#I don’t do it every time I make food but I always do it when I make bread.

[imstillalexcomic]

This isn’t really meant to be a comic trashing my dad.

I do truly appreciate his commitment to education.  I do truly have a soft spot for his style of humor, which certainly influenced the development of my own.  I appreciate how he had this VHS-C camera that he was always bringing out and would let me use, sparking my love for movies and starting me on a path that led to me going to film school.

All those good things about him were real.

But so was the colossal amount of damage he caused.

If you happen to be a parent and are reading this right now, I’m going to ask that you consider this suggestion from a childless thirty-six year old:

You need to consider how you communicate with your child, and how communication doesn’t just mean the words that you use.

You’re telling your kids something with the foods you eat, the activities you engage in, etc…

…you communicate to your children with the media you consume.

The rhetoric against the trans community wasn’t as much in the spotlight when I was growing up, but every time my dad turned on the radio, he’d have my sister and I listen to the likes of Rush Limbaugh, or Sean Hannity, Mark Levin, etc…  One of the topics that’d come up frequently was queer people. 

Issues about Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, gay marriage, gay boy scouts…

The “gays” were an issue.  More than an issue really, they were a problem.  If someone was queer, these radio hosts were quick to villainize; “this teacher is going to turn their students gay,” “this troop leader is going to abuse his scouts,” you don’t want your kid to end up like that, do you?”

My dad would listen to these folks non-stop and nod along in agreement, all the while his extremely queer and aware of it child was sitting right behind him, listening to how she was some kind of monster.

So I hid. 

There could be no sharing about aspects of myself.  My parents would be listening to 770am or Fox News all the time.  If I share that I was queer, I’d be finished.  How couldn’t that be the case?  Every day they chose to listen to people that hate me, so they hate people like me. 

So I can’t let them know me.  I won’t let them know me.

Even though they never said that they hated queer people with their own words, they told me that they hated queer people every day with the media they chose, and in turn forced me to consume.

So again, if there are any parents reading this right now, consider my words.  Hate is a choice you make, and hate can be communicated with more than just words.

If for no other reason, you never know if that kid in the back seat is listening, listening to how you hate them.

[okwonyo]

VALENTINA, BABY ! ❞ ENHYPEN AS YOUR VALENTINE𓈒

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ──── 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖺, 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗂 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

enhypen & fem!rea 1OOO fluff established relationship 𓂃 skinship kissing 愛MORE ｡

桜んぼ ܃ happy valentines day everyone 🎀 i hope yoi all received a lot of love today ><

reblogs ੭୧ feedbacks

HEESEUNG you wait for him to come home all night. well, not really all night— but he does come back home quite later than usual. you assume it’s because of work, you are used to him coming home to you a little more late than he usually does sometimes. you don’t mind it that much honestly, even if it’s a special day today. “baby! i’m home,” he voice rings from the door. as you always do, you get up to welcome him. but, you find yourself too stunned to speak— the man in front of you smiles widely with a teddy bear that is half of his height in his hands and a red, heart shaped box that, you assume, is filled with chocolate. “for my pretty valentine,” he tells you.

JAY the man knows how much you love valentine’s day and he knows how much you cherish his food. therefore, he decides to cook for you today. “go get ready, princess,” he orders gently while you watch him cook. “are you trying to get rid of me?” you tease, getting off the counter to go shower— he laughs, dragging you back to him by your wrist before planting a kiss on your forehead, “never.” he is already all ready, well dressed with a perfect hairstyle when you open the door to get out of the shower. he compliments before covering your eyes, walking you to the leaving room and when he lets you see again, your breath is taken away. there is a table full of food in the middle of the dark room, only enlightened with candles all over the place.

JAKE flowers always end up perishing, he knows that. he is aware that they don’t last very long, less than any other gifts he could give you. but he also knows that the gesture never does. he loves to see your face brighten when he gives a bouquet to you, he loves to see the smile growing wider on your lips the longer you look at it and he can’t stop thinking about the kisses you give him in lieu of a ‘thank you’. you are used to it, to receiving gorgeous bouquets from your lover— yet, you are always beyond happy it happens. and today, he decides to do something bigger. which is sending a dozen of bouquets, with different flowers arrangements each time, to your apartment while you wait for him to take you on a date.

SUNGHOON he loves you. it has never been a secret to anyone— especially not to himself. he finds something new to love about you everyday, from the way you talk to the way you are, from your beautiful features to your inside beauty and it’s flaws, there is nothing he doesn’t cherish. and he wants to tell you about it, all time. every day, every hour, every minute, every second, his love for you keeps on growing as well as the craving need of putting in words. he chooses to do it, to celebrate the love between you and him— through a long letter, where every single thing he loves about you is written down. “tomorrow, for sure, there will be ten more things that i discover about you and keep close in my heart. until it stops beating, even after.”

SUNOO “what is that supposed to be?” he laughs, rather loudly after taking a look at your hand crafted paper heart. today, as a romantic activity, your boyfriend decided to make you craft little hearts together to put them in the scrapbook of your relationship— however, he finds your hearts ugly and isn’t discreet about it. “okay, i’m not crafting anymore,” you pout slightly, putting your heart down and leaning on the couch behind you. he laughs even louder while taking a piece of red paper on the table with the scissors. “look,” he says, wrapping his arms around you while you cross yours under your chest and lean against his. “this is how you do it,” he tells you, cutting another heart in the red paper. “how is that any different from mine?”

JUNGWON you can feel him stare at you as you put the cream on the cookies you just got out of the oven. you only watch him from your peripheral vision, yet, you know from a glimpse of the look on his face to know that he is going to do something stupid. “you have something on your face,” he warns you with a smile in his voice. “what?” you say, forgetting the cookies and starting to wipe different places on your face— but you are sure there is nothing. “where?” you end up asking him. of course, your boyfriend boops your nose, making a small point of cream sit on your lips. and honestly you can’t really do anything but stay still and stare at him blankly while he says, rather happily, “let me help you.” then he leans in, delicately resting his lips on yours and giving you a dizzying kiss.

RIKI as it is his first valentine day— because, yes, he has only ever dated you and plans on keeping it like this forever— he wants it to he a unforgettable experience. he doesn’t decide to have a date night, he opts for a day full of you and him having little dates then and there. first, he takes you the a cute cafe he looked for and made sure was the most perfect ever, to take breakfast with you. he holds your hand while he takes you shopping, compliments you on your choices and look for pieces of clothing to match yours. he sits next to you in the restaurant while you both eat lunch, lets you take a bite of his dessert and he has a sip of your drink. how he holds your shopping bags during the whole day and especially when you play arcade games is lovely, he is even cuter when he wins plushies for you. it is a fun yet tiring day, which is why it ends in a movie night in matching pajamas.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net DAILY CLICK.

[carnalcrows]

LOST AND FOUND - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x top male reader

synopsis: A man starts noticing his belongings disappearing after every visit to his best friend’s house—until he stumbles upon the unsettling truth.

content warnings: 18+, bottom salesman, reader is fucking salesman's son, dubcon, blackmail, cheating, fingering, anal sex, implied stalking, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at your best friend’s house is always an experience.

Not because of the food—his dad’s a damn good cook, actually—but because of the company.

“Hyung, I’m telling you, this lady at work keeps calling me ‘oppa,’ and I don’t know how to tell her I hate it,” Jiho complains, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “Like, I get it, I’m devastatingly handsome, but can we have boundaries?”

You snort, reaching for more rice. “You could just tell her to stop.”

“I did! And you know what she said? She said I ‘look like the type to enjoy it.’” Jiho groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of his chair. “I feel violated.”

Across the table, Jiho’s father hums, slow and thoughtful. “Perhaps you give off the impression of someone who enjoys attention,” he muses, sipping his soup.

Jiho gapes at him, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

You chuckle, glancing at Jiho’s father. He hasn’t said much tonight, but that’s not unusual. The man is a quiet observer, the kind of person who listens more than he speaks. You’ve had dinner here plenty of times before, and the pattern is always the same—Jiho chatting away, you chiming in, and his father interjecting with the occasional dry remark.

But tonight… feels different.

Jiho’s father has been watching you. Not obviously—just little glances, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than usual. His face remains unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes, something calculating.

It’s not unfriendly, exactly. Just… unsettling.

“Hyung?” Jiho nudges your arm. “You good?”

You blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. Just thinking about how you probably deserve that treatment.”

Jiho makes a wounded noise. “Et tu, Brute?”

Across the table, his father chuckles. A deep, quiet sound. When you glance at him, he’s already looking away, refilling his tea like he wasn’t just assessing you like a goddamn science project.

Yeah. Something’s up with him tonight.

You just don’t know what.

And that? That should’ve been your first warning.

You should’ve gone home.

Jiho had texted that he’d be late—something about running an errand for work—but you figured it was no big deal. You’d been to his house a thousand times before, and waiting around wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But the house was too quiet without him.

It’s why you found yourself wandering, aimlessly at first, then with purpose when you noticed something odd.

A door. Slightly ajar.

You didn’t remember Jiho ever mentioning this room before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you nudged the door open fully—only to freeze in place.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. Not with books or storage boxes, but with you.

Your bracelets. Your books. Your toothbrush.

And—most horrifyingly—your underwear.

Stacks of them, folded neatly. Some draped over surfaces, others tucked away like a grotesque collection. And at the very center, in a glass display case like some kind of prized possession, was a used condom—your used condom.

A sickening chill crawled up your spine.

What the fuck was this?

A shadow moved behind you. Before you could react, a deep voice spoke, low and amused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop?”

You turned sharply. Jiho’s father stood in the doorway, watching you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You opened your mouth—whether to demand an explanation or to throw up, you weren’t sure—but he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a click.

Trapping you inside.

“You’ve been quite careless,” he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the shelves. “Leaving so many things behind. Did you ever wonder where they went?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “What the fuck is this?”

Jiho’s father merely chuckled. “Just a collection. I like to keep things that interest me.”

Your stomach churned. This wasn’t just interest—this was obsession.

You tried to move past him, but he stepped in your way, his smirk widening. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

You clenched your jaw. “Move.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice was light, conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “You could run to Jiho. Tell him. But then I’d have to tell everyone something too, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath caught.

“I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “How would your workplace react? Your friends? Your family?”

Your hands curled into fists. You knew what he was implying. Being outed in this country—where tradition and reputation mattered—was a death sentence for your social life, your career, everything.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So, what will it be?”

Oh.

Oh hell no.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, because there is no way this is happening. “Dude,” you blurt. “You do realize your son and I have been—”

“I’m very aware,” he interrupts smoothly, his gaze flickering down your form. “And I must say… I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

You should leave. You should run. But your legs don’t move. Because the way he’s looking at you—intense, predatory, like he’s testing something—sends a very different kind of shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifts.

He’s close now. Too close.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmurs, reaching out—not grabbing, just hovering, his fingers barely ghosting over your arm. “Most people would be terrified right now.”

“Oh, I am,” you say, flashing a weak grin. “But I also have really bad coping mechanisms.”

His lips quirk up. “Is that so?”

Then, before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—you grab him by the tie and pull him in.

His smirk barely has time to widen before your lips crash together.

The kiss is messy. Heated. Too much, too fast, but neither of you seem to care. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, while yours tangle in the expensive fabric of his suit. He tastes like something rich and intoxicating, and damn it, you hate how much you like it.

Your hands move to his waist as his move up to your shoulders, slightly changing the dynamics of the situation. He groans against your mouth at the friction against his crotch, making you hard.

This is wrong, so wrong, but there doesn’t really seem to be another way out.

You tug at his work pants, bringing them down with a firm grasp while pushing him onto the bed in the corner of the room– more like a shrine.

His cock emerges, hard and leaking. Your thumbs trails at the head-- picking up the precum that builds up at the slit. He shudders; he hasn’t touched himself like this in so long.

Wanting to finish what he wants as soon as possible, you shimmy down your own pants, revealing your own erection. You find yourself feeling ashamed at the fact that your grew hard from kissing your fuck buddy best friend’s father.

Searching through his coat pocket, the older man finds a small packet of lube and tosses it at you. You catch it before it flies past you– glaring at him. 

“You're no fun,” he grins, as you rip the packet with your teeth and pour the cool liquid onto your fingers.

You take your lubed digits to his awaiting hole and press them at his entrance, before pushing in. You weren’t going to give this man the mercy of your patience.

His back arched as he let out a loud moan. If your fingers felt this good, how would your cock feel in him?

His thoughts were interrupted by you moving your fingers in and out of him sloppily, not caring if the sudden intrusion hurt (he was a masochist, so you supposed it didn’t matter anyway).

Feeling that he had been prepped enough, you slid your digits out of his hole, and replaced the emptiness with your cock.

The head caught on to the slick of the lube, pushing in slightly– before you slid all the way in. You groaned at how tight he was– even tighter than Jiho if that were possible. You chided yourself for thinking like that before you pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in.

The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head– your cock hitting the right spot with every thrust. You felt so, so good inside him, and his hole involuntarily clenched around you at the thought.

You held tightly onto his waist as you practically abused his hole, profanities leaving your mouth every now and then.

“Hah– never thought you would get of to being fucked by your son’s best friend, hm?” He could only mumble incoherently at the jab, his brain just too full with being fucked dumb.

He had been waiting so long for this to finally happen, for you to take him like this. He was aware of the relationship between you and his son, and he chose to exploit it instead of doing what a normal dad should do.

But it wasn’t like he was a normal person anyway.

At that thought, he felt himself clench around you more, fucking psychopath. You groaned, feeling his warmth, thrusting into him even further as though you were an animal in heat.

Soon, you felt yourself close to a climax, so you pressed your cock into him all the way, letting yourself come undone– painting his insides a pearly white, before whispering in his ear.

“You can throw away that condom now– you have the real thing in you anyway”, he came, almost violently, when he heard you say that– his semen staining his pristine suit.

You were going to pull out of him, when a sharp knock suddenly echoed through the house.

“Dad?”

You both freeze.

Oh. Oh, hell.

The door creaks open, and there stands Jiho —his son—staring at the two of you like he’s just walked into the world’s worst nightmare.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“What. The. Fuck.”

You sigh, forehead dropping against the older man’s shoulder. “Welp,” you mutter. “Guess I am gonna start screaming now.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[beomcoups]

Stupid Cupid

➻❥ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are madly in love with your best friend and it's eating you alive. One day you will tell him how you feel, but you have to deal with his girlfriend first.

➻❥ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend!hansol x reader

➻❥ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 18+, roommates au, best friends to ?, angst, fluff, smut

➻❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, jealousy, fight is kind of intense, kissing, protected sex, nipple play?, fingering, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, missionary, multiple orgasms?

➻❥ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9.1k

➻❥ 𝐀𝐍: This for the collab "Lonely Hearts Cafe", hosted by @camandemstudios. This story truly stressed me out and I couldn't have gotten through it without @yoongihan, @seokgyuu, @okiedokrie and & @haologram for looking at this for me. I don't do well with deadlines and the words just weren't coming to me naturally. It was eating me up and giving me headaches lol. I hope despite that, you all like this labor of love 😭

You are in love with Hansol. 

Hopelessly, stupidly, trip over your feet when he’s around, butterflies in your stomach kind of love. He’s everything you could want in a guy and your best friend, someone you can just chill with no expectations. You both love Star Wars, attend anime cons together, and are allergic to peanuts. You share a home with him and it feels like home in your heart when he’s near. You’re in love with Hansol. There is only one problem: he has an on-and-off girlfriend. 

A girlfriend you particularly hate. 

Kelsey is always around, taking up your space, and it’s aggravating. You wish you could say that it’s not serious, but to your chagrin, they have been on and off for a couple of years. It’s bad enough that you can’t tell Hansol how you feel, but then you have his girlfriend, a huge social media influencer, always at your condo every time you’re there. You would think she would like to take her “influence " elsewhere. It’s exacerbating. 

“Hey there girl,” Kelsey calls out as you walk to the kitchen. She is sprawled out with her laptop on your living room floor rug, wearing a cut-off shirt, the tiniest shorts you have ever seen, and knee-high socks. Where does she live again?

“What’s up?” you respond, barely hiding the irritation in your voice. 

“Oof, you’re definitely not a morning person,” she scoffs. “Do you think you can stay out tonight? Vernon has this Hollywood thing he has to attend to tonight, and he is stressed about it. So I want to help him relax if you know what I mean.” 

You raise your eyebrows at her referring to him as Vernon, which he only tells his coworkers to call him. Hansol is a cinematographer, and a damned good one. He works for a major film studio and is invited to parties all the time. He only goes for the free food and booze, he says, because those people don’t care about anything but themselves and their pockets, let alone pronouncing his first name correctly.

Kelsey is not a coworker; she is, unfortunately, his girlfriend. Why doesn’t she call him by his preferred name?

“What does you wanting to help Hansol relax have to do with me being here?” you ask, making yourself a cup of coffee. 

“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “It’ll be pretty awkward for me to be blowing his brains out while you’re here, ya know?”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from saying what is on your mind, instead focusing on making your elaborate coffee with whipped cream and caramel syrup on top. This girl really has some nerve. 

“Kelsey,” you let out a small sigh. “I’m not leaving my house because you want to fuck. Do whatever you please.” You slam the whipped cream can on the container. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

Irritated, you walk past her and speed into the hallway, almost running into Hansol, who is leaving his bedroom. Wearing a red shirt and pajama pants, he has bedroom hair and a hint of sleep in his eyes. He looks adorable. 

“Where are you running off to?” His voice is deep and groggy. 

“I am running away from that peach of a girlfriend you have in there.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, I have to get ready for work.” 

“Oh no, what did she do now?” 

“Nothing, aside from asking me to stay out of the condo that I pay for tonight so she can fuck you as loud as she wants,” you say bluntly. 

Hansol’s eyes widen in shock, the little sleepiness he had evaporated. “She didn’t say that?” 

“She just about said that,” you sigh, leaning on the wall. “Look, I have to get ready for my day, but we have to have a conversation later. Not tonight, because I know that party is happening. But at some point, we do.” 

“Okay,” he says, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” you sigh again, deeply this time. “Let’s just chat soon, okay?”

You step into your room and shut the door, your heart beating out of your chest. That was not a conversation you want to have early in the morning, and Kelsey being around more and more makes you erratic. Eventually, a conversation will have to be had about how much time she is spending here and everything. But right now, you will sip your elaborate coffee and try to get through the day. 

You met Hansol on the first day of college. You needed help finding your classes and ironically you shared some classes required for your majors. You wanted to be a film director and figured a film studies degree would get you there. Hansol loved being behind the camera, recording the magic in front of him. You shared the same study group and met your other best friends, Minghao and Wonwoo. Minghao has a good eye for design and wanted to work on set designs and costumes while Wonwoo is equally obsessed with cameras, often geeking out with Hansol about the different models they wanted to collect one day. You even lived together at one point, your friendship group known as the “core four”, until one by one, everyone moved out and it was just you and him. 

You didn’t fall in love with him right away. It was a slow, simmering thing that snuck in and robbed your heart and mind before you realized it. You were together all the time and enjoyed the same things. You’ve seen each other at your worst, depended on each other, and celebrated your successes together. Hansol was your go-to for everything, and you didn’t realize until he started dating Kelsey that you were in love. But how can you tell him that?

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

Minghao sits next to you during your lunch break the same day, bringing you meat and stir fry that he brought from home. His girlfriend, Mei, who is an excellent cook and very sweet, sent you a text this morning that she was bringing some with him to the studio today. You worked for a major studio as an SFX artist, falling in love with prosthetics and makeup in one of your courses and deciding to pursue that instead. You still have your bachelors in film studies and your love for film hasn’t changed; you just went on a different path. You’re happier for it. 

“Thank you for the food,” you breathe, purposely dodging his question. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, handing you Tupperware of colorful stir fry. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong with me?” 

Minghao raises an eyebrow with a familial side-eye as he distributes utensils, the kind of look parents give you when they know you’re telling a lie. He knows you so well, and he has always been good at reading people. You can talk to him about anything, and he is going to give you the hard truth, even if you don’t want to hear it. After a moment, you tell him what happened this morning and he is silent, taking it all in.

“She is really getting on my nerves,” you huff, accidentally slamming your plastic fork on the table. Your colleagues around you look in your direction nervously, and you are mortified, wishing you could wiggle your nose and disappear like the genie on the old TV show. 

“Are you sure it’s because of her, or is it because of him?” Minghao asks casually, taking a sip of his tea. 

“W-what do you mean?” you play aloof, not wanting to open another can of worms. “This has nothing to do with Hansol, though I wish he would tell her to not come over to our place all the time. I don’t get what he even sees in her.” 

“Sure,” he says with a smirk, barely containing his amusement. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you are in love with him.”

“Ugh,” you groan, sliding further in your seat. “I wish I never told you that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” His smile widening into a teasing grin. “Even the blind could see your bleeding heart for him.”

“Yeah, apparently everyone can but him,” you mutter, taking a stab at your food. 

Minghao chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well don’t take your frustration out on the food. Mei put a lot of love into that.” 

You mumble “sorry”, feeling guilty and eating your food in silence. If it were another day and you were in a better mood, you would savor it more. But all you want is for the work day to end, so you can curl in your bed and figure out how to navigate this unrequited love. 

“What if I told him how I felt?” 

You look up slowly at your friend, gauging his reaction. He already has the look of disapproval, and your stomach is in knots. 

“Yeah, that’s a terrible idea,” he says firmly. “Do you really want to start drama in the middle of the busiest season for us? Not to mention Kelsey will blast this all over social media.”

“I’m not scared of her,” you shoot back defiantly, crossing your arms. 

Minghao chuckles again, but it is lighter and paired with concern in his eyes. “Just think it through okay? Things are already complicated, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

He places a supportive hand on your shoulder as he packs up what’s left of his lunch and goes back to work. You sigh, knowing that he’s right, but it still doesn’t make it easier to hear. 

You planned to sleep through whatever escapade Kelsey had in mind with Hansol. You had your nightly tea with cinnamon horchata and set your phone to play ambient/vaporwave music to drown out whatever noise they might bring. They aren’t exactly the quietest people when they are in the mood, and you have been dreading it since this morning. 

A lot of times you have wondered what it would be like to experience him for the first time. You’ve heard enough of them to have an idea of what he is like, but it’s different from actually feeling him inside you, with his hands caressing your body. You want to feel his lips on yours and your skin against his. Is it possible to crave something that you’ve never had? You are tired of hearing the headboard banging against the wall and the moans that follow soon after. You are irritated with it all— You wish it were you instead. 

You heard the security system beep when the front door opened, and you lay in bed, waiting for the inevitable shuffling of feet and sloppy kisses that would follow after. Your stomach turns at the thought of her hands all over him, whispering sweet things in his ear that have no meaning. Silence ensues, leaving you confused, and your nosiness gets the best of you. Slowly getting out of bed, you slip into your house shoes, exiting your room quietly as you brace yourself for the grand display of affection you were used to seeing. Instead, you find Hansol on the couch, taking a hit of his vape, tiredness etching around his eyes. 

“How was the party?” You probe, taking a seat next to him and crossing your legs. “You look partied out.” 

“It was alright,” he mumbles, taking another hit of his vape. 

“Alright?” You quirk an eyebrow. “You have been talking about this party all month and it was just alright?”

You noticed his disposition and you don’t want to pry, but his nonchalant attitude is eating at you. Hansol can be hard to read sometimes, but you know him. He’s quiet with everyone else but not with you—he tells you everything. 

“Tell me what’s happened.” 

Hansol reluctantly answers, sighing heavily as he takes one more vape hit before setting it on the armrest. You move closer to him, giving him a reassuring smile. 

“Kelsey and I broke up again,” he said, the heaviness of his words linger in the air. The sadness in his voice is clear, and it hurts you to see him upset. “She wanted to bring a friend to the party and you can’t exactly do that. So when I told her no, she got all pissed at me, we argued and she broke up with me.” 

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words. “I’m really sorry, Hansol. Despite how I feel about her, I know you really love her, and being broken up with sucks.” 

He looks at you, his brown eyes reflecting a mix of tiredness and frustration. “She said it was more than just not letting her bring her friend to the party. She says I never consider her feelings and that’s not true. It just feels like we’re always going in circles. One minute, we’re good; the next, it’s like… it never even mattered.”

“Yeah, that can be exhausting,” you pause, wanting to say more but unsure how to articulate the feelings that bubble beneath the surface. This is not their first break up, but it affects him all the same. Seeing Hansol be madly in love with someone who keeps taking advantage of him burns you to your core. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone who will take care of him with love and respect. Someone who values his ideas and cares about him as a person. You would give him the world if you could. 

“I hope I am not overstepping,” you say cautiously. “But this isn’t your first rodeo. Why do you keep going back?” 

His silence is deafening, and he has an uncomfortable expression on his face as he tries to find the right words to say. “Look, Kelsey can be a lot and full of herself, but she cares in her own way. When it’s just us, she is so attentive, funny, and warm—sort of. She has her moments,” he sighs again. “She makes me feel good in a way no one else has. I love her.”

Hearing him declare his love for her leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth. It��s bad enough that you didn’t realize you were in love with him until after he started seeing her, and now after hearing this, you can never tell him how you feel. It’ll fuck up everything, despite it gnawing at you inside. 

“For what it’s worth, I hope that you two will be able to talk it out and figure out what you want to do.” You tell a strong lie, but you don’t want to hear more about his love for her. You can’t take it. “Do you want to chill for a bit? We can watch Revenge Of The Sith if you want.” 

He cracks a small smile, and for a moment, the weight in his eyes lightens. “Yeah, let’s just chill for a bit. That sounds cool.”

“Cool,” you reply, scrambling from the couch. “I’ll make some popcorn.” 

Tears threaten to break free as you beeline it to the kitchen, your heartache paining worse than before. “She makes me feel good in a way no one else has… I love her.” You keep replaying it in your head over and over. You almost wish you never left your room, and went to sleep like you planned. At least you would still have a bit of hope, instead of a cracked heart. 

A few weeks pass, and as the season change, so does the light in Hansol’s eyes. He is getting back to his normal self and is laughing again. As happy as you are for him, it feels like your heart is being pierced by shards of glass. It was foolish of you to think you could ever be with him, and Minghao was right: it will just complicate everything.  

You know he isn’t completely over Kelsey, and it’s going to take more than a few weeks to get over someone you love deeply. You used to have daydreams of cuddling with Hansol on the couch, watching horror movies, and being madly in love… you have to put it to bed, for good. You start distancing yourself, little by little. Whether it’s staying late at work or finding different excuses to be out of the house, it doesn’t matter. You’re still there for him as a friend, but you want to be free from this unrequited love. It was fucking with you. 

So here you are, at a bar, sitting with your date Seungcheol, who you met on a dating app. You just wanted a quick fix for your heartache, and they say the best way to get over someone is to get under another, right? He’s the one to fulfill that. 

Within an hour of talking to him, you learned he was the typical tech bro who went to an Ivy League school, liked to mansplain everything, and thought he was God’s gift to women. Whatever. It’s not like you planned on seeing him again after tonight. 

“You look real nice in that outfit,” he says, practically drooling over your little black dress and heels. 

“Do I?” You flirtatiously quirk an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol nods, taking a sip of his gin. “I can’t wait to see what you look like underneath.”

It takes every fiber in your being to roll your eyes and walk out of there. Guys like Seungcheol annoy you, and you deal with them in small doses and go about your business. But he is a means to an end, and you will bat your eyes and tell him what he wants to hear to get what you want. You will deal with the consequences in the morning. 

You gaze at the clock displayed on the wall and it’s a quarter till eleven. Tired of hearing him talk, you lean in and whisper in his ear, your lips barely touching him. “Do you want to get out of here then? You said your place isn’t that far, right?”

His eyes are lit with desire, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom while he settles the bill. Stepping into the dimly lit bathroom, you take a good look in the mirror, adjust your dress, and apply the last bit of cherry red lipstick. The soft glow of the overhead light illuminates the traces of perfectly good makeup that you only bring out for special occasions. 

“Is this really what you want?”

Your words echo against the walls, your question answered by silence. With a deep breath, you straighten your posture, taking one last look before exiting the bathroom. Of course, this is what you want— you wouldn’t have gone this far if you didn’t. Seungcheol waits for you at the bar, biting his plump bottom lip as he scrolls through his phone. Seungcheol is as hot as they come, and it certainly makes this decision a bit easier. 

“Are you ready to go?”

He looks up as you close in on him, linking your arm through his. “Of course, I’m going to pull the car around front.”

You watch him walk away, twiddling your fingers as you wait in suspense. The bar smells of wood and stale beer, the heat pushed on blast to counter the cold outside. You slip on your coat, walking towards the front door when you hear laughter, a familiar one that brings butterflies to your stomach. Turning to your left, you see Hansol, walking into the same bar you’re leaving, with Wonwoo and a girl you don’t know. He was always a simple guy, wearing jeans and his favorite “Revenge Of The Nerds” hoodie with a goofy grin on his face. It’s your favorite thing to see.

All the feelings you keep trying to push aside rise in you at once, and when your eyes lock with this, you feel warm. Getting over him will not be easy. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Hansol says curiously. 

“She probably has a hot date,” Wonwoo teases and nudges your shoulder. 

“Well actually… I do.” 

Wonwoo’s mouth spreads into a wide grin, happy to be right. His girl companion tugs onto his coat, mumbling that she is freezing. She’s a short thing with jet-black hair and wears a nice shirt and a skirt that shows off her legs. Wonwoo isn’t the serial dater type, so it is a high possibility he’s on the same mission you were: fuck and move on. 

“Really?” Hansol’s voice peaks an octave higher than normal. “Who’s the guy?”

“O-oh, um, you don’t know him,” you stumble through your words. “He’s just someone I met. We are heading to his place actually.” 

“W-what?” Hansol looks surprised, his expression etched with concern. “Are you sure it's a good idea?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, looking down at your heels. “I’ll send you my location when I’m there, okay?”

In the nick of time, Seungcheol pulls up in his Mercedes, opening the car door from his seat to let you in. 

“There he is,” you announce, walking towards the luxury car. “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Hansol stares intently at Seungcheol before looking at you, his eyes softening as you get into the passenger seat. You wave as he pulls off, the bar becoming out of view as you drive through downtown. Your nerves are shot, and you feel rattled. Of all the places to be, you had to see him at the bar? The universe has a sense of humor. 

“Who were those people back there?” Suengcheol’s deep voice breaks through your thoughts. “The one with the hoodie looked like he was going to pound me.” 

“Oh they are my best friends from college,” you say casually. “Well, I don't know the girl but yeah. Besides, Hansol, the one with the hoodie, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

You can confidently say out of all the years you have known him, Hansol, you have never seen him get aggressive with anyone. The most emotion you see from him is when he talks about cameras, film, or his love for Kel—. 

“I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

Shaking your head and changing the mood, you strategically place your hand on his thigh, smiling mischievously. “Now are we going to talk about my friends all night, or do you want to do something more exciting?”

To say Hansol is bothered is an understatement. 

You didn’t come home last night and even though he knew where you were, it still gnaws at him. It was unlike you. You always came home. It’s irking him. You are always there. 

Hansol noticed that you hadn’t been around as much, and he assumed it had something to do with work, which he understood since you both work in the same industry. But seeing you with that guy with the fancy Benz, dressed in clothes you rarely wear and your hair different from your usual look—it was all he could think about. You looked beautiful last night, and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t see it before. What maddened him the most was that he couldn’t figure out why. He just knew that you were not there, and it didn’t feel right. 

Hansol slowly got out of his bed and checked the time on his phone, 9:37 am in bold letters on his lock screen. His head raged from the hangover he caught from last night’s drinking. He is a lightweight and he knows he drank more than he should, but he was still dealing with the aftermath of the breakup with Kelsey. It’s been a few weeks and though he was feeling better, he still cared about her. He just wanted to not think or feel for a few hours. Now his thoughts are plagued by you. 

He sauntered out of his room, the sunlight hit him like a wall, momentarily blinding him. He reached for a bottle of water, hoping to ease the throbbing in his head. A few moments later, Wonwoo opened the spare room, yawning and adjusting his glasses. Hansol was too drunk to drive, and Wonwoo was sober enough to take him home. The date that he brought last night, who he learned was named Jules, sheepishly appeared behind him, adjusting her dress as she took her walk of shame. Hansol heard murmuring but couldn’t make out what they were saying, but shortly after the door shut with a click, with Wonwoo leaning against it, an amusing grin on his face. 

“Is that your next victim?” Hansol teased. 

“Eh, maybe,” he shrugged. “She is more tolerable than the others.” 

“Uh-huh,” he surmised, drinking the last bits of his water. “We’ll see how long this one lasts.” 

Wonwoo is a notorious dater if you want to call it that. He has always had the philosophy that being tied down isn’t for him and he would rather run through the mill than be with someone he always likes. He is a fine art photographer who travels quite a bit, and he is always bragging about how it wouldn’t make sense for him to be in a relationship. He blows where the wind goes, and Hansol has always respected that he stayed true to himself. 

Wonwoo chuckled as he grabbed the water next to Hansol, clutching it as he drank it empty. He looked at your closed room door, his eyebrows raised curiously. 

“She isn’t here?” Wonwoo probed, pointing at your door. 

“No,” Hansol mumbled, followed by a slight ping in his chest. “She might still be out.” 

“Uh, huh,” Wonwoo concluded, eyeing him oddly. “Sounds like she had a good night.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Hansol said bitterly, his fingers rubbing his right temple. “It’s not like her to stay overnight at some douche’s house. Something is up.” 

“A douche, huh?” Wonwoo curved into a sly grin. “How do you know the guy is a douche? He could be a cool guy.” 

“Come on, he drives an S-class Mercedes and wears an Apple watch. I’m willing to bet he’s some tech bro.”

“And?” Wonwoo challenged. “That doesn’t make him a bad guy. If I don’t know any better I would say you are jealous.” 

Hansol rolled his eyes at his accusation, though the thought of you canoodling with the tech bro made him feel a certain way. “I’m not jealous. I am just… concerned, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, let’s call it that.” 

The alarm beeped from the front door and you walked in slowly, looking as put together as you did last night. Hansol paled as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and Wonwoo looked amused, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter. 

“Oh hey, party girl,” Wonwoo greeted you. “We were just talking about you.”

“Were you now?” You said with raised eyebrows, slowly taking off your heels. 

“Y-yeah, we were wondering if you made it home,” Hansol said nervously. “Well, you’re here now so.”

“Did you have a good time?” Wonwoo probed you further. “Will you see him again?

You look down at the floor, your face heating up from embarrassment. They typically don’t ask about your dating life, so why does it matter now?

“Maybe,” you murmured, biting your lip. “I’m going to go shower and get out of these clothes.” 

Hansol watched you as you walked into your room, shutting the door behind you quietly. He is relieved that you made it home safe, but he still feels conflicted about how he feels. Is he in fact, jealous?

“I’m going to go home and get some sleep,” Wonwoo announced, clapping a hand on Hansol’s shoulder. 

He let himself out and Hansol went back to his room, collapsing on his bed. Stirred emotions and thoughts rumbled through his head, and he closed his eyes, determined to think things through with a clearer head. 

His phone buzzed on his nightstand, and he sluggishly grabbed it, groaning at his notifications. A new message from Kelsey flashed as he swiped up on his screen. “I miss you.”

It’s been over a week since you saw Hansol, and you would be a liar to say that you were fine. You miss him. 

Your night with Seungcheol was fun, and he was a good fuck, but your mind kept drifting back to Hansol… imagining it was him. Seungcheol was nice enough to let you sleep in if you wanted and made sure you were good before you left, but you know it’s not going to go anywhere. Deep down he knows that too. 

God, you are a mess. 

You decided to keep busy with work and find things outside of your condo that made you happy, and that’s what led you here tonight, at the local movie theater. Around this time every year, they play five showings for free as a thank-you for the community supporting the theater for the past ten years. Princess Mononoke is the movie of the night, and you are standing in line, waiting to buy your ticket. It’s one of your favorite comfort movies in the world, and you never miss a chance to watch it, especially when you are feeling down. 

The weather is cooler than what was forecasted, and the slight breeze makes you tug on your coat tightly. You and Hansol did this every year together—and it feels weird alone. Unnatural even. You remember having long discussions about the movies you saw and what made them great. You love seeing the twinkle in his eye when he talks about the type of camera lens that was used and what it took to get certain shots. In return, he would listen to you vividly as you rambled about the time and craft it took to create special effects or a certain mask. Those times made you feel connected with him in a way no one could understand, and it's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. 

You purchase your ticket and walk inside the old building, the smell of buttery popcorn attacking your senses as soon as you open the door. The interior has been the same since you have been coming here, with high lights in the ceilings, vintage movie posters, and the same plush crimson carpet that matches the drapes on the windows. It has character and it feels cozy, like you are a kid again. 

You give the attendant your ticket and he rips the lower stub, pointing you in the direction of which theater room you need to go to. Your stomach rumbled with a slight ache, reminding you that you have not eaten since this morning. You were never really the breakfast type, as you normally just wake up and go about your day. You have a million things on your mind, and just for a little while, you want to shut it off. Princess Mononoke usually does that. 

Your phone buzzes slightly in your jacket and you look at Hansol’s name on the screen, hesitant to answer. It wouldn’t hurt to hear his voice for a little bit, right?

“Hey, you,” you say, biting your lip. 

“Hey, turn around,” he replies, his voice sounding louder than it should. 

Turning around slowly, you watch him walk through the doors, the sunlight trailing behind him like a halo. He sports an old college hoodie, faded jeans, and a smile, and in this moment, he almost takes your breath away. 

“I would ask what you are doing here, but I know better than that,” you joke lightheartedly. 

“Yeah, you know I’ll never miss this,” Vernon says, looking around at the theater. “Man, this place still looks the same.” 

“I know,” you agree, fidgeting with the ticket in your hand. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Because I know you,” he shrug. “I tried calling you to see if you wanted to come tonight, but you never picked up. So I came here.” 

“You called?” You give him a puzzled look. “I don’t remember you ca—”

You scroll through your notifications, seeing the three missed calls from him throughout the day. Even texted you but you didn’t see it. You had your phone on do not disturb mode, and you didn’t think to check any of your messages. Maybe you are just being childish. 

“See,” he nudges your shoulder playfully. “I told you.” 

“Yeah, yeah” you roll your eyes teasingly. “Are you watching Mononoke too?”

“You know it,” he nods. “I’ll grab the popcorn and nachos. Go find us a seat?”

You watch him make his way to the concession stand, butterflies swirling in your stomach as the familiar feeling of home swells in your chest. You head to the third room on the right, snagging seats in the middle row that give you a perfect viewing of the movie. The lights dim as you sit down, with the old previews from 1997 playing on the screen giving you a major flashback to the past. In this moment you feel good and content, despite wanting to come here alone and avoid Hansol at all costs. You wouldn’t call yourself a fickle person, but you are glad your plans did change. Being around him feels just right. 

The movie starts a few minutes later, and Hansol appears right as it starts, searching the rows until he finds you. His face softens and his lips curve into a smile, taking a seat next you and handing you a popcorn and a cherry coke. 

“I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

You shake your head softly, avoiding his gaze and the pitter-patter he gives your heart. 

“No, you made it just in time.”

Hansol had a good time with you. 

It felt comfortable and familiar to be with you while he watched one of his favorite movies. He didn’t actually know that you were going to be there; he just took a chance and hoped you would be there, and like fate, you were standing in the middle of the theater. There was no awkwardness, he didn’t feel like he was walking on eggshells every time he had something on his mind. You just got him, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since then, and you have been hanging at the house more. Before he was lucky to catch you in the mornings when you left for work or you would come home late at night when he was already asleep. Even though things were getting back to normal, his thoughts of you continued to grow, and even though he wasn't sure of a lot of things, he knew one thing: he had missed you. 

“Earth to Vernon, hello?”

Hansol snapped out of his thoughts, refocusing on Kelsey as he sat across from her at her house. She asked him to come over and talk, and after thinking it over, he agreed, setting up a time to talk when she came back in town. Kelsey looked beautiful, sporting a white halter top and blue jean shorts, her skin sun-kissed from the vacation she took to the Cayman Islands. Her raven-black hair fell past her shoulders, swaying slightly as she talked about her trip. 

“Where is your head at today?” Kelsey pouted, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I feel like you aren’t listening to me.”

Hansol shook his head, shaking you out of his mind. “I’m listening. All I do is listen.” 

“No, you don’t,” Kelsey retorted. “You didn’t listen to me about the party or kick that girl out of your condo—”

“I already told you, that’s not happening,” Vernon pushed back. “ And that girl has a name. Why would I kick her out? It makes no sense.” 

“You know why Vernon.” 

“No, I don’t. You’re being unreasonable.” 

Kelsey rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. “We have been together almost three years and you haven’t asked me to move in. I asked you plenty of times to think about our future and to limit your time with her. You refuse to do it. Why is that?”

“Whoa, that’s bullshit!” Hansol’s anger rose through his chest. “You have never said “let’s move in together” or anything like that. If anything, all you have talked about lately is getting you into industry parties to build your brand. Also, I did start spending less time with her. What are you on about?”

“Because I am supposed to be your best friend!” Kelsey shouted. “You don’t even do the same things with me that you do with her. I bet she leaps with joy every time we have a break.” 

“She’s not like that,” Hansol said defensively. “She’s always been there for me and encouraged me to work it out with you. To your other point, every time I ask you to do something with me, something I want to do for once, you say it’s childish and that I need to grow up” 

“Because Vernon, who the hell still watches Star Wars?” Kelsey scoffs. “You are not a nine-year-old boy. You’re a grown man. Fucking act like it.” 

Hansol sighed, feeling drained and defeated. Star Wars meant a lot to him, as it was the main inspiration for why he wanted to get into cinematography and study film. It’s how he bonded with his dad. She knew that and still decided to insult him about it every chance she got. He wasn’t sure what the future looked like before he arrived, but the tension he felt in his chest and the ache in his heart made things a lot more clear. He still cared about Kelsey, more than he should, but it’s time to move on

“This… isn’t going to work,” Hansol rubbed his temple. “The fact that you still call me Vernon, knowing how formal it makes me feel, says a lot. I don’t know what happened to the girl I fell in love with, but clearly she’s gone. We’re done.” 

“Yeah, right,” Kelsey said incredulously. “You aren’t leaving me—”

“Yes, I am.” Hansol resolved. “This relationship has been one-sided for a while now. I’m sick of this.” 

Hansol got up from the table and handed her his copy of her apartment key. Kelsey looked bewildered, realizing that he was serious, and he wasn’t coming back this time. 

“So that’s it? You are just going to throw this all away? For her? She’s in love with you and you don’t even see it. All the times you have let her disrespect me and put up with her crap. I bet this was her idea.”

“You weren’t exactly nice to her either,” Hansol retorted, his heart beating out his chest. “She has been there for me when you weren’t. She cares about what I’m interested in. We like the same things. I don’t have to wonder if she cares about me and my family loves her. She’s smart, kind, beautiful and I love he—”

He stopped himself before he completed his sentence, shook at what was about to come out of his mouth. He was still grappling with his feelings for you and what that meant, and he still couldn’t put any words to what it all meant… until now.

“It’s not just about her,” Hansol said. “It’s everything with us, and the fact that you still don’t get it, tells me everything I need to know. Take care, Kelsey.”

He left the apartment before she started her next tirade, with a storm brewing in the night sky. He hated the way she talked about you like you were insignificant. You didn’t deserve the vitriol Kelsey spat every time you came up in conversation. You weren’t the warmest person, but you always made him feel seen and were there for him no matter what. You got his humor and his late-night thoughts about the latest webtoon he just read. His thoughts of you biting your lip when you’re nervous or the quirky thing you do with your eyebrow when you tell a story; he loved it all. It took for this to happen to see what he had in front of him all this time. He missed you when you aren’t around and it drove him crazy to see you on a date with that tech bro. 

Realization hit him like a punch in the gut as he turned the ignition: he’s been in love with you this whole time. Now how the hell does he tell you that?

The harsh sound of thunder makes the hairs on your neck stand up, dropping your iPad on your lap. It’s suddenly dark in your room, light from the partly cloudy day gone and replaced by storm clouds and flashing lightning. Your condo sits on the 10th floor, and the sound is much more elevated, sending chills down your spine. You hate being alone when it storms. 

You heard Hansol leave earlier and you wanted to clear your head, and so you decided to work on some sketches for a project that is happening at work. You are creating a few masks for an upcoming horror movie, and you are throwing out a few ideas that may interest the producers. The only problem is that you never got around to actually work; instead you were drawing doodles around you and Hansol’s name like a teenager. 

Every attempt you have made to distance yourself from him has become futile, and you decide to just accept the situation for what it was. Maybe one day you will work up the courage to tell him how you feel, but not being around him is agonizing, and you would rather have your best friend back than not have him at all. You can’t help the way he makes you feel, and until something changes, you’re okay with where things are… for now. 

Another crackling sound of thunder makes you yelp, knocking your iPad on the floor and cracking the corner of the screen. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking at the damage. 

Your nerves are shot, and you decide to make some tea to calm yourself while the storm rages outside. You place your iPad safely on the bed and slip out of your room, heading to the kitchen as the wind picks up and hurls rain against the windows. It amazes you how the day can go from sunny and hopeful to dark and tragic within a few minutes. Mother nature must be on one today, you think to yourself. 

The alarm door beeps and Hansol walks in, completely unscathed by the storm. He slides off his black beanie that covers his short brown hair and lets out a sigh of relief as he locks the door behind him. His eyes met yours, and a small smile spread across your face. 

“You made it just in time,” you say, pouring water into your teapot. “It’s about to get ugly out there.” 

“Yeah.” he nods, his gaze fixed on the darkened windows. 

You could tell something is bothering him, as you watch him take off his shoes and put up his jacket, but you don’t know what to say. Things have been so good between you two, yet the last time he opened up, he shared something you weren’t ready to hear. Despite everything, your concern for him remains strong, and you can’t help but ask, “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Hansol replies, lost in thought. “Kelsey and I are done for good.” 

“Oh?” you exclaim. “What’s changed?”

Vernon sits on the couch and you follow him, sitting cross-legged and across from him as he shares his feelings. “I went over there to talk to her, and I just realized that she just used me. She didn’t care about me or what I liked. It was always about her and what he wanted… plus she said some ridiculous things about you.”

“Did she now?” You quirk an eyebrow in curiosity. “What did she have to say about me?”

You aren’t surprised that she probably said some rude things about you. It’s not like you were her biggest fan either and you didn’t hide it. Kelsey wouldn’t ever say it to your face though, and that always made you chuckle. 

“She said you were in love with me and that you were happy every time we broke up.” 

The words don’t register right away. You can’t have heard him say what you think he said. “She said what now?”

“She said that you were in love with me,” his words tumbling out like a confession.

Your heart starts racing, the feelings of disbelief and anger stirring in your chest. That wasn’t her secret to share. “I.. can’t believe she said that.” 

“Neither can I,” Hansol sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like you have feelings for me, and wouldn’t tell me… right?”

Your breath catches, a deep ache forming in the pit of your stomach. This is something you longed for and dreaded for a long time. You could deny it and keep things the way they are, or finally tell him how you feel and change your dynamic forever. 

“Hansol, I—”

“Are you in love with me?” He interrupts, his gaze intense. “I need to know if this is real.”

“What do you mean? And why does it matter?” You say bitterly. “ You are in love with Kelsey and will just go back to her. You always do.” 

“What if I don’t?” 

Your heart is pounding, and you take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. “What do you mean if you don’t?”

“I told you, I am done with her,” Hansol reiterates. “These past few weeks without her opened my eyes to a lot of things, and while I have been thinking about her less, you’ve been on my mind more.”

“What are you saying, Hansol?”

“I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you.”

The air is thick with uncertainty as his words echo in your head. You should be happy, relieved even that he wants to be with you. But in the midst of that, you are scared. What if it doesn’t work? What if he regrets all of this in the morning and decides to take it all back? You couldn’t handle that. 

“I… Kelsey wasn’t far off,” you admit, biting your lip. “I wasn’t necessarily happy when you were sad about her, but I have always felt like you deserved better.” You pause to gather your thoughts. “I am in love with you, Hansol.  I tried to put my feelings away and move on, date, or whatever. But every time I’m near you, it just hurts.”

Hansol pulls you into a warm hug, and you fully embrace his scent and the comfort you feel. You’ve imagined times like this when he would hold you in his arms and caress your face. You craved it even, wishing you could hear his heartbeat and feel him in ways you haven’t. But this feels too good to be true, and in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is real, or another dream. 

“Are you sure you want to be with me?” you speak up. “You just broke up with her and I don’t want to be some rebound you’ll regret later—”

He kisses you. His soft lips press against yours earnestly, and you melt against him, losing the remaining inhibition you had in you. He leans you back against the couch; his kisses becoming deeper, igniting a fire in you that you thought would stay dormant forever. 

“Does that feel like I’m unsure about what I want?” He breathes heavily. 

“I don’t know,” a smile creeps on your lips, a mix of joy and relief flooding through your veins. “I think I might need another one just to be sure.”

He kisses you again and you return his vigor, your fingers entangled in his hair as you savor the moment. His hands glide down to your waist, touching the hem of your shorts that you hope he’ll tear away. You pause, nodding that it’s okay, watching him slowly slide your shorts down your legs. 

“No panties?” His need is evident, almost salivating at the mouth. 

Your face heats up as you briefly become shy. “It’s laundry day,” you mumble. 

You gaze at each other before erupting into laughter, any remaining tension that was there gone immediately. This is how it always is with him, easy and light. He doesn’t have second or third questions, he just immediately understands. You couldn’t have fallen in love with a better person. 

“I-I love you, Hansol,” you managed to say. “You don’t have to say it back yet, I know we have to figure this out. But just know, I love you.” 

Hansol leans in for another kiss; this time it’s sweeter, tender, with enough meaning to know what it meant,  “Don’t worry, I love you too.” 

And with that, he stands up, taking your hand and leading you to his room. Kicking the door shut, you tear off each other's clothes, excitement and lust pouring through you as you lay on his bed, watching him climb over you. His body presses against yours, your arms wrap around his neck and back, your need for him growing stronger as he leaves kisses on your neck. “I need you so bad.” 

Hansol groans as his hands grab your breasts, mesmerized by your hardened mounds. He sucks on each other carefully, his eyes closed as if he is savoring the taste. He worships your body, his tongue trailing down your stomach until he reaches your core, spreading your legs apart. You’ve played so many scenarios on what your first time with him would be like, and what kind of lover he would be. This is better than you’ve imagined. 

“You’re so wet… for me?” he says in disbelief. “I get you like this?”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly as you anticipate his next move. He slips a digit inside of you, watching you squirm as he fingers you slowly. 

“Oh god,” you praise him as he adds another one. “Just like that, please.” 

Hansol leans down and lashes his tongue against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. The sheets bunch in your fists, your knuckles stretching out as his relentless mouth laps up your essence, savoring every drop. He explores every inch of your softness, removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. His hands stroke his cock which is leaking with precum. You are ascending to a high that you never want to come down from. 

“H-Hansol,” your voice is grained with need. “I’m so close.”

He moans in response, his breath hot against your skin, and the sound vibrates through you, intensifying the coil of tension within. Your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of bliss completely taking over you, whimpering his name as your legs tremble around him. White starts clouding your vision and you feel like you are on air, floating away into paradise. You feel him groan against your thigh, and you look down slightly, his cock dripping with his load as it coats his hand. You collapse on his pillow, trying to catch your breath, slowly coming down from cloud nine. You hear him leave and come back a few moments later, wiping you down with a warm rag. 

“Aww, that’s sweet of you,” you tease him, closing your legs slightly. 

“I’m sorry for that being short,” he says, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I usually can last longer than that, you know… I don’t know what happened.”

You prop yourself up, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

You pull him into a hug, softly kissing his cheek and motioning for him to lay down with you. He climbs over you and hugs you from behind, cradling you so close you can feel his heartbeat. The sunlight peeks through the window, a sign that the storm finally passed. Happiness can’t even describe the word you are feeling right now.

“Fuck. R-right there.”

Hansol wanted to make up for last night’s performance, so he woke you up with kisses to your face, your neck, the curves on your body and most importantly, in between your legs. The way you grabbed his hair went his tongue went deeper, or the way you begged for him to fuck you. He was addicted to all of it. It was like he was making love for the first time.

“Please Hansol, I need you.”

He quickly slipped on a condom and slowly entered you, watching the way your lips parted as he inched in a little more.

“Are you okay? I am not hurting you, am I?”

You shook your head slowly as you held onto his arms, looking into his eyes with a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” you bit your lip. “I can take it.”

He almost came right then and there, hearing you talk like that. Feeling safe with him. He never experienced that with Kelsey, the feeling of being wanted, and truly loved.

He moved slowly, wanting to make sure you could handle it, and he was mesmerized by the way you looked when you were being pleasured. You goaded him for more, and he did that, stroking deeper while your nails dug into his back. You were tight, warm and welcoming like you were made for him. He loved the way your breasts bounced when he thrust harder and the blunt curses that left your lips when he lifted your legs. 

If Hansol could, he would fuck you all day and night to make up for the past time wasted. He wanted to show you how much you meant to him, and he wasn't the best with words, so this would do… for now

“I’m gonna cum—”

His mouth covered yours as your legs shuddered underneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a hurricane. Your body glistened with sweat, your eyes wet from tears from being fucked out and he couldn't hold back anymore, his thrusts becoming erratic as he emptied himself into the condom.

Hansol thought he was in love before, and maybe it was because it was you, but he hadn't felt this alive in a long time. You were precious to him, and all he wanted to do was lay with you and watch movies all day, talk about mundane things…it didn't matter as long as he was with you.

“I… have a confession to make,” you said breathlessly.

“Yeah?”

“I always wondered… what it would be like. With you.”

He watched you bury yourself in his sheets, feeling shy about your confession. Hansol chuckled, slowly pulling out of you and riding himself of the condom. 

“So, did I live up to your expectations?” He asked tentatively.

You gently pull down the covers, smiling at him softly. “This is better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

tagging: @heechwe @junniesoleilkth @iheartnonie @jaeyunsprincxss

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise — the journey home

summary: Joel drives you home from the airport after your vacation. You miss him as soon as he's gone. warnings: daddy kink (mentioned once), big age gap (23 & 49), orgasm control (reader needs Joel's permission), slight angst, phone sex in your parents' home (the most mortifying thing I can think of actually)

note: sorry this took me so long, I lowkey forgot about it tbh. It's a little angsty, but I swear that angst will be resolved!! Idk when, because I'm writing a different oneshot atm, but at some point I plan on writing more smut & a confrontation with reader's Dad. Enjoy these head canons in the meantime, and thank you for your love on this series <3333

Your Dad calls while you’re still at the airport & Joel tells him he got you home safely (your panties are still ruined from how badly you wanted Joel on the plane, his hand on your thigh the entire time)

He puts the luggage in the trunk of his Bronco, and before you’ve made it halfway home, he pulls over to a deserted parking lot by the side of the road & makes you ride him in the car

So good, baby, let me have it one last time. He comes inside of you like he did every time he fucked you during your trip, and when you grab your tissues to clean yourself, he asks you to leave it, baby, want you to remember me when you get home

So you do, because you always do what he tells you, and because you don’t want to let him go completely just yet. The rest of the way both of you are very quiet

Joel pulls up to your Dad’s house (you’re staying with him to help him with his leg), and before you can get out, he pulls you into a hug, and kisses the side of your head

Hope ya had a good time. You want to cry but you also don’t want to seem clingy, so you nod. Joel doesn’t let you go for a few minutes

When you pull away to say goodbye, he looks like your Dad’s Joel again, wearing his boots instead of flip flops, a pair of jeans instead of your beloved trunks, and his linen shirt is nowhere to be seen

Take care, kid. Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t study too hard.

Before you can answer, the front door opens and your Dad greets you, leg still in a cast, and considerably less tan than you and Joel

When you get out to greet him, you feel Joel’s cum drip out of you and into your cotton panties. You glance at Joel, who seems to understand and raises one playful eyebrow — he’s still your Joel, no matter his clothes

Your Dad hugs you and the entire time you think he'll be able to smell Joel on you, his clothes you kept wearing, his shampoo you used when you were too lazy to get yours from your own hotel room, his sweat and spit and cum on you, but your Dad just walks over to Joel's window and thanks him

"Had a good time with my girl?"

Joel doesn't really meet his eye, and you think to yourself that my girl is a term only applicable if Joel says it, but he just agrees, says the food was good and that you studied a lot

And that's it, Joel drives away with one last glance at you in the sun, and then he's gone and a strange emptiness settles over you

You tell your Dad you need some time for yourself after a week of socializing, which he doesn't question, so you say good night, plop down on your bed and put on a movie. You don't want to shower, not when you can still feel Joel inside of you

It takes you around twenty minutes to pull out your phone, and when you do, you've already got a message from Joel

Miss you already, baby. At the risk of sounding desperate, call me if you need a break from studying.

The proper punctuation makes you smile and want to cry at the same time, Joel's age so obvious. You take a couple of seconds to answer and fight the urge to call him and ask him to just take you away to live at his place, your Dad be damned

miss you too. can still feel you inside of me. trying hard not to call you right now

Almost immediately, your phone lights up with Joel's name, and then he's there, his beautiful face taking up the majority of the screen, and although you try hard not to cry, you feel tears burning your eyes

You tell Joel you miss your vacation already, that you wish you could go back, that you don't want to sleep alone tonight. You wonder if he just wanted to have phone sex with you and instead got this jumbled up mess of feelings and tears

But there's just kindness and warmth in his eyes, and when he tells you he wishes you were there with him, watching a movie together instead of alone, relief floods your body. He talks to you in his soothing voice until you stop crying, tells you you can always come over

You're scared to ask him what he means, if he's offering a shoulder to cry on, or if he actually wants to keep seeing you, but when he sees the expression on your face, he asks you to come to his place tomorrow and talk there, instead of over the phone

You agree, already longing for his arms around your body, and when you ask him to make you feel good in a hushed voice, he is quiet for a couple of seconds

Want me to help you get off in your Dad's house? You're not even home in your apartment and you already need it this bad?

It's humiliating in a way that switches off your brain, Joel's words exactly what you need to get lost in him – he isn't pretending what the two of you are doing isn't completely reckless and fucked, instead, he embraces it, makes you get off on it

He makes you use your fingers instead of a vibrator, and they feel strikingly small after being stretched out on Joel's cock for a week. By now, he knows your sounds well enough to tell you to stop when you're close, and only after bringing you right to the edge three times with little more than his dirty words, and you beg him with tears in your eyes, Daddy please, he lets you come

That's it, baby, you have my permission.

When you're done, you wonder why he hasn't touched himself, anxiety bubbling up inside of you, but Joel tells you he wants to focus on you, that he'll take care of it when you've gone to bed.

You tell him again how much you miss him, that you don't want to sleep alone, or get off alone, or eat alone, or with anyone else. Joel smiles sadly, and sighs. Don't gotta get off alone, kid, just text me whenever you need me.

But it's all he can offer – his permission to come, but no dinners together, no nights spent basking in his warmth and scent. You take it, though, and promise to ask his permission every time. You know it turns Joel on, but there is also something more intimate about it. The only exclusivity either of you can offer each other at the moment

You both fall asleep while still on FaceTime, but in the morning, your phone is dead

taglist: @allydiasx@b1bbles@monamedeiros12@brittmb115@dansdonunts @mattevioletgirl @pedrospurplerain @fsiryspit @strangerthingslover69 @thanyatargaryen @chochoooooooooo @guelyury @iloveumorethanlove @neayinia @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @clancysinferno @bbyanarchist @pedrofan @cr3aturef3ar @malfoycassimalfoy @akah565

[meadowfics]

suddenly, you're my valentine

se-mi x f!reader

your bestfriend turned lover gives you a good valentine's day

warnings: friends to lovers. reader has issues with love.

valentine’s day has always been bittersweet for you.

no matter how much you try to ignore it, the ache of loneliness never fails to creep in. everywhere you turn, there are couples holding hands, exchanging gifts, sharing soft kisses.

reminders of the love you’ve always wanted but never truly had.

you’ve never had good luck in love.

every time you let someone in, they leave.

maybe it’s you. maybe you’re just not meant to be loved the way you hope for.

so, when you wake up to a bouquet of deep red roses sitting on your nightstand, your heart stutters. confusion swirls in your chest because no one has ever done something like this for you.

did someone get into your house? there is only one person who has a key to your apartment besides you.

attached to the bouquet is a small envelope, your name written neatly in handwriting you recognize instantly..

semi’s.

your best friend,

the other person who has a key to your apartment.

your lips twitch into a small smile as you open the card.

nside, there’s a note written in semi’s familiar, neat script:

happy valentine’s day, y/n. get ready, i’m picking you up at 7. wear something nice.

your heart races.

semi’s always been sweet to you, but this feels… different. still, you push down the lingering hope that bubbles in your chest, telling yourself that she’s just being the best friend she’s always been.

at exactly seven, semi arrives, a small grin on her lips as she stands at your door with a single red rose in hand.

she looks stunning, dressed in a dark red blouse that complements her effortlessly, her dark hair styled just right.

your breath catches for a second.

“wow,” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

“you clean up nice.”

semi chuckles, handing you the rose.

“you look beautiful, y/n.”

your face heats up at the compliment, but you shake it off. this is just semi being semi.

nothing more.

she takes you to one of the nicest restaurants in the city, one you’ve always wanted to go to but never had the chance. the candlelit ambiance, the soft music, the way semi’s eyes never leave you.

it all feels so intimate, so much like a date, and yet you don’t let yourself believe it.

“so,” you say, swirling your drink, trying to ignore the way your heart is betraying you.

“what’s all this for? i mean, i know it’s valentine’s day, but this seems like… a lot.”

semi leans forward slightly, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass.

“you deserve it.”

you scoff, shaking your head.

“i don’t know about that.”

se-mi's brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?”

“act like you’re not worthy of good things. of love.”

your stomach twists.

“because I do not feel like I am worthy, semi.”

semi's expression softens, but there’s a certain intensity in her gaze that makes it hard to hold.

“that’s not true.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on your food, pretending like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest.

the night continues with semi making sure you feel special, treating you with so much tenderness it nearly makes you want to cry.

she pays the bill before you can argue, and when you step outside, the cool night air kissing your skin, she turns to you with a small smile.

“one more surprise,” she says, taking your hand in hers.

you don’t question it.

you never do when it comes to semi.

she drives you to a secluded hilltop, where a blanket is already set up with fairy lights twinkling softly around it. there’s a small box sitting at the center of the blanket.

“semi…” your voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed by everything she’s done for you tonight.

she gestures for you to sit, and when you do, she hands you the box. with hesitant hands, you open it, only to find a delicate silver bracelet inside, a small charm hanging from it..

your initial intertwined with hers.

your breath hitches.

“semi… this is… this is beautiful.”

you smile up at her.

"you're such a good best friend, semi."

she watches you carefully, lips parting slightly like she’s holding something back. then, she finally speaks.

“i didn’t do this as your best friend, y/n.”

your fingers tighten around the bracelet. your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

“what… what do you mean?”

semi exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair.

“i did this because i’m in love with you.”

everything stills.

your eyes snap to hers, searching, needing to know if she’s serious.

there’s no hesitation, no doubt in her gaze.

“you’re lying.” the words leave your lips before you can stop them.

“you… you don’t love me like that. i’m not even your type, semi.”

she shakes her head, frustration flickering across her face.

“what does that even mean, y/n? you’ve always been my type. I just...i didn’t know how to tell you without scaring you away.”

your breath shudders as you take in her words, your emotions a tangled mess inside of you.

all this time, you’ve convinced yourself that you weren’t enough. that love wasn’t meant for you.

however, here she is. semi, your best friend, the only person who has ever truly seen you...telling you that she loves you.

before you can think, before doubt can creep in, you surge forward, crashing your lips against hers.

semi freezes for a split second before responding with just as much urgency, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

the kiss is desperate, filled with all the emotions you’ve buried for so long.

your hands tangle in her hair, and she groans softly into your mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. your plump lips attaching to hers..

it’s intoxicating, the way she tastes, the way she feels against you.

when you finally pull away, breathless, foreheads pressed together, you whisper,

“i love you too, semi. happy valentine’s day.”

she lets out a shaky laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“best valentine’s day ever.”

masterlist

[youcouldmakealife]

Gabe/Stephen (Bryce/Jared); tell me about it, stud

Because I had to do ~something for Valentine's, and while there was plenty of romance in COTT if you looked (Holden Chase shutting up for twenty minutes is true romance), I figured it'd be a good day to feature the stars of the upcoming Kickstarter.

No Expectation of Returns doesn't really roll off the tongue, so I've dubbed them (and the Kickstarter project itself) The April Fools, because they were both born in April (April 25 and 27, 1991, for those curious). Stephen's lived two whole days without Gabe in his life. Gabe's happy with the tally of none.

Everybody knows Gabe's a sucker for Stephen. Very few realise just how mutual that is.

“Okay,” Gabe says, which is all Stephen needs to hear to give him his undivided attention.

Stephen had been rifling through the kitchen cupboards when Gabe called, trying to find himself a low-effort snack, though the food gathering operation gets abandoned as soon as Stephen’s finished asking Gabe how his day’s been.

It’s something about the way he says it, a thread of laughter in his voice, but incredulity too. It’s easy to make Gabe laugh, though Stephen acknowledges he’s saying that as someone with decades of practice, and also as the person who is, he thinks, the best at it. Dmitry probably spends more time with Gabe, with them on the road half the season, so he might win for volume, but frankly, his attempts are all crude, so Stephen thinks he still has the edge.

It’s easy, it turns out, to make someone laugh when you’ve known them their entire life. Extremely difficult to surprise them, however.

Though it’s hardly only Stephen who has a hard time surprising Gabe. He has this — vision, Stephen supposes, seems to see well past the horizon everyone else does, and everything he does see, he tends to take in stride. It is, frankly, one of his most infuriating qualities — possibly even the most infuriating, tied with that particular way he says ‘Steve’ that always makes Stephen want to bite him. But it’s also the reason Gabe’s so steady — not to mention the reason Gabe still puts up with him — so Stephen has grudging respect for it.

But Gabe sounds incredulous, so Stephen knows, without another word, that whatever it is Gabe has to say, it takes priority over balancing effort versus nutrition.

“One sec,” Stephen says, and goes straight to the nearest junk food stash — or, at least, the nearest one he recalls, sometimes Gabe finds hiding places Stephen had entirely forgotten about — and grabs a bag of Smart Food. He suspects it will be an appropriate snack.

“Okay,” Stephen says. “I’ve got the popcorn ready.”

“You mean that literally, don’t you,” Gabe says. It isn't a question.

“Yep,” Stephen says anyway, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he rips it open. "Lay it on me."

“Jared’s married to a Calgary Flame,” Gabe says, then, “Did you just drop the popcorn?”

“It’s literally everywhere now,” Stephen says. “And yes, I meant that literally too. Wait, which Flame?”

“Bryce Marcus,” Gabe says, and all Stephen will say is that it’s a damn good thing he’s holding his phone to his ear again, or he might have dropped it too.

*

Gabe only continues after Stephen’s substituted the popcorn with chips, opened a bottle of wine, and assured Gabe that he will not leave the popcorn all over the kitchen floor, but Gabe has to know he’s not allowed to just drop that bomb without following up by giving Stephen every single salacious detail he’s gathered.

Infuriating, like Stephen says. Do you know how difficult it is to outwait someone as patient as Gabriel Markson? Stephen doesn’t. He doesn’t think he’s ever succeeded, not once. And believe him, he he has tried.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he doesn’t bother. When Gabe’s asking how Stephen’s day was, sounding genuinely interested, because he’s always genuinely interested — that particular tendency of his is one Stephen likes more than he would ever admit out loud — Stephen says, “Jared. And Bryce Marcus. Are you sure you got the right Flame, Gabe, he’s kind of—“

“I mean, Jared introduced me to him,” Gabe says. “So I’m pretty sure.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “You met him? When did you meet him?”

“At the dinner Jared had me come along for,” Gabe says, then, “Jared told me I could tell you all this, by the way. About Bryce, I mean. I wasn’t going to say anything if he wasn’t okay with it.”

“Gabe!” Stephen says.

Gabe’s — discretion, Stephen supposes the word would be, means there are likely plenty of things that Gabe doesn’t tell Stephen, simply because he thinks the other party would prefer he keep his mouth shut.

Meanwhile Stephen gives Gabe every single bit of gossip from wine nights — and there is a dizzying amount of gossip, a perpetual motion machine of gossip, most of the ones who aren’t working are bored as fuck —which he can trust never to reach anyone else’s ears because, again, Gabe would keep a secret to the grave. Which is probably the reason that Jared already trusts him enough to introduce him to his husband.

Obviously Stephen’s a little torn about this one.

Gabe doesn’t even say anything, just mutely waits Stephen out, like he always does when he knows he’s in the right, and he knows Stephen knows it too, or he will if he thinks about it for a minute. The worst part is he’s usually right. Like yes, obviously Stephen would prefer Gabe be reliable and trustworthy, but when someone's always that guy, every time you argue with him, it probably means you're being the unreasonable one.

“You don’t have to sound so smug about it,” Stephen says.

“I literally didn’t say a word,” Gabe says, and unfortunately the literality of that ‘literally’ doesn’t have to be confirmed, considering he didn’t.

“Dinner,” Stephen says. “Jared. Bryce Marcus.”

“And one of the other Flames,” Gabe says. “Jared’s buddy from Juniors. Bryce’s buddy too, I assume? I don’t know, we didn’t actually talk much, just kind of grimaced at each other as Jared and Bryce kept alternating between pretending they were just buddies and giving each other longing looks.”

“Wait, did they tell you or not?” Stephen asks. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if they hadn’t intended to let Gabe know, but he figured it out anyway. Even Stephen forgets sometimes just how quickly Gabe can take a few pieces of information and put together an entire essay.

“I think they were kind of testing me out?” Gabe asks. “Like, when I told Jared he should go home to his husband he got really embarrassed but he also seemed almost — relieved, maybe? Like he didn’t want to tell me but he wanted me to know. Or he wanted me to know, but only if I was okay with it, which I obviously was.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “Was in front of Bryce, or—“

“Oh,” Gabe says. “Sorry, this was later, Bryce and Chaz left first and then I finished my beer while Jared stared at me like he was going to kill me if I took any longer, so I told him he should go home to his husband.”

This is all getting confused in Stephen’s head now, but he focuses on the most important part first. “You say there were longing looks?”

“I’d call them gazes,” Gabe says.

Never mind what Stephen said earlier: his favourite thing about Gabe is the way he plays along.

“There was also a little bit of eye fucking going on,” Gabe says, and Stephen chokes on his wine.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, as Stephen sputters.

“I got it up my nose, Gabriel,” Stephen says.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, but he sounds a little less repentant this time.

“Just tell me about the eye fucking,” Stephen says, then, “Wait, no, you’re skipping around too much, you need to establish the details. Where was dinner? A restaurant? Was this a planned dinner or was it more spontaneous? How exactly was this framed to you, did Jared say you were meeting his husband or that he was meeting some friends, or what? The buddy’s name is Chaz?”

“Do you want to know what I’m wearing too?” Gabe asks. "Help you set the scene better?"

“Right now I’m more curious about what everyone else was," Stephen says. "But we can have phone sex after if you want."

Stephen smiles into the sip of wine he takes then, safe in the knowledge Gabe can’t surprise him into a laugh when he’s the one laughing instead.

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER VII: DELECTABLE.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (17,5k words)

Author's note: Consider this as my Valentine's gift for you, cuties. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to share your thoughts on it ♡

Delectable. /dɪˈlek.tə.bəl/ (adj) looking or tasting extremely good, and giving great pleasure.

This is uncharted territory for Minho. Meeting your father feels like being handed a complex recipe without any instructions. In cooking, he can always rely on techniques, measurements, and experience. But here? There’s no guide on how to impress your dad. No step-by-step process to follow. Just instincts—and his instincts are telling him he’s in trouble.

Awkwardly, he leads the way through the restaurant, glancing back every few steps to make sure your dad is keeping up. He catches sight of you behind him, trailing anxiously, your hands clasped together like you’re holding yourself together.

Once they reach the kitchen, Minho turns to your dad and says politely, “If you take a seat in the hall, I’ll prepare a dish for you right away, sir.”

But your dad doesn’t sit. Instead, he fixes his gaze on Minho and says, “I didn’t come here to eat your food.” Then, he turns to you. “You make it.”

Minho sees the way your body stiffens. The sheer panic that paints your face as you stammer, “Why don’t you try something the chef makes? You don’t always get the chance.”

Minho steps in, offering himself up immediately. “What would you like, sir?”

But your dad waves him off. “No, I want her to bring me the dish she’s been working on lately.”

Minho hears you gasp, a mix of surprise and dread. But you obey without argument, walking to your station and preparing the grilled scallops you’ve been refining. He watches intently as you cook, noting the way your hands shake slightly. When you make a mistake, he silently winces but holds himself back from correcting you.

Next to him, your dad speaks. “I had to come and see for myself,” he says, his voice firm. “She’s never talked about a man she’s liked before.” He glances at Minho. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Minho shakes his head. “No, I don’t mind, sir.”

Your dad hums. “I liked the other guy I sent home earlier.”

Minho stiffens. Chris. Of course that annoying guy makes a better impression on your dad than him. But before Minho can respond, your dad adds, “Not that it matters. She never listens to me anyway.”

Minho almost smiles at that, but then he sees you approaching with your dish, setting it on the chef’s table. “Try this, dad,” you say, your voice carefully controlled.

Your dad doesn’t reach for it. Instead, he asks, “Why are you giving this to me?”

You blink in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Your dad’s expression remains unreadable. “Don’t you need your chef’s permission for your dish to go out to the hall?”

Silence stretches between you.

“Why do you think I’m eating your food instead of his?” your dad continues. “It’s not because I prefer yours.”

Minho understands then. Why scoldings and harsh words don’t seem to shake you. You’re used to it.

Your dad turns to Minho. “Go on. Taste it.”

Minho nods, picks up a fork, and cuts into the scallop. He dips it in the purée and sauce before bringing it to his mouth. He knows he has to be truthful, no matter what.

“Do it again.”

You freeze, shell-shocked. But then, you snap into motion, nodding quickly. “Yes, Chef.”

You turn back to your station and start over. When you present the second plate, Minho glances at your dad, who gestures for him to try it again. He hates to say it, but it’s still not right. “Do it again.”

This time, Minho sees the disappointment flicker across your face before you drag yourself back to your station. The third time, it’s still not right. With a quiet sigh, he repeats himself. “Do it again.”

Your dad looks away and scoffs. “We’re going to be here all night.”

Minho doesn’t miss the resentment in your eyes. Still, you offer, “I’ll do it again, Chef.”

But your dad snaps. “Is this how you work all day long?”

You shake your head quickly, but then your dad suddenly picks up the rejected dish and sets it down so hard that the spoon clatters against the plate.

He turns to Minho. “You must be giving her a hard time.” His voice is sharp. “Look at her. Does she look like someone who’s in love to you?”

Minho doesn’t know how to answer that. He can’t even decide if he should give himan honest answer or should he sugarcoat it for you.

Your dad exhales, shaking his head. “As soon as I heard she liked you, I couldn’t concentrate on my work.”

Minho bows his head slightly as he mutters an apology. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Your voice comes next, trembling. “Dad, I’m fine. I'm ashamed already. Can you stop now?”

Your dad snaps back, “You think you’re the only one ashamed? I feel the same way too.”

Minho stays quiet, unsure of how to navigate this. Heck, he doesn't even know which side to choose. After a pause, he tries, “Sir, what if we asked to do it one more—”

Your dad cuts him off with a scoff, then turns on his heel and walks out.

Minho hurriedly turns to you. “Go after him. Go! Follow him out.”

But you don’t move. Instead, you glare at him. “Did you really have to do that?”

Minho blinks. “What?”

You grit your teeth. “It wasn’t like I was cooking for customers. That was the first time my dad came here to try my food.” Your voice wavers as your eyes falter. “Did you have to show him that I get rejected all the time?”

Minho’s chest tightens after realizing how upset you are. He lowers his voice and mutters an apology. “I'm sorry, mmh?”

But you keep going, holding back tears. “Just because I don’t say anything and hold it all in doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”

Minho understands. He really does. He steps forward and gently places his hands on your shoulders, pulling you close. “I said I’m sorry.”

But you push him away, hard enough to make him staggering backward. Your tears finally spill over.

Frustration coils in Minho’s chest. “As long as I’m the chef, every dish that goes past my table is mine, even if I didn’t make it myself.” He exhales sharply, his voice quieter. “That was the first dish I made for your dad. I wanted to impress him.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t want to hear it. Even if you’re right, I’m sick of it. I can’t take it anymore.”

Minho clenches his jaw. His voice comes out sharper than he intends. “Then why didn’t you do it right the first time?”

Your breath hitches. More tears fall, and Minho’s frustration dissolves instantly. He doesn’t want to make you sad. He steps closer again, his voice softer.

“Stop crying, mmh?” His hands cup your face, wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

This time, you don’t push him away. You bury your head in his chest and let him hold you. Minho kisses the top of your head while continuously murmuring quiet apologies, his hands gently rubbing your back. Then—

“Get away from her.”

Minho’s body tenses. He immediately steps back, turning to face your dad, who watches him with unreadable eyes from the doorway of the kitchen. Then, your dad says, “Come to my bakery sometime. I’d like to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

Minho stares, still freezing in place and giving no response.

Your dad stares back at him and asks, “Aren’t you going to answer me?”

Minho scrambles to respond. “Of course, sir”

Your dad turns to you now and clicks his tongue seeing you cry. “Bring your chef. Or your boyfriend. Or whatever. Just come together.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Together?”

Your dad nods. “Of course. Were you going to send him alone?” Then, he turns and walks away.

You run after him, leaving Minho standing in the kitchen, dazed. He turns to face the chef’s table, staring down at all the rejected dishes. He picks up the fork and have another bite of it, he can tell that you're getting better at it.

“He left,” You announce when you return shortly after, standing next to him.

Minho exhales. He doesn’t know what to say first. The fact that he made you cry. The fact that your dad caught him holding you. Or should he address the whole situation with your dad.

But then, you suddenly turn to him and say, “I think my dad likes you.”

Minho frowns in confusion, “What?”

You smile—shy, small. “He told us to come together. I think that means he likes you.”

A grin tugs at Minho’s lips. His hands find your waist as he pulls you close. “That so?”

You giggle, nodding. You melt into his arm as he pulls you closer. Minho hugs you tight, and as your bodies calibrating into each other, you both bursts out laughing to shake out all the worries and concerns from earlier.

Minho exhales, letting relief wash over him. He has made an impression and it matters because it's your dad. For the first time, he feels like he did something right.

-

Choi Sara Admits to Cheating in Piazza dello Chef Contest—Sabotaged Rival's Dish.

Renowned chef Choi Sara, once celebrated as the only female chef in the city’s top Italian restaurants, has publicly admitted to cheating in the Piazza dello Chef Contest, a prestigious culinary competition that propelled her to fame. The shocking confession has resulted in her losing several high-profile positions, including her role as the star host of the cable food channel's "The Chef’s Table", her judging seat on the New Chef Culinary Challenge, and her position at Farfalle, the city’s most esteemed Italian restaurant.

Choi Sara confirmed the long-standing rumors of her misconduct, revealing that she sabotaged her rival’s chances of winning by tampering with his key ingredient. The contest’s challenge featured ginseng pasta, with wine serving as the essential element in neutralizing the ginseng’s bitterness. Choi admitted to oxidizing her rival’s wine by placing it in boiling water the night before the competition, rendering it ineffective and ultimately securing her victory.

The chef who was cheated out of his rightful win has now been identified as Lee Minho, currently the co-chef of Farfalle. His loss in the competition significantly altered the trajectory of his career, while Choi’s tainted victory opened doors that have now been abruptly closed.

The scandal has sent shockwaves through the culinary world, with many calling for Choi to be permanently banned from future competitions and culinary institutions. Neither Farfalle nor the New Chef Culinary Challenge has issued an official statement regarding the controversy.

As the culinary industry reacts to this bombshell revelation, Choi Sara's career now faces an uncertain future.

-

The moment you step into the restaurant, you barely have time to process the usual morning bustle before Taesoo comes charging toward you. His eyes are wide with urgency, his mouth opening as if to speak—but no words come out. Instead, he thrusts his phone toward you, his fingers trembling as he points at the screen.

Frowning, you take the phone from his hand, your gaze dropping to the glowing display. An article fills the screen, the headline alone enough to send a jolt through your chest. Your eyes dart across the text, skimming past the formalities, searching for the core of it.

"Choi Sara Admits to Cheating in Piazza dello Chef Contest—Sabotaged Rival's Dish."

The words slam into you, one after another, but nothing hits harder than the revelation buried in the details. The rival chef she cheated out of a rightful victory—the one whose career could have been different if not for her actions—was Minho.

A sharp gasp escapes you. The abrupt end of their relationship, the distance, the bitterness—it all makes sense now. But why confess everything now, and why to the press?

Your grip tightens around the phone before you shove it back into Taesoo’s hands, your feet already moving before you fully register what you’re doing. Your heart pounds as you sprint toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Chris’s office door looms ahead. You don’t bother knocking—you push it open with force, breathless from your rush. Chris is already on his feet, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly aware.

“Chris—” you manage between pants, but he’s already moving, reaching for his suit jacket as if he anticipated your arrival.

“I know,” he says simply, slipping the jacket over his shoulders as he walks toward you.

“You’re going to see her?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He nods, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “I’m heading out now.” Then, as he reaches you, his hand rests gently on your shoulder. His touch is steady, reassuring. “I’ll let you know when I get back. And I’ll tell Sara you’re worried about her.”

You nod, exhaling a quiet, “Thank you.” Your voice feels small, barely audible over the storm of thoughts in your head.

Chris offers a final nod before stepping past you, out the door.

You remain standing there, watching him go, unable to shake the weight settling in your chest. No matter where she is, you can only hope that Sara is alright.

-

You’ve expected Minho to keep his head down and work as if nothing happened, and he does exactly that. The tension in the air is almost suffocating—everyone in the kitchen knows about Sara’s confession, and Minho knows that they know. But as always, he moves through the lunch service with precision, barking out orders in his usual sharp tone, as if the weight of the news hasn’t touched him.

The last order of the lunch service prints through the machine, and Minho tears it off, scanning it quickly.

“Table 14. Two filet mignon course meals. Make them both rare,” he announces.

Sous-chef Seojun, who handles the steaks, pauses as he reaches for the meat. “Rare? Both of them?”

Before Minho can respond, a service staff member rushes into the kitchen, looking slightly panicked. Just as he opens his mouth, Minho beats him to it.

“Did the customers at table 14 really request them rare?”

The service staff nods quickly. “Chef… it’s them. The food critics—the same ones who complained about the lobster last time.”

A hush falls over the kitchen. Everyone still remembers the criticism Farfalle received, and now those same critics are back. You glance around, noticing how the team has subtly stiffened. Minho sees it too.

“Everyone! Pay attention to your frying pans,” His voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Start the entrée line course, now.”

“Yes, Chef!” everyone answers in unison, snapping back into motion.

The next several minutes pass in focused silence. The steaks are cooked, plated, and sent out. The kitchen moves efficiently, but the underlying unease remains.

Then the service staff returns. “Chef, the food critics would like to speak with you.”

Minho barely reacts. He removes his apron and straightens his jacket. “Clean up,” he orders before stepping out of the kitchen.

But instead of following Minho’s instructions, everyone slowly gravitates toward the chef’s table. Hyunwoo is the first to break the silence.

“Do you think the restaurant’s reputation took a hit because of Chef Sara?” he asks, his voice low but curious. “Maybe they’re here to change our star rating.”

Seungwan hums in thought. “It could be. The new menu, the press conference—it all happened when Chef Sara was still here.”

Taesoo chimes in next. “Or maybe they just want to evaluate Chef Lee alone now that he’s the only head chef.”

Felix, leaning against the counter, shakes his head. “Chef doesn’t care about any of that.”

Taesoo raises an eyebrow. “Why not? A higher rating is always good. I hope we get something better than whatever rating Chef Sara got.”

Felix nods, glancing toward the dining area. “Ah... so that’s why they ordered the steaks rare.”

Taesoo frowns. “Wait… is there a reason why they ordered it rare?”

You finally speak up. “Because when meat is rare, they can evaluate its quality better. The freshness, how it was stored, how well it was prepared and cooked—it all shows.”

Taesoo gasps, as if the realization just hit him. Hyunwoo grins, nudging Seojun. “Good thing we have Sous-chef back there. You’ve got the Midas touch when it comes to the grill.”

Seungwan nods in agreement. “Yeah, when we think of steak, we think of Sous-chef Seojun.”

Seojun, clearly flustered, smiles shyly at the praise. They’re not wrong—if anyone could pull off the perfect steak, it’s him. But you’re not as reassured as they are. Your thoughts linger on the bigger issue.

If the critics are here for a reevaluation, that means trust in Farfalle’s kitchen might already be wavering. And trust, once lost, isn’t so easy to regain.

-

Minho moves through the dining hall with practiced ease, ignoring the curious glances from guests and staff alike. He knows everyone is watching—waiting to see how he’ll handle this. But he doesn’t falter, doesn’t let the weight of their expectations slow him down.

When he reaches table 14, he stops at a respectful distance, straightening his posture. He meets the eyes of the two food critics seated before him and offers a professional nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says smoothly. “I’m Lee Minho, head chef of Farfalle.”

One of the critics, a man in his late forties with sharp eyes, returns the greeting and slides a small card across the table. “Nice to meet you, Chef Lee Minho. We’re from Culinary Gazette.”

Minho picks up the card, glancing at it briefly before slipping it into his pocket. Straight to business.

The first critic leans back slightly, a small smile on his face. “The filet mignon was well executed. The composition of the course was balanced, and if it had been ordered medium, it would have made for a solid, traditional dish.”

Minho remains silent, waiting.

The other critic, a woman with neatly tied-back hair, tilts her head as she adds, “You used high-quality meat. That much is obvious. But it lacked a clean, light taste. Even when it’s barely cooked—still dripping with blood—the best kind of steak should have that purity in flavor.”

The first critic nods along, placing his utensils down with a soft clink. “A few years ago, this dish at Farfalle was excellent. But now… it’s falling behind.” His expression remains neutral, but his words carry weight. “We can’t give high marks to a kitchen that doesn’t keep up with the times.”

Minho takes it all in, keeping his expression unreadable. He isn’t foolish enough to dismiss their critiques outright. They have a point. But he also knows when someone is testing him.

He pauses for a moment before responding. “Eating rare meat—something even the most seasoned chefs in Italy shy away from—and having such a discerning palate for the flavor of an almost-raw steak…” His lips curl into the faintest of smirks. “I’ll take it as belligerence.”

There’s a beat of silence, then— The first critic lets out a low chuckle, nodding in approval. “You're good.”

The woman beside him smirks, impressed but not entirely won over.

Minho meets their gaze, his smirk never wavering. “A true professional should be able to solve that issue as well.”

The critics exchange glances before the man leans forward slightly. “We know Chef Choi Sara used to be a co-chef here.”

Minho’s smirk barely falters, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture. There it is. He doesn’t look away, keeping his voice even as he asks, “And what does that have to do with Farfalle’s star rating?”

The woman tilts her head, considering him before answering simply, “Can we trust the dishes from this kitchen now?”

Minho knew this was coming. He knew this was the real test. And this—this is what he’s feared the most. People losing trust in his kitchen.

-

Minho sits at his desk, fingers drumming idly against the wood as he waits for the team to gather. One by one, they filter into his office, standing in a semi-circle, some looking confused, others tense. He can tell they’re wondering why they’ve been called in. Good. He prefers getting straight to the point.

Seungwan is the first to speak up. “Chef, why did you call us?”

Minho shifts his gaze to Seojun. “It’s about you, Sous-chef.”

Seojun blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Me?”

Minho crosses his arms, his tone cool and precise. “I’m talking about the steak that went out earlier—rare.” His eyes sharpen. “There was a hint of odor from the fat that I didn’t taste when the meat was cooked medium or well done.”

Seojun tenses at that, his lips pressing into a thin line before he retorts, “Isn’t that exactly why they eat it rare? If they don’t like it, they should order it well done.” He pauses, his expression growing more defensive. “Wait—was this what the food critics told you?”

Before Minho can answer, Hyunwoo interjects, his voice rising in panic. “Did they lower our stars?”

Minho flicks his gaze to him, unimpressed. “Why are you talking about stars when I’m talking about the steak?”

Seojun huffs, clearly frustrated. “But why do they eat it rare? Because they can’t find a problem when it’s cooked medium or well done?” His jaw tightens. “I only hear this as them nitpicking.”

Minho exhales, calm but unwavering. “So you’re not grateful for them pointing out a flaw in your dish?”

Seojun stiffens at that.

Minho continues, voice even. “If we eliminate that odor—if we make the rare steak taste cleaner—then it’s only going to get better when it’s cooked medium or well done.”

But Seojun isn’t backing down. “Perfect taste, best taste—that’s all in the heads of critics.” He exhales sharply, frustration evident. “Why do we have to play along with these people?”

Minho smirks, tilting his head. “We can play along. And if we find a better way, we’ll benefit from it.” His voice is casual, but his eyes gleam with intent. “So let’s play along.”

Hyunwoo hesitates before asking, “Does that mean… you’re going to change the filet mignon recipe?”

Minho shakes his head. “No.”

As if on cue, Taesoo steps forward, handing over a cut of wrapped meat. Minho takes it, holding it up for everyone to see.

“This,” he says, “is meat tightly wrapped in cloth and plastic wrap. By compressing it like this, the blood is squeezed into the corners of the wrap.”

Seojun folds his arms, unimpressed. “That kind of odor can be taken care of with a sauce.”

Minho shakes his head. “That’s like covering up an unwashed, greasy face with makeup.” He lets the words hang in the air before adding, “The best steak doesn’t come from the sauce. It comes from the meat itself.”

Silence lingers—until you raise your hand.

Minho nods at you. “Go ahead.”

You glance at the wrapped meat. “What about the steak losing its juiciness?”

Minho picks up another cut of meat and turns it slightly in his hand. “That’s why we’ll tie it with strings.” He demonstrates, then continues, “We’re also not putting it directly on the grill anymore. First, we sear it on a pan. Then, we finish it in the oven.”

You tilt your head. “So it’s cooked twice?”

Seungwan’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re telling us to start doing all of this during a busy service?”

Minho glances at the team, watching their reactions carefully before announcing, “I want everyone to stay after work and start wrapping the filet like I showed.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation. “That’s your homework.”

A collective groan ripples through the group. Taesoo mutters something under his breath.

Before anyone can complain further, Minho points at you and Taesoo. “The two of you are excluded.”

Taesoo triumphantly grin but you raise your hand to offer yourself. “I can help—”

Minho interrupts smoothly, “This requires strong pressure on the meat. But if you want to help, be my guest.”

Hyunwoo’s face contorts in frustration. “Why do we have to do all this?”

Minho meets his gaze, unreadable. “Because you’re in charge of the filet mignon course.”

But there’s another reason—one Minho keeps to himself.

-

Minho stands at the coffee station, cradling the warm ceramic cup in his hand, relishing the quiet moment before the chaos of the kitchen pulls him back in. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills his senses as he takes a slow, deliberate sip. Then his phone rings.

He exhales sharply, already suspecting who it is. When he checks the caller ID, his irritation is confirmed—an unknown number. He answers with a clipped "Hello?"

"Chef Lee Minho, this is Reporter Shin from The Daily—"

Minho doesn’t even let the man finish. The moment he hears reporter, he hangs up. He knows exactly what they want. They want his thoughts on Sara’s public confession, on the scandal, on him.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, but before he can even enjoy his coffee, it rings again—same number. Minho ignores it.

His fingers tighten slightly around the cup as he brings it back to his lips, focusing on the warmth, the taste, anything but the persistent buzzing in his pocket.

Across from him, Felix watches, his eyes lingering for a little too long. Minho doesn’t acknowledge it at first, but he knows Felix isn’t the type to keep his thoughts to himself.

Sure enough, Felix finally speaks. “Why don’t you just meet with the reporters and tell them the truth?” His voice is casual, but there’s an edge beneath it. “Tell them how she screwed you over—how you lost so many opportunities because of her.”

Minho takes another slow sip before setting his cup down, then levels a sharp glare at Felix. “If you ever blab about this to the press, I’m going to kill you.” His voice is even, controlled, but the weight behind his words is unmistakable.

Felix falters, but only for a split second before he recovers with a grin. “I just want to make sure you get the honor and recognition you deserve.”

Minho studies him, narrowing his eyes slightly. He doesn’t expect Felix to hold more of a grudge against Sara than he does.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to something lower, almost amused, but laced with warning. “You’d better stop before I fill your mouth with fillings and steam you in the oven like dumplings. Got it?”

Felix’s grin wavers, replaced by a wary smile. “Okay, okay—message received.”

Minho doesn’t linger. He gets off the stool, intending to head back into the kitchen, but his phone rings again. He nearly ignores it until a notification pops up on his screen.

A text. From Sara. Minho hesitates before unlocking his phone.

“I can finally breathe now. I loved you, Lee Minho. I lost, Lee Minho.”

Minho stops walking. He rereads the message, his grip on the phone tightening. Lost? That sounds like a goodbye. Like she’s accepting defeat.

That’s not the Sara he knows. The Sara he knew for years wouldn’t just—give in like this. Something unsettles in his chest, a frustration, an unease. This doesn’t feel like a win. Without a second thought, his fingers move over the keyboard, typing out a reply.

“What do you mean you lost? The real match begins now. Don't run away. Let's start over. Come back.”

Minho stares at the screen, his message hanging there, waiting, as if his words alone could pull Sara back. But deep down, he knows it’s not that simple.

She should have just accepted the truth and moved on—quietly, without dragging this mess into the public eye. Without making a spectacle out of it. What good did it do, confessing everything like that? It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t undo the damage.

Minho exhales sharply, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. If she thought this was over, she was wrong. Because this didn’t feel like a win.

-

Minho ordered the entrée line to gather in the kitchen after work, and now here you are, taking out slabs of meat from the freezer and setting them on the counter. The cold seeps through your fingertips, but what’s worse is the glares Hyunwoo and Seungwan are shooting your way.

You grab another piece of meat, and that’s when Hyunwoo scoffs. "Did Chef tell you to keep an eye on us?"

The accusation comes out sharp, like he’s already convinced of the answer. You frown and mutter, "You're impossible."

Seungwan clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Chef acts so righteous all the time, but I guess he’s just another snob obsessed with the star rating."

You don’t take the bait. "Let’s just get this over with. The longer we stand here arguing, the longer this is going to take."

Hyunwoo groans, throwing his hands up. "Do we really have time for this? Everyone else is busy working on new dishes, but no—we’re here, squeezing blood out of perfectly fine meat."

He exhales sharply, muttering under his breath. "We better win first place at the New Chef Culinary Challenge, or—"

Seungwan slaps a hand over Hyunwoo’s mouth. They freeze. Seungwan’s jaw tightens, and Hyunwoo looks like he wants to sink into the floor.

But it’s too late. You already know. You cross your arms. "So you guys are preparing for the New Chef Culinary Challenge."

Silence. Then—

"Uh—no? I mean, yeah? Wait, no—" Hyunwoo stammers.

You turn to Seojun. Unlike the others, he doesn’t look surprised—just resigned. "Is it true, Sous-chef?"

His lips press into a thin line before he sighs. "Yeah. But since you've already been keeping it a secret, just keep pretending you haven't heard anything."

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. "You know you can't keep this from Chef forever. You're representing the restaurant. He should know."

Seojun exhales through his nose. "I just need you to keep quiet."

You take a step forward. "Why not just ask him?"

His expression hardens. "The Chef? We’d be grateful if he didn’t get in our way."

They don’t understand Minho like you do. "He wouldn't. You guys are wrong about him."

Hyunwoo lets out an exaggerated scoff. "Oh yeah? He thinks we’re wrong too. Apparently, even after all these years, Sous-chef doesn’t know how to grill meat."

You stare at them, pulse thrumming. "Then let me ask him for you."

"Hey! No way." Hyunwoo is quick to shut it down.

"Don’t even think about it," Seungwan adds, crossing his arms.

You look back at Seojun, hoping he’ll be reasonable, but his gaze is sharp as he says, "You should know when to stay out of things. This is not as simple as you think. Please do us a favor. Keep quiet."

Your jaw tightens, but you know when to step back. "Yes, Sous-chef."

Seojun nods, then turns to Hyunwoo and Seungwan. "Put the meat back in the freezer."

Your stomach churns. "Wait—shouldn’t we still do what Chef ordered?"

Seojun doesn’t hesitate. "I’ll take care of it. Just go home."

Before you can protest, Seungwan grabs your arm and pulls you out of the kitchen. He only lets go once you’re outside, turning to you with a finger pressed against his lips—an unspoken command to stay silent. Then, without another word, he disappears back inside.

You exhale, rubbing a hand down your face. This isn’t right. Minho is going to find out eventually. And when he does—

"Hey, why are you standing there?"

Your heart jumps. You turn around to find Minho standing there, already changed, backpack slung over one arm. His gaze flickers to the kitchen door behind you, then back to your face. Did he hear anything?

He raises an eyebrow. "Let’s go home."

For a second, you hesitate as the weight of secret tugging at your chest. But then, without a word, you fall into step beside him.

The car ride home is quiet. You keep your mouth shut, afraid that if you say too much, Minho will find out the truth—that the entrée line isn’t doing what he asked. That they’ve been using the kitchen to prepare for the New Chef Culinary Challenge instead.

You shift in your seat, staring out of the window. The streetlights blur past, casting fleeting shadows inside the car. The only sound is the soft hum of the engine—until Minho’s phone vibrates against the center console.

You glance at the screen out of reflex. No name. Just numbers. It rings once. Twice. Then stops. You ignore it at first, but curiosity gets the better of you. "Why aren’t you answering the calls, Chef?"

Minho keeps his eyes on the road. "Reporters have been calling all day."

You nod, looking away again. Silence lingers between you both, heavy and unspoken, until you can’t hold back anymore.

You turn toward him. "Chef, I know the meat is important, but you have to respect other chefs’ methods too."

Minho doesn’t react so you press on. "You can tell me what to do all you want, because I like you and I know you're trying to help, but—"

"That’s enough." Minho cuts you off, voice firm. He knows exactly where you’re going with this.

But you refuse to stop now. "They’ve been working for years, Chef. They’re experienced. You can’t treat them like they don’t know the basics."

One hand on the wheel, he answers easily, "They don’t know the basics."

You exhale, gripping your hands together. "They just want to improve and do better. That’s why they’re doing New—"

You freeze and feel like slapping your mouth for almost spoiling the secret.

Minho’s eyes flick toward you, sharp and narrow. "New what?"

You shake your head. "Nothing."

He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze linger before he focuses back on the road. You let out a quiet breath of relief, choosing your next words carefully.

With utmost caution, you sweetly ask, "Can you at least show them half the affection you show me?"

Minho doesn’t even hesitate. "No."

You blink. "What—why?"

"Why should I share my affection for you with those guys who don’t even listen to me?" He glances at you. "My affection is too valuable. I don’t want to share it."

When the two of you enter the elevator, he reaches for your hand, fingers curling around yours with ease. But before you can enjoy the warmth, your phone rings inside your bag.

With a sigh, you pull away and rummage through your things. Dad. You pick up. "Hello?"

Your dad skips the small talk. "Are you done with work?"

"Yes."

"How many times did the chef say 'do it again' today?" he asks. "Did the number go down?"

You sigh. "Actually, it’s been going up."

Instead of comforting you, he scolds you. "You should be doing a better job. Imagine what it’d be like for him if you keep messing up while dating in that kitchen."

Betrayal stings at your chest. You grumble, "Whose side are you on, dad?"

Your dad ignores the question entirely. "When are you going to bring him over?"

Annoyed, you snap, "I don’t know." Then, without waiting for a response, you hang up and shove your phone back into your bag.

Minho smirks. "So, your dad is taking my side, huh?"

Then—he laughs, a devilish little sound that only annoys you more.

You groan, leaning against the cold metal wall. "All the men in my life are so annoying."

Minho’s smirk grows—until you add, "Except Chris."

The smirk instantly vanishes, he shot you an icy glare. "What did you just say?"

Before you can answer, the elevator dings open. You step out and stop to look over your shoulder as you call back, "I said you’re annoying."

And with that, you turn toward your apartment, leaving him behind.

-

The first thing Minho does when he steps into the kitchen is check the meat. He doesn’t greet anyone. Doesn’t look anywhere else. He walks straight to the freezer, Taesoo trailing behind him like a shadow.

The moment Minho opens the freezer, his jaw tightens. The meat looks exactly the same as it did yesterday.

They didn’t do a single damn thing. Minho mutters under his breath, voice sharp with irritation. "So they made sauces instead of doing what I told them to do."

He slams the container shut. Crosses his arms. Exhales harshly through his nose. "I told them to tie it up," he bites out, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. "They didn’t even do that either."

Taesoo opens his mouth, maybe to explain or make excuses, but Minho doesn’t let him. "Not a single thing I told them to do. Not one."

The anger simmers, but he keeps it under control. He turns to Taesoo, ready to unleash hell—but then he remembers. He told Taesoo not to do it.

At the start of lunch service, Minho stalks to the chef’s table and raises his voice. "Since we're not prepared, we’re not taking any steak orders today."

Murmurs ripple through the kitchen. Some chefs glance at each other, others stiffen, but Minho doesn’t give a damn. His eyes land on Seojun’s station, where containers of sauce sit lined up neatly. He points at them. "Stop wasting your time on useless things and just do as I tell you."

Seojun bristles but Minho’s gaze stays locked on him. "Did you put gold in that sauces? Hm? Why are you so obsessed with them?"

Seojun doesn’t answer. Instead, he glares. "Why don’t you stop picking on us?"

Before Minho can respond, Felix cuts in. "Why do you think he’s just picking on you, Sous-chef? Aren’t we supposed to follow the chef’s orders no matter what?"

Seojun ignores Felix, his anger still focused on Minho. His jaw clenches, eyes burning with frustration. "If your goal was to insult me, congratulations. You’ve succeeded. Do whatever you want, Chef. Take filet mignon off the menu if you want—it’s your kitchen, your rules."

Minho scoffs, stepping closer. "Do whatever I want?" He tilts his head. "So if I wanted to pull you guys out of the New Chef Culinary Challenge, I could? Or keep you in? Since, you know, I can do whatever I want?"

Silence. The entrée line stiffens. Their faces betray pure shock—like they never expected him to know. Their heads immediately turn to you. Their eyes accusing.

You shake your head fast, hands raised in defense. "I didn’t say anything, I swear."

Minho lets the tension settle, then continues, voice cold. "You can’t even follow your own chef’s orders. What makes you think you can satisfy the judges?"

His lips curl into a smirk. "You didn’t even bother preparing the meat. If you can’t do that, how the hell am I supposed to believe you can cook a decent steak?"

Silence again. Minho watches them squirm before delivering the final blow. "I know you’ve been practicing for the competition behind my back. But whether you enter or not, one thing’s for sure—you’re going to humiliate Farfalle."

Minho can’t take their defiance anymore and that’s when he makes his decision. He lifts his head, sweeping his gaze over the entire kitchen. His deep brown eyes hold authority, intensity, and absolute control.

"From now on, no one is allowed in this kitchen after business hours. The doors will be locked."

The words drop like a hammer. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, but before anyone can protest, the first order comes through the machine. The ticket prints out with a sharp, mechanical beep, cutting through the heavy silence.

Minho grabs it. Starts calling out the order when—

"How could you do this to us?" Hyunwoo’s voice cuts through the air like a crack of thunder.

Minho watches as Hyunwoo turns to you, his expression full of betrayal. He expects them to think that he knew about it from you just because the two of you are dating.

You shake your head, voice firm. "I didn’t tell him anything. I never told Chef."

Felix frowns, arms crossed. "I knew something was weird about you guys lately." He looks at Hyunwoo. "How long were you gonna keep this a secret? You didn't even tell your own Chef."

Hyunwoo’s fists clench. "Stay out of our business."

Felix doesn’t back down. "How is this just your business?" He looks at the entire entrée line. "If you're competing under Farfalle’s name, doesn’t this involve everyone?"

No one answers and then Felix shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes. "How could you keep this from us?"

Seungwan snaps. His body tenses, ready to lunge at Felix, but before he can move, Minho’s voice slices through the chaos. "ENOUGH!"

Everything stops and Minho glares at them all. "I’m going to read them again and if any of you cannot hear our customers orders, then you should leave this kitchen right now."

He reads the orders loud and clear. The weight of his words presses down on everyone. "Table number 8. One Sicilian eggplant dish, one vongole, one basil pesto."

When he finishes, no one answers. His patience snaps.

"Are you all deaf?" His voice rises, sharp and commanding. "Are you not going to answer me?"

Reluctantly, the kitchen echoes back. "Yes, Chef."

Minho exhales, shaking his head. He knew the entrée line was stubborn, but this? This is worse than he expected. They’re not just disobedient. They’re reckless. And Minho hates reckless chefs.

-

You finish your lunch quickly, not bothering to linger like the others in the dining hall. Minho isn’t here. In fact, you haven’t seen him since lunch service ended.

Something tells you to check his office first, but when you peek inside, the chair is empty. The tension from earlier still lingers in your mind, making you restless as you continue your search. The rooftop is your next stop, and when you push open the door, you sigh in relief at the sight of him. He stands by the railing, arms folded, gaze fixed on the city bathed in the warm afternoon sun.

You approach quietly, coming to a stop beside him. The breeze is soft against your skin, carrying the faint scents of the restaurant below. You lean against the concrete railing, mirroring his posture as you let the silence settle between you.

After a while, he turns his head slightly. His eyes meet yours, and you offer him a small, knowing smile.

“Have you had lunch yet, Chef?” you ask.

Instead of answering, Minho exhales a slow, heavy sigh and looks ahead again.

Curious, you tilt your head. “How did you know about the entrée line entering the New Chef Culinary Challenge?”

“I just found out by chance,” he says simply, as if it isn’t a big deal.

You study his face for a moment. “Then why did you give them such a hard time if you already knew?”

Minho turns toward you again, this time lifting his fingers in a familiar motion, gesturing for you to come closer. “Come here.”

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

He quirks an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “I won’t flick you.”

You don’t believe him. Your weight shifts back slightly as you take a small step away. “Then why do I have to come closer?” you ask, wary.

Minho doesn’t wait for your compliance. In one smooth movement, he closes the distance himself, looping an arm around you to keep you from slipping away. His head presses gently against yours, his warmth sinking into you as his voice drops to a quiet reprimand.

“How could you just stand there and say nothing while they were all ganging up on me?” he murmurs.

You blink. “Chef—”

“Now that you’re in the entrée line, have you decided to team up with them?” His voice is smooth, but his grip tightens ever so slightly. His eyes are mere inches away, sharp and searching, holding you captive beneath his gaze. “Am I not your priority anymore? Is that it?”

Your heart stumbles over itself. Overwhelmed, you answer in a small voice, “I only did that because I care about you.” You swallow, willing yourself to meet his gaze. “It wouldn’t have looked good if I took your side.”

Minho pulls away, exhaling in frustration. “You never admit when you’re wrong,” he mutters, shaking his head. His arm falls from around you as he turns back to the view.

For a second, you hesitate. Then you inch closer, determined to get back on his good side. You reach out, gently patting his shoulder.

“I trust you, Chef,” you tell him softly but full of conviction.

You pat his shoulder again—harder this time. “Posso farcela!” you exclaim.

A chuckle escapes him, low and amused. Those are the very words he used to encourage you once. Catching you off guard, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice is quiet, but firm as he repeats the words back to you, his accent crisp—“Posso farcela.” Then, with a teasing smirk, he corrects, “That’s how you say it.”

You giggle as he pulls away, but your hand lingers on his back. Slowly, you rub gentle circles against it. “Cheer up, Chef,” you murmur, knowing he needs to hear it.

Minho smiles, softer this time, before repeating the words once more—“Posso farcela.”

But you know that, right now, he’s the one who needs to believe it.

-

You’ve just finished changing, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you step toward the door. Just as you’re about to exit the locker room, the door swings open with force.

Sous-chef Seojun barges in, his face tight with panic. Hyunwoo and Seungwan follow closely behind, looking equally unsettled.

“Where’s Chef right now?” Seojun demands, slightly out of breath.

You blink at him, caught off guard. “He left earlier. Why?”

Seojun presses a frustrated hand to his forehead. “He locked the doors to the kitchen. We can’t get in to practice for the contest.”

You stare at him, momentarily at a loss. He actually did it. When Minho said he would, you thought it was just another one of his threats—nothing serious. But he wasn’t bluffing.

Your hand instinctively moves to your bag. “I’ll call him.” You hurry to take out your phone, already dialing.

But Seojun stops you. “Don’t bother,” he says sharply. “If he was going to change his mind over a phone call, he wouldn’t have locked the doors in the first place.”

Hyunwoo exhales harshly, running a hand through his hair. “Then what do we do, Sous-chef?” he asks, voice laced with frustration.

Ignoring Seojun’s protest, you press the call button anyway. You start pacing back and forth in the dimly lit hallway of the empty dining hall, fingers tightening around your phone as the dial tone rings in your ear.

After a few rings, Minho picks up. He doesn’t waste time on greetings. “What?”

You don’t bother with formalities either. “Chef, please unlock the kitchen doors. Everyone’s here right now.”

“I told them I would lock the doors.” His voice is calm, unaffected.

You grit your teeth. “Are you really going to stop them from competing?” You press the phone harder against your ear. “This could be a chance to bring peace to the kitchen. It’s good for them, and it’s good for you. Isn't that what you want?”

You let out a slow, frustrated sigh before continuing. “But I don’t understand why you’re doing the opposite.”

Minho exhales, and you can hear the edge in his voice when he finally speaks. “Do you really think they’ll suddenly welcome me with open arms if I offer to help them now?”

You scoff, disbelief bubbling to the surface. “How can you only try to get in your own way?”

Silence stretches between you both. Your heart pounds. You try one last time. “Please, Chef. Just unlock the doors. The kitchen isn’t only for you.”

Flatly, he rejects you. “No.”

Anger flares inside you. Your grip tightens on your phone. “Fine,” you snap. “Then at least give them the key. I won’t ask for your help anymore.”

Silence.

You plead again. “If you're not really trying to interfere, just let them practice here.”

A pause. Then, Minho exhales sharply. “I’m hanging up.”

And then, nothing. The line goes dead.

You lower your phone, chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady yourself before turning around.

They’re all standing there—Seojun, Hyunwoo, Seungwan. Their expressions are tight with expectation, waiting for you to deliver an answer.

When you don’t say anything right away, their hope falters. You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sous-chef, I’m sorry.”

-

Minho exhales sharply, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat after ending the call. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, his gaze flicking downward. The kitchen keys sit inside the center console, glinting under the soft glow of the streetlights outside. His jaw tightens.

Is this really the right thing to do?

Keeping the kitchen to himself—locking them all out—does it actually make things better? Or is he just being stubborn?

He grips the keys, turning them over in his palm, his mind tangled in the same frustrating debate.

Then, his phone rings again. He doesn’t even check the screen. He already knows it’s you, calling to argue with him, to insist that he stop being difficult and return to the restaurant.

With a sigh, he pulls over to the side of the road before answering. “Yes, I’m coming back,” he snaps into the phone. “I’ll unlock the damn—”

A voice he doesn’t recognize cuts him off. “Hello, is this Chef Lee Minho?”

Minho’s expression hardens. He lowers his voice. “Who is this?”

“This is Reporter Shin. We spoke briefly the other day.” A pause. “I’m calling because Sara is here with me. I’d like to interview both of you for the article.”

Minho stares ahead, grip tightening on the keys. The restaurant will have to wait. He turns the car around, heading straight for the café at the address the reporter sends him.

The moment he steps inside, his eyes find Sara.

She’s slumped in her seat, hands clasped together on the table, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. Across from her sits a man in his late thirties, dressed sharply, a notebook and recorder set neatly in front of him.

Minho strides toward the table. “Chef Lee Minho,” he introduces himself flatly.

The reporter stands, offering a polite smile and extending a business card. “Thank you for coming, Chef Lee. I appreciate your time.”

Minho takes the card without looking at it and slides into the seat beside Sara. He feels her eyes on him, but he doesn’t acknowledge her.

“I wanted to write this article after hearing both sides of the story,” the reporter begins. “It’s quite unusual, don’t you think? After everything that happened, you and Chef Sara still chose to work together in the same kitchen.”

Minho glances at Sara, who offers him a small, defeated smile. He looks back at the reporter. “Yes, everything written in the article is true,” he says evenly. “Sara did put my wine in boiling water. I did lose the contest because of it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sara sink further into her seat. “However,” Minho continues, turning his gaze back to the reporter, “what your article left out is the most important fact—”

He leans forward slightly. “I was going to lose that contest anyway.”

The reporter blinks. “What?”

“Wine or no wine,” Minho states plainly, “Sara’s dish was better than mine that day.”

The words hang heavy in the air. Sara’s head snaps toward him, her eyes wide and glossy.

Minho doesn’t waver. “The only mistake she made was that she didn’t believe in herself. But what’s even clearer is that she regretted what she did. She worked harder than anyone to prove herself. And now?” He exhales. “Now, she’s an even better chef than before.”

Sara presses her lips together, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Minho shifts his gaze back to the reporter, his voice sharp. “What upsets me is that because of this, an excellent chef might not be able to cook again.” He meets the reporter’s eyes.

The reporter hesitates but then straightens in his seat. “That’s beside the point,” he says. “Chef Sara’s misconduct is evident—”

“I have forgiven her.” Minho cuts him off, his voice firm. “And I stand by what I said. She was an excellent chef then, and she’s an excellent chef now.”

The reporter remains silent but Minho pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. He looks at the man one last time. “That’s my confession.” His voice is quieter now, but no less resolute. “What more do you need?”

The reporter doesn’t answer so Minho turns to Sara. “Are we done here?”

Sara blinks rapidly, as if snapping herself out of a daze. She nods.

Minho extends a hand. “Let’s go.”

For a moment, Sara just stares at it. Then, she smiles—a real one this time—and takes his hand.

-

You pace near the entrance of the restaurant, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Every few steps, you glance toward the street, expecting—hoping—to see Minho approaching with the kitchen keys in his hand. But no. He’s been keeping you on edge for nearly three hours now, feeding you nothing but false hope.

Behind you, Seojun sighs loudly, his impatience mirrored by Hyunwoo and Seungwan, who have been shifting their weight from one foot to the other for the past hour.

Seojun exhales sharply. “Are you sure Chef said he’d bring the keys?”

You hesitate. Truthfully, you’re not sure. Minho never actually promised, but you want to believe he’ll come through. You want him to prove you wrong, just this once.

“Can you wait a little longer, Sous-chef?” you plead, looking at Seojun desperately.

But Hyunwoo finally snaps. “A little longer?” he scoffs. “What time is it now? Chef could’ve gone to his house and come back twelve times already!”

That’s it. They’re done waiting. Without another word, Seojun turns on his heel, leading the other two toward the parking lot. Hyunwoo mutters under his breath as he picks up the bag of ingredients they brought, grumbling, “I swear, Lee Minho must’ve been my sworn enemy in a past life.”

Panic surges through you. You step forward, ready to stop them, to say something—

But Seungwan spins around, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “This is all because of you.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You told Chef about the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

“No! I told you so many times,” You shake your head quickly, your voice rising with frustration. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

Seungwan doesn’t look convinced, but before you can argue further, Seojun turns to face you. There’s no anger in his expression—just quiet disappointment.

“Do we look that pathetic to you too?” he asks, his eyes sad and defeated.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Seojun shakes his head and gets into the car. You watch as they drive away, their frustration, their disappointment, all of it sinking into your chest like dead weight.

-

Instead of going home, you take a detour to the bar, sinking onto a stool with a weary sigh. The dim lighting and quiet hum of conversation offer a moment of escape, and you find yourself nursing a glass of alcohol, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Minho.

Where are you?

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you stare at the screen. You don’t bother replying, choosing instead to grumble at your phone, “None of your business.”

Another buzz. Another text.

I’m sorry.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh and mutter, “Whatever,” before taking another sip of your drink.

Then, another message pops up.

Look at the moon.

You huff at the absurdity of it—you're inside a bar. But curiosity wins, and you turn your head toward the window, eyes landing on the bright, glowing moon outside.

Before you can react, a warm presence settles beside you, and then—soft lips press against your cheek.

Your breath catches as you turn to find Minho grinning at you, his expression smug. You purse your lips, looking away with a pout, pretending his sudden appearance doesn’t affect you.

Minho slides onto the stool next to yours, resting his arm on the counter. “I can see the tower of complaints from a mile away,” he teases.

You take another sip of your drink, the warmth of alcohol making your words bolder. “What did they do that was so terrible, Chef?” you blurt out, the frustration you’ve been holding back spilling over.

Minho raises an eyebrow.

“The sous-chef, the cooks—they’re working hard every day to get better, isn’t that a good thing?” You lean in slightly. “Why do you think they had to hide it from you? Why couldn’t they just ask you to be their manager chef?”

Minho exhales sharply, reaching for your glass. He takes it from you and lifts it to his lips. “Are you their spokeswoman now?” he scoffs before taking a sip, his face twisting at the bitter aftertaste.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “But if you weren’t the Chef, I’d be standing right beside them, feeling the same frustration.”

You meet his gaze, voice softening. “They’ve never been to Italy, never studied at a prestigious culinary school. And maybe you think that doesn’t matter, but it does—to them.” You pause, searching his face. “They don’t have the privileges you and I do, Chef. It’s discouraging.”

Minho stays quiet, his fingers resting against the glass. You take a breath and try again. “Chef...”

He looks at you, eyes guarded. “What?”

You hold his gaze. “Don’t lock up your feelings like you locked up the kitchen doors.” You lean in just a little closer, your voice gentle yet firm. “Can you open up your heart to them like you did to me?”

Minho studies you for a long moment, then exhales through his nose. “Fine,” he mutters, nudging your glass toward the bartender for a refill. “You can stop with the nagging now.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. You lean in further, eyes gleaming. “Do you really mean it?”

Minho sighs, but there’s a suppressed smile at the corners of his lips. “Yes.”

You watch as he gestures to the bartender before muttering, almost menacingly, “The entrée line is dead meat now that I’m going to be their manager chef.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Thank you, Chef.”

He turns to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why are you thanking me?”

You don’t answer—just smile. But then, out of nowhere, Minho frowns slightly. “But what if... What if they don’t want me to be their manager chef?”

You wave off his concern. “There’s no way.”

Still, he continues, almost pouting now. “It would’ve been better if they asked me first.” His voice lowers. “What if I offer, and they turn me down? I’ll die of humiliation.”

You blink, momentarily surprised. Even Minho has his insecurities and the thought endears you. You chuckle. “That will never happen.”

Minho leans in, tilting his head. “How can you be so sure?”

You smirk. “Because you’re Chef Lee Minho.”

Minho scoffs, mumbling, “You never know.”

“But you’re the best chef in the world,” you say simply.

He bursts out laughing, a delighted, almost bashful laugh that makes your heart swell. You notice the tips of his ears turning red, and it only makes your smile grow.

Propping your chin on your hand, you let out a dramatic sigh. “This isn’t good.”

Minho raises a brow. “What now?”

“I wanted you all to myself,” you pout.

Minho nearly chokes on his drink but manages to swallow before laughing again, shaking his head in disbelief.

You keep your eyes on him, the warmth in your chest turning into something softer.

Then, Minho leans in close, his voice low, teasing yet sincere. “Take me then,” he murmurs. “Take all of me. I’m yours anyway.”

There’s something different about him tonight—not just in the way he’s humoring you, but in the way he’s actually listening. You’ve seen it happening, little by little.

At first, Minho was nothing but sharp edges and closed doors. He ruled the kitchen like an untouchable king, and anyone who didn’t meet his impossible standards was cast aside without a second thought. But lately—lately, he’s been changing.

And now, here he is, actually considering what you’ve said instead of brushing it off with another snide remark. Your chest swells with something warm. Pride.

Without thinking, you grab the front of his jacket, pulling him in. Minho barely has time to react before you press your lips to his, the kiss stealing the last of the space between you.

For a second, he’s stunned—but then he melts into it, kissing you back. When you pull away, you look into his eyes and whisper with all of your heart, “Thank you.”

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something deeper, something unspoken. He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you as if trying to decipher whether you really mean it. And then, he smiles.

-

Minho feels lighter than he has in a long time as he steps out of the elevator, your hand still warm in his. He glances at you, and that same sweet smile lingers on your lips. It makes his fingers tighten around yours instinctively, an urge blooming in his chest—he wants to kiss that smile, claim it, keep it for himself forever. But then, you stop.

Minho halts beside you, following your gaze, and that light feeling instantly dissipates the moment he sees him. Chris.

Your hand slips from his grasp so quickly it almost stings. You step forward, greeting Chris with the same warmth you always have, and Minho clenches his jaw when Chris smiles back at you, his voice gentle as he notes, "You're home quite late."

Minho rolls his eyes. Why does he care what time you get home?

He doesn’t let the moment stretch, stepping into the interaction with a sneer. “You’re obviously not here to see me.”

To Minho’s surprise, Chris doesn’t immediately brush him off. Instead, he looks at him directly and says, “Actually, I am here to see you.”

Minho glances at you, confused, but you only nod, taking this as your cue to leave. You excuse yourself, voice softer now, telling them both goodnight before retreating into your apartment.

Minho watches the door close behind you before unlocking his own and pushing it open. “Well?” he says, keeping it ajar for Chris.

Chris steps inside, following Minho into the dining room. Minho gestures for him to sit before heading to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses. When he returns, Chris is already watching him, his expression unreadable.

“I heard everything from Sara,” Chris begins, voice steady. “Thank you.”

Minho sets a glass in front of him, pouring the wine smoothly. He doesn’t sit down just yet. “I don’t think that’s something for you to be thankful for.”

Chris swirls his glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “Whether you and Sara were in love or not, she’s someone important to me and is a good friend.”

Minho finally takes his seat, pouring himself a drink. “I didn’t do it to get thanks from you,” he mutters. “But how did you and Sara even become friends?”

Chris smiles faintly. “Thanks to you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris leans back, fingers resting on his glass. “She told me that if you ever came back, she wouldn’t be able to love anyone else. That she still had feelings for you.”

Minho exhales sharply, gripping the stem of his glass.

Chris doesn’t give him time to dwell on it. “Now that she’s hit rock bottom, will you help her get back up?”

Minho’s eyes narrow. “How about you? I thought you were her friend.”

Chris shrugs, a hint of coyness in his expression. “You’d probably be more of a help to her than I would.”

Minho scoffs. “She should get back up on her own from now on.”

For a moment, silence lingers between them, only the faint sound of Chris tapping his fingers against his glass filling the air. But Minho has his own questions—one he’s been meaning to ask for a while.

He takes a sip of his wine before speaking. “I don’t get it.” His voice is casual, but his gaze is sharp. “Why didn’t you tell your feelings for her before I came? Why did you keep it a secret for three years?”

Chris looks caught off guard for a split second, probably not expecting that Minho would ask about you.

Minho smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a step behind me,” he taunts. “It’s too late.”

Chris only grins, and something about his calmness is inexplicably annoying. “I’m not a step behind you,” he says smoothly. “No one knows until the goal gets in.”

Minho tilts his head, lifting his glass in the air as he muses, “If Sara is your friend, then what does that make her?” His eyes narrow slightly. “What is she to you?”

Chris doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t waver. “She’s my chef,” he says, voice steady. “A chef that I love.”

Minho bursts into laughter, the sheer audacity of it catching him off guard. He’s not sure if he should admire Chris for his boldness or pity him for his foolishness.

But as his laughter dies down, Chris’s expression doesn’t change. He remains calm, unwavering, as if he’s already decided—no matter what Minho says, no matter what happens, he’s not backing down. And that’s when it hits Minho.

Chris isn't just saying this to provoke him. He means it.

Minho grips his glass a little tighter. The realization settles uncomfortably in his chest—Chris isn’t planning to stop.

For the first time tonight, Minho feels something unexpected creep in. He should be worried.

-

You're about to step into your room when Sara’s door creaks open. She stands in the hallway, looking at you with an unreadable expression before casually asking how you’ve been—when it should be you asking her that question.

The two of you end up sitting in the living room, cups of tea in hand. Sara lets out a small, content sigh before she speaks. “It’s only been a couple of days, but this place feels so unfamiliar.”

You smile and tell her that everything is the same.

Sara returns the smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The place is the same,” she murmurs, “but maybe it’s because I came back a different person.”

She sets her cup down on the table, then looks at you directly. “Are you disappointed in me?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you tell her the truth. “I was worried about you.”

Something in Sara’s expression shifts, as if she wasn’t expecting that response.

“I admire you,” you continue earnestly. “I knew who you were and looked up to you long before you moved in. That’s why it felt like we’d been friends for years.”

Sara blinks in surprise, and then, to your relief, she looks happy—elated, even.

You go on. “All the female chefs dream of becoming like you. Even back in culinary school, we all did.” You lean in slightly, studying her face. “You’re going to shake this off and get back on your feet again, right? Like you always do?”

Sara hesitates. “I don’t know…” she admits. “Would I be able to do that?”

You shake your head immediately, refusing to accept that. “What do you mean you don't know. You’re Chef Choi Sara.”

Sara lets out a small laugh at that, but there’s something thoughtful in her gaze. Then, her expression turns serious. “I should’ve come forward and admitted my mistakes first. But I think… I changed the order around for my own convenience.” She sighs. “I guess I thought people would forgive me and understand my wrongdoing if I made a fresh start.”

She looks at you again, hesitation flickering across her face before she says, “Minho couldn’t come to you or the cooks because he was helping me.”

Your lips part slightly, surprised.

“He came to speak to the reporter I was with,” Sara explains. Then, as if recalling the moment in her mind, she smiles to herself. “I knew right then that Minho wasn’t the same Minho I used to know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

Sara looks at you, then smiles. “Minho is an even more wonderful man now. Because of you.”

Your face warms at her words. You don’t know how to respond, but before you can even try, Sara sighs and leans back. “You’re too strong of an opponent for me,” she says lightly. “So I’m going to drop out of the competition now.”

Flustered, an awkward laugh escapes you.

Sara watches you with amusement before her gaze softens. “I’m going to start over from the beginning.” Then, turning to you, she asks, “Will you help me?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, Chef.”

Sara frowns at that. “Don’t call me ‘Chef.’ I’m not qualified for that title anymore.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “That’s not true, Chef.”

Sara chuckles, a real, warm laugh this time. The weight of the past days lingers, but for the first time in a while, the night doesn’t feel cold.

-

Minho is startled to see you already waiting outside his apartment door. You’re grinning, your eyes bright as you greet him with a sweet, “Good morning, Chef.”

He suppresses a smile and hoists the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder before walking past you toward the elevator. You follow closely behind, your steps light and eager.

As the two of you wait for the elevator, you turn to him. “What did you and Chris talk about last night?”

Minho doesn’t answer. Instead, he glances at you and asks, “How’s Sara?”

“She’s sleeping,” you reply, then add, “She must be really tired.”

Minho nods. “Good.”

The elevator chimes, and both of you step inside. As it descends, you turn to him again, curiosity evident in your voice. “So? What did you two talk about?”

Minho feigns innocence. “Who?”

You roll your eyes. “The two men who growl at each other every time they meet. What could you possibly have to say to each other?”

Minho glances at you, tilting his head. “What did you girls talk about?”

With a teasing smile, you answer, “We talked about you.”

Minho smirks. “We talked about you.”

You narrow your eyes and search his face, trying to get him to look at you. “What exactly did you talk about?”

Minho shrugs. “I don’t know.”

The elevator doors slide open, and before you can press further, he steps out, leaving you to follow.

On the car ride to work, Minho’s phone rings. He glances at the screen and sees Sous-chef Seojun calling. You see it too.

He picks up, skipping the formalities as usual. “What is it?”

There’s a pause on the other end before Seojun hesitantly mutters, “Chef…”

Minho cuts in before he can finish. “Yes, I’m your manager chef for the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

You swat his arm and mutter under your breath, “Be gentle.”

Minho side-eyes you but keeps listening as Seojun stammers, “Are you… serious?”

“Yes.”

“But why—”

Minho’s tone turns teasing. “What? You don’t want me?”

“N-No! That’s not what I meant!” Seojun quickly corrects himself.

“Then?” Minho presses. “You do want me to be your manager chef?”

There’s a brief pause before Seojun confirms, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho smirks. “We’re going to start right away.”

This time, he hears the entrée line shouting in unison through the phone, their enthusiasm palpable. Minho leans back in his seat, enjoying the moment before casually warning, “Brace yourselves.”

“Yes, Chef!” they chorus back.

And then, just because he can, he adds menacingly, “You’re all dead meat now.” He hangs up, satisfied—only to yelp in pain when you hit his arm.

“Do you really have to say that?” you scold, glaring at him.

Minho rubs his arm dramatically. “It’s called motivation.”

You shake your head, but a second later, both of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the car as the morning sun casts golden light over the city streets.

-

The moment Minho steps into the restaurant, he heads straight for the kitchen. He expects chaos, hesitation—maybe even defiance. But to his surprise, the entrée line is already working on the meat exactly as he instructed.

He watches them in silence, moving through their stations one by one. His sharp eyes scan each movement, each technique.

When he reaches Hyunwoo’s station, he stops. “You’re not wrapping it properly,” Minho points out, his voice calm but firm. “The juice will seep inward.”

“Yes, Chef.” Hyunwoo doesn’t argue like he usually does. Instead, he immediately corrects his mistake, adjusting the wrap with careful precision.

Minho observes him for a moment, realizing something. The way he approaches the problem changes everything. He’s spent years pushing, demanding, forcing results—but he didn’t know there was an easier, better way until now. A small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

Turning away, he strides back to the chef’s table and leans against it. “Taesoo,” he calls out.

Taesoo looks up from his station. “Yes, Chef?”

“Gather everyone in my office before lunch service.”

“Yes, Chef,” Taesoo enthusiastically answers.

Minho watches them for a moment longer before heading toward his office, feeling something settle in his chest—something that feels a lot like pride.

Once everyone is crammed into his office, Minho wastes no time. He leans against his desk, arms crossed, and gets straight to the point.

"Farfalle has been invited to participate in the New Chef Culinary Challenge," he announces. "If we win first place, we'll be given the title of Best Italian Restaurant—and the winning chefs will get the opportunity to study in Italy."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the room, excitement mixing with uncertainty. Minho lets it settle for a beat before he continues.

He turns his gaze to the entrée line, calling their names one by one. “Sous-chef, Park Hyunwoo and Choi Seungwan have been chosen to represent Farfalle in the competition.”

Felix, standing next to you, looks utterly bewildered. He blinks rapidly, his confusion clear. But Minho isn’t done.

“In addition to that, I’ll be their manager chef.”

Felix’s head snaps toward him, mouth slightly open. Minho ignores him.

“We’ll be represented in the contest by our locally trained chefs, but all of us will be preparing for this together,” he states. His tone leaves no room for argument. “I want everyone to stay after hours every day to prepare and practice.”

Felix points at himself, then at you. “Wait—does that include us?”

“Yes,” Minho confirms without looking at him. “Which also means everyone will have to partner up.”

Felix looks even more surprised. “Partner up as in—”

Minho hisses through his teeth, cutting him off. Felix immediately quiets down, mumbling an apology.

Minho exhales sharply. “You two already have three years of experience in Italy. You’ll share your skills with your partners, step by step, course by course. Got it?”

A chorus of groans rises from the entrée line, but only Seojun has the nerve to voice his complaints. “Chef, we don’t have time for this, and we don’t even get along. Are you doing this to us on purpose?”

Minho’s expression remains blank. “Yes.”

Seojun gapes at him then turns to Hyunwoo and Seungwan but they're just as bewildered.

“And to make it worse, I’m pairing you with the person you hate the most,” Minho adds casually.

The room erupts in protests. Minho tunes them out. Taesoo raises his hand and Minho gestures for him to speak.

“What about me, Chef?” Taesoo asks.

“You just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Minho answers. “You don’t need to worry about the contest.”

“Yes, Chef,” Taesoo replies immediately.

Minho gives them all a sharp look before concluding, “That’s it. Get back to work.”

A collective, reluctant “Yes, Chef” murmurs through the room as everyone drags themselves toward the door.

Minho notices Felix hesitating, clearly about to protest, but before he can open his mouth, you grab his arm and pull him along, laughing. “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

Felix groans dramatically, but Minho catches the small, amused smile he’s trying to hide.

-

After dinner service ends, everyone takes a one-hour break, but once the clock runs out, they gather back in the kitchen, ready for after-hours practice. Minho walks in, eyes sweeping over the group, noting their varying levels of exhaustion and determination. Good. They’ll need both.

He steps up to his chef’s table, resting his hands on the edge as he speaks. “There’s only one ingredient we can predict with some certainty,” he begins. “Beef. But we don’t know which cut it’ll be.” His eyes scan the room. “Could be tenderloin, could be sirloin—but one thing’s for sure: the main dish is beef.”

A few nods. No one dares to interrupt as Minho continues. “The hors d’oeuvre, soup, pasta—every course has to complement the main. Got it?”

“Yes, Chef,” they all respond in unison.

“For tonight’s practice, we’re working with tenderloin you guys have prepared. Each of you will come up with a full-course meal to go with it.”

Another unified, firmer, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho wastes no time assigning partners. “Felix, you’re with Seungwan. Hyunwoo, you’re with her.” He jerks his chin in your direction before turning to his own station. “I’ll partner with Sous-chef.”

With that, practice begins. Minho heads to Seojun’s station first. “Cook the meat rare, medium rare, medium, medium-well, and well-done. I want you to cook all five.”

“Yes, Chef,” Seojun answers without hesitation.

Minho lingers, watching as Seojun methodically seasons each cut with salt and pepper. There’s a rhythm to his movements, precise but almost too careful.

Minho studies him for a moment before casually asking, “Sous-chef, have you always been this brusque?”

Seojun glances at him and—unexpectedly—smiles. He doesn’t answer.

Minho slyly smiles and moves on. At Felix and Seungwan’s station, Felix is deep in conversation with himself. “We could do a tomato-based starter. Or maybe something lighter—citrus?”

Seungwan nods. “Sounds good.”

Felix hums. “Or we could go with mushrooms. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.”

Minho sighs. He strides up behind Seungwan and gives him a light smack on the back of the head. “Stop saying sounds good to everything,” he scolds. “Think before you answer.”

Seungwan swallows and nods quickly. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho turns to Felix. “And you—stop giving him multiple-choice. Make him answer your question.”

Felix straightens, nodding. “Yes, Chef.”

Satisfied, Minho moves on to your station, just as you return from the pantry with tagliatelle. He barely makes it two steps before you whip around and snap at Hyunwoo.

“Why did you put in the spaghetti?” you ask with your eyes widened.

Hyunwoo doesn’t even look up as he nonchalantly says, “Why does it matter?”

You exhale sharply, incredulous. “Because it’s a cream sauce pasta.”

Minho steps in before you bore a hole on Hyunwoo’s head with your laser glare. “Spaghetti is good with olive oil sauces,” he explains, crossing his arms. “For cream sauces or bolognese, use wide pasta—like tagliatelle.”

Hyunwoo nods, but you suddenly point at the pan and scolds, “At least, shake the pan. The pasta’s getting mushy.”

Hyunwoo startles and hurriedly shakes the frying pan to salvage it.

Minho exhales through his nose and walks back to his chef’s table, observing the kitchen as everyone continues working. It’s still rough. Not perfect. But at least it’s a start.

-

Minho lingers in the kitchen, arms crossed as he leans against the chef’s table, watching you and Taesoo clean up after practice. The kitchen is quieter now, save for the sound of running water and the occasional clang of metal against metal. It’s almost peaceful. Almost.

Then, the peace is disrupted as Chris walks into the kitchen.

Minho lifts a brow but doesn’t straighten up. “What brings you here?”

At the sound of Chris’s arrival, you and Taesoo pause mid-task, glancing over in curiosity.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls out a credit card, placing it on the chef’s table with a small but deliberate motion. “This is for the contest preparations,” he announces. “I don’t know how else to help, but I want to do something. And I figured this way, I can actively support both the harmony and quality of this kitchen—especially for the competition.”

Minho picks up the card, turning it between his fingers before giving Chris a flat look. “So, this is your way of pressuring us to take first place?”

Chris only smiles, coy and confident. “Weren’t you going to take first place anyway?”

Next to you, Taesoo grins, clasping his hands together in exaggerated admiration. “Wow, that was so cool. Giving Chef the credit card like that,” he gushes.

You lean forward on the counter, propping your chin on your hand. “Right? That's our manager.”

Minho glares at you. You, of course, are too busy swooning over Chris and his stupid credit card to care. Annoyed, Minho turns back to Chris. “If you were just going to give me this, you could’ve done it privately. Why make a big deal out of it?”

Before Chris can respond, Taesoo cuts in. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You let out a soft sigh. “It is a big deal.”

Minho hisses at both of you, but you and Taesoo only grin in response.

Chris, ever composed, simply adds, “Since I did make a big fuss, I’ll say this too—let's not overwork everyone. I don’t want the contest interfering with regular kitchen duties.”

Minho nods and shifts his gaze to Taesoo. “As a matter of fact, Taesoo, you can go home now. From now on, just focus on your regular duties.”

Taesoo brightens immediately. “Seriously? Thanks, Chef!”

Minho turns back to Chris, exhaling through his nose. “How about you go home too, Mister Manager? Wouldn’t want this interfering with your regular duties.”

Chris slyly smiles, giving everyone a casual, “Goodnight,” before leaving the kitchen with Taesoo in tow.

Now, it’s just you and Minho in the kitchen. He looks down at the credit card, rolling it between his fingers again before glancing at you. “If we don’t win first place, Chris might tell me to reimburse him for all this.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “We’ll win first place.”

Minho raises a brow and leans in slightly. “How do you know?”

You playfully bump your shoulder against his, a small, easy gesture. “Because you’re managing the team.”

Minho hates how easily you can make him smile—but that’s exactly why he loves you. You stay when everyone else can’t stand him for long.

-

It’s early in the morning, and the restaurant is still empty. The silence stretches through the halls, interrupted only by the soft hum of a computer. As expected, Chris is already in his office, his brows slightly furrowed as he reads something on the screen.

You pop your head through the door, a bright smile tugging at your lips. “Good morning.”

The moment he looks up and sees you, his face lights up—like it always does. “Hey,” he greets, his voice warm. “Come in.”

You shake your head. “Actually, I want you come with me?”

Chris blinks, confused, but doesn’t hesitate to push his chair back and stand. As you lead him toward the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, eyeing you curiously. “You’ve been working late nights,” he comments. “Aren’t you tired?”

You glance at him and reply softly, “It’s not like I’m the only one tired. Everyone, including the chef, is working hard.”

When you arrive in the kitchen, you turn to him with a small grin before stepping aside to reveal a plate of mini spinach lasagna—the dish you know is his favorite.

Chris stares at it, momentarily stunned, before his lips stretch into an elated smile. “Wait—is this what I think it is?”

You nod, confirming, “Your favorite spinach lasagna.”

Grabbing a fork and a napkin, you place them beside the plate and gesture toward it. “Go ahead, have some.”

Chris narrows his eyes at you playfully. “What’s the occasion?”

You shrug, keeping your voice light. “No occasion. Just felt like making it.” You don’t tell him the real reason—that you made it as a quiet thank-you for everything he’s done.

Chris eyes you again like he doesn’t quite believe you, as if he’s about to tease you for it, but instead, he mutters a quiet, “Thank you,” before digging in.

You watch as he eats, a contented smile plastered on his face. The sight of him enjoying the food makes something warm settle in your chest. But as he nears the last few bites, curiosity tugs at you, and you finally break the silence.

“What did you and Minho talk about last time?”

Chris glances at you mid-chew so you continue. “At his place, the other night,” you clarify. “Chef said you guys talked about me. Is that true?”

Chris spears the last piece of lasagna with his fork, shoving it into his mouth as a sly smile curves his lips. He chews slowly, deliberately dragging out the suspense. Then, finally, he answers. “It’s true. We talked about you.”

You tilt your head. “What did you say?”

Chris dabs his mouth with the napkin, casual as ever. Then, in that same effortless way, he says, “I told him that I love you.”

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “Yeah, okay,” you chuckle, shaking your head, assuming he’s joking.

But then Chris meets your gaze—steady, unwavering. “I’m serious,” he says.

The smile slips from your face but he holds your stare, his voice gentle yet firm as he repeats, “I love you.” A beat passes before he continues, “I’ve always been in love with you. Since the moment I met you.”

Your breath catches as Chris exhales, almost like he’s relieved to finally say it aloud. “That’s why I offered you the job—because I wanted you close to me.”

You knew he liked you. But this—to say that he loves you—it’s something you never even dared to consider. And now, your heart aches in your chest because you know the answer he wants from you isn’t one you can give.

Chris watches you, his expression unreadable. When you fail to find the right words, he simply smiles again, softer this time. “Thanks for the food,” he says before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

You stand frozen, your mind spinning as a lump forms in your throat. The sadness settling inside you isn’t just sadness—it feels more like guilt. Guilt that you can’t return his feelings.

Before you can think twice, your feet move on their own, and you break into a run. “Chris!”

He stops in the hallway, his back still to you. Slowly, he turns, his eyes meeting yours. You search his face, desperate to say something, anything that will make this feel less heavy.

But in the end, all that comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

Chris smiles. Not in disappointment, not in pain—just a simple, understanding smile. He nods.

Your own lips curve into a faint, wobbly smile, even as tears prick at your eyes. This time, you say what you can say. “Thank you.”

Chris holds your gaze a moment longer before murmuring, “Just stay close to me. That’s enough for me.”

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat, and as you stare into his eyes, you let them say all the things you don’t have the words for.

-

Minho steps into the restaurant, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. His eyes scan the room instinctively, pausing when he spots Chris sitting alone at the coffee station. With a quiet sigh, Minho makes his way over, grabbing the stool beside him without a word. He reaches for the pot, pouring himself a cup, the rich aroma curling in the air between them. Neither of them speaks at first. The silence lingers, comfortable in a way that only comes with familiarity.

Then, Chris calls him. “Chef.”

Minho barely glances at him. “What?” His tone is indifferent, automatic.

Chris sets his cup down, fingers loosely curled around it. “She told me that I’m not for her.”

Minho expected this. He knew it was coming. And yet, hearing it out loud still catches him off guard. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue before he says, “Let’s have a drink later.”

It’s not a suggestion, more of a casual invitation, the kind that doesn’t need much thought.

But to his surprise, Chris shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

Chris doesn’t elaborate. He just sits there, sipping his coffee like he hasn’t just turned Minho down flat.

Minho scoffs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. Chris is annoying but now that he’s used to it, Minho thinks he is not that bad.

-

The clock creeps past midnight, but the kitchen is still alive, filled with the rhythmic clatter of knives against cutting boards, the sizzle of pans, and the quiet murmur of focused conversation. Minho moves through the space, eyes sharp, hands tucked into the pockets of his apron as he surveys the progress of the night’s practice. He stops first at Seojun’s station, dipping a spoon into the sauce meant to accompany the steak. The rich aroma fills his senses as he tastes it. The balance is almost there, but—

“Add more brandy,” Minho says, licking the remnants off his lips. “The meat’s already tender, so I’m not sure about all this sweetness.”

Seojun hums in thought, nodding. “I agree. I’ll fix it, Chef.”

Minho moves on, his steps light but deliberate as he approaches Seungwan’s station. Felix is there, nodding approvingly as he tastes the cauliflower soup. “The sweetness is perfect,” Felix comments. “And the aroma’s nice.”

Minho watches for a moment, the satisfaction settling in his chest before he continues his rounds. At your station, he stops in front of the stove, lifting the pan of pasta he’s been working on and holding it out to you. “Here. Try it.”

You grab a fork, testing the pasta first before twirling a portion coated in sauce and popping it into your mouth. Minho watches as Hyunwoo waits, anticipation written all over his face. Then, your lips curve into a grin. “It’s a success.”

Hyunwoo grins back, holding up a fist. You bump it without hesitation.

Minho exhales through his nose, amusement flickering in his chest, before turning back to his chef’s table. He surveys the kitchen one last time, then announces, “Let’s finish up here. Clean up and get some rest. We have an important day tomorrow.”

The kitchen shifts—knives are set down, stations wiped clean. But before anyone disperses, there’s a quiet moment of camaraderie. Pats on the back, murmurs of “Good luck,” and tired but proud smiles exchanged between teammates.

Minho watches all of it. No matter what happens tomorrow, this—his kitchen—has done well. And he’s proud.

-

Minho doesn’t have to look to know that you’re asleep in the passenger seat. Your soft, steady breathing fills the quiet space, the faint rise and fall of your shoulders confirming just how exhausted you are. You don’t even stir when he shifts the gear into park.

He exhales, leaning back against his seat for a moment before deciding not to wake you. Instead, he unclips his own seatbelt, steps out into the night air, and rounds the car to your side. When he opens the door, the dim streetlights cast gentle shadows over your sleeping face.

Minho watches you for a beat longer than he should. There’s something about seeing you like this—unguarded, peaceful—that makes his chest feel tight in a way he can’t explain. The corner of his lips tugs upward as he reaches out, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face with careful fingers.

Then, he leans in, unbuckling your seatbelt with the same tenderness. He takes your bag first, slinging it over his shoulder, before positioning himself to carry you on his back. With practiced ease, he lifts you, adjusting his grip as he straightens up. The car door swings shut with a quiet thud behind him.

You stir, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you slowly wake. Your voice is groggy when you mumble, “You can put me down now. I can walk.”

Minho scoffs and tightens his hold on your legs. “Just stay still.”

You obey, resting your head against the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. He starts walking, the cool night air contrasting the warmth of your body pressed against his back.

After a moment, he asks, “Do you know why it’s tough for women to become chefs?”

You hum in question, still half-asleep. “Why?”

Minho shifts your weight slightly before answering, “Because women aren’t stupid.”

There’s a pause before he continues, his voice softer now. “Only stupid people would dig for a well in a dry desert. And as a chef, it feels like you’re endlessly digging, never knowing if you’ll find water.” He slows his steps, turning his head slightly toward you. “You’re beautiful to me because you’re stupidly stubborn.”

You blink sleepily at him, but he doesn’t stop. “You turned down a rich guy. You take whatever impossible task I throw at you just so I can hold my head up as a chef. You helped me be a good chef.” Minho smiles to himself before adding, “I’m so grateful for you… because you’re stupidly stubborn.”

You look at him then, a quiet smile forming on your lips. Your eyes hold something deep—something that makes Minho’s pulse stutter for a second. He holds the gaze, but then you move first, leaning in just slightly—just enough for him to meet you halfway.

His lips capture yours in a slow, tender kiss. It lingers, warm and unspoken in its meaning, a silent gratitude that words could never quite hold.

When he pulls away, he finds you smiling at him. You place another soft peck on his lips before resting your head against his neck again, sighing in contentment.

Minho exhales, warmth overflowing in his chest. Without another word, he tightens his grip on you and keeps walking, the weight of you on his back feeling a little lighter than before.

-

The night is quiet, save for the faint rustling of the sheets and the soft cadence of your breaths. The world outside feels distant, insignificant, as if nothing exists beyond this room, beyond the warmth of Minho’s skin against yours.

He takes a moment to worship you, how your body is a vision against the white sheets, so perfect, so divine but at the same time, he feels the temptation to ruin you.

Minho aligns his cock with your entrance, he pushes just enough before withdraw it and then pushes it back inside, this time not stopping until he fully sheathed inside you.

His face hovers only a few inches above you as he murmurs, “How do you always feels so good?”

He thrusts slowly, deliberately, as though memorizing the way your body responds to him—the way your breath hitches when his fingers trace the curve of your spine, the way your lips part when he leans down to kiss you, deep and unhurried. His hands explore you with reverence, as if he’s searching for something he never realized he was missing until you.

Minho has never been like this before. Never taken his time like this, never felt the urge to savor each moment as if it’s something fleeting. But with you, it’s different. You make him want to stay in this moment, to drown in it, to lose himself in the warmth of your body and the way you whisper his name like it means something more.

“Minho...”

His forehead presses against yours as he moves, his breath warm against your lips. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he’s trying to etch this feeling into his bones.

He’s had lovers before, but this—this is something else. This is intimacy in its purest form, a connection that seeps into him, filling the hollow spaces he didn’t even know existed.

When he looks into your eyes, half-lidded and full of something he’s almost afraid to name, Minho knows.

He’s never been this into someone before. And he doesn’t think he ever will be again.

The night wraps around you both, quiet and intimate, the world beyond these walls forgotten. The only thing that exists is the warmth of Minho’s body against yours, the slow rhythm of your breaths mingling in the still air. His movements are unhurried, each touch deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him.

Then you look at him, eyes hazy, searching.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

Minho stills. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. He could say it—could tell you that you make him feel things he never thought he would, that this is different from anything he’s ever known. But the words don’t come, not yet. He isn’t ready.

Instead, he answers with a kiss. Slow, deep, reverent. His lips move against yours as if trying to tell you everything he can’t say. His hands trace over your skin with purpose, lingering, savoring. He holds you close, pressing his forehead to yours as he stills completely, just staying like that, connected, feeling every bit of you against him.

Time stretches, the moment suspended in something weightless, something sacred.

Then, with a breathless murmur, he finally thrusts into you again, pouring every unspoken word into the way he touches you, into the way he loves you.

-

The competition hall buzzes with tension, the air thick with the quiet hum of anticipation. Minho surveys the crowded space, noting the presence of teams from some of the city’s most renowned restaurants.

The competition is stiff, but he isn’t here to lose. He glances at the trio seated next to him. Seojun, as always, maintains a calm exterior, but Minho knows him well enough to see the flicker of nerves behind his eyes. Hyunwoo and Seungwan, on the other hand, don’t bother masking their anxiety—it’s written all over their faces.

Beyond them, Minho catches sight of the small group of supporters from Farfalle. You’re nestled between Felix and Taesoo, talking quietly. Minji and Yura sit nearby, also here to cheer the team on.

The announcement comes: it’s time to unveil the secret ingredients.

Minho steps forward, his pulse steady as he rounds the table. His hands are sure as he lifts the lid off the box, revealing the ingredients inside. He hears the sharp intake of breath beside him as Seojun spots the meat—tenderloin. Good.

Minho digs further and pulls out a pack of fresh squid. The second Hyunwoo sees it, he sighs in frustration. "Squid! But this is the cheap kind," he mutters under his breath.

Minho doesn’t even look up as he replies, “It’s a contest. They want us to prove we can turn cheap ingredients into something worth serving.” His gaze flickers to the panel of judges, landing briefly on Chef Rossi. He has a feeling the challenge stems from him.

Turning back to his team, Minho straightens. “The judges are testing us,” he says, voice firm. “But this is where we show them our skills.”

He grabs the board and pen, holding them up for emphasis. “Listen, once we submit our course menu, we can’t change it. So think carefully. Look at the ingredients. What dishes work?”

He gives them a moment to think before turning to Seojun first. “Main course?”

“Tenderloin steak,” Seojun answers without hesitation.

Minho nods, writing it down before shifting his attention to Seungwan. “Hors d’oeuvre?”

Seungwan hesitates, rifling through the ingredients, his expression frustrated as he picks up the squid. “What am I supposed to make with this?” he sighs.

Minho clicks his tongue. “Don’t start that.” He levels Seungwan with a look. “You’re the most optimistic person in this damn kitchen. You always find the best in any dish. Do the same here. What’s the positive in these ingredients?”

Seungwan’s brows furrow. He looks back at the squid, fingers tapping against the packaging. A few seconds later, his expression shifts—realization dawning. “Squid carpaccio,” he says. “There’s a unique taste to squid when it’s fresh. I can work with that.”

Minho smirks. “Are you confident with it?”

Seungwan meets his eyes. “Yes, Chef.”

The four of them continue finalizing the menu, the tension in the air shifting into focus and determination. Once everything is set, Minho hands their submission to the panel, his mind already calculating the next steps.

They have little time before heading into the kitchen. He turns back to his team, gaze sharp as he looks at each of them.

“This is it,” he says. “Soon, there won’t be any chef to answer to. No one yelling at you to do it over. You’re on your own.” His voice lowers slightly, just enough to make them listen. “I hope this is the last time I’ll have to curse you out. Go out there and take first place. Got it?”

The three of them answer immediately. “Yes, Chef!”

Minho exhales. “From here on, it’s all up to you guys. I’ve done what I can to help.”

Another firm, unwavering reply: “Yes, Chef!”

Minho glances at each of them before nodding. “Come on, let’s do this properly.”

He extends his hand, and they all gather in, hands stacked together in a show of unity. He looks at them one last time before murmuring, “Good luck.”

With that, he watches them leave for the competition kitchen, a rare smile tugging at his lips. No matter what happens next, he’s proud.

-

The tension in the competition hall is almost suffocating. Minho watches as the chefs return with their finished dishes, the air thick with anticipation. From the sidelines, he sits with you beside him, your warmth grounding him amidst the pressure.

“The final round of the New Chef Culinary Challenge is about to begin.”

The words echo across the hall, and Minho exhales sharply. It’s time. He feels your fingers tighten around his hand, a reassuring squeeze before you lean in, your breath warm against his ear. "Posso farcela."

Minho glances at you, smirking at your whispered encouragement. Without another word, he stands and strides toward the table marked with Farfalle’s name.

Seojun, Seungwan, and Hyunwoo are already there, standing stiffly in a line. Minho claps each of them on the shoulder, his touch firm, steady. “Good work.” It’s all he says, but the weight behind it is clear.

The judges begin making their rounds, moving from table to table with slow, deliberate steps. Each contestant watches with bated breath as they meticulously sample every dish, jotting down scores with unreadable expressions.

Minho stands still, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on one judge in particular—Chef Rossi. The old man tastes each dish in front of him with careful consideration, his gaze revealing nothing. Minho has always respected his palate; in a room full of critics, his opinion is the only one that truly matters.

But when Chef Rossi finally sets down his fork, his expression remains cryptic—an almost imperceptible flicker of something in his eyes before he turns away, leaving Minho grasping at straws.

A slow, simmering frustration builds in Minho’s chest. What the hell was that? Approval? Disappointment? Amusement?

As soon as the judges move to the next table, Minho wastes no time. He grabs a fork, slicing into the tenderloin and lifting it to his mouth. The moment the flavor bursts onto his tongue, his mind is made up.

The judges would have to be idiots not to give them first place.

Minutes stretch into eternity as the judges tally their scores. The murmuring in the hall grows restless. Beside him, his team is standing stiff, their confidence wavering in the face of the unknown.

Finally, the host steps forward, microphone in hand. The murmurs die instantly. “It is now time to announce the winners of the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

Minho’s fingers curl slightly against the table. He’s not the only one holding his breath. A pause. A beat too long.

“We will now announce the first place winner.”

Minho doesn’t blink. He already knows. But then—

A flicker of something in the host’s expression. A hesitation. A subtle shift in the air.

Minho’s heart kicks up—just slightly.

“The winner of the 8th New Chef Culinary Challenge is...”

-

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[vrystalius]

I know i just requested with weird nicknames for squid game characters.

But I want to see their reaction to your wallpaper being them or being another person. Literally obsessed with what you write its so cute. Take my heart ❤️

Squid Game men’s reaction for putting them as your phone’s wallpaper.

They randomly check your phone one day and find a picture of themselves staring back. How will they react? What kind of wallpaper do they have?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu x gn!reader

Summary: You putting them as your phone wallpaper, them putting you as their phone wallpaper

Genre: Fluff, maybe a little angst in Nam-gyu’s part (mention of drug use)

Words: 800 per character

Note: I wrote this during my medicine and head concussion induced haze, forgive me for any inconsistencies or mistakes 😭🙏 Also, the middle pictures are a suggestion as what said wallpaper could be.

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // Salesman

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

Mostly surprise and confusion spread swirled in his mind the first time he stared back at himself in the form of your phone wallpaper. He never thought you’d screenshot this picture let alone use it as your wallpaper because c’mon— let’s be honest, you could’ve chosen any other picture of him and yet you decided on this.

It’s weird. Gong Yoo feels a little watched as he tries to find the food delivery app on your phone while having his own eyes stare back at him.

Although he had grown more and more fond of it every time he opened your phone anew. He sees how you grin a little when turning on your screen, how you sometimes giggle when you stare at it for too long. Sometimes you show it off to him and complain about he barely ever wears any skincare masks anymore.

“So you can have a new wallpaper? I don’t think so. My skin is fine for now, thank you darling.”

To be really honest, he finds it incredibly endearing that you chose him as your wallpaper, especially a picture like this. He thinks of himself as a sophisticated, charming, handsome salesman that lures desperate people into a death game and messes with homeless people in his free time, but you seemingly just see him as your soulmate, the love of your life, your husband.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Two months into the relationship and after a couple of dates, Gong Yoo already set you as his phone wallpaper. It was nice to have a reminder looking back at him to text you, check in on you, give you a call or even come by for dinner. A reminder that he has a special someone to care and love for.

He switches his wallpaper up every few weeks or months, wanting to keep it updated to your appearance. His chosen pictures are mostly intimate ones, snaps he takes while you are being unaware of how cute, attractive or adorable you look.

Pictures like when you are asleep on the couch in his arms after watching a movie, you after waking up and sleepily brushing your teeth in the mirror, you showing your back to him while waiting for the microwave to finish heating up the cheap convenience food, maybe even you stuffing your face with ice cream after a long day.

Whatever picture he may choose (much to your dismay), it always makes him smile to himself no matter the situation. Even if another homeless person asks him for spare change or those two random mobsters tried to jump him in an alleyway and now he was forced to “get rid of them”, a quick glance on his phone and seeing a cute picture of you immediately forces a smile to break out on his face.

The sight of their kidnapper smiling at his phone so lovingly while they were tied up and playing rock-paper-scissors for their lives probably made the two men shit their pants more than feeling the barrel of a revolver being pressed against the side of their head.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

— Choosing him as your wallpaper. —

At first, Thanos reeeaaaallly disliked the picture you chose as your wallpaper. It was just a random reaction picture he send you one day about something he doesn’t even remember, and you went ahead and chose this as your phone wallpaper? Seriously?! Can’t you choose something more handsome, flattering?

He even offered to pose properly for you so you have a better pic to use, but after Thanos obviously started mewing and tried his absolute best to look as attractive as possible (which he already is but shhh), your boyfriend got extremely offended when you started laughing at his posing.

Your boyfriend gave up after a few attempts of secretly changing your wallpaper and seeing you pout every time he did, changing it right back to the one before.

If you really like it that much, fine. Just don’t let anyone see that you have that as your phone wallpaper, or else his rapper persona will never be able to recover from being exposed like that.

You don’t even understand why he is being so dramatic about your wallpaper anyway.

“I look hella ugly there, c’mon baby! Work with me here!! Here, lemme pose for you real quick so you can change that thing.”

Although it does flashbang you in the middle of the night when you turn on your phone, the brightness of the picture vaporising your eyes in an instant. It’s not the most pleasant thing to look at first thing in the morning but you still think he looks kinda cute in the pic.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

He was careful to choose the prettiest picture of you he can find and the proceed to show it off to everyone he meets. Thanos even showed you off to Nam-gyu multiple times, forgetting that he already showed his friend the same picture four times now. Nam-gyu is already totally looking forward to next week when Thanos shows you off again.

Your boyfriend grins like a child whenever he glances at his phone for too long, falling in love with your picture all over again.

He changes his wallpaper every week so he always has something cute to look at after performing at another underground club or while doing whatever, sometimes getting distracted from searching for a certain app and instead ending up scrolling through either your social media account or his photo library to search for more pics of you.

Whenever you catch Thanos grin at his phone again, your first instinct is to glance over his shoulder to check what exactly he is looking at, but he immediately closes his phone when you do. At first you thought he might be looking at some random girl’s profile or whatever, but when you open it up and find yourself staring back, you’re kind of surprised to be honest.

Although, he always denies that he really cares about his wallpaper. Your boyfriend is totally choosing it at random and totally does not match his lock screen with his homescreen and mostly chooses pictures of you two together, you kissing his cheek or him holding you. Not at all!

Nam-gyu // Player 124

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

You choose a rather cute picture as your wallpaper. You took it during one of your first dates where you dragged him to a festival that was being held near your home, dragging Nam-gyu there against his will. Back then he had shorter hair, wore his glasses more frequently. Back then he was a little shy believe it or not, at least when it came to romance.

He used more before he met you, being around alcohol and drugs at all times due to his occupation. It kind of came with his job and the circle of friends he was around, so before meeting you, there was barely any day he wasn’t high or having a hangover from some random drug.

Nam-gyu never noticed you had this picture as your phone wallpaper until he accidentally grabbed your phone, thinking it was his. Seeing this picture in particular gave him a brief jumpscare.

You took this picture after he managed to scrap out the star shape out of the sugar cookie he bought from a random stand during the festival. His hair was shorter back then and he wore his glasses more frequently, the mask a reminder of how times were 5 years ago. He struggled staying clean during that time and always felt like shit wich is why he didn’t want to go to the festival in the first place.

He didn’t even know you took this picture of him despite him fully looking at the camera. A small smile spread on his face at the thought of you really choosing a picture like this as your phone wallpaper.

Quickly putting your phone down, Nam-gyu quickly played off his reaction as he hard you come into the room.

“I’m smiling about nothing, shaddup. Go back to wherever you came from.”

With a dismissive hand wave, he tried to shoo you away. His attempts were futile as you instead pull him into a clingy hug, instead demanding cuddles instead. Who was he to deny your wish?

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Nam-gyu likes taking 0.5x zoom pictures of you from above and choosing them as his phone wallpaper, pushing you away as you try to protest and stop him from putting them as his wallpaper because seriously, he can literally choose any other pic!

You can hear quiet, evil “hehe”s from the corner of the room whenever you two are together and he turns on his phone, briefly turning it around so you can see what he was giggling so stupidly at, only for him to giggle harder at the sight of your unamused face.

Even if he mainly chooses those pictures as his phone wallpaper to annoy you, he likes having a stupid picture of you always available to him.

Some shitty guy searching for a fight at the club? Quick glance at your face at a 0.5x zoom makes him crack a smile right after. Thanos called him Nam-su, Gyu-nam or literally anything else but his name again? Turning his phone on lightens his mood immediately.

Sure, a flattering or cute picture of you would have the same effect on him, but this is much funnier in his opinion.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

HAPPY LATE VALETINES DAYYYYYYY!!!! Since tumblr limits your tags to 30 tags per post I always have trouble tagging all of the Squid Game men, so I decided to split this one prompt into two posts. If this gets enough attention / love, I’ll post a part 2 with Dae-ho, Gi-hun and In-ho! Also, thank you for requesting, I needed a break from writing my smut draft 😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[lilgarbitch]

Noah Thots🥰

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: fluffy sub!Noah, a whole cutie patootie, obsessively in love with you

Author’s Note: I always see smut of sub Noah but rarely see the life outside of it. Imagine what this tall, strong, tattooed man is like when he’s at home, feeling safe and sound with his partner.

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @bloody-spades @blade-dressed-in-red @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

Living with Noah is like living with the most adorable and attention seeking pup. Once he steps in through the door and leaves his whole stage persona behind, he’s instantly by your side, every second of the day.

As you make dinner for the two of you, he’s walking around the kitchen with you like an oversized shadow, either keeping his hand attached to your waist as you move around, or burying his face in your hair or neck when you’re standing over the counter or stove.

Many times, you had to politely ask him to sit down, and like the good boy he is, he happily follows your orders, circling the island and sitting there, watching you with his chin on his palm, staring with eyes that you could swear turned into hearts.

And every time you glanced over at him with a sweet smile, his eyes would light up and a giant grin would form on his lips. There’s times you can almost see an imaginary tail wagging as you gave him the slightest bit of attention.

Sometimes, when you’re on the opposite side of the island, either cutting vegetables or preparing your plates, he stretches his arms out over the countertop towards you, chin resting against the cool granite with an expectant smile on his face as he silently begs you to spare him another glance, even if you were just talking to him seconds before.

When the two of you are hanging out in the living room, either watching a movie or an anime you’ve both seen a million times, he has to be touching you at all times. Most of the time, he curls his large lanky body around yours, causing you to wrap your arms around him tight to counter his weight, or else he’d pull you both down.

But his favorite position is when he can sprawl out with his head on your lap. You always rest one hand on either his arm or chest, giving him a warm feeling inside, while the other plays with his hair. Sometimes it becomes so routine that you just gently run your fingers through it, which he does adore, but what he loves even more is when you give him extra attention, chatting with him as you graze your fingers against his scalp, trailing down his temples and the nape of his neck. Softly massaging at his tight neck or jaw muscles while your other hand lovingly scratches circles against his chest.

He’s the kind of boy who instantly drops everything he’s doing when you call for him. Even when you don’t realize he was busy practicing or working on a song, he’s instantly popping his head into the doorway of whatever room you’re in and greeting you like a creature come from heaven.

He is always willing to do whatever you ask, even if you don’t outright ask it. If you mentioned something under your breath, like saying you were thirsty or that you hadn’t had a certain food in a while, the second he can allow himself to leave your side, he returns with a proud smile on his face and whatever you needed.

And he absolutely melts when you try and get his attention. His name leaving your lips is like a melody he wish he could recreate and listen to every second of every day, and the nicknames you give him almost short circuit his brain.

‘Darling’ has him willing to wait on you hand and foot. When he hears that name, he’s by your side before you can even blink, ready to hear whatever you have to say next.

‘My love’ has him melting into your touch. Every time you call him that, he’s instantly wrapping his arms around you, no matter what position you’re in. One time, you called him that while on the phone, and thankfully he had only run to the store, because he almost left the groceries as he rushed out to get back home to you, desperately needing you in his arms before he felt like he was going to explode.

And the first time, and every time since, that you called him ‘Baby Boy,’ his knees buckled and he stared at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen, the gorgeous chocolate brown locked on you, barely hearing a word you said because all that’s running through his head was how lucky he was to have you and how the love he feels for you is almost painful, because it consumes every cell of his being.

His obsession with you has lead to him begging on his knees to get you to join him on a 3 month long tour, knowing he’d never survive away from you for that long. It has lead to you learning what you could and couldn’t say to him in certain environments, once calling him ‘the sweetest boy’ when he got you a drink while you were hanging out with friends and he almost climbed into your lap just to prove to you how sweet he was.

Everyday, you start off your day reminding him how perfect he is and how he was yours, because you did it once and now, if he goes without it, he will actually start whining until you give him the validation he needs.

And you loved every second of every day with your needy boy, just knowing that someone loves and adores you so much that they couldn’t get enough of you.

[leaderwon]

VALENTINE'S DAY WITH RI-KI!

Synopsis : Riki brews a thoughtful surprise in the form of a personalized coffee date, complete with a hand written love note hidden under your cup.

Warnings : Fluff, mentions of food

Wc : 2k+

Luna's Diary : aaannddd 2025 valentine's day is a wrap :3 tysm for reading :)

masterlist

Valentine's Day was always painted with hues of red roses and boxes of heart shaped chocolates. But for you, this year carried a unique charm, a touch of Riki's creativity and warmth. The morning sun poured into your window as your phone vibrated on the nightstand.

“Morning. Meet me at our usual spot at 11? :)” Riki’s text was short but filled with intrigue. You smiled, already imagining what he might have up his sleeve. The “usual spot” was a quaint coffee shop tucked into a corner street, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered like a comforting hug.

By the time you arrived, Riki was already waiting by the window. He spotted you instantly, his eyes lighting up as he waved enthusiastically. His tousled hair framed his face, and a grin stretched across his lips.

“Right on time” he teased as you sat down across from him. “I could say the same about you” you quipped. “What’s the occasion?” His grin widened. “What, I can’t just ask you out for coffee on Valentine’s Day without being suspicious?”

“You totally can, but I know you. There’s definitely a twist” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe, maybe not. But first, coffee.”

True to his word, Riki ordered your favorite drinks. The barista greeted him with a knowing smile, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was a regular conspirator in Riki’s plans. Moments later, your cups arrived, steaming and adorned with perfectly swirled foam art.

“Cheers to Valentine's Day” Riki said, holding up his cup. “To surprises, I guess” you added, clinking your cup against his.

The rich flavor of the coffee warmed you from the inside out. Conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and stories that made time slip through your fingers. Yet, there was an underlying excitement in Riki’s demeanor, like he was waiting for the perfect moment.

“So, have you made any Valentine’s Day wishes?” he asked, stirring his drink absently. You tilted your head. “Is that a thing?” “It is if you want it to be. Go ahead, make one.”

You played along, closing your eyes dramatically. “Okay, I’ve got one.” He leaned in, his voice low. “What did you wish for?” “Not telling” you teased. He pouted, but there was a glimmer in his eyes. “Fine. But I have something better than a wish.”

Riki gestured to your cup. Confused, you lifted it slightly, and that’s when you noticed it, a small, folded note stuck to the bottom. “What’s this?” you asked, heart racing as you peeled it off. “Open it” he encouraged, his voice gentle.

With trembling fingers, you unfolded the note. His familiar handwriting covered the paper, each word carefully crafted.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. I thought about getting you flowers, but I figured words last longer. So here’s this: You make every day brighter, and honestly, there’s no one else I’d rather share coffee and dumb jokes with. You’re my favorite person, the one who turns even boring moments into memories I never want to forget. You make my world lighter and happier in ways I didn’t even know I needed. Thank you for being yourself and letting me be by your side through it all. I hope I can keep making you smile, just like you always do for me.” - Riki

Emotion welled up in your chest as you read his words. It was simple, honest, and utterly perfect. “Riki” you whispered, looking up at him. “I meant every word” he said softly. “You’re kinda stuck with me, you know.”

You laughed through the tears threatening to spill. “Good thing I don’t mind that.” He reached across the table, his hand finding yours. The warmth of his touch was grounding. “So... did I beat your Valentine’s Day wish?” he asked with a mischievous glint. “You blew it out of the water” you admitted. “Good.” He leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself. “Now we just need dessert.”

“Is that code for more surprises?” “Maybe. But this time, you’ll have to wait and see” he said with a wink.

The rest of the date unfolded with sweetness, literal and figurative. You shared slices of cake, argued playfully over which flavor was better, and made a mess with whipped cream that Riki absolutely did on purpose.

As you left the coffee shop, the world felt lighter. Riki walked beside you, his hand intertwined with yours. The city buzzed with Valentine’s Day festivities, but all you could focus on was him.

“You know, this might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever” you admitted. “Really? Even without the fancy stuff?” “Especially without the fancy stuff” you emphasized. He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to top it next year.” “Good luck with that” you teased.

Riki pulled you closer, his voice warm. “Challenge accepted.”

And as the day faded into evening, one thing was clear: love wasn’t in the grand gestures but in the thoughtful moments, the laughter, and the handwritten notes that lingered in your heart forever.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[popcornforone]

The Lore

A Max Phillips Valentines Fan Fic

Bitey Maxie… for valentines… now we’re talking!

@happypedrohours are doing a valentines challenge this weekend & I took up the challenge, my Prompt of Max with heart shaped candies/chocolates. There was only one way to go with this so yes I went there.

Synopsis:- You are not bothered by Valentine’s Day to show your love, but Max has other ideas.

Word Count:- 4100

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!There is a lack of consent in this for lots of reasons, please in real life always give or receive consent before doing anything. PIV sex, drinking blood, alcohol, swearing, vampire lore & powers, drugging, stalking, controlling, boss & staff relationship, age gap (max is a vampire he’s like 200 years older than you in this story) manipulation.

Thanks for the read peoples. I hope you enjoy this.

Oooh as my poem got a lot of love last time, if you click here later this weekend you will get the poem version of this story.

“Ooooh isn’t it going to be romantic”

“I love this holiday”

“Wonder how many roses I will get”

You groan at the constant comments around the office in the lead up to Valentine’s Day. You have never been the kind of person,be it single or in a relationship, to enjoy Valentine’s Day. Yes it’s nice to get gifts & be doted on but you believe you don’t need a day to tell the person you love that you love them, you love them every day. Also there is currently the added bonus that no one in your office knows your in a new relationship. For lots of reasons you’ve had to keep it quiet. It’s been 6 months now, there’s been a few difficult conversations along the way so far but you know what to expect of each other.

As you sit there hearing Darcey talk for the 8th time that on Friday she has the day off & she’s sure her boyfriend will finally propose to her, you get a pop up on your screen.

My office with the reports in 10 mins.

“Always to the point” you mutter & start downloading last months sales reports to the usb drive. He is the only person in the world who hates using the cloud so this has to be done. You don’t mind it though. Means you know he’s not just skimming through the reports.

9mins later you knock on his office door & walk in closing it behind you.

“A minute early,” he says his back to you as he looks out the window at the grey busy city below. His Gucci suit being sleek & making his peachy arse, tiny waist & broad shoulders look emaculate. “Either that’s not good for sales, or you are getting too good at your job, guessing when I’m gonna ask for stuff.” He shifts back on his left foot before turning. There he is. Not a hair out of place. Looking as handsome as ever.

Your boss.

Your Boyfriend.

Max Phillips.

You always gulp upon seeing those eyes. Eyes so smouldering they could set a forest a blaze with one look. His hand smoothed out his blue tie. That large hand that makes you think bad things. & those lips, thin for now but blushing with life, the perfect way to end any day is to have those lips make contact, in lots of ways.

“Well that is why you hired me” you reply & wait for him to beckon you over. He might be your boyfriend & boss, but you are also his sub, & part of his supply of food. Max is a Vampire. Your obedience is rewarded with all sorts of things, but mainly mind blowing sex every other night. You’ve had so many orgasms in the last 6 months your world has truly been rocked. The two fingers extend & he does a come hither. You nod & walk across to him & hand him his usb. He grabs your hand, tightly & you gasp.

“Thank you darling” he then kisses your neck. You flinch a little. It’s the sore patch. It’s where he drinks from. You won’t let him drink while you have sex, one of the disagreements you’ve had, but on a Friday after you’ve dined & wined with whoever you have been out with, he will come over, drink from your neck so he can feel a little intoxicated too & then as you lie exhausted from being consumed yourself, he will devour your pussy until you can’t cum anymore.

“My pleasure sir” you say. He giggles a little, the glint in his eye even more shiney today.

He sits behind his desk & the two of you go through the sales reports. Despite you being his in almost every sense (he’s not agreed to turn you yet) he’s still very impressed with you, your work ethic, your charisma, your professionalism & the fact, that even though he is your master in lots of ways, that you will challenge him. No one has done that for over 200 years. He likes you feisty , because then he knows you’re being real & true. You wear your heart on your sleeve & that’s one of the reasons he adores you.

“That is actually all good” he says at the end of the review & chat”up 15% on last month that’s very reassuring, shows growth is continuing to get stronger”

“As I said Sir” you interject “we don’t need to grow at rapid speed just 12% each month for this year & then they will keep coming back & then recommend us”

“You’re so business savvy” he takes his large hand off the keyboard & strokes your chin. You try to not blush. “Your my little Angel”

“Max” you giggle unable to keep calm you know what thumb stroking usually means “we’re at work”

“&…”

“What if…”

“I’m in charge remember darling” the grip on your chin gets firmer. “If I wanted you under my desk every morning for a blow job, all

I’d have to do is snap my fingers & you’d be on your knees” your bright red, because you know it’s true. Power attracts you. His lore radiates. He pulls your face down, the eye contact intense, the sexual tension could cut through a coconut. Your kiss never materialises, as his phone rings. He answers it angrily.

“Fine fine fine” he says sternly before hanging up. “Sorry darling, rain check, new interns from the college, here to see if they want to work here”you are both disappointed but know you will get to continue later.

“Actual interns or a snack?” You ask he pulls a face of shock. Almost disappointed in your remarks, but you see the glint in his eye.

“Actual interns…” he then pauses & raises an eyebrow. “But the most Karen amongst them might be a nice little nibble” you giggle at him & take the usb back. “Hang on” you pause just before the door. “Remember I’m at a conference next week”

“Of course sir”

“Means a couple of nights away” he then pauses his face worried “including late home on Friday”

“&…” you reply.

“But it’s Valentine’s Day” he says. He’s shocked you don’t look sad.

“It’s just a day Max” you say softly. “I don’t need a certain day to be doted on” he then looks really shocked by this. In the 284 years he’s been alive he’s always spoilt the woman in his life on this day.

“You sure”

“Yes Max” you smile at him softly “my feelings won’t change for you they will be the same on Saturday as they will be on Friday” you nod & then leave his office.

Max sits back in his chair contemplating what you just said to him. Amazed you don’t want a fuss. He can read your mind, 9 times out of 10 he decides not to, but he had a quick feel around during that conversation & realised you weren’t lying. You really aren’t bothered. But that is going to make what Max has planned so much better. His mind planning only interrupted when the intercom goes to say the interns are in the lift to see him.

Valentine’s Day arrives.

After hitting your alarm on snooze, you see the message from Max on your phone.

I know i love you every day but today I felt like saying it, love you darling 💕

You reply saying the same back before getting in the shower. The hot steam making you wish Max was here, to touch you in lots of ways. Once dressed & in the kitchen making your coffee the door goes. You moan a little & hit the buzzer for whatever delivery this is to come up to your apartment, but your eyes are a delight when you open your eyes. A heart shaped cookie, with some small heart shaped chocolates on it & two roses with thorns still attached. The note that with it says “I bet this made you at least smile MPx” it had. Your dark heart which usually hates Valentine’s Day & the commercialism of it, starting to defrost a little. You decide to eat a chocolate as you head out to get the subway to work. As the last bit of chocolate melts on your tongue you feel wave of euphoria. Maybe it’s having something so sweet this early in the morning that’s woken up your senses, you’re not sure. But it’s making you bounce into the office this Friday morning. People notice how happy you are & are wondering what’s up.

When you get to your desk on your floor there is a pink heart shaped box, with a gold bow & a note. “Thought this morning was all you were gonna get? MPx” you untie the bow as some of your colleagues watch you. Those who aren’t then hear your squeal of excitement once it’s opened. A lavish selection of heart shaped chocolates & sweets sit inside & they smell amazing, making you lick your lips.

“Thought you didn’t do Valentine’s Day?” Danny asked.

“I don’t”

“& aren’t you single?” You blush at that.

“It’s complicated” you say. You’d love to shout out that you are getting railed by Max, but that would make things awkward. “But I have someone” you finish & you take a white chocolate heart & plop it in your mouth. “Oooh raspberry” you then offer the box to Danny “take one”

“But they are yours”

“I’m not gonna be able to eat them all Danny you take one for now & one for the journey” you offer innocently.

2hours later you suddenly realise the office is all around a much happier & nicer place. The usual mid morning slump never arrives. In fact, the entire office feels like it’s running on a different frequency, lighter, faster, buzzing with an energy that’s almost contagious. People are smiling, laughing, moving with an unusual ease. Even the usual grumblers seem… pleasant.

You lean back in your chair, watching as Danny animatedly chats with Sarah from accounts, his usual nervousness nowhere to be seen, he’s always had a crush on her. Across the room, even your perpetually stressed admin clark is grinning as she types away at her keyboard. It’s like someone has turned the volume up on life. It’s only when you realise that you’re tapping your foot at a ridiculous speed & that your fingers have been flying over your keyboard without you even noticing, that a thought creeps in.You glance at the open chocolate box on your desk.

Surely not?

Another bite of a heart chocolate sends a fresh wave of warmth through you, like you could take on the world. Your body feels incredible, light, sharp, almost euphoric. Your brain is firing on all cylinders.

Your phone vibrates. A message from Max.

“Feeling good, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flips. That bastard.

“What did you do?” You reply.The three dots appear.

“Hopefully get you loose”

You look up. Across the room, Danny meets your eye & grins, cheeks flushed. He winks.

“Oh fuck” you whisper & grab the box & run into Max’ office & lock the door behind you before calling him. He answers straight away.

“Darling”

“What’s in the chocolates Max?”

“Happy Val…” you interrupt him.

“I’m serious Max” you say sternly. “I passed them around the office”

“WHAT!” He screeches”why did you do that”

“Cos I’m not gonna eat 30 chocolates it would take me months”

“Fuck” he says “so how is erm… the rest of the office”

“Euphoric, In the most chilled Friday mood ever” you hear him tut.

“Well they have a mild aphrodisiac in them, just to let you inhibitions go” he chuckles. He’s drugged you & no also due to your generosity most of his staff.

“You think this is funny?” You state.

“I do, sorry daring. I didn’t want you stressing & I wanted you to have a nice calm day without me” he then pauses”wait where are you calling me from im guessing not the office floor”

“I ain’t that stupid Max” you scoff “I’m in your office, panicking”

“Bottom left draw of my desk” he says. His tone demanding even down the phone & you obey. You open the drawer & there is a bottle of champagne.

“Max”

“Take it home when you leave, enjoy it tonight, you deserve it baby” & then the phone clicks off, he’s hung up. Your stood there speechless & also very concerned you’ve just drugged the office with heart shaped chocolates. Well technically your boss has, your boyfriend has.

After the most relaxed Friday anyone has ever imagined, you go back to your apartment. Another bunch of red roses are waiting for you with a smaller box of chocolate & the note on the card says, “order a take away on me beautiful MPx” you blush & take them inside. After setting the roses in a vase & placing the smaller chocolate box on your kitchen counter, you flop onto the couch, phone in hand. Ready to let Max know what he might be coming back to at work next week.

“You do realise I am never trusting any food from you again, right?” His reply is instant.

“Oh, come on, darling. Didn’t you have the best Friday of your life?”

“You drugged an entire office.”

“Lightly. They’ll be fine. No complaints, right”You pause. He’s right. No one seemed upset. In fact, people left work happier than they ever have on a Friday. It was as if all the tension that usually hung in the air had dissolved. Still, you weren’t about to let him get off that easy.

“You’re a menace.”

“& yet, I’m your menace & you love me.”

You groan, tossing your phone onto the coffee table at his reply. He’s insufferable, smug & unfortunately, he’s right.

Your stomach rumbles, bringing your attention to the takeout menu you’ve grabbed, you know it doesn’t go well but a burger & champagne sounds good. As you place your order, your thoughts drift back to Max’s little surprise. The chocolates. The way they made you feel. That warm, floaty sensation still lingers in your veins, but now it’s mixed with anticipation. Because you know exactly what’s coming next. After all, he’s not the type to leave things at just chocolates & flowers.

As if on cue, your phone vibrates again.

“Enjoy your dinner, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you soon”

Your breath catches. Max isn’t meant to get back until really late tonight. Is this all just a game to him? Playing with your emotions or is it just the heart shaped chocolates playing with your mind.

What you have no idea is that Max was never working away today, he’s been following you. He had been away for the rest of the week but he got back to his place last night. He watched you get the gifts on each occasion including putting a couple of mind control tricks on you, a little one every now & then doesn’t effect you, he even snuck into work to see how the chocolates were going down. He’s been watching you from outside your apartment feeling your aura, ready to strike at the moment you are most care free & relaxed. He wants a special Valentine’s Day himself. He wants you, & he knows by making you so calm & relaxed there is a huge chance you will let him drink from you when you have sex. He will need no mind controls tonight.

When you’ve finished eating & you pour another large glass of fizz, you hear a soft knock at your actual apartment door. Not the buzzer or the intercom. It’s deliberate & sends a shiver of both nervousness & delight down your spine. It has to be him. You slowly make your way to the door, is it nerves, fear, anticipation, lust, desire or all of the above that’s making your heart pound inside you? You can feel the tension as you unlock the door.

Max always has the devil in his eyes being a vampire but tonight it’s glowing. There’s an extra glint shining bright in those eyes. He knows he’s been naughty but he can’t contain his enjoyment of his teases through the day. He’s dressed to the nines as always spotless, the tie in his sleek jacket pocket, you can see the red poking out. Trousers that if he thrust, would show you which side he was dressing today. He’s smirking the only way he can.

“Surprise” he says cockily. You roll your eyes & tut in a sarcastic way. You step aside & he bows before entering. It’s a vampire thing.

“How was the late stay for the work thing?” You ask but you already deep down know he’s been spying on you. Something in your mind is telling you this.

“Erm about that” you sigh”oooh come on I wanted to have fun & you clearly have had enough of it, & I had to know if you really were enjoying yourself.”

“How often do you watch me max” not just a question for today but just in general.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to, I’ve set my own boundaries. Trust me I could stand at the end of your bed all night watching you sleep & you’d have no idea”

“What” you say shocked.

“Joking” he says putting his hands up apologetically, but there’s something about he smirk that makes you think maybe he sometimes does. He then takes your left hand & kisses it. You blush crimson.”you know your better than any drug or blood to me”

Just being with each other intoxicates you both. No more mind games are needed tonight, no more alcohol or chocolates to let yourself go. Your combined auras are making the sexual tension so thick. As you rest a hand on him your certain even though you know it cant be that you can feel his pulse quicken.

“Max i…”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, stealing your breath easing your soul, igniting the fire within your bones. He’s possessive as he pulls you into him. He knows you’re his in every way but that doesn’t stop him wanting to claim every last inch of you. You’d willingly be this man’s last meal if he asked you, his scent, his touch, his body, his mouth & those eyes that are are usually so soft now primal & wild, they all belong your man. No one else’s he’s yours.

His mouth leavers your lips, to your jaw, to your neck, to your throat, to where he likes to sip. He’s a man possessed. Too much to feast on. On such a beauty as you. He knows he should ask, he also knows he could use a mind trick but he wants you to willingly bring it up. The thing he wants most. His tongue flicks against the usual puncture holes, the teeth grazing, those prestige fangs starting to form. He lets out a small growl, it vibrates through your body.

“I want you”

“I know max”

“No I really want you in every way”

Your body melts & you moan as he softly starts to nip. It’s not painful anymore it’s arousing.

“Yes” you whimper.

“Sorry” he says & lifts his head

“ I said yes, take me to bed before I change my mind” you say & he lifts his head.

“Only if your sure darling & you must say black if it’s too much”

“Max i trust you with my life”

That’s all Max needs to hear.

Vampiric power is extraordinary in so many ways. In a flash he’s scooped you into his arms & carried you to your bedroom. You body feels like it’s falling in slow motion. In the time it takes you to get your jewellery off he’s gone & got some towels & a bottle of water & a few other supplies, incase things go wrong, although he keeps promising it never would, that he’d never hurt you, that it would make sex so much more enjoyable.

You’re excited as you both undress each other. You’re always excited for sex with max, but today it’s different. You’ve been drank before & after sex but never during it. This is a special treat & one that you know, now that you’ve opened Pandora’s box, he will expect more regularly.

After peeling away your clothes Max kisses every single inch of your skin. So full of life, so beautiful. He makes him more of a creature of a night than ever before. He’s savouring each kiss & touch. You moan as he sucks on your clit for a few minutes, your hands going into his hair. Your hips already rolling pushing his face further into your pleasure, as h gets you going.

“Fuck max”

“Don’t cum already baby” he giggles before his fangs then graze your nipples. He then pauses. He knows once he sinks his fangs into you & his penis, he will turn into an animal.

“Last chance darling” he says hopeful you still consent. Slight restraint in his voice. You pull him up so he can be near his usual drinking spot. Your hand traces over this jaw.

“I’m all yours max, in every way, yes I want this”

“Remember black” he says. He then very unromantic hits a timer next to your bed of 10mins, the longest the knows he can drink without doing any damage. You moan as he penetrates you slowly, filling up your cunt as he kisses you deeply. “I promise you will want this every night” he then licks down your throat, his hips slowly thrusting, you aren’t gripping the bedding yet but you can’t stop moaning already.

Finally his mouth as back at his supply. He sighs, licks & then softly sinks his fangs into your flesh. You’re gripping the bedding now.

Pleasure ripples through your body. You’ve never felt this high, you’ve never felt this happy. Sharp, hot, intoxicating, sexy, ritualistic. Your body arches as you moan pushing him into the air with you before you come back down onto the bed. It’s almost an out of body experience. Your own nails dig into Max to hold him in place, his growling & thrusts making each contraction of your cunt around his penis invigorating like you’ve been born again.

This isn’t just a drink, this isn’t just sex, this isn’t just a vampire & his partner being intimate, this is sacred. Each thrust sets off fireworks, each slurp has you both seeing stars. It’s binding you together in a moment of bliss.

Bzzzzz

The alarm goes off & Max to his word slowly removes his fangs from your neck, drops of blood fall onto where he drinks, your blood & his venom to seal the wound.

“Fuck baby” he snarls & then he picks his pace up. Those 10 minutes flew by, but the ferocity of both your orgasms makes you feel the same connection once again. Your body quivers in pleasure at your release. His face radiant & almost alive, from sweat blood & lust filled eyes.

“Perfect” he pants a few minutes later & lifts his head to look deeply into your eyes, moving a stray hair off your face. “How was it for you darling”

“indescribable”

“Is that good or bad?” You laugh at his response as your thumb traces over his lips. You suck your own blood off it.

“More” you say. Max looks shocked.

“M…more” Max is stunned his voice husky but it doesn’t take long for that smirk to return to his face. “darling do you have any idea what you just asked for” he murmurs as his hands cup your breasts & he slowly takes hold of you.

“Then show me Max” you challenge him.

“You greedy little thing” he says & he rolls back on top of you.

“Not really” you joke trying to lighten the mood as you get comfortable for round 2”I gave all of my chocolates away”Max laughs.

“Actually” he quickly leans over the top of his timer he had brought some chocolates upstairs with him. Those likely heart shaped chocolates which have caused all sorts of fun today. “Is one more gonna hurt” he says as he bites into his. He then feeds you the final chocolate. Your world exploding into colour once more. You tilt your head to the side.

“no it’s not baby”your practically vibrating with anticipation.

Slowly he pushes deep inside you, thrusting a few times watching your eyes glaze over from pleasure before he lowers his head to your neck.

“Happy Valentine’s Day darling” he whispers before growling in satisfaction as he sinks his fangs into the only sweetness he needs in his life.

[mashihope]

❥ [SKZ] Valentine's Day (Hyung line)

(This mini moodboard is made by me; I don’t own any of the pics.)

• Members: Bangchan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin

• Group: Stray Kids

• Warning: Mentions of food, alcohol, drunkenness and metaphorical blood; "subtle" hints of sex; swearing

• Synopsis: It's Valentine's day and your boyfriend has taken a day off to be with you.

Maknae line

He's a very passionate man. He always puts his soul in everything he does. This day wouldn't be any different.

He would have already planned everything like a month in advance. He needs it to be perfect in every way possible.

He had spent his rest-time after every practice trying to connect every dot on his special day schedule. Making actual research of different hotels and restaurants (and their reviews), any additional activity to do together, possible flights or rides to get there, places to visit...

But given the little free time he usually gets he'd just choose a nearby city and a car ride. A place he could take both of you to in a few hours, just in case. You'll never know when your manager will suddenly call you for work, right? *nervous laugh*

However, despite it being a nearby place, he had made sure it is something you'd actually like to see, with nice views and some fresh air.

Regardless of if you have a driving license or not, he would be so stubborn to drive all the way himself. It doesn't matter if you beg him to take a rest halfway. He won't.

He'd even tell you to rest yourself, to take a little nap. He knows you'll need the extra energy.

Funny enough, it wouldn't even be the 14th yet. He'd decide to go to the hotel the night before just so he could get more time alone with you.

To be fair, there's something about skinship... Being able to feel the warmth of your skin on his makes him feel like both of your souls are having a connection.

Saying that, I just know he LOVES waking up in the morning with you by his side, no shirts on, just to take a shower together right after. He doesn't even need for it to get somewhere else.

So that's probably another reason why he'd prefer to wake up with you on the hotel's bed on Valentine's Day.

After coming back from the restaurant at night, he'd tell you to go ahead and take a shower by yourself, he'll try to join in later. But, in any case, he'd advice you to just take your time.

He needs you to be away while he sets everything in the room. Going there wasn't a surprise at all but this is actually supposed to be (you already suspect he'd do something like that at this point but yeah, don't tell him lmao)

He would quickly have everything ready to join you at the shower.

Yeah, that slight hint of sweat on his forehead does totally not make it obvious that he has been running around the room nervously.

Getting out of the bathroom on your bathrobes, he'd stay behind while looking at you with shiny eyes and a smile, hoping you'll like what he's done.

Rose petals making a path towards the bed and ON the actual bed, lit candles, his romantic playlist playing on the background, a bottle of wine and two glasses (although he would also have your favorite drink hidden somewhere just in case you don't want to drink wine)... He would have everything you need for the perfect night. And when I say everything, I mean everything.

After some time chatting, laughing and drinking wine, it was expected that at least one of you would get a little bit... tipsy. Maybe both of you.

Hear me out, I have the strong feeling that this man's future children will be made on Valentine's day night. He always tries to be safe but I guess wine is stronger...

The extra energy you got yesterday will surely come in handy!

It didn't come off as a surprise when he told you he'd go visit his parents (and his kids!)

"People usually go on dates with their partner on Valentine's, but isn't it a day to celebrate love, overall?" that's what he told you while helping you pack your things.

He drove all the way to their house. He tried his best to seem nonchalant about it, trying to stay silent from time to time... but he would start talking about Sooni, Doongi and Dori right after a new random thought crossed his mind.

You could see it in his eyes, the way they had a different type of shine on them. The little smile he was trying so hard to hide, clearing his throat whenever he felt his lips going up again...

You couldn't help but giggle from time to time, watching him working so hard to look serious.

After getting there, he'd leave the luggage to you, suddenly making you hold one of the bags while going away, making you look at him in desbelief, "what the fuck...?"

Leaving you behind after reaching the door, he'd walk down the corridor and be like "Good morning my sweet little children, daddy is back from work~", with the sweetest tone you'd ever heard him use before.

His mom's head would suddenly pop out from the kitchen's door, also going "what the fuck?", so weirded out from his words.

He wasn't expecting anyone home until a couple of hours later so he'd suddenly get shy, clearing his throat and blushing.

He'd go greet her with the warmest hug ever. He may have only talked about the kids on the way there but he was just as excited about seeing his parents again too.

According to a lot of people you've met, he doesn't really look like it but he's actually the human definition of the word "love".

After playing for a while with the cats while talking with his mom, he'd remember about his "other date".

You'd unconciously ask "are you cheating on me?" while making a dramatic gesture, already aware that he would never do such a thing.

This other date, however, would involve walking around the neighbourhood while giving some food to the stray cats, right before actually visiting some nearby shelters to give out some useful stuff (money, food, toys...)

At dinner time, he'd suddenly decide to give you a quick cooking class of his own. You're going to make a special dinner together for his parents (and you two, obviously) today!

His parents can't help but look at each other with a sweet smile, hearing your loving laughs from the living room and reminiscing over their youth... You seem to be such a lovely couple, just as how they were back then!

He's been talking about it for months.

There was this one time when he was resting with his head on your lap, absentmindedly scrolling through his TikTok timeline. He suddenly saw a guy riding karts with his friends, playfully yelling at each other.

He quickly woke up with his eyes wide open, telling you about how much he'd like to do something like that with the members.

He kept bringing the topic back for a few days after that, whenever he got the chance. He wasn't implying that you should do something about it, he was just too excited and couldn't help but daydream about it.

It would be impossible for him to not make it any obvious that he loves the members, always trying to make the best and most fun memories with them.

Some other day he would randomly tell you about how some of his friends have gotten new tattoos and how cool they are.

He'd love to get some one day, but he also knows he would be too nervous to actually do it.

Taking matters into your own hands, you decided to arrange both for Valentine's day. He was so shocked when you told him about it but at the same time he was really excited, already wishing the day would arrive.

The plan was to waste a lot of energy in the morning at the karts place so he would be less nervous while getting the tattoos. Which seemed to make sense at the beginning...

...but wouldn't actually work in the end.

You've decided to get matching tattoos. One of you would be free just so you could hold the other's hand, trying to make it less scary.

But the thing is that, even while watching some cute random videos on your phone (while almost breaking your hand), he wouldn't be able to stop talking nonsense.

He'd tell the artist the most random things, from the food he had eaten that week so far, the music he's been working on lately, to how he actually met you.

You'd give him a little reward afterwards, a sweet kiss that would make all his fears and worries disappear, making it all worth it in the end.

To finish the day in a chill way, both of you would agree that going to the cinema would be a great idea. You'd be able to rest while watching something funny.

You should be ready for what will happen from today onwards, he will definitely show off his new tattoo on every chance he gets!

We always see him being a "fancy" boy with all the luxury clothes and accessories, but I feel like he's more like the "soul first" type of person.

He could be eating at some restaurant, feeding his body, but would that be enough for him to feel at peace?

I think he's the type of person to believe that art is a strong ally, the best way to give peace to your soul, whether it is visual or audible art.

I see him being more on the classic side of Valentine's day, with a little mix of the modern one too. He gives me romantic vibes, what can I say.

He'd show up at your door in the morning, wearing his best outfit and carrying a flower bouquet with a letter he's put his blood, sweat and tears into (not really, you get what I mean)

That letter would be a few pages long, full of poetry and daydreaming about you that he's managed to put into words. The paper would somehow smell like him, making you wonder if he has sprayed his perfume on it.

You can expect little sketches here and there that he's drawn unconsciously while thinking about you. You've kinda assumed by now that he probably draws you more pretty than you actually are.

He'd take you to a museum. He's done research to know when there's less people there so you can take your time watching each art piece.

You don't even notice that most of the time he's secretly taking photos of you with the artworks as a bonus. According to him, he can visit a museum any time he wants just by wrapping his arms around you, enjoying the art every time his lips meet yours.

After this, you can expect him to act like a director, telling you to pose on different places of the street for a photo. He's secretly making an album with photos from your dates, where he even writes and sticks little receipts and candy wraps. He's planning to gift it to you on your Anniversary day.

He's also found a diy café, where you can craft little things while eating some delicious pastries. You'd both try to make a cute keychain and a bracelet for each other.

He won't really tell you but he actually asked Chan for help with today's schedule. Thanks to him, he's managed to fit in a pottery class as well. Yeah, like those cliché scenes where the main characters are working on a piece together... Oops!

You already knew that he loves to make gifts rather than buy them (he finds it more meaningful and special) but it still catches you off guard whenever he gives you things he's actually worked on. Like your new vase for the flowers he gave you earlier!

He wanted to go to a painting class at the end of the day, but pottery wasn't as easy as he thought it would be, taking more time than he expected it to.

Given that, he'd borrow some of your art supplies at home, challenging you to make the silliest painting you've ever done. The only rule being that none of you can see it until you're finished.

He'd try to distract you after a few minutes, though. He'd put some paint on your face and that would be a motive for you to start playing around.

You'd manage to finish both of your paintings while also attacking each other, however, and end up laughing on the floor until your stomachs hurt.

Lovingly enough, among the many paint stains you now have on your clothes, the universe has decided to make a little smiley face on his shirt and a heart on yours.

But no one would ever need to see those subtle hints to know how much you love each other.

[kalisburnerphone]

Found // Song Mingi

Summary: in the madness of this world I’m glad I found you. When my heart don’t seem to work it’s you I turn to.

Warnings: idol!mingi x idol!oc who’s called Jules by those close to her. She’s older than him by 3 years. Fluff, slight angst. I’ll edit later but for now, don’t ask me what this is, I just wanted to write a little something for my baby given the way he’s been getting treated not only lately but always. I wrote this on 3hrs of sleep so I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense. It’s also lowkey a little piece of a Mingi story I’ve been working on but who knows if it’ll ever see the light.

S/N: Happy Carat Day to any fellow carats/caratinys 🩷🩵

It takes a few minutes for Mingi’s mind to register your last text before he’s scrambling off his bed and rushing to the door to pull it open.There you are, the person he can confidently say is the love of his life. Without hesitation he’s pulling you inside and wrapping you up in his arms as soon as the door is closed. It had been months since he’s held you like this, both your schedules keeping you apart even throughout the holidays.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He whispers, face buried in the mess of curls atop your head. Your arms tighten around him, a kiss pressed to his shirtless chest, a silent response to his confession letting him know that the feeling was mutual. You both stay glued to each other a bit longer before he’s bending forward and picking you up, legs wrapped around his waist he’s moving you both to the bed and settling in with you.

“Hey you,” you speak softly not wanting to shatter the little bubble you’re both in. Both his cheeks are cupped in your hands as you look at him, his eyes, soft and shining with unshed tears as he looks at you. If it’s one thing you’ve always admired about your boyfriend was that he wasn’t afraid to show his vulnerability and at first it took some getting used to because it was something you found easy to do. Mingi was patient though, he let you set the pace but made it known that he wasn’t interested in just a casual thing with you. Don’t ask him how but he’d just known from the moment Wooyoung introduced you both that you were his person and he hasn’t had a single doubt about that in the almost two years you’d been together.

There was never much need for conversation in moments like this, you both somehow just always knew when the other was needed and after your last FaceTime call you just knew that something had happened. You hadn’t been online to see what was going on so you’d just assumed it was the boys usual antics that had him sulky but after Woo had spilled what had happened earlier that day, you’d quickly wrapped up your last schedules and hopped on a flight. The others had sent you updates but Hongjoong was the only one that knew you were coming.

“What’s wrong?” you question when he keeps looking at you.

“How much time do we have together?” Time, one of the biggest obstacles in your relationship. You both made it work but sometimes it gets to you both.

“Until the finale in Seoul.” you respond, pulling him closer to you and pressing kisses all over his face before you get to his lips. He’s pulling away much too fast for you and as you chase after his lips it’s his turn to chuckle at how cute you’re being.

“ no unexpected schedules that’s going to pull you away from me?” You shake your head no and it’s all it takes for him to put his lips back where they belong.

You both can’t help the way you melt into each other like a warm embrace on a cold night. You had group shit to deal with but right here in this moment is where you need to be. In the arms of the man who seen every side of you and loves them all unconditionally. With the man who never asks for your love but knows how to take it in the ways that you offer it. Mingi never needs you to tell him that you love him because it showed from the beginning when you had randomly started asking him if he ate and if he slept to sending him food or showing up with it yourself. He had quickly learned that that was just one of the many ways in which you showed your love. It’s the same way in which everyone sees you both as this cold,alpha male/female but only the ones closest to you know just how soft you both are, how much you both even each other out.

Just as your sweet little kisses start heating up there’s a knock on his room door that Mingi has have a mind to ignore had you not spoken up, “that must be Joong, I asked him to order me food cause I had to miss lunch and dinner.”

With a pouty little huff he gets off the bed and goes to the door only to be pushed aside as soon as it opens “I heard Jules is here?” You hear Wooyoung before you see him. He waltz into the room just as you’ve taken your coat off.

“Where’s Joong? And my food?” You question looking past him.

“He’s currently building Legos with Hwa on live so he asked San and I to get it. They’ll come by after though.” He says clearing up the table in the room such as San and Yunho enter with bags of not only food but drinks as well.

“Hey Jules.” They both greet as they enter, leaving your pouty boyfriend leaning against the entrance wall with his arms folded across his chest.

“Yuyu, Sannie” you call back as you make your way to your baby.

“Do they have a you sensor or something?” you laugh softly as you unfold his arms and link your hands together. A kiss to one cheek, then the other and then his nose. “ let them have their fun, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a whisper against his lips as you start pulling him back into the room but he halts pulling you back against him.

“I love you.”

“Forever and Always.”

“Always and Forever.”

[ivoyzzz]

Could you do a Saebyeok x reader where the reader thinks that Saebyeok actually doesn't like them at first, but once they see how she is around other ppl, they realize she's actually really sweet with them?

synopsis: you felt silly for having a crush on a girl who only tolerated you, because you had a mutual friend. you didn’t notice the way saebyeok was different with you. not until, you see how she is with everyone but you.

warnings: none just fluff !

a/n: this is so cutie, it took me a while but i hope you like it ! xoxo ivy

you didn’t notice it as first, the way the hardened girl softened just slightly with you. every-time you went to see ji-yeong and saebyeok was there-she didn’t give you the feeling that she liked you. if anything, you assumed it was the opposite. when you greeted her and all she did was hum or nod, it was frustrating. but never, ever could you have expected her to more then tolerate you. it wasn’t enough to know. she’d never given you more, or so you thought.

not to mention, the fact that even with the little saebyeok gave you, it couldn’t help the bubbling feelings towards the stoic girl. the way her hair was always effortlessly messy and perfect, the way she listened-not just halfway paying attention, she listened. she was irritating that way. making you have feelings for her, just to disregard your presence, all the time.

when you called ji-yeong to see if she was free and she was-you agreed to meet at a cafe. when ji-yeong walked in, what you weren’t expecting was for saebyeok to be following right behind her. saebyeok loomed behind ji-yeong like she reminding me of her, taunting you.

as the two of them sat down, you smiled at both of them-acting like you weren’t in love with the girl who barley acknowledges you. it’s pathetic really.

ji-yeong easily falls into conversation with you and you try to pay attention-you really do. it’s hard though when saebyeok sits there, looking so indifferent, so casual-but still stupidly attractive.

when the food gets called to the counter, saebyeok stands up to get it, letting ji-yeong finish whatever wild story she was telling. you nod and casually respond to ji-yeong, but thats not what your focused on. there is a girl, standing oddly close to saebyeok, too close. “excuse me?” the girl chirps out, looking at saebyeok, to which saebyeok glares at the girl and steps slightly farther. “could i get your number?” you overhear the girl ask saebyeok.

you can’t even pretend to be focused on ji-yeong anymore. “hold on a sec ji.” you mumble, trying to hear what saebyeok will say back.

“you don’t even know me. i don’t give my number to strangers, no. ” saebyeok glares, her tone remaining composed. saebyeok grabs the drinks, walking back over. saebyeok’s eyes meet yours, she knows you’ve been watching the whole time, and she’s enjoying it. her lips upturn in the slightest bit, she definitely was taunting you.

you have to physically pull your eyes away from the girl, sitting in dismay. saebyeok takes the cherry out of her drink, setting it down on the napkin next to you. her eyes are oddly soft-almost vulnerable.

“hey, everytime i ask for your cherry, you tell me no and eat it! that’s so not fair.” ji-yeong groans at saebyeok, but then ji-yeong gives her a knowing glance and smirk. oh my gosh, ji-yeong was never going to let this go. right as ji-yeong is about to say something else, saebyeok interrupts her staring down at her drink. “drink your drink.” which causes ji-yeong to let out a small laugh.

did saebyeok really never give ji-yeong her cherries? did saebyeok like them? why would she give them to you? i mean, she knows you like cherries but saebyoek barely tolerates you. unless, she more then tolerates you.

saebyeok watches you, as you begin to put the pieces together. the way she treated you differently. it was true, yes saebyeok wasn’t the best at expressing her emotions. especially speaking them, but what she could do was show them. she thought she had been pretty obvious, she let you borrow her favorite jacket one time. one time, ji-yeong touched it and she didn’t talk to her for 2 weeks. in saebyeok’s eyes, she couldn’t have been any clearer. but you, had thought she despised you. now, thinking about the little things she did it all started to make sense. maybe the cold girl melted just the tiniest for you, and even if it wasn’t much, it was a start.

[kawoala]

📧 you have two (2) new messages !

@ aizawashouta ˒ 5h ago

“capital-b Bitch”

contents; word count- 564. profanity. kitty!! this is short, sorry. i blacked out writing this. enemies to lovers. neighbors! au.

If there’s one thing you’ve noticed while living in this building, it’s that your neighbor is a capital-b Bitch. You’ve had exactly one interaction and it went something like this:

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am darkness incarnate. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even think about me. If I hear loud noises from your apartment, I’m breaking the door down to shut you the hell up.”

Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but pretty damn close! He exudes the energy of a ten-year-old street cat who's been through so much shit, that he refuses to trust anyone or anything. He glares at you every time you get your mail, and from what you’ve picked up, he’s the same for everyone else in the building.

Even now, as you’re crouched down outside of the building, rain pouring down on you, trying to give a stray cat some food, you can see him glaring at you from the doorway.

“Come here, kitty,” you coo softly, reaching forward just a little bit. The cat retreats back into its corner and your brows furrow, frowning slightly. “I just want to give you some food, kitty.” You tear some chicken off of the piece you’re holding and toss it over to the cat. It hesitates, sniffing it suspiciously, but inevitably eats it.

His stare is burning into your skin, your brows furrow further at the thought of it. You glance over at him, hoping he’ll get the hint and go away, but his stare doesn’t waver.

You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” You put your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes. “You keep glaring at me like this is your cat and I’m trying to steal it, or something.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he walks closer to you, then past you, crouching down right in front of the cat. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and you peer over his shoulder in confusion.

The cat comes out of its hiding spot, purring and curling around his hand.

Your jaw drops. “What- what the hell? How did you do that?”

He turns slowly, eyes half-lidded, shaded by his hair. “She’s my cat.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. “What?” Your voice is quiet, hands dropping limp at your sides. “Why is she outside then? You must not be a very good cat owner.” You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve always prided yourself on being nice to people, even when they don’t deserve it, but that was . . . Not your best moment. “I- sorry, that was rude. Why is she outside?”

He stands to his full height and you take a step back, almost intimidated by his aura. “I work long hours. It’s not good to be kept up in that apartment all day.” He walks by you again, brushing your shoulder as he does so. “She didn’t come to you because she doesn’t really like chicken. She only ate it because she’s gluttonous. Try fish next time; all cats like fish.”

“Oh,” you breath out, shoulders slouching in defeat. The cat follows him as he walks inside, swaying its tail in an almost mocking manner. “Bye, kitty,” you whisper, frowning.

Okay, so maybe he’s a Bitch, but he’s a Bitch with a cute cat.