick slid a leave document across the table. ‘I just need you to sign this, and then you're free to go home.’

‘Where is she? What the hell happened?!’ You demanded answers. Fury was always so secretive.

‘We'll be bringing her home to you as soon as you get there.’

And so you did. Hoping for the best but expecting the worst, you drove home and waited for them to bring your girlfriend back to you.

--------------------------------------

The past few days had been bittersweet. You were thrilled to have Nat back home with you after her months-long mission with the rest of the team, but it weighed on you to see her suffering.

Natasha was a private person when it came to her trauma. It wasn't because she didn't trust you, but rather she didn't want to burden you with her struggles. Since her return, she had managed to hide it well. After that conversation with Fury, you expected her to be shattered and completely broken…except she wasn't, at least not for the first few days.

You could say Nat was an amazing actress, but you noticed her mask was starting to fade away.

‘Wow, that smells good,’ Nat said as she entered the kitchen.

‘It does, doesn't it? I hope it tastes as good as it smells, though,’ you giggled.

‘I'm sure it will, malyshka.’ She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and sat on the counter with her book.

"We have perfectly good sofas and chairs in case you didn't know’’ you teased with sarcasm.

‘Meh, I prefer to sit here.’ Her cat, Liho, jumped on the counter with her. ‘Up here, I have a pretty good view of the sexy chef.’ She whispered teasingly, causing you to blush.

Liho started jumping around the kitchen counters, making a mess.

‘Nat, please control your cat before he jumps on the stove and burns his whiskers off.’

‘Hey, come here, little one,’ she called, but it was useless. Liho was in a playful mood and he was not taking orders from anyone.

The cat ran behind a pile of pots and pans, causing them to slide off the counter and crash onto the floor, creating a loud noise that made your heart skip a beat.

‘Jesus Christ, that scared me so bad, Liho, you little...’ You turned around, laughing, only to find your girlfriend standing in the corner, hyperventilating.

‘Nat?’ You reached out your arm, but she pushed you away.

‘Baby, it's me. It's okay, you're safe.’ Your voice shifted into a comforting tone, allowing her to keep her distance. She wasn't looking at you.

‘Try to take a deeeeep breath, baby.’

Natasha struggled to breathe, her hand clutching her chest. You took a deep breath yourself, hoping she would follow along. ‘And then you let it out slowly.’

Your girlfriend raised her eyes to you and tried to do as you said.

‘‘There you go, that's good, honey. Keep going.’’ Natasha's eyes were watering, but her breathing was starting to return to normal.

‘’Can I come closer?’’ You asked, and she nodded.

As soon as you got close, she grabbed your arm tightly.

‘I'm here, Natty. You're okay. You're having a panic attack.’

She couldn't speak yet, but you could see the relief in her eyes that you were there with her.

You held her close, gently rubbing circles on her back, feeling her body tremble less and less. ‘Do you recognize my perfume? It's the one you got me. I wear it every day.’

It was working. Making her focus on her senses was grounding her back to normal.

And then something happened: Natasha started sobbing in front of you for the first time.

Your heart sank as you held her even closer. She was falling apart, and you were the only thing she could rely on.

‘Don’t hold back, honey. Let it out.’ And she did until she ran out of tears.

Showers were her safe place. She always took her time with them, as the warm water usually helped her muscles relax after a battle. It was a calming and soothing experience for her.

You helped Nat undress, and what you saw broke your heart. Her body was covered in dark bruises and scratches. You had no idea how this woman was able to move around like nothing had happened while hiding both the physical and psychological pain. But that's Natasha, strong inside and out.

You sat on the toilet seat while she showered, until you heard the water turn off and she opened the shower curtain.

You wrapped her in a towel and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek.

‘Thank you, Y/n,’ she mumbled, giving you a sad smile.

Back in the bedroom, Natasha was feeling better. She sipped tea from her favorite mug, wearing your pink Hello Kitty pajama pants. She looked adorable. You sat on the bed next to her, playing with her hair and stealing little kisses whenever you could.

Suddenly, her stomach growled and you both looked at each other. She laughed.

‘Hungry, baby?’ You teased.

‘I wonder what gave it away…’’. Her sarcastic response made you sigh in relief. She was definitely feeling better.

You both ate the reheated dinner, and since it had gotten quite late for a movie, you went straight to bed.

Her head rested on your chest and you held her as close as possible.

‘Sorry about all this, malyshka,’ she said. ‘You shouldn't be dealing with this.’

‘Nat-’

‘I mean it,’ she interrupted. ‘I wish I wasn't so broken.’

‘You're not broken, Nat. You're just going through a rough patch’’ you replied.

‘Seems like my life has just been a long, messed-up road, then’’ She mumbled while snuggling closer to your chest.

‘Have you heard of kintsugi?’’. Your question caught her by surprise, and she responded with a vague ‘hmm?’.

‘It's a Japanese art form in which they repair broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold lacquer. They don't hide the cracks; they display them openly, creating something new and beautiful. It teaches us to embrace flaws and find beauty in the process of healing, you know?’

Natasha started giggling.

‘What's so funny?’ You asked, confused.

‘Nothing, I just didn't know I was dating such a poetic soul,’ she teased.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ you laughed and she stole a kiss from you.

‘You're magical, Y/n. Did you know that? I don't know what I would do without you,’ Nat said.

‘Guess you'll never find out because you're never going to get rid of me.’

‘Lucky me,’ Natasha said, wrapping her leg over your body.

‘But seriously, you don't have to hide your feelings from me. I love you with all my heart, Nat. I'm always going to be here for you, no matter how bad things get’’. You reassured her.

‘Thank you, my darling. I love you too.’

‘To the moon?’ You asked, raising your eyebrow.

And smiling, Nat replied. ‘‘And to Saturn,’

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gender neutral #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x fem!reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #scarlett johansson #marvel

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (17-II/22)

Chapter summary: You up and left the night you found out about a bitter truth. And then you and Wanda come to an understanding on how to move forward.

Chapter B word count: 8.5k | Warnings: Angst, Smut, Profound Sadness | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: There's still angst ahead, be warned. This is my all time fave part to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :) P.S. Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars is such an old and a bit overrated song, but I envisioned this part with this song.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Eighteen

Seventeen - Part Two

“Suspended?” Wanda repeats incredulously at your assistant. Her mind spins, thinking about the last several days when you've been mysteriously silent. Every call she's tried to make has gone straight to voicemail; every text she's sent is left unseen, hanging in the balance.

It feels like you've dropped off the face of the Earth, a sensation all too familiar to Wanda. It's like you've once again disappeared from her life without any warning, leaving her in a state of worry and confusion.

Her gaze falls back on your assistant, Martin, who just nods apathetically, his bony fingers carefully balancing a tray of coffee. His casual, nonchalant manner seems to strike a nerve with her, agitating her more than she'd like to admit.

“Sorry, Ms. Maximoff,” he says in a flat, apologetic voice, “She's not been around, hasn't been taking calls or replying to messages from our human resources.”

Wanda's eyes flicker from the reception desk to your office, her heart throbbing with concern and confusion. The glass pane of the office door merely reflects a distorted image of her, nothing of what it concealed inside. “But she's the boss here…” she lamely objects, her voice trailing off.

“Yes, and she suspended herself, apparently,” he replies, shrugging. “In essence, she's on a sabbatical, if you prefer.”

“Did… Did she inform you or anyone here why?” she manages to ask, trying desperately to figure out something–anything.

Martin sighs, placing the trays on his unruly desk. “Wish I knew, really. But she left with only two words 'personal reasons'. That's all we got.”

Wanda stands frozen, questions swirling in her mind, none finding an outlet. Her eyes moisten, and she swallows hard, her worry for you amplifying every second. She scans the room one more time, a futile effort to find answers.

“The last time I saw her,” he starts, his voice breaking her trance, “She seemed...off. Like she was wrestling with something. Something big.”

Her heart lurches. The last time your career was put on hold was when the two of you had to navigate through the tangled mess of divorce proceedings. If even your assistant has noticed that something was amiss, it must mean that whatever you're going through is truly serious, enough to have disrupted your usually composed work life.

“If she calls in, could you let her know that I came by? And that I need to speak to her urgently?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

Martin nods, his face softening for the first time. “I will. And if I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

With a sigh of resignation, Wanda hands him her card and manages a small, tight-lipped smile as a parting gesture.

Yes, you've disappeared on her before, but this time it feels different–a gnawing worry eating at her gut that she can't ignore. She knows it's not like you to abandon your responsibilities, not without a strong reason. You no longer have Natasha–or Yelena, for that matter–to turn to which makes it all the worse.

She needs to find you.

***

“She’s not home,” the words ring out, echoing in the grandiose lobby of your apartment building.

The statement is identical to the one she had been fed two days prior.

“Can I go up to the apartment?” she implores, searching for an excuse for them to let her in. “I... I left my purse there.”

But the concierge, rigid in his protocols, shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Miss. Without the tenant present or without their explicit permission, I can't let you in.”

You're not at your office. Not at your apartment. Your absence is a gaping void, pulling her to the brink of panic.

“But you don't understand,” she retorts, her voice stronger now, her fear manifesting as assertiveness. “I need to find her. No one has seen her in the recent week, and she's not answering her phone. I need to...I need to make sure she's okay.”

“Rest assured, she’s fine. She recently got in touch with us about the utility bills,” he assuages.

But it does nothing to quell her rising anxiety. Sure, you might have called about the utility bills, but that was a routine chore, something that could be done from anywhere, even automated. It didn't necessarily mean you were okay.

Wanda sighs, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the throbbing headache brewing there.

“Did she say anything else?” she asks, desperation tinting her words. “Anything at all that might indicate where she is?”

He shakes his head, his expression distant and almost uncaring. “That was all.”

Her shoulders slump, her heart heavy, but her resolve unwavering. If she had to overturn every stone in the city, knock on every door, she would. She needs to know that you're safe.

Because even if the world believes you're okay, she knows better.

She knows you.

Later, that very same night, Wanda finds herself pacing restlessly in her living room like a caged animal. The worn floorboards creak under her weight as she tirelessly traces the same path over and over, her mind swirling, imagining the worst.

In her desperation, an idea occurs to her.

Natasha.

Their last conversation had been a little more than a week ago, but it had been far from pleasant. Accusations and blame were tossed around like grenades, and Natasha had left with a bitter parting shot.

She glances at the old wall clock. Late. Very late. But time has lost its meaning to her lately. It's been nothing but a constant reminder of your absence, every ticking second a chime of worry.

Chewing on her lower lip, she finally makes up her mind. She picks up her phone, her fingers trembling as they navigate to a contact she hasn't dialed in ages. She stares at the screen for a moment, then pushes the call button.

The dial tone drones in her ear. She waits, each ring echoing the magnitude of her worry. She needs to find you. And for that, she needs Natasha to pick up.

Wanda's breath catches in her throat as she waits, clutching the phone with trembling hands. The apartment feels still and silent, the only noise is that persistent, mocking ring.

Just when she's about to end the call, the dial tone stops. A beat of silence, then–

“Wanda?” Natasha's voice is clipped, cold even, but Wanda can't help but feel a surge of relief at hearing it.

“Natasha,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “I need your help.”

There's a pause on the other end, long enough for Wanda to feel a pang of doubt. She can almost see Natasha's face, the guarded expression that's become her default since the fallout.

“Why should I help you?” Natasha finally asks, her voice devoid of warmth.

“Because it's about her,” Wanda replies, her words tumbling out in a rush. “She's missing, Natasha. She's not at her apartment, not at work, and she's not answering her phone. I've tried everything. You're… you’re my last hope. Please.”

There's a long silence on the other end, the tension so thick she can almost taste it. Wanda can feel her heart in her throat as she waits, hoping against hope that Natasha will put aside their differences, their painful history, and help her find you.

Then, Natasha sighs, a sound that's both vexed and resigned. “Give me a few hours, Wanda,” she says finally, her voice laced with reluctance. “I'll see what I can find.”

Wanda manages a small, grateful nod, even though Natasha can't see it. “Thank you. I–I'll wait.”

The line goes dead, leaving Wanda with her worry and the late-night silence of her apartment. She drops onto the worn-out couch, her eyes fixed on her silent phone, her mind filled with thoughts of you.

But it turns out, she doesn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, her phone vibrates on the coffee table, startling her. Picking it up, she sees Natasha's name flashing on the screen.

That was peculiarly fast.

She answers it, her heart pounding.

“Why didn't you call her mother?” Natasha's voice is sharp, impatient.

Wanda blinks, visibly thrown off. “Her...her mother?”

“Yes, Wanda. Her mother!” Natasha sounds incredulous, exasperated. “She's in Montauk. She's been there for the past week. Her mother just confirmed it.”

Wanda's heart drops, a mix of relief and shame washing over her. She hadn't thought of calling your mother. In fact, she's been avoiding the idea altogether.

“I...I didn't call her because... because she blocked me,” Wanda admits in a small voice. “After she found out about my infidelity, she blocked me.”

There's a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. “Well, now you know,” Natasha says, a hint of softness creeping into her voice. “She's in Montauk.”

With that, the call ends. Wanda is left staring at her phone.

She wastes no time buying train tickets for the following day.

***

Years have passed since Wanda last tread the well-worn path leading to your childhood home.

The once vibrant paint now peels and fades, no recent attempts at refurbishment have been made, and yet, it retains a charm that's impossible to overlook. Sitting all by itself on the beach, it's about the most peaceful spot Wanda's ever known.

She's always loved coming to your place in Montauk, even though she's acutely aware that your mother's affections for her have always been less than warm. But as she stands there now, the salty sea breeze tugging at her hair, she looks up in awe.

Her gaze is drawn to the attic window–your old bedroom. She imagines you might be there. She wonders if you're asleep, tucked away in a corner where your bed is and always will be. She thinks about what you might be dreaming of. Are they good dreams? Or the kind that makes you wake up in a cold sweat? The thought of you being troubled, even in sleep, makes her heart ache.

She wishes she could be up there with you, could slide into the room and sit down next to you. She'd love nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to pull you close and wrap you in her arms. She'd whisper in your ear, tell you that everything's going to be okay. “I'm here,” she'd say. “And I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

But for now, she's stuck at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at that attic window. So with a sigh, she tears her gaze away, and turns back to the front steps. Eventually, her feet lead her to them, but she pauses, a knot of nerves twisting in her stomach. This isn't like the other times she's visited. There won't be a warm welcome from you, just the cold, guarded reception from your mother.

Taking a deep breath, she squares her shoulders and climbs the steps, her hand hesitating briefly over the door knocker. For a moment, she's tempted to turn back, to avoid the frosty confrontation. But she knows she can't. She's here for a reason.

The lingering echo of the knock seems to hang in the air before it's swallowed up by the constant rhythm of the sea. Then, the soft sound of footsteps resonates from within. Her pulse quickens in response. Fixing her eyes forward and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she readies herself for the encounter.

As the door creaks open, the familiar face of your mother appears. But her expression isn't the stern, guarded look Wanda has come to expect. Instead, her eyes hold a sense of knowing, as if your mother has been expecting her for a while now.

Wanda’s well-rehearsed words hang in her throat, momentarily lost amidst the surprise. But she quickly regains her composure, preparing to speak, when your mother breaks the silence.

“Took you long enough,” she says, her voice softer than Wanda remembers. “Come inside, dear.”

Taken aback, Wanda can only nod. She smiles politely at her in return as she steps across the threshold.

Soon enough, Wanda finds herself seated at the worn kitchen table, as your mother moves with an ease born of years spent there, preparing an early dinner. The scent of food simmering stirs the air, joining the comforting aroma of tea brewing on the stove.

As she cooks, she fills Wanda in on what’s been going on with you lately.

“She's been upstairs, in her old room, for days now,” she shares, nodding towards the ceiling as if it would help Wanda see you. “Doesn't come out much. Sometimes I hear her... crying, then nothing. She won't talk to me, no matter how much I try.”

Her usually steady hands reveal a hint of tremor as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I'm scared,”she admits, making brief eye contact with Wanda.

“I've been thinking... maybe it's about you.” she adds after a moment.

She doesn't say it like she's blaming Wanda, more like she's just trying to make sense of things. It leaves Wanda silent, turning the possibility over in her mind.

The kettle whistles, breaking the heavy silence. Your mom pours the hot water into a teapot and then turns to Wanda. “Tea?” she asks, like this is just any normal day.

“I’d love some tea, thank you,” Wanda responds, giving a brief nod. She takes the warm mug offered to her, the heat seeping into her palms. Afterwhich, she reaches for the jar of honey and adds a dollop of it in her tea.

As your mom settles down across the table, an uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen. The only sounds are the soft humming of the fridge and the occasional clink of a spoon against a cup as your mom stirs her own tea.

They just sit there, silently looking at each other over the worn kitchen table. Wanda takes a sip from her mug, feeling the tea's heat spreading through her, a pleasant contrast to the chilly November air that's started to creep into the house.

Every sip, every moment of silence, makes Wanda more aware of the pressing need to apologize to your mother. She's hurt you, her own daughter, and if what your mom suggests is true, she may even be the reason you've up and left your life in Manhattan.

Finding the courage, Wanda finally speaks up, her voice shaky but sincere. “I understand this may not change anything,” she begins, “But I need to apologize... for the pain I've caused. For betraying your trust, and more importantly, for betraying Y/N's.”

She can feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes, but she forces them back. This isn't about her pain; it's about yours, and perhaps your mother's too.

“I wish I can go back,” Wanda admits, her eyes falling shut to keep her tears at bay. “And undo everything.”

She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “I’ve done a lot of self-reflection. I've looked into the mirror and didn't like the person staring back. I was... I am... deeply flawed. But I'm trying, I really am. I've started therapy, trying to understand and learn from my past mistakes.”

Wanda takes a deep breath before proceeding. “Your daughter...she deserves the world. And I know, in your eyes and perhaps even in my own, I don't deserve her. But what I'm asking, I guess, is not for you to forget or to absolve me. It's for another chance. A chance to prove that I can be better. That I can make things right with Y/N. I’m asking for your blessing, should it be possible for us to try again.”

After her heartfelt confession, your mother just quietly sips her tea, her gaze steady on Wanda. The silence is deafening, broken only by the regular ticking of the kitchen clock.

Wanda squirms under the silent scrutiny, but she doesn't look away. Instead, she meets your mother’s steady gaze, even if her own eyes are red and her vision is blurry.

“I… I know actions speak louder than words,” she adds quietly, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “And I'm ready to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it may be, to show you... to show Y/N, that I am capable of change, of being the person she deserves.”

Then, it's quiet again.

The silence stretches on, and just when Wanda thinks your mother might never respond, she sets her tea down and begins to speak. But it's not a direct answer to Wanda's plea. Instead, she starts to tell a story.

“You know, Y/N was always a deeply emotional child,” she begins, her voice soft and her eyes distant, lost in memories. “She had this incredible ability to love, to pour all of herself into someone or something. She trusted easily, loved fiercely.”

She pauses and takes a slow breath, her gaze turning sadder. “And because of that, she often got hurt. People took advantage of her kindness, her unwavering loyalty. They saw her love as something to exploit rather than treasure.”

Wanda blinks in surprise when your mother extends her hand, clasping hers firmly on the tabletop. The unexpected touch all but strikes a chord.

“She's been through a lot, Wanda. Her heart's been bruised more times than I care to count. But she still loves with all she has, still trusts, even when she's been betrayed,” she says. “As her mom, all I ever wanted was for Y/N to find genuine happiness.”

Tears well up in Wanda's eyes, spilling over and trailing down her cheeks in crooked streams. With her free hand, she wipes them away hastily, while her other hand clings to your mother's in a gesture of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.

Your mother waits for Wanda’s wracking sobs to subside, before she gently lets go of Wanda’s hand and then looks out the window, her eyes turning steely.

“I don’t doubt your sincerity,” she tells Wanda. “But what I need is to see that light in her eyes again, that joy she used to have. If you can help bring that back to her, then we can talk about forgiveness.”

Wanda can do nothing but nod as she accepts the challenge of the task.

Your mother slowly rises from her chair, gathering the empty mugs on the table. “I've prepared dinner for tonight,” she says. “You can serve it when you're both ready.”

Wanda looks up, her eyes reflecting her confusion, “You're not staying?”

With a soft smile, your mother shakes her head, “I'll give you two some space to talk and sort things out. I'll be staying with a friend tonight.”

The offer leaves Wanda momentarily stunned, but she recognizes the trust and faith your mother is placing in her. It's a responsibility she doesn't take lightly, and she nods, hastily pulling herself together.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, her voice soft. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

Your mother reaches out to touch Wanda's arm, her eyes filled with understanding.

“Just do right by her,” she says.

After your mother grabs her purse and car keys, she leaves, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.

Wanda is left standing in the empty house. She looks around thoughtfully, the smell of the cooked dinner still lingering in the open space. Then, her eyes stray upwards towards the attic. She can't help the nervous flutter in her stomach as she thinks about what awaits upstairs.

Taking a deep breath, she firms her stance and prepares herself to face you.

As Wanda navigates the familiar hallways of this house, she's assaulted by a flurry of memories.

Most vivid of all are the memories of your bedroom during your college years. That sacred space where you both had surrendered to your desires, the place where you both discovered each other in the most intimate ways. The countless nights when whispers and soft sighs were swallowed by the plush pillows, the sheets a tangled mess of sweat and evidences of pleasure.

Each memory, each recollection, sends a shiver down her spine. She remembers the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the way your eyes would darken with desire. She remembers the feel of your body against hers, the thrill of being the only one to see you unravel.

She remembers the way you’d moan out her name. The way your breath would hitch when she touched you, the way your fingers would trace patterns on her skin. The way you would look at her, as if she was the only one that mattered, the only one you saw.

Chiding herself, Wanda shakes her head, a blush coloring her cheeks as she catches her mind in the gutter. While she terribly misses you, aches to be with you, this isn’t about her longings or her desires.

No, this is about checking on you. It's about making sure you're alright and not alone. That's the priority, and it's what keeps her focused right now.

Moving towards your room, Wanda raises her fist to knock, but as her knuckles make contact, the door creaks open on its own accord. She freezes, the noise sounding overly loud in the deafening silence of the house.

The sight that greets her makes her breath hitch. There you are, asleep in your bed, your back to her. Curled up under your Star Wars covers, you seem so small, so vulnerable. A small smile pulls at the corners of Wanda's mouth, seeing you cocooned in remnants of your adolescence–the old covers, the posters lining the walls, the trophies gathering dust on the shelves. It’s endearing, and so quintessentially you.

Wanda carefully slips off her shoes, setting them neatly next to your own pair by the door. The room is quiet, save for the soft sound of your steady breathing. She doesn't want to disturb your peace, doesn't want to pull you from what seems to be a rare, restful sleep.

With cautious movements, she edges towards the bed, lifting the corner of the blanket. As silently as she can, she slips under them, feeling the familiar warmth they hold. She shuffles closer to you, wrapping her arms gently around you from behind. Your body is a comforting presence, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her own worries.

As if on cue, even in your sleep, you move closer to her. You shift backwards, snuggling into her arms as if your body remembers the familiarity of her presence.

Closing her eyes, Wanda allows herself to relax for the first time in days. The constant worry, the relentless anxiety of the past week begins to ebb away. Here, holding you, she finally allows herself to succumb to her own exhaustion.

A while later, beneath your lids, your eyes move restlessly. And like the recent days, it's the same nightmare that haunts you. Wanda, lying motionless in a hospital bed, a sight that sends cold tendrils of fear winding around your heart.

In your dream, you're a phantom, invisible and unheard. You're screaming, pleading, shouting for someone to hear you, to help her. But your voice, your presence, goes unnoticed. You watch helplessly as her heart rate dips, her once vibrant life draining away before your eyes. And then the dreadful flatline–

With a start, your eyes fly open. The world spins for a moment before settling down. In your sleep, you've moved so that Wanda now lays on your chest, sleeping soundly. Your arms are wrapped securely around her, a protective gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

As your eyes adjust back to reality, your mind doesn't quite catch up in time. For a moment, you believe this too is a dream. But in this one, Wanda is safe, wrapped snugly in your arms, far away from any harm. With gentle fingers, you start brushing through her soft hair, the familiar motion soothing. You find yourself slowly massaging her scalp, a habit from the good old days.

The gentle motion stirs Wanda, her eyes fluttering open to meet your startled gaze. As she squints up at you, drowsy and slightly confused, the pieces fall into place for you. This isn't some surreal dream.

Wanda is actually here, with you.

“W-What time is it?” Her question is barely a whisper, the words escaping her in a quiet, sleep-addled mumble.

Your response is a knee-jerk reaction, a surprise that compels you to pull away. But there's nowhere to retreat, no room to distance yourself from the reality before you. Trapped between Wanda and the wall, in the confined space of the single-sized bed, you have nowhere to go.

“W-Why…” you begin, your voice coming out raspy from sleep and shock. Your eyes dart around as if seeking an escape.

Before you can finish your sentence, Wanda’s hand reaches for yours, her fingers curling reassuringly around your wrist.

“Hey, it's me. You're okay,” she murmurs softly, but you remain tense, suspicious.

You don’t try to scramble further away, but you remain tense under her touch.

“Why are you here?” you finally manage to get out, your voice trembling slightly. “You shouldn't be here. You need to go.”

Wanda looks jolted at your words, her eyebrows shooting up. “Go?” she echoes, incredulity seeping into her tone. “Why would I go? You've been missing for days. I've been worried sick.”

Your heart aches at the crack in her voice, a clear indication of her sleepless nights, but the need to protect Wanda from you overpowers your sympathy.

“I can't...I can't tell you why,” you stammer out, hugging your knees to your chest, using them as a barrier between you and her.

Wanda's grip tightens around your wrist. “Why not?” she insists, her voice laced with frustration. “You can't just disappear and expect me to leave when I finally find you.”

“Because you’re not safe,” you say, avoiding her eyes.

“But why?” She pushes, her voice shaking with worry. “What do you mean I'm not safe?”

You struggle to find the right words, your throat dry. “You just... you just aren't, Wanda. Please, just leave.”

Her eyebrows pull together as she stares at you, as she searches your face for some explanation. Then, a name flickers across her expression, and her body goes rigid.

Pietro.

Shit.

What did he do?

“Y/N?” Wanda utters slowly. “Did you… Did you find out about my–”

“Yes,” you cut her off. Not wanting to hear from Wanda herself what–

What you’ve put her through.

The memory of the hospital report you secured after you found out, the graphic details of the picture that was sent to you—they've been haunting your nightmares for days.

Your hand slips out of hers as you awkwardly sit up, pressing your back against the unyielding concrete with a wince of discomfort. Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide and her lips parted, as if she's just now realizing the gravity of what you’ve been really dealing with.

“I found out, Wanda. About the pills,” you say quietly, your voice shaking. “The night I left...you overdosed. And I–I didn't even know.” You run a hand through your hair, frustration and guilt making you feel sick.

“That's why you can't be here, Wanda. That's why you have to leave. Because I can't... I can't be the cause of your pain anymore.”

Wanda looks at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, then, as if a switch is flipped, her expression crumbles.

Despite all the tears she's already shed over the past week, she finds that she's not done yet. She's cried so much she thought she had nothing left, but there's always more when it comes to the pain you're both in.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you firmly. She says it like she's trying to drill it into your head, her jaw set, teeth clenched. She wants you to believe her. She needs you to believe her.

It's not your fault.

The dam holding back your own tears finally gives way. “How can you say that, Wanda?” you choke out, your voice shaking as much as you are. “I have proof that I almost killed you!”

But Wanda just shakes her head, stubborn as always. She won't accept what you're saying, won't see the truth of the matter. And so, you switch tactics.

“Why are you still here, Wanda?” you ask, your voice suddenly cold. “Why are you still looking for me? Why do you act like you still...care? Is it guilt? You cheated on me and now you're stuck with me out of pity? Do you pity me because you got the good side of this mess?”

Your words hang heavy in the silence that follows. Wanda just blinks at you, her eyes wide and shock clearly etched on her face. She pulls back slightly, her face flushing with a mix of hurt and anger.

“You think I pity you?" she whispers, her voice shaking with the intensity of her emotions. “You think this is guilt?”

But before you can answer, she's already shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears again. “No, you're wrong. It’s not pity, it’s not guilt. It’s...it’s…”

Her voice breaks off as she clutches the fabric of your shirt in her fists. “It’s because I love you, you idiot,” she finally admits, her confession plunging the dagger further into your beating heart. “Despite what they say…despite all of it, I still love you.”

It's raw and painful and beautiful all at once, but it also scares you more than anything. Because if Wanda still loves you, despite everything that's happened, then you're going to have to fight even harder to protect her from yourself.

“Wanda, I…” you try to protest, to explain, to push her away, but your words die in your throat when she suddenly crashes her lips onto yours. It's fierce and demanding, full of so many unsaid words and bottled-up emotions.

Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer while one of her hands finds its way to your hair, holding you in place. She's practically clinging onto you, as if she's afraid you'll disappear again.

Your initial shock fades away as the kiss deepens. You melt into her, your resistance collapsing. Your arms instinctively go around her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between you.

Everything narrows down to the sensation of her lips moving against yours. The kiss is intoxicating and it's not long before you find yourself giving in, the guilt and fear momentarily forgotten.

What you’ve put her through.

But the words flash behind your eyes again. You can't help but question if this, the intoxicating sensation of being with Wanda Maximoff, can absolve you of it all.

Your thoughts whirl, but Wanda seems to know exactly what you need. She breaks away just enough to capture your hands, bringing them to her flushed cheeks.

And then, with her eyes closed, trusting, she whispers, “You’re not hurting me, Y/N.” Your hands tremble as they stay on her face, moving cautiously, as if she's a fragile piece of glass that might shatter under your touch.

When Wanda opens her eyes, you're struck by their clarity, their luminosity. “See?” she whispers. “All I feel is how much you love me. I–I know you do…”

In the next beat, she's guiding your hands lower, slipping them beneath her shirt to rest against the warm skin of her waist. Without thinking, your fingers begin to move, massaging the soft dips of her stomach, tracing the familiar curves and lines of a body you've known and cherished for years.

“All I feel is your warmth. Your tenderness,” she murmurs, a slight catch in her breath as your hands start to move upwards, brushing aside her bra to gently cradle her breast. “Your desire. Your love that nurtures me, makes me thrive,” she finishes, a small gasp escaping her as she feels herself responding to your touch, her nipples hardening against your palm.

“So, please, Y/N,” she cries desperately as you wordlessly make quick work of removing her shirt and bra. “Please don’t make me go. I need you.”

It's hard to resist her, especially when she looks at you with such pleading eyes. You’ve always had a difficult time saying no to Wanda, and this moment is no different.

After shedding your own shirt, you pull her close, the skin-on-skin contact sending sparks through your veins. For a moment, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, tangled together in a cocoon of your own making.

Your resolve wavers, then collapses. You can't deny her, not now, not ever.

Taking a deep breath, you lean in to press your forehead against hers. “I want to make you feel good,” you say, and before Wanda can utter her agreement, you press your lips against her delicately.

The kiss is slow and tender, a gentle exploration rather than a heated demand. It's a promise, a vow to take your time and be mindful of her needs. You want to make up for all the hurt you've caused her, and this is where you'll start.

Without breaking the kiss, you carefully guide back down on the bed. Your fingers dance over the button of her jeans and when you can't proceed without breaking the kiss, you do so reluctantly. Wanda lets out a soft whine at the loss of contact, her impatience showing as she moves her hips to aid you in removing her pants. Once she’s left in just her underwear, you take a moment to appreciate the sight before you.

Wanda, naked in your teenage bed, her skin flushed and her thighs pulled together to relieve the delicious ache in between them. And your instinct is to worship every inch of her until she’s calling out to another higher power in the midst of your care.

Growing restless, Wanda eases herself off the bed, just enough to clasp the nape of your neck, drawing you back to another sweet entanglement of her lips.

This time, you get lost in the moment, letting your tongue outline the shape of her mouth, tasting the mix of her salty tears and the sweet remnants of her honeyed tea. You leisurely familiarize yourself with her, navigating the familiar paths inside her mouth, until the top of your thigh accidentally bumps into her clothed center.

The sudden touch makes Wanda gasp. Her head rolls back, her eyes tightly closed, and you press into her again–harder. You watch as her mouth forms the perfect 'o,' each quick, sharp puffs matching the rhythm you’ve now set with your hips. Your hand trails down from the nape of her neck, across the delicate expanse of her shoulders, before settling on her waist, using it as a leverage to drive harder into her.

“Y/N–P-Please…” Wanda's plea hangs in the thick air between you two. She doesn't know exactly what she's asking for, only that she'll lose her mind if you don't act soon.

Knowing what she needs, you push her thighs apart and lift them towards herself, until her knees are almost touching her shoulders. Grabbing her bottom, you tilt her hips slightly upwards, slotting your thigh directly over Wanda’s cunt.

And then, without warning, you lower down to start driving your leg into her soaked core.

“Baby, what are you–oh, fuck!” Wanda can't hold back the scream that's torn from her throat.

Your fingernails dig sharply into her ass as you encourage her to fuck your leg. Your arms are working hard, holding up the lower half of Wanda's body at the precise angle you need. You duck your head to suck on the hollow of her throat, making Wanda squirm as she encircles her arms around your shoulders, keeping you in place.

While you continue to maintain your rhythm, her slippery underwear—the lone piece of clothing she still has on–becomes too drenched that they slide right into and get stuck between her pussy lips, the folds of the fabric adding a pleasurable friction to her clit. At this moment, you decide to let your mouth venture further down her torso until it finds a hardened peak, and you waste no time immediately nursing on her teat.

In a matter of seconds, Wanda feels the familiar coil in her belly. Her escalating cries, coming in sharp bursts, echo in your ear, a clear indication of the inevitable. She wraps her legs around your waist as her breathing becomes more frantic, encouraging you to plough into her mercilessly. On the next thrust, your hand releases its grip on one of her buttocks to push her panties aside and pump two fingers into her without preamble, before switching your mouth to her other nipple, giving it the same furious attention.

“Fuck, I’m–nnnghh!” Wanda yelps, and all it takes is one more slam of your hips before Wanda's entire body stiffens, her back arching into a perfect bow. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from closing your teeth around her areola as you feel her continue to buck against you, riding the final waves of her high.

Moments later, you finally let go of her nipple with a wet pop when she weakly tugs at the back of your head, and you gently lap at the reddened area, tending to it with soft kitten licks. Once you’re satisfied, you climb back up to softly kiss Wanda’s closed eyelids, feeling her body slacken in your hold as she slowly recovers from her orgasm.

You continue to sprinkle a few more kisses randomly across her face, until her giggles ripple through you, the sound of her laughter chiming like bells in your ears.

“Good?” you ask while still inside her, your other hand caressing the curve of her cheek as you gaze into her eyes, ensuring she's completely comfortable in every way.

Wanda bites her lip and nods, a blush coloring her cheeks as she basks in the intense attention you're showering her with and the weak, come-hither motion of your fingers still inside her.

“Good,” you say with a soft smile, and then Wanda’s breath catches as your eyes darken once more, pulling your fingers out of her carefully before licking them clean. “Because now I want to taste you.”

“But you haven’t–”

“This is what I want,” you calmly assure her. In reality, you want a number of things. You want to apologize to her. You want to feel that she’s there with you. That she’s alive, even if she’s a puppet on a string, at the mercy of your mouth and fingers.

You want to erase the image seared into your mind of Wanda, lifeless and cold.

Wanda smiles at you, and you respond by leaning in to give her a gentle kiss, a silent promise that it’s not because you’re merely rejecting her touch. What you really want is to love her right now, and perhaps see her let go and lose herself in the moment.

Slowly, you start to trail kisses down her stomach, stopping just above her navel to playfully swirl your tongue within it, eliciting a reaction from Wanda as she arches her body upwards, offering herself to you. As you continue, your hands glide her underwear down her legs, before casually discarding it somewhere behind you.

Instantly, her scent fills your nostrils, making your mouth water. You fight the urge to dive right in, not wanting all of this to end too soon. You follow the smell of her arousal to its source, your nose skimming over the area above her pubic bone, the apex of her thighs, anywhere but where Wanda’s gushing out in need.

Wanda feels an urge to beg you to stop teasing, but she understands that's not what you're doing. She recognizes why you're taking your time, even though the deliberate pace is making her grow more frustrated by the second.

As for you, emotions well up inside as you discern that Wanda is surrendering to you, reminding you of your ability to make her feel good, to make her happy, and it's taking all your strength not to crumble and break down in front of her.

Even amid the heavy fog of desire, Wanda experiences a rush of gentle affection when she feels your fingers intertwining with hers, providing her a comforting squeeze. But Wanda should have taken that as her warning, when in a split second, she feels your tongue dart out to taste the length of her.

Wanda's head lolls to the side, her eyes tightly closed. She hadn't anticipated that the buildup would be this intense, that such a simple move would drive her crazier than usual. She whimpers as you lick her languidly, almost reverently, as if you’re memorizing her taste and every crease and every sound your tongue elicits.

This time, when Wanda reaches her climax, it's more than just the physical sensations pushing her over the edge.

It's your smile that she feels brushing her dewy skin, it's the hums of approval you're voicing, it's the way your eyes lock with hers, absorbing her every reaction, in sync with her sensations and emotions.

The way you’d rest your head on her stomach while catching your breath.

Much like how it was when loving her was something you were so proud of.

As midnight approaches, you finally give in to Wanda's pleas for you to stop. She's come more times tonight than ever before in her life, and with her stomach growling in hunger, all she can think about is the beef stew your mother left in the kitchen for both of you.

She extracts her tired body from your secure hold, and dresses herself in comfortable silence, while you sit on your bed, confused and not knowing what to do with yourself now that you’ve accomplished your mission of making Wanda come a record-breaking six times.

Wanda stretches languidly, much like a cat, her bones making small popping sounds that draw a soft moan from her. She then tells you that she'll warm up the dinner you were meant to have and bring it back up to eat in the room.

As she makes her way to the kitchen, the rich, comforting aroma of the beef stew your mother had prepared earlier that evening wafts into the hallway, causing her stomach to complain louder.

Approaching the stove, she finds the pot still sitting there, the stew inside cooled. She turns on the burner underneath, and waits for it to heat up. All the while, her thoughts continue to race. She wonders if giving herself to you tonight has somehow provided you with the comfort you needed after finding out about her overdose on the night you left.

Did it reassure you to see her not just alive, but right there with you? Did the intimate connection help to ease any lingering fears or guilt from that night?

Once the stew has warmed enough, she ladles it into two bowls and carefully makes her way back up the stairs. As she nudges the bedroom door open with her foot, she's met with a sight that warms her heart. You're sitting there, now modestly dressed in a pair of pajamas, looking far more composed than when she'd first walked into your room earlier in the evening.

Your hair is neatly combed back, and the lines of worry that had marked your face earlier have faded, replaced with a serene expression.

However, your eyes tell a different story. Something significant has shifted, and she can't quite put her finger on what it is.

“Will you set those down for a moment? I need to tell you something,” you tell her, your voice eerily calm. It sends a ripple of unease through her, yet she does as you ask.

Quietly, Wanda places the bowls of hot stew on the nearby dresser. The comforting scent of the dish wafts through the room, yet her earlier hunger has been replaced by an uneasy feeling that ties her stomach in knots. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

You take a deep breath before you begin, as if you're preparing yourself as well for what you have to say.

“I… I'm not sure how to go about it, or even why I'm doing it, but... you should hear this,” you start off.

“Last week, I... I tried sleeping with a stranger because I wanted to understand, to put myself in your shoes,” you continue, not waiting for her response. Wanda is quiet as she listens to your confession, each word slicing through her like a blade.

“I wanted to feel... what it was like for you when you chose him. When you chose him over us, over what we had,” you say, your voice wavering slightly.

Wanda can hardly breathe. “Y/N…”

“I couldn't do it,” you blurt out, your words spilling over one another in your haste. “Even though technically, we aren’t together, I… I couldn’t be with someone else,” you say in a choked half-sob, half-laugh that pushes Wanda dangerously close to a fresh torrent of feelings.

Tears flow freely down your cheeks now, your nose sniffling from the congestion. You sniffle, struggling to draw in breaths through your mouth to compensate for the hindered airflow.

“How?” you force out the question, your voice filled with aching pain as you look at Wanda, your face contorted with sorrow. “How was it so easy for you?”

Wanda doesn't have an immediate answer to your question, instead, she just looks at you, her heart breaking with every sob that shakes your body.

“It wasn't... it wasn't easy,” she finally stammers out, her mind frantically revisiting the long weeks she spent with Calliope, trying to unpack her baggage and find something, anything, that might ease your pain. “Nothing about this has been easy, Y/N.”

But she knows it's not the answer you want.

“I wish I had a straightforward answer,” she starts, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I wish I had a valid reason... something. But I don't... I just... don't. You were–are–everything to me, Y/N. You’re patient, loving, caring. You deserved so much better.”

She can't justify her actions. She can't explain why she risked the one person who loved her unconditionally. And it's a different kind of torment, the understanding that there's no satisfying explanation, no logical reason for her betrayal.

“I don’t trust you,” you admit to Wanda, a deep sorrow seeping into your voice.

“Y/N, I…” Wanda starts, but you raise your hand to silence her.

“Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me,” you cut her off, your voice a broken whisper. “But every time I see you, every time I'm around you, it's like... it's like I'm back at square one,” you continue, your voice strained. “I don't know if I can ever trust you again, Wanda. And worse, I don't trust myself around you.”

Your gaze drops to your lap, where your hands are tightly knotted together, knuckles white with the effort.

“And I don't know if this feeling will ever stop,” you add, more to yourself than to her. “I'm just so tired of it all. Tired of feeling this way, tired of... going around in circles.”

Wanda swallows thickly, her throat constricted. Her heart feels like it's being ripped apart at the seams as she watches you, so vulnerable, so hurt. All because of her.

“I...I could never have done that to you.” you tell her with finality.

“I know,” she answers, her voice filled with an emotion so raw it makes your chest tighten. “I know you’d never do anything to hurt me like that. It's... it's unbearable, Y/N. But I... I'm so sorry. I want to try, if you're willing... I want to earn your trust and forgiveness.”

“I need to earn your trust back,” Wanda corrects herself quietly, cowering, expecting you to laugh in her face with how delusional she is for begging you the one thing that she already destroyed. “I know it won't be easy, and I don't even know if it's possible, but I have to try, Y/N. I can't... I can't lose you again without even trying.”

A part of you rebels at the idea, reminds you of all the reasons why you should harden your heart and walk away–for the sake of you both. Yet, another part, a larger part, doesn't want to. Despite the hurt and betrayal, despite the broken pieces, you still care for her.

You want to trust her again. You want to be in love in the purest sense.

(You’re already in love, you just want to stop questioning it.)

“I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy to deal with,” you warn her, your voice thick with sincerity. “I can't just... sweep all of this under the rug, Wanda.”

“I can handle that,” she replies with a soft smile, her voice full of certainty.

“Can you really?” you question, disbelief plain in your tone. “What if you blindside me again? What if I do something that would put you in harm’s way again?”

Wanda nods knowingly. “Which is why we can't do this by ourselves alone.”

“What do you suggest?” you ask curiously.

“That we seek professional help.” she says without hesitation.

“Professional help?” you repeat, slightly surprised. You hadn't considered this avenue, but the complexity of your situation seems to call for it.

Her practical approach impresses you, her willingness to explore different ways to mend things. The idea of exposing your deepest emotions to a stranger in a clinical setting is intimidating. But if Wanda is willing to do it, to unpack everything and lay it all out in the open like a defenseless soldier in a middle of a battlefield, then–

“Okay,” you say finally.

“Okay?” Wanda looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, making her look so innocent like a child.

You nod, your lips curling into a tentative smile. “I guess… we could try.”

A watery smile flickers on Wanda's face as she carefully circles her arms around your neck. You reciprocate her hug, hesitant at first, but then with more confidence as you both meld back into each other. For a while, you simply sit there, clinging onto each other, until Wanda’s rumbling stomach shatters the moment.

Chuckles bubbling up, Wanda draws back from your hold and says, “Should we get to that stew now?”

Grinning, you give a playful snort and rise to fetch the bowls of warm stew yourself.

Then it hits you, the real fear isn't the dread of her repeating the same mistakes nor the risk of hurting each other again.

No, it's the idea of her being here with you, and not putting in the effort to make things right.

And that, you decide, is something you don't think you could live with.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 5 months

Note

i watched spto and i'm down bad for matthew patel now so uh- can i request platonic matthew patel x reader where reader works at gman media and they become friends with him after he realizes just how out of his depth running the place and just like breaks down to the nearest person that he has no idea what he's doing?

Oufh I gotta admit the same thing-

......

Being a custodian at G-Man Media certainly wasn't the job you hoped for, but at least it was a job that paid well...better than anything McDonalds could have provided.

And of course, that's only because it used to be run by gazillionaire Gideon Graves.

Yes. Used to.

There was a huge change in management that literally happened overnight--as your boss was defeated in battle by Matthew Patel, and he became the CEO of pretty much everything the former had.

The two record labels, fourteen animal shelters, movie studio, etc. etc. were now all his for the taking.

Never in a million years would you imagine that this theater-obsessed punk who was Ramona's first evil ex-boyfriend would be able to overthrow the G-Man himself.....and yet he won.

Of course, the aforementioned battle they had resulted in some serious damages and a lot of repairs having to be done in several rooms and floors. But if anything you were just relieved Matthew chose to disband the League of Evil Exes. You didn't have to clean up all their messes or fix anything Luke, Todd, or the twins' robot might have broken.

Even better was that Gideon wasn't around to nitpick at every little thing anymore.

That was a huge upside for you.

On the downside, however...your new boss was somehow both better and worse than him.

Matthew was thrown into such a tough role so quickly, and while he seemingly had everything under control with his demon hipster chicks becoming his agents.....sometimes he just looked lost.

Sure, he seemed to like shouting out orders and getting escorts in fancy helicopters, but when it came down to actual business stuff, he kept asking his employees about different things--even painfully obvious things.

You've never talked to him much even before this, although you usually keep to yourself and don't really speak unless spoken to. But you can tell he's struggling to maintain his image.

Still, you don't wanna say anything that might anger him or get you fired.

And besides, he had mystical powers that were ten times cooler than anything Gideon ever had, so pissing him off would be most unwise.

.......

It's late in the evening when you're heading to your final stop before getting to go home: Matthew's office.

He didn't say anything in particular had to be repaired, although you figured there was no harm in double-checking things. For all you know, the TV's wiring might need to be fixed or a screw in the table might've come loose.

Hopefully he didn't mind. You're usually in and out of there by the time he returns from whatever business trip he attended.

Yet upon entering his office, you stood in your tracks upon seeing that he was there, sitting all alone....apparently brooding and monologuing to himself. You were used to seeing him doing that sort of thing.

But this time something seemed...off.

Even his demon agents were concerned and looked grateful you showed up, immediately stepping aside so you could walk in further, hearing his mumbling become more coherent.

"What am I doing with my life? This isn't what I went to college for..."

"Mr. Patel, sir?" You called out cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"....no, actually. Everything is NOT okay!" Slamming his hands onto the table, he stared up at you from across the table, taking a moment to identify you. You could see how exhausted and bloodshot his eyes were, along with his eyeliner looking more smudged. "You're the custodian, right...[y/n], was it?"

You blinked, surprised he remembered your name. "Correct. I was just-"

"Look, [y/n]..I've been feeling really awful lately and I just need to....get some stuff off my chest. And since you're the only one here right now, you get to listen to me." He then pointed to a chair near him. "Sit, and don't you dare tell anyone what we've discussed, capiche?"

Even though the clock was ticking close to the time you went home, concern over your boss' mental stability took priority over everything else at that moment. So you listened to his demand and took a seat, remaining silent and patient.

As Matthew slumped back into his chair, his whole expression shifted into one of sadness, as though he just lost his best friend. "I'm....not cut out for this job..." He confessed. "This isn't what I envisioned myself doing."

"I imagine it's been difficult. But for the record, you've only been doing this for-"

"I've already lost this company billions of dollars."

You blinked. "Billions, sir?"

"Yes, billions! You know, I-I only defeated Gideon Graves in battle because he would have taken my life if he won. And for a while it felt good to have all of his fame and fortune.......but now it....i-it just sucks! The paperwork never stops, I can barely catch a break, I don't know any of the computer passwords, and I don't even like wearing this stupid suit!!" Laying his head on the table, he banged his fist against it, choking back tears. "I'm a theater major..not a business major, damn it!"

'Poor Matthew..' You frowned slightly. "If all of this is so overwhelming, maybe you could-"

"No." He quickly sat up, his face darkening with a deep scowl. "I am NOT giving anything back to that lying scumbag! Besides, we have a legally binding contract that states all his properties are mine! That means permanently! Forever!"

"My apologies, sir..i-it was only a suggestion." You put your hands up, feeling tense especially as his demons were now frowning at you. "I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately...and there's no shame in admitting that."

Matthew blinked. "You've noticed?"

"I have." You nodded. "I mean..a lot of people go to college for one thing and suddenly wind up in an entirely different field. I know my opinion may not matter much, but...I think you're doing a great job despite your lack of experience."

He shrunk back, no longer looking angry but rather...guilty?

"Thank you.." He sighed. "I'm sorry for never saying this, but you've been a huge help cleaning up after all our messes when we had the League of Evil Exes. So..you better give yourself a little credit, too."

Now it was your turn to be flattered, as you smiled and chuckled. "Thank you, Mr. Patel. I appreciate that."

"Uh-huh..and there's something else, too.."

"And what would that be?"

"....I only refuse to throw in the towel because this company can give me the funds necessary to make the Scott Pilgrim musical a reality." He confessed.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow. "A musical based off of that guy you killed?"

"Yes. But apparently he's alive. Ramona told me."

"....I see-"

"BUT as soon as the production takes off, I may or may not return some of Gideon's empire to him. I'm sure that asshole is scheming to reclaim it as we speak..." He grumbled, his attitude turning sour again.

You thought about what you could say to cheer him up without patronizing him...but fortunately that wasn't too hard to figure out.

"I wouldn't worry about him. May I ask who you'll be starring as in the musical?" You rested your arms on the table, smirking as you saw the way Matthew's eyes lit up.

"Why, of course!" With a wide grin, he jumped up onto the table, dramatically posing. "I will be the main character: Scott Pilgrim!! I vow to delight and entertain people everywhere!" He laughed, before he stopped and stared down at you. "[Y/n], may I show you a presentation of my many one-man shows? They've all prepared me for this moment and I'd love your opinion on them."

"Sure." Shrugging, you smiled and leaned back in your seat. "I'm getting paid overtime for this, right?"

His face fell flat. "...I'm supposed to give you guys overtime?"

"Well...Gideon never did, but--nevermind." You shook your head. "You can roll the footage."

His grin returned as he snapped his fingers, causing the room to darken and the TV to come to life, showing off one of his many recorded performances.

It was a two hour long video, but entertaining nonetheless. You recognized a lot of the songs and were impressed by all his method acting.

It's no wonder he made such a convincing CEO.

After that, he finally allowed you to go home with a promise to give you overtime....although not before he exchanged phone numbers with you as thanks for being his unofficial therapist for the day.

He claims it's so he can update you on the musical's progress and "other business stuff", as he put it.

But he kept calling you on your days off to talk, insisting you referred to him as Matthew instead. "Mr. Patel" was slowly starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

You didn't mind it, though.

At this point, you accepted the fact that you became your boss' first (and possibly only) friend.

Maybe after he surrenders the G-Man empire for good, that friendship can continue.

#clanask #anonymous #scott pilgrim x reader #scott pilgrim takes off x reader #spto x reader #matthew patel #matthew patel x reader #platonic

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adonis-koo · 1 year

Text

sweet nothing • 5

(In which he is most definitely sick)

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word Count: 2k

Previous | Next

Note: I'm back AGAIN, simply because I can't get enough of these two!!! they're my life line these days tbh! i know I said there wasn't a lot of plot to this BUT....theres definitely some plot if you squint

“Are you sick?”

Jungkook looked horrendous, it was evident he hadn’t showered yet, as his hair was somewhat oily, wild and unbrushed, his voice was raspy and the moment he greeted you good morning, it was evident he was congested.

“I don’t get sick.” Jungkook replied, but his voice alone gave away the discomfort he was feeling, he sat at the small table attempting to eat but after two bites and the pure agony of attempting to swallow, he gave up.

Your lips parted before closing once more, a sigh escaping you, “If only that were the case,” this had been your concern since he had come home late a few days ago, soaked to the bone and freezing cold.

Yesterday when he had taken you out you noticed he had been sniffling, but aside from that he sounded totally find, today he looks like he had been hit with a car.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I have three board meetings today, a stack of paper work in my office that needs to be signed and a deal tonight at the Red Light, I can’t afford to be sick.”

“Jungkook,” You chastised softly, “Do you even hear yourself? I don’t think anybody is gonna want to be around you when you sound like that. What are your symptoms?”

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are!” You spoke over him, your expression shifting into anger at his stubbornness, “whether you like it or not! You’re sick. Now tell me so I can figure out whether I need Jimin to call the doctor or not.”

Jungkook groaned as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in thought before he reluctantly spoke, “My throat feels like it’s on fire. Even speaking feels like I’m swallowing a dagger.”

“And I have a massive headache,” He ushered softly, eyes closing as he rubbed his head.

Your expression softened once more, “Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll call for Jimin to get the doctor and make sure you’re alright,”

“I am alright.” Jungkook replied, puffed up at your words, one glare however shut him up.

He tiredly blinked as he sunk into his seat, “I can’t just take the day off.”

“Then do what you can from bed.” You said with a frown, “But you’ll make others sick and yourself worse if you go out today.”

He said nothing got a long moment before he shook his head and got out of his chair, your eyes followed him across the room until he left, somewhat surprised at his lack of argument.

Yeonjun who had been digging through a folder off to the side briefly glanced up to the closed door and then to you, “That’s a first.”

“Pardon?” You asked.

He smiled, “Jungkook letting someone boss him around. It’s a rather nice change of pace.”

You scratched your cheek, uncertain of how to take the his words, your lack of reply only made Yeonjun continue though, “Y’know he used to..,” He cut himself off, as if realizing it wasn’t his place to meddle, “Sorry, I won’t bring it up. I’m sure neither of you want to dig up the past.”

The past…You gave a sad smile, picking at your food, “It’s alright, there’s nothing to dig up, Jungkook was a nice acquaintance back before I was pregnant, if you could even call him that. Nothing more…Yoongi is his partner, right?”

Yeonjun frowned, looking away warily before he eventually nodded, “You’ve met?”

You shook your head, “Only once, a long time ago, informally might I add.”

“Do you want me to ring for Jimin?” Yeonjun decided to change the subject, “That way you can finish eating?”

You nodded with a grateful smile, “Yes! That would be quite helpful.”

Jungkook looked downright annoyed as the doctor poked and prodded at him before he had finally come to a conclusion.

Turning to you as it was evident Jungkook was not in a good mood, “The good news is that it’s only a case of tonsillitis.”

You sighed in relief before you asked, “Is there bad news?”

“It’s a bacterial infection, so we’ll need to put him on antibiotics. Lots of rest and warm, soft foods will help, he should be better in a few days at most once the antibiotics are in his system.” The doctor gave a warm smile.

“Few days?” Jungkook’s brows pinched together in annoyance.

“I’ll be sure to keep him rested.” You cut over him with a smile, “Thank you Doctor Choi.”

“Of course Y/n, I will see you on Friday for your check up.” He gave a short bow before existing the room.

“I can’t be in bed for a few days!” Jungkook immediately piped up, though you didn’t miss the slight wince in expression at the obvious pain he was feeling.

“Doctors orders.” You gave him a sweet smile as you held your hands up.

He slumped back, glaring through his bangs at nothing in particular, “Can you at least get my laptop?”

You let out a noise of amusement as you stood up, one hand on your stomach, the other on your dully aching back, “I didn’t realize having strep throat made your legs not work.”

“You want me in bed or not?”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You giggled as you waddled out of the room and into the open space of his office, digging through paperwork you made sure nothing was messed up, before finding his laptop charger and eventually finding the source as well.

Opening the cracked door to his room however you smiled softly as the sight of him laid back down, knocked out once again, a soft snore even escaping him as you tutted, walking over you set his laptop on his nightstand before tenderly pulling his covers back over his shoulder.

His expression looked so delicate when he was asleep, lips parted slightly and brows relaxed, tenderly you brushed your fingers through his hair before catching yourself.

Your hand snapping back to your chest as if it had been burned, swallowing hard you shook your head, you had been thinking about the past a lot more these days.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Jungkook did the same.

Frowning you shook your head before you exited his room, there was no point dwelling on the what-if’s after all.

Most of the day had gone by quietly, there was something different about the estate when Jungkook was home, even if he was sleeping away or working in his room, his energy still filled the air and brought a comforting feeling to whatever you did.

Eventually the afternoon passed and an idea had overtaken you.

“What are you doing?” Yeonjun paused at the door as he cocked his head to the side, brimming with curiosity.

You turned towards Yeonjun with a grin, “You can’t tell Jungkook.”

He sighed, “I hate when you start a sentence with that.”

You pouted, “I’m making him soup!”

Yeonjun looked relieved, “Oh…okay, better than I anticipated, it does smell good here.” He glanced around the empty kitchen, “But the kitchen staff are already preparing supper.”

You crossed your arms once more, “Well, that doesn’t change that I’m making him something to eat. There’s nothing like home cooking when you’re sick!”

Yeonjun held up his hands, “If it’s from you I’m sure he’ll love it….” He shuffled closer before peering over your shoulder, “Will there be extra?”

“Are you asking for a bowl?” You grinned.

“Only if there’s extra.”

“There’s plenty.” You replied with an excited smile, giving a little happy dance as you grabbed a set of bowls, proudly pouring your soup before handing one to Yeonjun who looked like a little kid snatching it from your hands.

Setting the other bowl on a tray you tided it up with a nice hot ginger plum tea and a few napkins, “Tell me how it tastes! I’m gonna run this up to his room.”

“Don’t you want some?” Yeonjun had already grabbed a spoon, slurping noodles.

You grimaced, “Honestly the taste of chicken broth makes me wanna vomit, back when I had morning sickness the smell alone had me gagging.”

“That’s a shame because this is honestly the best soup I’ve ever had- second actually,” Yeonjun smiled at his bowl, “Reminds me of my mom’s when I was sick as a kid.”

You only smiled at his words before briefly glancing down at your stomach, large and round, you could only hope you’d make the best soup your baby would love one day.

“Well nothing can beat mom’s soup, hopefully it’ll be second best for Jungkook too.” You laughed a little as you walked past Yeonjun, carefully holding the tray.

You didn’t know much about Jungkook, truthfully, sure you had talked pre-pregnancy, but it always…you huffed, shaking your head.

This had been happening more frequently, memories of the past would surface and you’d have to shove them back down, the past was the past for a reason. You could only assume they kept coming up because well…

It was Jungkook.

Knocking on his door you heard a scratchy ‘come in’ before opening the door.

Jungkook was sat up in bed, looking tired as he typed away on his laptop, eyes dragging towards you before you noticed them brighten just a little.

His eyes then dropped to the tray before he stiffened, “Why are you carrying that?”

“I can-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Jungkook had already gotten out of bed, swaggering up to you before grabbing the tray.

“Ask Yeonjun next time.” It was difficult to take his chided words serious when he was rasping this hard, a wince visible on his face as he continued, “If you drop that-”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” You huffed, “I’m pregnant, not dying.” Your expression softened a little as a small smile tugged on your lips at the sight of his floppy bangs covering his eyes in a sulky manner, “Lay back down, I made you something to sip on. I always loved warm broth when I was younger.”

Jungkook set the tray on his nightstand as he sat back down at the edge of the bed, staring down at the steaming bowl, his expression nonpulsed for a long moment.

“You do like soup right?” You shuffled a little nervous at his quietness.

“Who the fuck doesn’t like soup?” He quipped, “I just…” He glanced away, “You didn’t have to do that…”

“Of course I did!” You replied immediately, “If I don’t then who will?”

Jungkook parted his lips before closing them, sighing but not saying anything else as he propped his nightstand up, it extended upwards before turning towards him, he paused before taking a sip, “Well don’t just stand there.”

You glanced around the room, not much had changed, a few chairs still against the wall, a particular spot open to the wall, opposite to a mirror on the other side of the room hanging.

“Have you considered redecorating?” You asked as you rounded the bed, choosing to sit beside him on the empty side.

Groaning you rested your back against the headboard as your hands dropped to your stomach.

Jungkook shrugged beside you, “Not much reason too. I thought it looked fine.”

He plopped the spoon in his mouth as his eyes shut. He was never a very expressive person, but there was something about that satisfied look on his face that made you smile.

“It’s alright, it's just…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling as though you weren’t as ready to have this conversation as you thought you were.

“Just what?” Jungkook’s brows furrowed.

You forced a smile as you shook your head, “Nothing.”

The same way you last remembered it.

You glanced at the that small open space of the wall between both the chairs, how cold it felt against your back when…

Jungkook could obviously sense the uncomfortable silence, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The soup.”

A somewhat hesitant smile tugged on your lips, “Of course. I’m…” Your smile became disheartened as you stood up, “I’m gonna start preparing for bed, you should get some more rest.”

Jungkook frowned but said nothing, though it looked like he wanted to, he only nodded.

You left his room feeling your feet drag as you closed your eyes, this feeling was something you were used to when it came to him.

This feeling of always dancing around one another, never talking about the tension in the room, except now it was even more evident then before.

You’d have to talk about it eventually.

I forgot all about my tags last chapter so I apologize!

taglist: @btseverafter7 @scuzmunkie @zae007live @cynicalbitch666 @somehowukook @bartisedrew @princess-sunshyn @jungk-shook-iiee @chickpea-jimin @hoseokteardrop @guk97butterfly @givemethemaknaes16 @bxcndd

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfic #mafia!jungkook

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schemmentis · 5 days

Text

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 12

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

La Cosa Nostra (Written w/ @janeyseymour) - Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

Summary: Melissa's side business begins, and you begin to feel the heaviness of your situation.

WC: 2.3k

“Good morning, Tony.” Shaw greets the salon manager as he steps towards him and his partner. “Where's Y/N?”

Tony crosses his arms. “Takin’ a vacation.” He answers coldly. “You got more questions; you're gonna have to ask me.”

“Tony,” Danik sighs. “We've been through this before, haven't we? The first time we were here. You know how it works, how about you save us the time and call your boss down here?”

“My boss?” Tony echoes. After a moment he nods. “Yeah, sure. I'll call my boss for ya.”

The last time they were here, the agents had paced the front of the salon as they waited, eyeing everything they could in their search. Today, they stay in a corner, watching the few stylists and Tony at work. Danik is a moment away from asking Tony how long this is going to take when someone walks into the front from the back of the salon.

The man is tall. His dark hair slicked back on his head, shiny with the product used to keep it in place. He looks at ease, calm, as he approaches the agents. He flashes a smile when he nears, white teeth shown and his eyes crinkling at the edges with the motion. His hand is held out to Danik and Shaw individually.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Agents. I had to finish things up with my other business.”

“I'm sorry…” Shaw starts as he shakes the man's hand. “Who are you?”

The man chuckles, nodding. “Ah sí, sí, mi scusi. I forget myself this morning. Luca Bellino, at your service. I'm happy to answer any questions you have or walk you through the back again if you like.”

The agents share a look between each other.

“I think there's been some misunderstanding.” Danik says as she looks back to Luca. “We asked to speak with Y/N.”

Luca’s head tilts to the side, looking back at the confused looking agents, matching their expression. “Did you?” He asks as his brow furrows. “I was told you requested the owner.”

“Well, yes.” Shaw says, a bit slowly. “The owner. Y/N.”

“Ah, I see, I see.” Luca sighs in sudden understanding. “Please, come with me.” He requests, turning and leading the agents to the back office of the salon.

“You must not have been informed.” Luca says as he steps through the office, opening a drawer of the filing cabinet and pulling a yellow file folder from it before closing it once more.

He sets the file folder to the desk, facing the agents standing on the other side of the wood. Deft fingers open the folder, tapping the papers now visible. “You see?” Luca says, looking back up to Danik and Shaw. “I'm the owner now. The salon was signed over to me a few days ago.”

“Y/N sold the salon to you?” Danik asks as she's studying the forms in front of them.

“Sí.” Luca answers as his hands cross at the wrists to rest at his waist, his head nodding. “You've seen our books, no? The salon hasn't been as profitable in the last few months. Y/N tried to bring it out of the red but in the end it was safer to sell, especially with her little family to think about.”

“So, now you're going to try to bring the salon’s profits up?” Shaw asks.

Luca smiles, though this time it doesn't reach his eyes. “Do not tell the stylists, or Tony.” He says softer, leaning a bit forward. “I haven't had the chance to speak with them yet and I'd hate for them to learn from anyone other than me but I’m working out the details of shutting the salon down.” Luca sighs, looking for all the world like he wishes he had another choice. “It's just too much to turn around and the clients aren't coming in like they used to. It's the best thing we can do before it gets worse.”.

Danik raises a brow, but he relents.

The two agents head out, but not before Luca calls out to them, “Whatever you have against the Schemmenti family, drop it. They had nothin’ to do with Bobby’s demise.”

Your day is uneventful. You have nothing to do now that the girls are at school, Melissa is at work, and the salon is out of your hands. You mill around the house, doing as much cleaning as you possibly can before you groan and fall face first onto the couch, bored out of your mind.

You lay there for a few moments before you finally sigh and grab your keys. You make your way out of the house and towards Twelve Tables.

Melissa would say she’s shocked to see you when you come in through the back- but she isn’t. She knows how hard this is for you to not be involved in any of your work right now, both salon and other wise.

“Hi, my love,” you sigh as you pick up a knife and start chopping the broccoli next to her.

“What’re you doing here?” She just briefly glances at you before going back to her own work.

“I think I’m dying of boredom,” you tell her. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much time off from everything.”

“Would you mind chopping this up then while I attend to other business?”

“Other business?” Val asks as she makes her way out of the walk-in fridge.

“I have things to do in the office,” Melissa says, just a bit too quickly. “Scheduling, finances… I think we may need to look into other companies to deliver.”

You raise a brow, as does the manager, but you nod. You know that what she’s actually doing is trying to clean up the area in order to run your other business alongside this one. If you’re going to execute this, and execute it well, everything has to be in it's own place.

So, that’s what the redhead heads into the office to do.

“Melissa seems frazzled lately,” Valentina notes softly. “Is everything okay at home?”

You shrug. “I uh… had to sell the salon,” you lie through your teeth. “It hasn’t been making money, so… you know. She’s probably stressed over that.”

The woman hums, and for the rest of the time that you’re there until you have to pick up your girls you’re directed on what to chop, dice, slice, and grate.

Finally, you pop your head into the back. “Mel? I have to go pick up the girls. Are you coming with me?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes don’t even leave the new ledger that she’s creating. “I have to wait for the shipment to come in, so… I’ll be home for bedtime though.”

She isn’t. And your girls are beyond confused as to why the three of you can’t stop down at the restaurant for a quick hug and kiss from Mommy and why they can’t have coloring time with Valentina. You can’t tell them the real reason- you just explain that Melissa is busy.

“But Mommy is always busy, and we still always get to go there!” Rosie whines.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” You sigh. You know you still could, technically, take them down to the restaurant. Just long enough to say goodnight. Except you can feel your wife glaring at you from across town if you did. Or worse, picture her having to keep her attention away from your girls because she's so busy.

It becomes a point of contention the rest of the night. Your girls both throw fits because they don't understand. Just getting them dinner fed has you stretched thin. By the time you're fighting with them about bath time you're feeling yourself begin to shake slightly. The girls’ attitudes and fits this evening aren't really what upsets you; it's just the last straw on top of everything else.

You just barely get them both towel dry from the bath when you tell them to pick out their pajamas. The one thing they don't argue with you on this evening as they get to choose their own clothes; one of their favorite things.

You kneel on the tile, letting the bath water out. One of the girl's towels still in your hand you lean to wipe up a small puddle. You toss the towel to the pile near the door to put in the laundry. You sigh, and instead of getting up you let yourself shift backward to sit on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall.

You bury your face in your hands as you try to stop the sudden tears from overflowing. You just need a minute, you tell yourself. Just a minute you'll let it happen and then you'll pull yourself together. Except you can't. You force deep breaths but you can't stop the tears still rolling from your eyes down your cheeks. You lean your head against the wall as you hear little voices calling.

“Mam! Mam!” It's both Cat and Rosie, steadily getting closer.

You really try to stop as you wipe your eyes. You don't want them to see you like this. Yet each swipe at your face just sees more tears filling your eyes.

“Mam! Look at my slippies! I did them on myself!” Rosie exclaims as she shuffles into the doorway, looking at her feet. She's wearing your wife’s house slippers. Backwards.

“Mam!” Cat is saying beneath her sister speaking, appearing at her side at the same time. “I don't have slippies! It's not fair, Rosie has slippies!”

You go to look up, but you hate showing any signs of weakness in front of your girls, so your head stays down as you attempt to pull yourself up from the floor. You lean against the sink, hands tightly gripping the porcelain sink, knuckles growing about as white as the utility in front of you. You keep your back to them, not wanting them to see you as the mess that you are right now.

“Girls,” you sigh shakily. “Mam cannot right now. Get yourselves to bed, and I’ll be in to read your story to you in a few minutes.”

“But Mam!” Cat whines out. You hear her stomp her little foot against the cool bathroom tile, and you can practically see the way that her arms are crossed over her chest- a look that she absolutely picked up from your wife. “Rosie has slippies, and I want-”

Wiping away your tears, you turn around. “Caterina Ann.”

At seeing your face so distraught and aged, both of your twins’ faces drop. “Mam?” They both ask.

“Mam just needs a minute,” you sigh softly, hating the way that your voice breaks just slightly. “Please, girls.”

At that, both of your girls slink off. Your oldest walks off while your youngest shuffles her feet quietly. You half-expect to hear her giggles at the way she’s heading down the hall, but you don’t. Even at their young ages, Cat and Rosie understand that your crying in front of them is not okay- something isn’t right.

When you find it in you to pull yourself out of the bathroom, you head for their room. When you get there though, they aren’t in their beds like you expect them to be. In fact, their pillows and the stuffed animals they insist on sleeping with every night have vanished too. That only means one thing.

You appear in the doorway of your own room, and you see them curled up in your bed. Silently, you thank God you had let your wife talk you into splurging and getting a king-sized bed. It comes in handy for nights like this when both girls worm their way into your bed and Melissa will be getting home and sliding in too.

“Mam,” Rosie pats the spot in between her and her sister. “We leaved room for you.”

Despite the sadness that had inhabited your soul just a few seconds ago, you let a soft smile slip at the kindness and thoughtfulness of your girls. You may not be doing everything right in this world, but you are raising two wonderful, wonderful young ladies.

“Give me a few minutes to change and prepare for bed,” you sigh softly as you wipe new tears from your eyes. “And then I’ll be in.”

It’s about ten minutes later, once you’ve gotten into your sleep apparel and shed a few more tears without the girls’ knowledge, that you slip in between them. Cat hands you a book- your favorite book to read aloud to them.

After their story, they both curl up into your sides and promptly fall asleep, tired from their crazy day in kindergarten.

And once they’re asleep? Your tears return. Silent sobs shake your body as you mourn the death of Bobby all over again, one that you never wanted in the first place- you had actually pleaded for them to not order the hit on the man. You bite your lip and let the tears flow over the fact that you’ve been taken off of the salon- that you have no idea what’s happening there now despite the fact that it’s only been a few days. You hate the fact that your wife is taking all of this on- that her restaurant is in danger now because you got the feds on your tail and don’t know how to shake them loose. Your heart breaks when you remember that Barbara is now in danger because she holds onto the ledger that determines your, and now your wife’s, fate, and she was still there for you in a moment of weakness at the church. It gets to a point where you’re just crying over it all, a hand clamped over your mouth as the sobs bubble up inside of you, and you have to muffle the noise or else you’ll wake your girls. You end up crying yourself to sleep, body exhausted with all of the emotions coursing through it like a river. You’re drowning- absolutely drowning in it all.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction #la cosa nostra #collab fic

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 9 months

Text

Love You Twice

Huh Yunjin x Reader

GENRE: fluff

TYPE: One Shot

Inspired by: Love You Twice - Huh Yunjin

"Hello, is anyone here?"

A loud voice echoed from the front of the shop, accompanied by the obnoxious ringing of the bell you had left on the counter. You groaned internally, hoping for a slow day since you were still recovering from a severe cold from last week. Unfortunately, your manager refused to give you another day off, so you found yourself pathetically hiding in the storage room, seeking a few moments of respite.

"Hellooooo," the voice called out again, causing your headache to intensify.

"Yes, I'm here," you sighed, getting up and dusting off your pants. "Please give me a second."

Stepping out of the backroom, you came face to face with a girl, likely around the same age as you. She wore black-framed glasses, a face mask, and a black fisher hat.

"What can I get for you?" you asked, mustering a smile while trying to stave off your fatigue.

"Hmm…Can I have a cinnamon churro and a cup of iced Americano?" The girl stared at you curiously, her wide brown eyes fixated on your every move. After taking her money, you began preparing her order as she settled into a corner table, taking off her hat and face mask.

You set your phone on the speaker and played the hottest Korean hits on Spotify. There was something about the mysterious girl that made you think she would enjoy some K-pop songs while she waited. And indeed, when you brought her order to the table, she was fully immersed in dancing to Fearless, which you found adorably funny.

"Quite a dancer you are," you laughed, setting her food down.

The girl blushed and quickly switched off the camera she had set up in front of her.

"Thanks for the food," she said shyly, hiding her smile behind her coffee cup.

"It's no problem! Enjoy," you replied, slowly retreating back to the kitchen. "Feel free to record or film anything you want. I'll be back here if you need me."

You could tell from her poised and polite demeanor that she might be an idol or celebrity. With her large brown eyes, luscious lips, and slender build, she stood out as someone more than just an average customer.

In the backroom, you struggled to stay awake, listening to muffled sounds of the mysterious stranger talking to her camera.

"Hey," her sonorous voice echoed from the front of the shop again, pulling you out of your half-asleep state. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, what can I do for you?" You quickly stood up, wiped your hands on your apron, and walked to the counter.

She gave you an awkward smile, hesitating before speaking. "Could you, you know… sit and talk with me? I'm feeling a bit bored."

You checked the clock on the wall before replying, "I don't get off until another five hours."

She pouted, "There hasn't been another customer after me, though."

You raised your eyebrows, "My boss would be offended."

"No, sorry," she panicked, "I didn't mean that no one wanted to come. I mean, the food is great. You're great, and I…"

She cut herself off, catching you laughing at her.

"Nevermind," she muttered with a huff, turning back to her table.

"Hey, I'm sorry," you called out. "I can't sit down with you because my manager checks the CCTV, but I can make it up to you with another cup of coffee. We can talk while I make it."

The brunette nodded, satisfied with your apology, and sat herself on the stool in front of the counter. There was something about you that made Yunjin want to spill her thoughts to you at the first chance; you looked like someone she could trust without hesitation. She had been stealing not-so-subtle glances at you ever since she first entered the store, though you didn't seem to notice.

"I never caught your name," you said, grabbing an empty cup.

"It's… Jen," she said hesitantly.

You sensed her reluctance, possibly due to her fame, so you respected her privacy and didn't press further.

"Nice to meet you, Jen. My name is Y/N," you said, reaching out to shake her hand. She warmly shook your hand, leaning slightly over the counter to give you her best smile with her tongue stuck slightly out between her teeth.

"Well, Jen, how do you want your coffee? Iced or hot?" you asked, a bit starstruck by how alluring she was, shyly smiling and looking at you under her long curled lashes.

Her confidence boosted at your reaction to her harmless flirting, and she winked, saying, "Steamy hot."

You snorted, trying to shake off the shivers she sent down your spine. "Coming right up."

The three hours spent with Jen were surprisingly effortless. Beyond her flirtatious facade, she proved to be easy to talk to and incredibly down to earth. She eventually confided in you, admitting that she was an idol of one of Hybe's biggest girl groups, but you treated her just like any other customer, and she appreciated that. During your conversation, she opened up about the challenges of being an idol and shared more personal aspects of her life. It felt like you had known each other for lifetimes and were just catching up on recent events.

Despite knowing that she shouldn't be sharing such personal thoughts with a stranger, Yunjin couldn't help but fall for you. Those short hours were enough for her to fall for you, and she desperately tried to memorize every detail about you within that limited time. The way your hair fell into your eyes, the concern you showed when she mentioned stalkers following her home, the way you laughed at her jokes, and how you blushed at her flirtations—all of it left an indelible impression on her. She knew that this encounter was a one-time thing, and she should forget about you after today, but she couldn't help longing for the possibility of your lives intertwining in the future.

The soft tinkle of the door opening snapped both of you back to reality. You had unconsciously drawn closer as you talked, your forearms almost touching across the counter. Quickly straightening up, you cleared your throat, trying to break free from the trance Jen had somehow pulled you into just by her presence alone. Jen seemed to be equally entranced, shaking her head slightly as she took a sip from her nearly empty mug.

A young girl in her teens bounced into the cafe with glee, her face lighting up with a wide smile.

"Anneyonghaseyo," she greeted you with a bow before turning to Jen.

"Unnie! I've been looking all over for you." She launched herself at Jen, and you could see the affection between them. “Manager-nim wants us to go back.”

"Oh, okay," Jen replied, her expression slightly disappointed that her time with you was coming to an end. She wished she could spend a lifetime with you, but she knew it wasn't possible.

"Do you want something to go, Manchae?" she asked the younger girl, hoping to prolong her time in the store, even if only for a few more minutes.

"Oooh yes, can I get a chocolate muffin?" Eunchae's eyes lit up at the mention of food.

"One chocolate muffin coming right up," you grinned, heading back to prepare her order.

As you turned away, Eunchae couldn't help but tease her unnie, repeatedly turning her head to look at Jen and then at your silhouette. Yunjin blushed and playfully pushed the taller girl away, not used to this kind of attention.

"Here you go," you said, handing the bag to Eunchae.

As Yunjin reached into her bag to pay, you raised your hand to stop her. "It's on the house."

Yunjin opened her mouth to argue, but you insisted. "As you said, we don't really have that many customers here," you winked, "I'll have to throw them out anyway."

She blushed deeper at the reference of her embarrassing mistake earlier, and you quickly assured her you were joking. Your playfulness only made her blush more, and you found her intriguing—so confident and flirty one moment, and a shy mess the next.

"I'll see you around, Y/N," Yunjin said, extending her hand once again for a shake. She just wanted some kind of physical contact with you, and her hand lingered slightly longer than usual during the handshake. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"It was nice talking to you, Jen," you replied, shaking her hand warmly. You felt a pang of melancholy as this beautiful girl you had just met was leaving. "And it was nice to meet you too, Eunchae."

Eunchae was beaming, fully aware of the conversation happening in front of her. She knew Yunjin had difficulty connecting with people and had remained single for years despite having a long line of admirers. If this cute barista was the one to win over Yunjin’s heart, the maknae was determined to support your happiness. And she usually got her way.

For the past several weeks, Eunchae had been giving Yunjin a headache, constantly thinking of ways to persuade her to visit your coffee shop. The rest of the girls caught on to Eunchae's antics, and they joined in, playfully teasing the blonde and suggesting your coffee shop at every opportunity.

Whether it was rain or shine, hunger or thirst, the girls managed to steer the conversation back to you whenever they could.

"Unnie, I'm hungry. I want the muffins at Y/N's."

"Where do you want to hold your birthday party, Chae?"

"Hmm… is Y/N's open?"

"Sakura unnie, let's get drinks tonight."

"Yesss, do you think Y/N's sells soju?"

It was all in good fun, and Yunjin couldn't help but get flustered whenever your name was brought up. However, she stubbornly resisted their suggestions and ignored the members whenever they proposed visiting your shop. The girls were genuinely curious about you, so they convinced Eunchae to take them to your shop during their days off. There, they could see why Yunjin was so enamored with you. Your sweet and soft-spoken demeanor balanced the idol perfectly.

The girls continued to come up with various schemes to turn their favorite not-couple into an actual couple, but despite their efforts, nothing seemed to work. However, as it turned out, they didn't even need to put in all that effort. Yunjin and her clumsy self, would end up making a mess and visiting you herself to solve the problem.

Your Monday started off badly. You had just finished a painful statistics class, and your professor grilled you for accidentally falling asleep. It wasn't entirely your fault; the professor had a monotone voice that could put anyone to sleep, talking about magic in a world filled with numbers. Nonetheless, he kept you after class for a whole hour, scolding you with his tone-deaf voice repeatedly.

This left you in a rush to get to the coffee shop without having the chance to grab lunch. You knew your manager would be furious if you were late.

Entering the shop through the back door, you hastily grabbed your apron and hair tie, rushing to the front. Your good friend and coworker, Wheein, leaned on the counter, teasing you with a playful smile as you tried to catch your breath.

"You're really unfit," she calmly remarked, her dimples showing as she teased you.

"Shut…" you panted, "...up."

Wheein laughed and poured you a cup of water.

"There are a bunch of people outside our store today," she said casually, her fingers tapping on the spotless counter.

Furrowing your brows, you looked outside the glass windows and saw groups of people peeking into the store, some even taking photos. You were puzzled as to why they were there.

"What are they doing here?" you asked.

Wheein shrugged, "No idea, I didn't ask. They've been there since I opened, but they never came in."

Just then, three girls entered the store, giggling and looking at you. They whispered among themselves before walking towards the counter.

"Annyeonghaseyo," the first girl said, and the other two burst into a fit of giggles.

"Um, annyeonghaseyo," you blinked, feeling slightly awkward. "What can I get you?"

"Three cinnamon churros and three iced Americanos, please."

You quickly rang up their order while Wheein started working on the drinks. As you prepared the churros, you could hear whispers and the sound of camera clicks from the girls.

Before you could ask what was going on, a few more people entered the store, all behaving similarly to the first group of girls—whispering and looking at you curiously before placing their orders.

"This is crazy," Wheein muttered, just as confused as you. The shop had never seen so many people at once, and they all seemed to be waiting for you before coming in. "Are you a celebrity or something?"

You shook your head, “If I was, I wouldn’t be working part-time in this shitty store with you.”

The blue haired girl chuckled and playfully nudged you, before efficiently handling the growing number of orders.

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur. A line formed outside the coffee shop as customers continued to flow in endlessly. You made more churros in four hours than you had in your entire two years of working part-time at the shop. The sudden rush of customers had turned your ordinary day into a surprisingly eventful one, and you couldn't help but wonder what had caused this unexpected influx of people.

It was like this for the rest of the week. Whenever you weren't working, a bunch of people would gather outside the store, and groups of fans would squeal and whisper when they saw you working. Some people even asked for selfies, which you politely declined, but that didn't stop others from sneaking photos of you as you worked. Your manager had caught on to this phenomenon and decided to schedule you to work every day that week, without any sort of raise, and extended the closing time to nine p.m. instead of the usual five p.m.

It turned out that a famous food sharing account had posted something about the coffee shop you worked at, which explained the influx of customers. But for you, it felt more like a punishment than a reward, as it brought only exhausting shifts and the constant invasion of your privacy.

Sighing, you rested your head on one of the tables you were cleaning up. It was Saturday night, and you had finally closed the store after a hectic day, serving hundreds of people all by yourself. Wheein was sick and couldn't make it to her shift, leaving you to handle everything alone.

As you closed your eyes for a moment to daydream about Jen, the alluring girl whose image had been visiting your dreams for months, the familiar sound of the door opening made you jump up. You cursed yourself internally for forgetting to lock the door after closing hours.

"Sorry, we're clo—" Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met the captivating pair of brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts ever since your last encounter.

"Jen," you said breathlessly, thinking you'd never see her again, at least not in person. After all, she was a famous idol, and her group's newest comeback had topped the charts.

"Hey, Y/N," Yunjin's eyes crinkled as she smiled at you. Her hair was now dyed a dark shade of brown, and she was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, still as breathtakingly beautiful as ever.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, genuinely surprised to see her in your store again after months of no contact.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" Your concern for her warmed her heart, sending tingles down her spine. Seeing you in person again, after months of longing, brought all the feelings she had tried to keep at bay rushing back without control.

She stepped closer to you to grab your hands, “I’m here to apologize.”

"For what?" you inquired, your cheeks tinged with a shade of pink from the touch of her hands.

“For the post.”

“Jen, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yunjin took a deep breath, mustering the courage to share her most embarrassing secret.

"I have a finsta account where I rate the churros that I try," she confessed, looking a bit bashful. "And someone found out it was me running the account. My fans have been visiting all the places I posted about."

"You're the reason why I've been working my ass off this week?" you blurted out ridiculously.

"Yes," Yunjin whispered, hanging her head and still holding onto your hands. "I'm sorry."

You were silent for a few seconds, and Yunjin feared she had upset you. But then, you started shaking, and soon you were laughing uncontrollably. She was confused at first but couldn't help but smile as she joined you in a fit of giggles.

"You're so lame," you gasped out between laughs. "A churro rating account?"

"What?" Yunjin pouted, her nose scrunching. "I love churros."

You were once again captivated by this girl standing in front of you. In front of thousands of people, she was Huh Yunjin, the talented idol topping charts and taking home awards. But here, with you, she was a dorky girl with a cute smile and a loud voice.

“Do you want some?” You said, “I made a few extra today.”

Yunjin nodded enthusiastically, always ready for a few tasty treats. "I am really sorry for the trouble it has caused you," she said once you came back with a bag of churros.

"It's fine," you shrugged. After all, it wasn't really Yunjin's fault. She was just a woman who liked her churros.

"Let me make it up to you," Yunjin suggested, her eyes slightly closed in anticipation. “Let me take you out for dinner today.”

She had decided it was now or never, after months of thinking about you. She couldn't ignore her feelings any longer, especially after seeing your pictures all over social media with her fans calling you hot, bringing out her possessive side. She was lovesick, and the only cure was you.

After what felt like hours, you finally said, "Sure. Let me finish cleaning up, and we can go."

Yunjin did her best to help with the cleaning, and within half an hour, you found yourself sitting in her car as she drove you to get, as she put it, the best pizza to ever exist in the world. As the car moved along the city streets, you found it hard to tear your eyes away from Yunjin's side profile. The way she furrowed her brows in concentration, the slight tilt of her head as she listened to the music, it all felt incredibly endearing. You couldn't help but feel a strong attraction to her, and the desire to lean over and kiss her grew with each passing moment.

At a red light, Yunjin turned to meet your eyes with a soft smile on her lips.

"Whatcha thinking about, pretty?" she winked at you playfully.

Without thinking, you blurted out, "You."

Both of you blushed at the sudden confession, and Yunjin cleared her throat, quickly averting her eyes. Fortunately, the light turned green, saving her from further embarrassment.

Inside, Yunjin's heart was racing with anticipation. She couldn't believe that you might feel the same way about her. Summoning her courage, she reached over and gently held your hand that was resting on your lap. The moment your fingers interlocked, it felt familiar and comfortable, as if you were meant to be together.

Yunjin's hand never left yours during the entire ride, not when she reached over to grab the box of pizza, or when you maneuvered your way to her dorm. You were worried about meeting her members, but she assured you that they were outside grabbing a late dinner. Oh, how wrong she was.

Eunchae had excitedly called her unnies when she saw Yunjin sneak out, and the group decided to wait for her in the shared living room instead of actually going out for dinner. They were so eager that they could barely contain their excitement when they heard the keys jingle to their dorm.

"I think we have some soda in the fridge. I’ll go grab them," Yunjin said as she gently pulled you inside.

"Can you grab some for us, too?" Chaewon suddenly said, scaring the wits out of both of you.

You quickly dropped Yunjin’s hand and hid yourself behind the taller girl, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

"What are you guys doing here?" Yunjin spluttered, slightly embarrassed at being caught.

"We wanted to meet Y/N," Sakura said slyly.

"Hi," you said shyly, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hello, Y/N. You are as beautiful as Yunjin described," Kazuha said, throwing a teasing smile at her unnie.

"So slayyy," Chaewon added, bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Guys," Yunjin groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should have known her members would embarrass her like this.

"Okay, you met her. We’re going to go to my room now," Yunjin announced, attempting to lead you away from her teasing members.

However, Eunchae wasn't ready to give up her time with you just yet. She quickly bounded over to you and grabbed your other hand, using her maknae charms to persuade you to stay.

"But I wanted to watch a movie with Y/N unnie," the maknae pouted and begged you with her puppy-dog eyes.

Unable to resist Eunchae's charm, you looked at Yunjin before nodding and saying, "Sure. What movie do you want to watch?"

Yunjin groaned again, this was going to be a long night.

The group ended up watching one of the Conjuring movies. You were cuddled up in Yunjin’s arms, seeking comfort and protection from the scary parts. It was amusing how Yunjin tried to pretend not to be scared and wrapped her arms around your shoulders protectively. You could feel her whole body shaking as she tried not to scream from the jump scares.

Under the flickering lights of the TV, you looked up at the girl you had met only twice, yet it felt like you had known her for years. Deciding to let your heart take the lead, you craned your neck and placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.

Yunjin’s eyes nearly bulged out at the feeling of your lips on her face, and she felt her heart pounding even faster than the jump scares had made her feel. If this was heaven, she would die happy in your arms.

Giggling at the scene in front of her, Eunchae whispered loudly, “Yunjin unnie looks like a fish.”

The rest of the members quickly turned to look at Yunjin’s expression.

“You have it bad, Jennifer,” Chaewon said in English, sounding like a sorority girl.

“Unnie’s always had it bad,” Eunchae shrugged, “Her post was like a lovesick schoolgirl.”

“Yeah, she even wrote a song for Y/N,” Kazuha agreed.

Curious, you asked Eunchae to show you the post on her finsta (much to Yunjin’s protest).

Churros were a bit sweet: 6/10

The cute barista was even sweeter: 100/10

Would definitely fall in love with her twice, in every lifetime.

I hope she felt the same about me.

Maybe if I write a song for her, she would know how I feel.

Attached to the post were a few photos of the churros you made for her. And in the last photo, there was a blurry picture of you standing by the counter, focused on making coffee.

You looked up at Yunjin, who was hiding her face behind her hands, blushing furiously at being caught. After all those months of thinking about this beautiful stranger and listening to her songs, you were over the moon to discover that she had written those songs for you.

“I’d fall in love with you more than twice.”

#huh yunjin #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #gxg #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #wlw #kpop #kpop fic #le sserafim x you #le sserafim x y/n #fluff oneshot #fem reader #huh jennifer #wherethefireliliesgrow

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