#I hate it here. why always us? why always my dad and me?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 3 days ago

Text

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...”

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @eastjonowhere @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @whosanaanyway @skzswife @nightmarenyxx @vixensss @angstraykids @lenfilms @sushiinmidnight

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #taste series #seospicy smut

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svechnikovvv · 3 days ago

Text

ever since toronto (3)

series masterlist: here

please read the announcement at the end!

y/n.drysdale

liked by _quinnhughes and others

y/n.drysdale life lately (ft. texts from q) 💗

view comments

jamie.drysdale clothes should STAY on when you’re with one another.

y/n.drysdale okay dad

jamie.drysdale i’m serious

y/n.drysdale and i’m shaq

jamie.drysdale give me your autograph pls

y/n.drysdale no

jamie.drysdale do you not love your fans

y/n.drysdale i do, just not you ❤️

jamie.drysdale i’m reporting you

y/n.drysdale to who? the irs? boohoo

jamie.drysdale i’m not telling you

y/n.drysdale that’s why anaheim didn’t want you anymore.

jamie.drysdale blocked.

y/n.drysdale okay and? i know your location. longitude and latitude mf

jamie.drysdale no you don’t

y/n.drysdale i will dox you rn, try me

jamie.drysdale you. wouldn’t. dare.

y/n.drysdale bet money bitch

user1 i love the drysdale siblings 😭

user2 QUINN AND Y/N ARE MY FAV

user3 if quinn & y/n don’t get married, love isn’t real

user4 type shit

user5 we need to know charlie drysdale’s opinion

charlie_drysdale i approve. great hockey stats

trevorzegras MY SHAYLAAAAAA

jamie.drysdale jump

trevorzegras fuck u i’ll do a backflip

jamie.drysdale makes up for you riding the bench ❤️

trevorzegras so u hate me basically

jamie.drysdale i’m so glad you know how to use context clues!

trevorzegras y/n is the better drysdale. always will be

jamie.drysdale okay and your sister is the better zegras

trevorzegras i know that, ur in denial

y/n.drysdale denial is a river in egypt, jamie

jamie.drysdale choke

y/n.drysdale you’re not getting shit in my will then

jamie.drysdale i’m telling mom

y/n.drysdale snitch

trevorzegras snitches get stitches, jamie

jamie.drysdale you & y/n is never happening, trevor

user6 these comments are too good

_quinnhughes i love you 💗

y/n.drysdale i love you most, huggy

jamie.drysdale gag

y/n.drysdale sit and swivel pal jamie.drysdale

user7 the texts, need a man like that

liked by y/n.drysdale

user8 where can i find a quinn?

y/n.drysdale pouting somewhere

jackhughes seeing my brother’s naked back is not what i thought i’d see on my feed today.

jamie.drysdale naked back with kiss marks on it*

y/n.drysdale you two are both drama queens

jamie.drysdale i prefer the term drama king, actually

y/n.drysdale who?

jamie.drysdale me

y/n.drysdale ASKED #bozo #getwrecked #yousuck #imthebetterdrysdale

jackhughes how does quinn deal with u

y/n.drysdale the same way he puts up with you, jackson

lhughes_06 BURNNNNN

jackhughes brother and sister in law for sale! $500 starting bid, obo

jamie.drysdale SISTER IN LAW??? y/n.drysdale EXPLAIN YOURSELF

y/n.drysdale i’m literally not engaged??? jackson is just lying through his teeth. or should i say, his gums? since he’s missing one

jackhughes i don’t want you marrying my brother.

y/n.drysdale okay toofless

lhughes_06 and this is why y/n is my favorite

jackhughes i’m literally your blood???

lhughes_06 oh so you’re gang affiliated now?? how would the league feel about this, jackson?

jackhughes that’s exactly why you & y/n get along. i swear i’m seeing double

y/n.drysdale you make me feel like kendrick lamar jackhughes

jackhughes pls stop talking

y/n.drysdale i shan’t be silenced by such a man who does not posses one of thine’s front teeth

user9 y/n is my favorite honorary hughes

jackhughes you can keep her.

user10 i want what the drysdale & hughes siblings have

jackhughes pain and suffering?

jamie.drysdale no sleep at night?

y/n.drysdale you two are dramatic.

lhughes_06 my favorite couple!

y/n.drysdale we love you lukey 🫶🏻

user11 bestfriend contract rule drop when?

y/n.drysdale it’s highly classified information

colecaufield mama y papa

y/n.drysdale son!!

_quinnhughes son!!

jackhughes i’m telling mom you guys have kids

y/n.drysdale im gonna permanently ban you from commenting on my posts jackhughes

trevorzegras why is ur phone on light mode you freak

y/n.drysdale yours is too???

trevorzegras and? this isn’t abt me rn

y/n.drysdale well now it is

trevorzegras okay diva

y/n.drysdale what do YOU know about diva?

trevorzegras as beyoncé once said, “a diva is the female version of a hustler”

y/n.drysdale absolute cinema.

user12 the pic on the visor & the note ☹️ need

_alexturcotte love this, gonna sleep on the highway tonight ❤️

y/n.drysdale you can crash on my couch 🙌

_alexturcotte not all heroes wear capes, one just dates quinn hughes

y/n.drysdale chills. literal chills.

_alexturcotte can we rewatch b99?

y/n.drysdale now you’re speaking my language, turcs

_alexturcotte i wasn’t before??

y/n.drysdale no, you were speaking cantonese

_alexturcotte bilingual queen

y/n.drysdale yes, my roomie in college spoke it. i know some shit

masonmctavish23 miss having you in anaheim :(

y/n.drysdale that's what happens when your brother sucks and gets traded

jamie.drysdale ok, so, you want me to die and hate my guts

y/n.drysdale precisely, jd. maybe mason still loves you though!

johngibson36 miss you kid!

y/n.drysdale i miss you too old man. tell uncle terry i miss him too

canucks we love this 💙💚

liked by y/n.drysdale

edwards.73 y/n!!

y/n.drysdale ethan!!

rutgermcgroarty mom & dad

y/n.drysdale so have quinn and i just adopted all the umich boys?

rutgermcgroarty yes

edwards.73 yes

dylanduke25 yes

mackie.samo yes

markestapa yes

seamuscasey26 yes

luca.fantilli yes

colecaufield and me

y/n.drysdale surprise? _quinnhughes

lhughes_06 my adoptive brothers and i love you y/n

y/n.drysdale you're not my adoptive son?

lhughes_06 and why not

y/n.drysdale because you'd be my brother in law??

lhughes_06 so much for inclusivity. city girls down one 💔

elblue6 Come visit!! Love you 💙

y/n.drysdale im trying my best to, mama hughes. your diva oldest son is always 'busy' but i love you most!

elblue6 Sometimes you have to just drag him out the house

_quinnhughes mom

elblue6 My oldest, what a surprise

user13 i love y/n drysdale hughes

user14 family pics dropping when?

y/n.drysdale as soon as i can get the boys together

user15 WE'RE GETTING THE BAND BACK TOGETHER

a/n: i’ve updated the tag list since i’ve last written, so even if you’ve filled it out before, redo it please! so you don’t miss out on future posts from your pref. player! also because it’s been so long, idk who has deactivated their account or not. much love 🫶🏻 taglist form here

tags: @pkochetkov

#ever since toronto series <3 #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #nhl hockey #nhl #vancover canucks #del’s insta edits!

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llamabois · 1 day ago

Text

TO LOVE AND HATE, ENDLESSLY

Synopsis: You and your twin sister (MC) have been spending time with your parents. They decide it would be fun for you guys to play dress up and guess who is who. Caleb ends up joining in to your dismay.

No warnings are needed other than a bit of swearing, lol.

Side note: tried to use some pilot terms, but I might've failed lmao.

Taglist: @justpassingdontworry @macaronnya @itsmekalou @caramelizedpopcirn @xiaorixx

You are your own worst enemy. Not that you'd ever have expected that. It's been two weeks since your mirror reflection has come back into your family's life, and while you're happy for your parents, a part of you wishes you ate her in the womb.

Her eyes crinkle in the same way yours does, a smile a little lopsided. When she gets nervous, she plays with her fingers as if doing so will make a spell to banish away her fear. Just like you.

The first fear you've ever faced was your own reflection, so now you've learned to put two fists up to face your inner demons. You try bonding with her. Asking her about her childhood.

She tells you about how she grew up with her amazing childhood friend Caleb. Told you how he was almost like a brother to her. Almost, but not quite. Her eyes stir with a muted desire that matches your own when you look into his beautiful purple irises. She doesn't acknowledge this. Neither do you.

Shadowboxing is not an art you are unfamiliar with. For you were your first enemy. And you will be your last. Until you break bread with the parts of you that your heart has never understood; You will break bones and wreak havoc on your own psyched up psyche till nothing but the two of you are left breathless yet still attached.

Yet you still choose not to face him. Not until you're forced to.

Your parents have decided to take some time to do all the things they've always wanted to do with both of you but never could. And this time, you two were playing dress up.

Due to the fact that your hair was long (even though you've been thinking of cutting it recently,) you both sported the same bun with a pretty extravagant dress. How your parents got them, you'll never know.

"My goodness, you two are identical!"

Your sister laughs at this comment and turns towards you. "I've always felt like there was a part of me missing. At least I know it wasn't because my heart went dumb."

You want to feel warmth in your chest. You want to feel sorry for your dear twin who suffers from a heart condition after you lost her. You want to love her. Yet your fists are still up, and your heart is hidden on your sleeve.

And to think you're feeling this way all because of a damn man.

There's a ring at the doorbell, the two of you had changed again to match into some more casual clothes. Your mom excitedly goes to open the door. You pay no mind as you look at your sister and smooth out her hair that looked a little frazzled.

She looks at you intently, shocked by the sheer awe of looking at yourself outside of your body yet still within yourself.

She knows you're not all too happy to see her. And she has a feeling she knows why.

"Girls," your mom calls excitedly. "Guess who's here!"

You both look to the entrance of the living room, and your stomach does flip when you see who is standing there. His frame large against the small door. His eyes, some what in awe.

Not for you, of course, never for you.

"Caleb, dear, would you like to play a little game with us?" Your mom asks with a clap of excitement.

"Guess who is who between the two of them."

"We've got 3 out of the 6 times, right? Not bad, huh?" Your dad chimes in, proud.

As if not being able to tell which daughter you've held in your arms and taken care of the past 23 years of your life is something to be proud of. You digress.

You were identical.

"Sure," Caleb says as he takes a seat on the couch. Casually, he leans into the crook of the chair away from your parents. Manspreading like he owned half of the chair with just his presence. Purple eyes watched you both intently as you both switched positions a few times.

You tried to keep your expression neutral. But you knew that Caleb would probably be able to tell right away who his beloved Pipsqueak was and who was just a Bandit.

You both continue to circle each other. As you look at her, you look at yourself. A yin yang behavior. To circle each other endlessly till parts of you bled into who you've hated to be. To both be exactly alike, yet nothing at all the same.

To be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

"And stop." Your dad says, clapping once.

You both look toward Caleb, who gazes intently at you. His eyes are heavy on your body. You want to look away, but everything within you wants to fight for a stupid victory. So you don't.

"This is pipsqueak, and this is my angel." He says, pointing at your sister and then you.

"Angel?" You question. "How did you come to this conclusion, Colonel."

"Well first," he smiles. "Pipsqueak doesn't call me Colonel. So you just proved my point, my dear mechanic."

Dammit.

"Okay, what else."

Caleb gets up from his spot on the couch and makes his way towards you, as if she wasn't there. As if no one else was around.

"Well...my dear angel often as a really defiant gaze when she looks at people. Especially me. Sometimes it borders on hatred I think." He smiles. "Unless it was something else." He whispers.

You look away.

You choose to run from his words rather than listen to them. How could he know that you wanted to jump into his skin, and carve a piece of yourself into him permanently? That you wanted the weight of his body on top of yours. The warmth of his chest, the desire in his eyes, the whirling of the mechanical arm that was never going to be a part of him yet still held a part of you every time that you tinkered with it in your workshop.

How you wanted the sound of that robotic arm to lullaby you to sleep as he wrapped himself around you brought his real arm to your stomach and caressed it gently.

He truly knew nothing.

Son of a bitch.

"True," you chuckle with a dark gaze. "But it doesn't border on hatred. It is."

"Oh, you know that isn't true."

"What i know is that there are somethings you don't come back from, and if you don't step out of my fucking face, I'll make sure that you face a death you don't came back from." You fake a gasp, "Oh damn, I should say, again. Shouldn't I."

Your sister watches your back and forth. At first, with amusement, but then also a sense of wrongness.

Like she wasn't supposed to be here.

She could tell there was something between you two. Something that was more than hate. It was desire. A language is so often hidden between the lines but felt so easily.

She had no place between that. After all, she was just Caleb's childhood friend, right?

Maybe she did feel something for him, a sense of belonging like no other. To have someone take care of you and treat you as a precious jewel when the world was determined to crush you. Caleb did that. He treated her as if she were a jewel. A diamond.

She shakes her head. She would be fine without him. Afterall, when this bastard blew the fuck up, she had to do everything on her own. And she'll continue to do so.

Or at least... she has her family still there with her.

"Oh angel, you wound me deeply." Caleb jokes sarcastically. But you're not having any of it.

"Would you like another fatal wound? I think we can make that happen."

At this point, your mom and dad left, and your sister also took her leave. Something about going to go change.

Caleb chuckles as he deepens the space between you two. His warm hand caressing your face. You want to throw something at him. Whether it's a chair or yourself, you can't decide.

"How did you know it was me." You asked again.

He comes closer, enough to feel his breath hot on your face. Enough for your eyes to linger at his lips a bit too long to be just friendly.

"Because," he whispered. "I'd know your little eyebrow quirk anywhere."

His hand traced your leg.

"The way you favor your right leg over your left when you stand, because of a classroom mishap you had when you were still studying at the DAA."

"The way you quirk your head to the left when you've been waiting for too long." His hand traced the nape of your neck. Then, he cupped your face and tilted your head towards him.

"The way your lips quiver with unspoken words. Your eyes, hungry."

How could he not know. It was the same look he gave you.

Not because you looked like her.

But because you were just you. Beautiful, utterly brilliant, bright-eyed, and amazing you.

He presses his lips to yours. The dryness of them, ticklish against your moist ones. His hands in your hair, as he breathes you in like you're the last bit oxygen he has left in deepspace.

You throw your arms around him. Your body flush against his, this moment, a dream. An endless yearning fulfilled like you've finally caught the sun after riding into the sunset.

Was this desire? Was it love? You don't know.

But you wanted to explore what it felt like to be loved.

Like a word lost in translation.

"Ay! I know yall are lovey dovey but no pda in my living room!" Your dad calls from the other room.

"Sorry, dad!"

He didn't want you to be her. He wanted you to be yourself.

And to be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

#love and deepspace mc #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace oneshots #lads caleb fanfic #lads caleb trash #lads caleb #yearning #mutual pining #what if MC had a twin #a bit of prose

54 notes · View notes

queenbee298 · 7 hours ago

Note

Imagine this :

the reader got attacked by a bully and the toys are taking care of it !?? But the bully comes back to finish them of but got stoped by them and then meet some old toys from the Factory !!??? What do you think ??

And if it's okay with you.... can you add my OC in your story....??? I'll add them their pictures :

Jasper :

He's an unfinished experience who "supposed to be a human.." he's a skeleton but now, he's half human/toy.... He's dating Kissy missy (my ship) and he was with Doey protecting "Safe Heaven", but he got interrupted and go find a plane to kill the Prototype... He got badly injured by the fight, but doesn't care.... If he meet the reader it's because he escaped with his BEST FRIEND Wuggy from the Factory and go find the others he's a sweet boy, but VERY Insecure about himself.... He's scared of not being good enough or strong for the others... He also can't sleep.... The only way is that he sleep with Kissy missy WITHOUT Poppy (he hate her....specially after what she did....)

Wuggy : (my son)

He's similar to Kissy and wuggy but instead of a close smile his is open and he CAN talk !! He's the CLOSEST friends of Jasper and help him with his plans of destroyed the Prototype, but just like Jasper he got injured but not as much as Jasper.... He's a really shy guy and always helpful, he's the only one (with Kissy and Doe) who can calm him when he see Poppy....

I really hope I didn't asked too much but thanks again !!!

Thank you for requesting another story and with your OC’s, this will be fun. Request #5 Enjoy the story. Some warning before I start the story. There will be some blood, violence, and bad language in this story.

👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾👊🏾 As you and the toys were outside talking, playing games, or just relaxing. Two troublemaker came into the forest where you lived. They were loud and rude people from the city. They trespassed and threw eggs and toilet paper in your house. They called you a witch just because you lived I. The forest alone, before you took the toys in. You noticed them coming and told the toys to hide away.

Bully 1: “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Y/N, the forest witch!”

Y/N: “What do you want?”

Bully 1: “Oh nothing, it’s been awhile since you disappeared.”

Bully 2: “Where’d you go? The create some new spells?”

The toys weren’t happy to see someone disrespecting you.

Y/n: “You two are so childish. Just leave me alone before I call the police again.”

One of the bullies got close to you and threaten you.

Bully 2: “You won’t do shit! And if you say something, I’ll beat the fuck out of you.”

You got angry and threw a punch at his nose. He’s nose started bleeding and he’s other friend grabbed you from behind and held you tightly. The other one you took out a knife and cut your cheek. Your cut began bleeding.

The toys had enough and attacked the bullies.

The mini critters, Kissy, Wuggy, and Poppy rushed to your side worrying about your cut. Doey, Yarnaby, and Jasper ran to attack the bullies. Yarnaby claws scratched one of the bullies eyes and the Doey and Jasper began to beat up the other one.

Y/n: “Guys, that’s enough!”

Jasper: “But they hurt you!”

Y/n: “Enough!”

You never raised your voice at them, but reluctantly, they let the bullies go. One had teeth marks and a scratched eye. The other had bruises and black eyes. You walked over to the boys, took the knife one of the bullies and cut the bully’s cheek.

Y/n: “If you ever fucking come back here, I’ll make they’ll kill you. Now take your little friend and go home!”

The bullies left the forest. The toys and you went be into the house to patch yourself up.

Wuggy: “Mom/Dad, who were those people?”

Jasper: “And why did you stop us?”

Y/n: “Those two are troublemakers in the city. They come here for time-to-time and harass me or throw shit at my house.”

The toys were shock to hear some people would do that to you.

Doey: “Do they hurt you?”

Y/n: “Except from today, no. I’ve called the police on them before, but nothing changed.”

Doey: “Why didn’t you let us stop them!? Aren’t you angry at them?”

Y/n: “I am, but violences shouldn’t be the answer and you guys nearly killed them. I’m sure they’ll leave us alone now. Now let’s get ready for dinner.”

It was a silent dinner, the toys were still on edge out the bullies and during bedtime they kept their guards up in case something happened.

Hours later, you all were asleep, but you had an uninvited guest. One of the bullies broke into your house for revenge. The Doey, Yarnaby, and Jasper woke up.

Yarnaby let out a growl that woke up.

Y/n: “Yarnaby, is something wrong?”

Jasper: “Don’t worry, mom/dad. Everything is okay. Just go back to sleep.”

You were still tired, so you fell back to sleep.”

Doey: “I’m going to kill that motherfucker…”

Jasper: “This time, no one will me.”

The toys were out to look for the bullies and to put and put an end to him.

Bully: “You got lucky,you little bitch, but this kill, I’ll kill you.”

Jasper: “I don’t think so.”

Bully: “Who’s there? You and your freak friends will pay!”

Jasper: “I don’t think so. You won’t hurt y/n. And if you do… We’ll just have a little fun with you. Oh, Yarnaby.”

Yarnaby came running are the bully, growling and opening his face at him. The bully ran in fear to the door, but there was no escaping down.

Doey was waiting for him. He was in the vents and took his arms and reached out for the bully. He covered his mouth so his screams wouldn’t wake you up. Yarnaby caught up to him and Doey slowly fed the bully to Yarnaby.

After that, they cleaned up the bloody mess and went back to bed. Now with them around no one will hurt you.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸Well I hoped you all liked this gorey story. This one was fun to make and thank you again for requesting this story. See you next time <3!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime doey #ppt 4 #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime kissy missy #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime safe haven #doey the doughman #kissy missy #poppy playtime 4 x reader #poppy playtime oc #poppy playtime yarnaby

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 3 days ago

Text

Ooooh, you know who died in the 1970s? HUSK.

That could have been a really sweet but mindblowing conversation over the bar one evening, as they're all unwinding from the hype of battle several hours back. No one feels ready to slip into bed yet, the place feels... too new, too big.

It's lovely but it's not yet... home.

And it feels like they need to be near people for just a bit longer. Make sure everyone's still alive and kicking, even if its for love/hate/if i can see you you're not doing evil nonsense reasons.

Angel mentions that the pentagram looks even prettier tonight, knowing they'd won... and laughs at the absurdity of finding something like that beautiful. The red that permeates everything was a nightmare mostly, and it doubled as the portal from Heaven.

Might as well admire the craftsmanship of a knife as it struck at your throat.

'The lack of stars can make things quite droll', Alastor agrees, absently. 'Intriguing that you can miss something as simple as moonlight.'

'Hmm, some nights Me'n'Molly - my twin- we'd make up stories about what was up there. Like, the moon must be huge and it just hung there all bright and shiny at night, and the stars winked at you like they had some fun secrets to share. Helped to make us feel like there was more than just... the Family. You know? Like no matter what happened to us there was a whole world out there to escape to."

In an uncharacteristic moment of sharing, Alastor adds, "Indeed, as a young child I... often needed the fleeting moonbeams to assist my way in the bayou, evading my-... hmmm, a family member who thought only of violence no matter the reason. It always seemed quite helpful in showing where not to tread..." and deepened the shadows one could stand in as someone blundered past."

Oh. Husk finds himself glancing down at the grinning shade on the floor, curling about Alastor's lower legs. That... explained a bit, actually. The former overlord glances at Alastor and realises that the Boss may not have even flagged just how much he'd given away with that statement. Ah, let him have it. Husk knew they all had skeletons in the closet, best not to go jiggling the handle.

Angel's hand hovered over Alastor's arm in some sort of sympathy, but didn't make contact. "Yeah, Smiles... my old man was a bastard like that too. Thats why me'n'Mols were always dreaming of escape... always wondering if there was some magical city under the sea, or deep in a rainforest, or up on the moon we could get to and hide in. Never worked out though."

"...is he down here?" Alastor asks, head tilting too sharply. The bartender's ear flicked, intrigued by the implied offer; hells, he'd help too, if Boss would allow it, didn't even need to go yanking Husk's chain, neither.

"He... yeah. That's how I wound up with Val in the first place. Ran into my fuckin' dad and needed rescue, some of Val's workers stepped in to help cause I was near a club he owned... and then, well, the moth got me." Angel grumbled bitterly. Husk took his empty glass and slid something new back. "Thanks Whiskers. You ever... you ever dream of being somewhere else?"

"Not the moon, no. Though there were a lotta kid's stories about it being made of cheese and all which sounded like a bad time for the lactose intolerant. But there were times I wished I could live somewhere else..." Husker replied, resting his forearms upon the bartop. "Though... all this talk reminds me of the day they launched old Apollo 11. I saw it on the television, everyone stopped that day, just to watch... all the adults in their office buildings and kids in their classrooms crowding the televisions. Those that had 'em, of course, others ran to shopfronts to See the big moment. And then of course, they televised the moment Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon itself, which broke all previous ratings metrics. One small step for man and all that. One of the craziest things to witness... just didn't feel real."

He's snapped out of his reverie by the clear shock blasting across the room, and the sharp warble of confused radio burble from the boss.

"You're shitting me!" Angel gasped, all four hands on the bar as if bracing himself for the 'gotcha!' of a prank well sprung.

"…no, I don't believe Husker was one for imaginative lies." Alastor narrows his eyes, trying to process the idea of the moon that used to light his path through the bayou now bearing human footprints. "Exceptionally talented at cards, at chance and misdirection and reading people... but not one for elaborate tales of fantasy. "

"Hey, look, don't believe me if you want but... how did you not know, Legs? Don't you use the internet and all? And you, Al... didn't Vox ever mention it? I'm sure the bastard must've been one of the presenters 'round that time?" Husk replies in disbelief. How could they NOT know?

"Er, yeah... but it's not like I ever googled 'did someone put a human on the moon' at any point like, that never crossed my mind. Here we could, cause of the magic and shit, but there? Toasters were new. Radios and television had just gone mainstream! how the FUCK did they get someone up there?" Angel tugs at his own hair in shocked surprise, pupils blown from the revelation.

"And you simply can't trust anything those Vees allow on their systems, in anycase!" Alastor rallies, his hand comes up and aborts the movement quickly as Husk narrows his eyes. This would be the part where Al would twirl his cane, to make a point. His theatrical ass couldn't help himself sometimes... so where was it?

Before he can ask, Lucifer swoops past. Literally. Alighting by them all with a gust of oddly apple-scented wind.

"You talking about the moon? Hah, it's not the most exciting planet we put in this solar system, but I was proud of it. One of the first things Uriel ever made, and I gave them a hand because they were sooooooo nervous! The joy on their faces when it first caught the sunlight... er, I don't think humans can conceptualise of how it looked, they have about fourty-seven mouths, but they were smiling like a nebulae!" He beams, reminding them all accidentally how ancient and powerful he was.

There was a brief moment where several mortal minds attempted to imagine that, and got the stirrings of a sharp headache instead.

"Wait you made the MOON?" Husk asks, quirking an eyebrow. "The fuckin' MOON?!"

"Hold up, other planets? How many of 'em are there?" Angel interjects, mouth mildly agape. His father hadn't really cared for anything outside of the city, so the kids in the household unfortunately had a limited curriculum. "Dad... he burned the book we stole from the library, it was about space. Saw something about Mars and Mercury, and a big planet, but most of it was charcoal after he tossed it into the fireplace... all I know it started with a J. And there was a spot they think, like a big storm... saw it through one of those big lenses in the new science buildings at the local university. Always wanted to go see through it."

"Jupiter." Lucifer replies, his expression softening momentarily. He, also, loved learning... and had been denied by his father. "There's 9... technically there were ten but humans decided to be ridiculous and classify Pluto as a dwarf planet because it wasn't big enough by their definition." He automatically whirls on Alastor, and points menacingly. "DO NOT."

"Why I was only going to say that humanity, much like heavenly divininity, seem to discard and discount things as too small for note... when perhaps they should have changed the metric."

Lucifer frowns. "Hold on, that was too nice. Are you dying? Did you get a concussion?"

Alastor rolls his eyes. "Why, little majesty, I was simply saving us all from the inevitable 'size doesn't matter it's how you use it' reference our dear Angel here has spring-loaded on his tongue at all times. If you want to hear it, I'm sure he will oblige."

Angel, for his part, sinked lasciviously. "Y'know what else I got spring-loaded on this obliging tongue, majesty?"

Husk let his head drop to the bartop, incoherent mumbling escaped.

"Oh do cheer up Husker, " Alastor chides. "You chose to adore the arachnid, you deal with his ridiculousness and lewd affectations."

"Oooh, you want my lewd affectations aimed at you Deer Daddy?" Angel flutters his eyelids, and laughed as Alastor rolls his eyes right into radio dials and back again. "Yeah, yeah... ah, fuck... ya face is hilarious when I pull this. But... seriously Short King, can you... tell us a bit about space? If you got a minute? Don't have to be now."

Lucifer seems... taken aback. Just the merest hint of tears in his eyes, as if no one has ever asked him to share his knowledge, or something. Husk and Angel and Alastor, all used to reading people in their own ways, feel something akin to sympathy pang through them. One of them pointedly stabs the sensation like an errant pest, and pretends no such emotion ever occurred. Not for the little monarch, he had too many bones to pick with the former angel.

"Of course I can... if you don't mind if I get side tracked? I can ramble, and it annoys people sometimes..." the King shrinks into himself slightly. His wings curl inward, and the desire to provide comfort alights in many a long-dead heart.

Of all of them, it is Alastor who offers a response. "Whyever would that matter? Half the fun of sharing information is trapping the audience in place as you do so, your lowness. You literally have the power to make people listen, don't tell me you've not used it?"

It's more goading than motivational, but it works. There's a brief flicker of hellfire at those temples.

"Not everyone wants to force their opinion on people!"

"Again, whyever not? Which foolish creature told someone like you, an odd little ancient thing that I suspect could talk for decades without pause on a favoured topic, to be still and silent? And moreover, why on earth or any of the other planes... did you bother to listen?"

"I-... what? Seriously, did you get a concussion?"

Alastor laughed. "Husker here is a former overlord, little ruler, and I am a current one. When we want to say something, people are made to listen... and you, the actual Devil, king of Hell's 7 Rings and unfortunately the best line of defence we have against Heaven despite his duck obsession, are the one cringing back with chains of self-doubt? Even when asked to expound on a topic we are actively interested in?"

"...you are?" The spark is back, and there's a faint glow about him. Like you could see the angel he once was, it moved under the skin he now wore, the hardened facade. "Normally when I talk about fun stuff I can see people's epxressions go blank, sort of... fade out, like they're physically there but have mentally wandered away. I do that too, soemtimes... but that's because this form is so small. Cosmically, I mean. This body is like... trying to put the sun into a salt shaker, and expecting only little bits of power to escape, to offset the pressure."

"Is there anything that can help?" Angel asks, intrigued but compassionate. He feels things getting too sentimental and adds, with a flirty grin, "I'm always available to help expend some energy, ya Highness."

Husk thwaps him with his tail, and Angel laughs.

"That's... generous... but if I let any of my Self out like that, it'd be-... wait, do you know what a solar flare is? Because it would be like that. It's why I create things all the time, easiest way to expel the energy without hurting anyone."

"Ah, that explains the ducks, then. I assume the reason we aren't drowning in them all is because this is only the most recent iteration of your energy release?" Alastor asks, folding onto a barstool. Again, his hands twitch as if to toy with his cane, and Husk clocks it again as he slings a teatowel over his shoulder. The Sovereign overlord is frowning around his smile now, struck by a dour thought. "Actually, sire... I'm wondering something about said ducks."

"No, I was wondering if the power you imbued the ducks with could be... extracted, in any way? One or two or ten might not be enough to cause a threat to the general population, but if the energy in them could be harnessed, then perhaps someone could even one day amass enough to rival dear Charlotte." Alastor said, there was something in his gaze.

"...the why of them? Because its simple, I just think they're fun." Lucifer shrugs, and his shoulders curl forwards again before the devil consciously pushes them back. Who had taught this all powerful creature such shame around his hobbies? Intriguing. Exploitable.

Husk sent a pointed glare at the back of Boss's head, and one ear twitched.

"Why, want it for yourself, bellhop?" Lucifer scowls at him, and Husk cringes, seeing the way those ears flicker. Whatever message was being conveyed had been returned to sender unread.

"No." Alastor ground out, and then clamed himself. "I am pointing out that it seems like that would be a glaring security breach in hell, if someone who was seeking power and had access to your little offcasts, could do so. They would pose a threat to possibly even yourself, but certainly Charlotte. Are you able to destroy the ducks or whatever you have created? Or would that cause magical backlash?"

Lucifer seemed to be picking something up. "I can destroy them. It's like... uh... haircuts? Once it leaves me, its benign and can be dissolved into atoms... is atoms what the humans are down to now? I think you might have found out about quarks... hah, the irony of dissolving my ducks into quarks..."

"Ah, a failsafe option then. Excellent." Alastor mutters, and Husk is really looking at the overlord then. What did this guy know?

"...is someone trying to do what you suggested?" Lucifer asked, looking back upon them all with eyes that bled red. It felt like a soundwave moving through you at a concert, like an xray that wriggled through each and every atom on the way past, as he turned it upon the gathered sinners. "...ah, well, if that is who you are referring to, then perhaps you are right to worry. I'm hoping this is a sick prank, because otherwise I'm going to be very angry... and Charlotte will be devastated."

"Surely you wouldn't tell her, sire?" Alastor throws back, and Husk can tell that the other is rattled at the revelation that the King had Seen what was hidden. "It would only hurt her. Something we're all actively attempting to avoid for now, especially in the wake of the lost snake fellow."

"Sir Pentious." Angel and Husk intoned, slightly angry at Alastor for forgetting his name.

"Ah, yes... Pentious. He's not forgettable, I just can never seem to hold onto his name, for some reason, and he was always insisting we'd fought dozens of times but... I simply don't recall anything outside the animosity at the hotel." Alastor waved off potential amnesia with an airy laugh as the studio audience chimed in to add body.

"Wait, you actually did fight him, with me, once." Husk frowned. "You and Vox were still partners, before the moth... Pentious was testing out that giant mech suit thing of his, and he knocked out one of your broadcast towers. I thought you were gonna eat him... but you just kind of toyed with him for a bit until the robot part was scrap metal and had me drop him home."

Alastor's eyes flicker with static, and a grating kssshhhtttz of static filled the air before a radio dial clicking off sounded. "Why, no, I genuinely don't recall! Hah!" He turns back to the King. "Now, little majesty, would you mind telling our associate Angel about the stars? And if Husker and I should just so happen to listen in, why, that should be a bonus, hmmm?"

Lucifer blinked. "Er, what? I can do that... but we're going to talk about that later."

Whirling around, Lucifer launched himself up to the ceiling and snapped his fingers with a joyous laugh. Instantly the room dimmed, a blinding array of celestial bodies appeared in the air and gently rotated around Lucifer, who hung within the sun-like orb at the centre. In the distance, nebulae and distant planets could be glimpsed.

The barstools melted into a sofa with enough height to allow the long-legged Angel and Alastor to be seated comfortably. Husk was similarly provided seating, behind the bar, much to his amusement.

"This, is SOL, your sun and one of my favourite stars. I helped set it ablaze myself with my brother Michael!" Lucifer explained, hovering around it, listing off facts about the celestial body and explaining how it worked. Tiny solar flares arched outward and this delighted the former archangel as he spoke about them at length.

Eventually, he moved on to tiny Mercury, pulling the small orb from its orbit and bringing it down to them as the king extolled interesting fact about Gabriel's first attempt at a planet. "There WAS supposed to be water there, but... it got too hot, and it evaporated. Poor Gabe was crushed, because he'd had fun plans for it. Mars was also one of his, but Dad stepped in to give him some help forming it... there's some fun little surprises hidden on THAT planet for the humans to find!"

Lucifer switched out planets and even passed around Mars for them to hold. Angel startled to find red dust on his fingers, and Lucifer winked at him.

"Don't worry, there's no giant sinner fingerprints on the planet... it's just a wellmade enchantment! Oooh, speaking of well-made, did you know the humans have sent little robots to explore Mars? They call this little guy ROVER and he sings Happy Birthday to himself once a year!" Lucifer manifests what was lkely supposed to be a replica, but apparently seemed to be the Rover itself. "Ah... fuck. Hang on."

One sleep deprived tech at NASA had QUITE THE DAY reviewing footage from the Rover, and trying to work out if someone had hacked the feed to prank him as several inhuman creatures were seen staring in horrified fascination at the Rover for about 3 seconds before the feed returned to Mars' barren surfaces.

"Hah, let's not mention that little fuck-up to Heaven..." Lucifer laughed, nervously. "What was I saying? Oh yeah, so there was water on this planet too, and we put some-..."

Angel and Husk interjected with questions on occasion. Alastor really just seemed to be listening, though knowing the guy he could be listening to his own internal radio station and nodding at the right intervals. He did show some sign of delight when Lucifer got to Earth's moon... even sized it up to something around soccer ball shape, before passing it around.

Husk, unable to fight the desire in the back of his brain, put a tongue on the surface. He considered it. "...good news, not cheese."

Angel's snort was delightful.

"Hey! As my father once said to me, 'Please don't go licking celestial objects!'" Lucifer interjected, taking the moon back and making a show of theatrically wiping it off on his shirt. He tosses it at Alastor, "That goes double for you, Bambi."

"Sire, how can you show such little faith in me? As this is neither screaming, breathing nor bleeding, why would I ever be tempted to take a bite?" His expression was fantastically malicious, but husk roleld his eyes, talk about sticking to the bit. The deer did toy with the moon in his hands. "...what caused the crators?"

"Asteroids, mostly. Like, big chunks of rock that hurtle through space, because there's no gravity in space to help slow them down anything you toss up there stays at that speed and in that direction until it hits something." Lucifer's expression soured. "We discovered that when Raphael accidentally took out two planets and ended the dinosaurs whilst skipping asteroids, actually. Everyone got a talking to for that one."

"Hmmm, I don't suppose you'd find time to show us what they really looked like, would you? There's quite the debate about if they were shrink-wrapped lizards or, perhaps, took after rotund birds." Alastor mutters absently, and catches himself. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought. "Rosie has been staunchly intrigued by the creatures for decades, ever since seeing a skeleton in a museum as a girl, I understand. If you would be open to sharing information about them, she would be most obliged."

"Careful sinner, last time I was asked to talk about those creatures at length I didn't stop for at least a week. Thankfully the goetia in question had drunk enough coffee to fell a Sin, and was able to stay awake through the majority but I doubt anyone here has that tolerance." Lucifer teases, and he is markedly more relaxed than when he started. He seemed to exude a glow og joy when he was in his element, just sharing information even with sinners, whom he appeared to despise.

"...do not, under any circumstances, make such a statement to dear Rosie or she shall take it as a challenge. Wrangling her Overlord form when she is overstimulated and sleep-deprived can be quite the chore..."

"Ain't you like, top dog of the overlords?" Angel narrows his eyes at Alastor.

"He means... without hurting her. Al and Rosie are like fucked up siblings, he wouldn't raise a hand to her and she won't eviscerate him. But he's right, trying to get her to calm down like that, without the option of force, can be pretty damn difficult. Her whole Bigger form has way too many teeth, gives me a headache just looking at it sometimes." Husk shudders.

"Hey, actually, anyone need to get a drink or go to the bathroom or the other physical things you guys do?" Lucifer asked, his hat on the floor as he flips upside down in mid air, batting playfully at the little blue and green orb they'd lived on all their lives. "No? Okay, well, here's one you might be familiar with - Earth. Check out this little number!"

He cracks it in half to show off the layers inside, listing off what each one was and how it worked with the enthusiasm of a PHD student going through their passion project thesis. this orb, too, was passed around like show and tell in the class.

A smart-ass radio host may have allowed a singular refrain of 'has the whole world, in his hands' to fade in and out as the other sinners passed it around. The Earth was last seen snatched from the hands of an enamoured Angel Dust by a giggling Niffty, who scuttled out the door at alarming speeds.

"She. is. Terrifying. Where the fuck did you find her, bellhop?" Lucifer stares after the little creature.

"Quite the story, for another time, and Niffty present." Alastor waves it away. "Do you require the Earth returned? I can summon her back or send poppets to un-hah-earth where she is hiding in the vents...?"

"No, no its an illusion... it'll be fine. So, Jupiter, the not-star of the show and big sibling to earth!" Lucifer continues, showing off the markedly larger orb to everyone in the immediate vicinity. He enlarges it to point out interesting facts, and then pulls over Venus to compare the two. Apaprently they had a similar design but hidden interests under the dense layers of toxic storms.

And that was how several sinners learned things about those planets, and what was on them, several centuries before humans on earth ever would. The king made them swear not to share that information if they got summoned, which wasn't an everyday issue but... some of the overlords tended to get called on occasion. He still hasn't worked out how that keeps happening... the goetia were one thing, but the Sovereign Overlords?

Ah well. Lucifer then immediately pivots to the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, he LOVES the damn things and breaks down their differences in truly intense detail. Angel peppers in questions, enthralled. Husk has to fight an innate impulse to bat at the orbs rotating slowly past him regularly. Damned cat brain.

The rings of the planet were fascinating, and felt oddly gritty when handled, as Lucifer explained how they were made. He'd been consulted on this one, but it was all Sera and Michael, Saturn.

Uranus and Neptune were paired, he'd explained, pulling them over, and showing off the little details. Even Alastor was intrigued at the possibility of ice on Neptune, implying some level of water... and the potential for life to occur.

Lucifer spoke about how, just the year before on Earth, a satellite probe had gone past Pluto and taken photos of the surface! That it took many years and countless reams of paper covered in mathematics to facilitate such a feat, and he was so very oddly proud of humanity for it. He didn't say the words, but the pride in humanity's innate curiosity seemed to 'fill his cup' as they say, to see them use their free will for Good.

It was cold to the touch, but nowhere near as icy as Pluto.

Lucifer took a deep breath as he got to that planet, his little project on the side... had meant it to be a moon but got too excited and made it a tad oversized. The others had been exasperated, apparently.

"Unfortunately, humans did decide it was a Dwarf Planet, and demoted it. But I think it's amazing. This would be the time for a size joke, sinners, if you have one ready... but I still love the silly little ball of ice. If I had my way we would have tried to colonise it with sentient temperature-resistent flora..."

Husk and Angel glanced at one another, trying to imagine what that could even look like. They'd already seen things beyond human imagining today, really put into perspective the concept of creativity when it came to immortal, nearly all-powerful beings with infinite possibility at their core.

Lucifer glanced down at them, offering Pluto over. "Really? Not one single crack at my height, Bambi? You're either learning restraint, are enamoured by my storytelling, or you're dead..."

Husk can't help but huff out a laugh.

"Anyway, this tenth planet, I called it..." the thing that came out of Lucifer's mouth wasn't quite a word, but it was beautiful. Like the chiming of a bell you could feel filling your heart with warmth, rather than hear. That was a super weird sensation to explain. "But... humans can't detect it yet. Technically it was a back-up in case asteroids took out one of the others, so it's phase-locked, technically there for gravitational reasons, but also not physically there if searched for by non-angelic means."

Lucifer hands over the impossible orb. Schrodinger's planet, if you will.

Angel's eyes go wide as he looks at something no one else would likely know about for centuries. "This is insane, ya majesty... I... you've got so much in that head a yours and I think you just made my afterlife with all this. I never... I never thought I'd get to know about the stars, not now. And not then neither. It's... It's silly of me, I know."

"It ain't." Husk assured, at the same moment a startled Lucifer said, "No it's not! The endless curiosity and compassion of humanity was what I gave you with Free Will... just because you're here doesn't mean it died off."

There was a split second as it seemed the King was having an Epiphany moment, and you could see the sweeping grin on his features. So very, very undeniably Charlie in that moment. "Oh, I get it... I see what Char-Char is trying to do. You do have the capacity for change, because it never left!"

Husk tenses for shit to go sideways, at least a round of sarcastic audience applause... and stiffens further when nothing is forthcoming. He glances past the overwhelmed spider to see Alastor appears to be sleeping, head resting on his chin.

Lucifer notices as well. "Hah! Told him that it takes an over caffinated Goetia to outlast my ramblings! And he thinks he can manage my dinosaur talk, as if..."

"Well, I mean, to be fair to Smiles... it's been a weird day. He had to hold up that shield over the hotel and then when that fucker Adam broke it, he was forced to fight the guy." Angel interjects, feeling the need to defend the other. It was so weird seeing the guy sleeping with his smile in place... but, it also felt kinda peaceful too. Being trusted.

He reached out an elbow to nudge the bombastic boombox of an overlord as Lucifer sputtered.

"He did WHAT? When? I didn't see him at all, just Adam attacking Charlie which let me fight back." Lucifer frowned now. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes, we're sure. Nearly shit myself when I saw Adam smash in the shield... never seen anything break one of Boss's wards before, not even this one asshole goetia who thought he could start removing the sovereigns to stop them 'rising above their station'." Husk shrugged. "Got to have a piece of the guy's arm... they don't taste half-bird, you could really tell he was a pheasant under all that finery."

"Uh... guys?" Angel interjects, swallowing as he takes note of the wetness on his elbow. "Can we put the lights on? I don't think Smiles is okay..."

With a snap, and dual hisses of pain as light seared their retinas with unerring accuracy, Lucifer vanished the solar system. Immediately uncovering a whole other issue... dark, wet patches were marring the Overlord's attire in a very pointed slash from one shoulder to the opposing hip. Or what passed for it, on this lanky fucker.

"Oh... well, fuck." Angel summated, eloquently.

Husk scowled, "Should've guessed something was up when he disappeared... and I haven't seen his staff since the battle. Must be busted or he'd have it on him... kept going to play with it earlier, should've asked him about it. Fuck."

The shadow nearly takes Angel's hands off at hte wrist as he started unbuttoning the coat. "Whoa, spooky Jnr, settle down! We're trying to help!"

"Enough of that, time out for you." Lucifer snaps, and the shade is suddenly bound with glowing golden strands of something it couldn't escape. He rolls up his sleeves, setling back on the ground and tugging out a red feather. "Alright, you idiot, let's see how bad this is."

Angel peeled back the coat and shirt with urgent reluctance. He knew the deer wasn't a fan of being touched unless he initiated, Angel had eight eyes and a fantastic ability to people watch, he could see how the Overlord worked. As much as he wanted to help, this also felt... uncomfortably non-consensual.

He inhales sharply at the revealled mess. Carefully stitched taut with glowing threads, the damage appeared extensive, and hard to look at for too long.

"The good news is I can fix it, the bad news... is it's going to suck for both of us. Angel, refrain from the obvious joke if you can." Lucifer said, and directed them to move the overlord into a position where they could more easily restrain him.

The minute the King laid hands, shadow tendrils errupted to attempt to eviscerate, but Lucifer's wings combated the majority whilst the miniature monarch concentrated on doing... whatever that was. Husk was just about sitting on Alastor's legs at this point, leaning in. Angel had all six arms free and holding on for (heh) deer life.

Angel thinks he's uttering something soothing, but his own brain is blank right now as Lucifer managed to drag something that looked horrifically like golden razorwire from within Alastor's wound, and wind it about his own arm until it dug in... then dissipated. Lucifer sighed as it did so, and exhaled shakily.

In a swift movement, he snapped the stitches, waving them out of the flesh that gaped open sickeningly. Golden light began to glow at both ends of the wound, and the heat in the room increased as it slowly moved down the length of the injury towards the midsection. Alastor thrashed, not conscious enough to scream but the radios went haywire around them.

Angel grabbed the Overlord's head to hold the guy still, with a pair of hands, as Husk... draped himself a little further up the deer's body and began to purr rhythmically. Angel nearly let go, in his surprise.

"Hang on, bellhop, just a bit longer... it's okay..." the King mumbled, clearly balancing out the need to Help with the power he was able to safely channel into a sinner body.

"Dad, stop!" Charlie shouts, skidding into the room in her nightclothes, a spear-wielding Vaggie behind her. "What are you doing?!"

"Char, wait, he's helping!" Angel shouts back, no free hands to ward them off. "Just... oh thank fuck that's over with, I feel like such an asshole pinning him for that."

Alastor went slack in their hold as the searing angelic healing finally subsided, the wound closed. Lucifer was panting a little. He clearly hadn't needed to use that little trick in some time.

The radios clicked off all throughout the hotel.

"...what happened?" Charlie looked at Husk, then Angel, then her father.

Vaggie had straightened, her eye critically assessing the situation. "I'd say Adam happened, hun. Remember how the shield broke? Fucker went straight towards Al on the roof..."

Charlie tugged at her own hair, eyes still raw from the loss of Pentious. "I knew I should've looked harder! I just thought... I mean, he's always so capable..."

"But he faced down the First Man without angelic steel, even someone with his power isn't able to kill him permanently without that." Husk offered, sitting up as if he hadn't just been a purring emotional support animal for a guy he claimed to hate.

"Wait, I thought he had a weapon?" Vaggie frowned, mentally running through the faces she'd handed out the weaponry to. "...no, he let Niffty have it. Actually, she grabbed it after he pointed at it. Why didn't he pick it up?"

Husk coughed into a hand, "Allergy, probably..."

"The deal, then? I can see it interlaced with some other commands." Lucifer is staring at the Sinner's throat with red eyes, clearly reading something. "Some of it's obscured but... nope, he's an idiot, a very weirdly brave one but an idiot nonetheless. What chance does anyone in hell have of killing someone like Adam without even an Angelic toothpick? Did you know about this, Char Char?"

Only then does Lucifer register the frightened, horrified expressions adorning husk and Angel's face as Charlie's own crumples into confusion.

"The... what? I have a deal with him, but its for a favour, nothing that can be used to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt him for that, Dad!" Charlie pleads, and throws Lucifer off balance.

"You have a what now?"

"A Favour. It was about the angelic steel... he told me, and said he could help me get an army if I made a deal with it. I-... Dad, please, I don't think he's all that bad... I offered him my soul and he declined it." She's rambling panicking, and it's clear which side of the genetics that came from, because his Majesty is starting to freak out as well.

His eyes snap red, and clearly traces the chain between them, lips moving as he read the terms. The shoulders unclench.

"Okay, okay, that's fine... I just have to work out if he asked for it for himself, or was asked to ask for it. But we'll need him conscious for that... and I don't think we'll get anywhere tonight." He yawns, and that little white face splits open farther than any would espect and shows off an almost eldritch form before snapping shut. "I think we all need a nap. It's been a long day."

He frowns down at his hand, and then brightens. "Oh, nearly forgot!" Lucifer places the red feather on Alastor's nearest wrist and it flickers into a thin red band with a flickering array of golden symbols. "That should stop soemone shadowing away or being summoned in the interim."

"Wait, Dad, what?"

"Long story, see I was telling these three about the solar system and when I got to the tenth planet, I thought the bellhop had fallen asleep but he'd just misplaced most of his blood, and then-..."

"No, the deal part."

"Oh, he seems to have one with your mother. Not sure what that's about but it looks messy, the terms aren't weighted right... and I feel like she might be up to more than I expected. But we can ask him in the morning, for now... I'm going to conjure somewhere soft to sleep. Removing grace always gives me a headache."

"Wh-..."

"Yeah toots, let's deal with it, no pun intended, after some shut-eye." Angel yawns, and flops back on the couch, which is swiftly poof'd into a very large, quite decadent fold-out bed. "Whiskers, how likely is he to eat me if we wake up spooning tomorrow...?"

"Uh..."

"What about you?"

"He's never eaten me before. S'long as I purr."

"I. need. details."

"Tomorrow. If we don't become breakfast in bed." Husk grumbles, dropping his hat on the bar and riggling onto the massive bed. Setting about moving Alastor to a more comfortable position. "Oh, and... if you wake up and Niff is there, don't scream. She sleeps with her eye open, but she just likes to be close to Boss."

"...Whiskers, you guys and your weirdness ain't even close to the strangest thing I've managed in bed." Angel dramatically rolled his eyes. "Heya short king, wanna come spoon with an infamous adult film star? Could raise your public image?"

"HAH! Or I could decimate yours!" Luccifer shot back, in the middle of what looked like a round bed with a nest-like structure around the outside. Okay, Angel admits that's pretty damn adorable. "But I'm cosy here... oooh, Char Char, did you want to nest with me? Maybe your angel wants to?"

"Yes." the word is out of Vaggie's mouth before she even registers the thought. "Angel thing, hun, I... love staying with you, but I did miss nesting with others. One of the only things I miss about being with my sisters... I mean, the others."

"Oh Vaggie, you should have said sooner! I would have made you a nest! Or ten! And gotten all the bird sinners I could find to roost with you!" Charlie panics, kissing every inch of Vaggie's face she could reach. "I'm so sorry..."

Vaggie kisses her on her nose, once. "No, you're overtired and very upset. But we can fix that, so let's go hop into bed with your dad..." She sighs through her nose at Angel's perfuntory Whoop, "and have a good sleep. Then we can deal with whatever the fuck he's done in the morning."

She can front all she wants, but the fact Vaggie didn't point with her spear said volumes about her fondness for the deer.

As everyone settles down and the lights dim, KeeKee and Fat Nuggets slink in and are picked up by their respective owners for snuggles.

Angel glances at the King. "Uh... ya majesty... any chance you could maybe... er..." He hesitates. How much power would that take?"

With a snap, the air around them is filled with tiny stars, and a rather lifelike model of earth's moon. "It's okay to ask for what you want." Lucifer reassures.

Angel beams, tucking close to the purring bartender and making sure he's not actively putting anything vital in biting distance of the slumbering overlord. "...thanks, for this. And I hope you can tell us more stuff another time, it was fun listening to ya... up until the bit where Smiles nearly died. but I liked it."

"You would really like to hear more?"

"Of course, Short King! You're a orn entertainer and you know so fuckin' much I want to read you like a book, and I hated doing that shit back in school."

"And we'll discuss that in the morning before anyone starts a monologue about different species of birds they created, right Dad?" Charlie subtly interjects.

"Of course, Char Char... goodnight everyone."

Various goodnights are heard across the room... and from a vent in the ceiling directly above Alastor. Ah, Niffty.

Angel grins to himself, imagining the flustered indignation the Overlord would front with tomorrow, at the knowledge of how many people cared enough to help his stubborn ass. It was gonna be quite entertaining...

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

End?

Genuine question

How do you think alastor and angel dust reacted when they heard about the moon landing?

Like, that was an insane step for everyone, can you imagine newer sinners coming in talking about rover on mars and those two assuming it was some sort of scifi show or podcast

Then finding out it was real

Also lucifer being a shit inthe background like, "the moon, pfft, yeah i made it. Its not as exciting as what we hid on jupiter, but go off i guess..."

#hazbin hotel #alastor #angel dust #hk #lucifer #phoenixwrites charlie #vaggie

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moralchampion · 2 years ago

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...

#myself #vent post be careful #I really thought I was over thr car crash like I can drive without problem (more or less but I was careful even before it)#and I so genuinely thought I had gotten over it #but then when roaming trough my phone gallery today I found the pictures of my damaged car and now I keep thinking about it.....#like what would have been if I hadn't been it that lane would everything have been ok and my dad would have just complained about the cops?#and what would have happened if I had been going faster and they went straight into the drivers side??#would I still be here???#I don't know and I don't wanna imagine #but it made me so much more scared....#and we were at the lawyer's office today to get them some of our things and the lady at the front desk told me about how she has been a bit #scared ever since she got into a car crash which made me feel a bit better like even 20+ years later she's still not fully over it...#which means I'm not overreacting #but like I'm seconds away from tears why does this only ever happen in the middle of the night????#I'm so scared not even about me but about my parents and my brother like what would I do without them???#honestly that whole thing changed my perspective of car crashes like in normal traffic but also in sports and stuff...#I hate it here. why always us? why always my dad and me??#I'm so glad I wasn't alone in that car but I also just wished he wouldn't have had to go trough that...

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suffarustuffaru · 1 year ago

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ok but im getting emo over heinkel again so im gonna talk about him again because yeah hes yet another sad character in a sea of sad characters and i love rezero for that but like he is a character consistently characterized by one loss after the other. it's a rollercoaster and its going straight fucking down and he is so miserable and absolutely alone and its both his fault and not his fault at all. but the way it starts is - its all out of his control. the more you think about the trajectory of his life the sadder it gets.

imagine you are heinkel and your parents are the sword saint and the sword demon and you come from a long line of knights and sword saints so thats almost definitely where youre headed, right? thats whats expected of you. you are nineteen years old and youre a knight in the royal guard, which was expected of you, and you have a wife and a beautiful baby boy, which was also expected of you, but at least you have so much joy and love for the latter while the former is just another chain on the astrea family line of people who are stuck to knighthood whether they like it or not. but your family is also just another chain because youre nineteen and your mother is still the sword saint and youre playing with fate here because either youre going to be the sword saint or your son will be.

your wife, the only equal you have, falls asleep one day and never wakes up. you are twenty-one years old and a single parent and then you are twenty-three years old and your son's fate is so much bigger than youll ever be. having the worlds love means that your love pales in comparison, doesnt it? everyone knows about your comatose wife because you keep searching so much for a cure that its just another thing to gossip about. every year that passes by she just continues to look the same as she did when she was awake and alive and loved you. (you dont know it yet but your son is going to reach the same age as her, because you dont find a cure for another sixteen years and you know that she wont love you anymore because who does? theres no one left because your son doesnt count.)

and everyone knows about you because of your family. because yeah, youre a good swordsman, but youre not liked by anyone in the knights. youre not a friend and youre certainly not a sword saint or sword demon. your son mind controls someone because he loves you so much that he would do anything for you and looks up to you like youre some hero, but youre just a wreck whos scrambling to keep what little you have. youre twenty-four and you lose your mom because you were too scared to go on the mission you were assigned on, because youre a coward and youre in over your head and you know, because everyone knows, that you dont measure up. you could never be prepared for this. in a long line of people who have to carry the weight of the world, you crumble easily. your mom goes on that mission and dies and your son becomes the sword saint like this was always going to happen. this is what being loved by the world means. you just killed your mom because you just couldnt suck it up and die on that mission instead. on top of that, your dad says that your five-year-old god of a son killed your mom. its just you and your son and the two of you both killed your mom but youre the worlds biggest laughing stock and your son is the up and coming hero and monster. but you still love your son. you really do.

right?

#rezero #heinkel astrea #i have. many feelings on him always. no i do not condone his abuse and i never will. but he is such a fascinating character #and this is not even getting into like. post-reinhard being five years old. cries. there is so much happening my god. the tragedy of it all #i swear theresia and wilhelm act like they dont even like heinkel fr sometimes too i swear aldfjldfjl theres just implications behind that #relationship too. and implications to heinkel and reinhards Everything with what little we've seen of them. like little kid reinhard truste #his dad SO MUCH heinkel was very loving in the beginning. it hurts how badly it turns out later alsdlfj bc you just Know that reinhard is #internalizing this like. my dad used to love me and now he doesnt anymore and its all my fault.#BUT HE STILL DOES LOVE REINHARD DEEP DOWN BC WHY ELSE WOULD HE HAVE SCHULT AS A REPLACEMENT. GOD. GOD.#arc 5 spoilers #i always like. theorize that heinkel used to be someone who tried to follow the rules to the T. try his best. try to be a good perfect #knight. a bit of a people pleaser. WHICH IS LIKE REINHARD RIGHT and it explains why heinkel is so bitter and jaded and angry now. god. i #hate it here. the astreas make me sooo crazy #like heinkel really does seem like a guy whos just trying to be a goody two shoes in like the once upon a time from lugunica ss but he fail #miserably bc hes too Emotional and also going through a lot of stress aljsdlfj

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girlivealwaysbean · 3 months ago

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so tired of being a shitty bandaid for my parents' loneliness. like have u ever considered you passed your curse to me and some days i feel so lonely it's like i can't breathe around the emptiness in my chest????

#my dad is like #you can't just be in your room all the time then what's the point of you living here if ill be sitting here all alone then #and im like bhai what #mom also says this to me she always wanted to sit and rant and she used to say you never talk to me #both of these people don't even fucking get it that they're not even interested in me listening to me #mom just wants a sounding board for her venting and dad just wants someone to pretend everything is okay and happy all the time and #the only important things in life is the immediate present and food and making money and stuff #i swear this is why i feel so ????? about myself my identity like no i can't describe myself #because there is no myself there is just a white sheet of paper where people can write whatever they want #im so tired man #why can't they just go and live with each other and leave us kids out of it 😭🙏#like i genuinely am getting teary eyed about such a small thing but god. i want to have my own life so bad. im sick of feeling all these #complicated emotions guilt and anger and pity and obligation and duty like just god pls fuck off #people my age are so fucking mature and put together than me so confident so clear about their path #have friends partners breakups parties just so many new memories #and im just stuck.#and im fine with it now because i get it studying is really important and this is quite basic requirement to be perfect at #atleast my syllabus to survive in this industry #but then. let me do that only. please don't make me pretend to like you like spending time with you and everything #ive hated you for like. idk 14 whole years. since the first time you hit mom in front of me #i remember it so well like my childhood broke that day you slammed her into a wall for some stupid fight and her hair was all messy and #untied and you shouted so loud i thought surely everyone can hear. and then you left to roam around the city at night with your friends #i remember this because my mom and my sister sent me to check up on you with the excuse of a painting of a parrot that i had made #i didn't understand anything back then #but yeah fuck you fuck you fuck you for being so fucking delusional thinking i love you or something #ive prayed to god that you die and i still do #it would directly mean 4 people being happy #anyway #dni #this was meant to be fun and short lol fuck

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mythvoiced · 11 months ago

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OPEN STARTER | Patrick Finch

"I condone lying. I encourage it, even. I recommend it. I could hardly live without it."

#;open starter #the wolf;patrick #the wolf;open #he's always the most difficult one GOSH #also you must envision he's saying this with this weird open deadpan stare where he #well how do i put it: he's clearly fucking with you but he does it with such an open genuine expression #i mean he does condone lying he's not lying here (LKDSG!!!) but he is also fucking around #so this is Patrick he's 37 or anywhere around that age he's agender primarily he/him pronouns bc whatever yknow #the agender vibes of WHATEVER i know what i'm talking about trust me i have a phd in agenderism #anyways he's an informant but about as unorthodox as you can imagine he's just fucking around and finding out frankly #very depressed very jumpy very good at hiding it lmao he's my darling ♥#he is very motherly somehow i can't explain it #he has somewhat of a history in accidentally attempting to adopt powerful young women i don't know why he???#knee-jerks into wanting to be a mother figure i don't know him that well you guys #like he met suki (ferre's kamipyre) for a few minutes one time and #days after he was wondering if she'd wore a jacket because it was cold out like--#men don't get the same kindness if you're a charming kind-hearted competent warm and humorous DAD kind of guy he's unfortunately #emotionally attracted to you? unfortunately because he hates it~ but if you're any other kind of guy you're just... you're some guy to him #yes if you're young he'll adopt you too but begrudgingly-- KLDGFGKLFDHGJF #if you're a they/them you're his kid already are you kidding that's your mum #OH I JUST HAD A TERRIBLE THOUGHT so do you know om*g*verse?? regardless of how you feel about it #it do be a thing and i just had this horrible thought about how if pat were a real guy in an established canon #he'd probs get the feminisation treatment amiright?? NO LISTEN HE USED TO BE A HUGE WOLF #AND HE'S ACTUALLY FILLED WITH SO MUCH RAGE AND WRONGED PRIDE #patrick is gentle when he likes you and because he's Smart he doesn't just BITE out of nowhere he's always been like that #Fenris was known for being INCREDIBLY well-spoken BUT ALSO A HUGE PROUD WOLF #LIKE BIG WOLF-- it doesn't show but he's Very Proud and STRONG and ??????#;queue #i picked a gif came back and realized i lost it there for a sec NO MATTER makes for good entertainment

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hysteriasgarden · 1 year ago

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I had a conversation with my brother the other month, and it's making me wonder just how much we don't remember, how many bad things have we simply forgotten? he doesn't even remember that time we genuinely were scared our dad was mad enough to kill us, and we were clinging to each other in fear waiting for him to snap. it's not like we were that young either when that happened

#mine #apparently I never knew why he hated being touched until he told me in that conversation #our dad would constantly grab his arms all the time as a kid #and I either never noticed or just never remembered #if I didn't have my old diary around. even with how sparsely written it is #would I even remember how miserable and upset I was as a child?#how much I hated my family and felt hurt by them #I feel as though I'd have just forgotten it #I can only remember what I remember #but I know there's more #I can see things like vague flashes of me crying and screaming on the stairs during some argument #but what was the argument about? what did my parents say. what did I say. what did either of us do?#I don't remember. I know it happened but I don't remember any details #and that's just one example of many #and having memories so vague it makes it impossible for me to know if I was the villain here. or my parents #as much as a young child can be a villain but-#how much did I instigate or bring upon myself for acting the way I did?#I'll never remember if I was the reasonable one or if I was simply an insane child who my parents didn't know how to deal with #a lot of the 'abuse' could've just as easily been my fault for acting out and misinterpreting the situation badly #I've always had a tendency to overexaggerate and get upset over things that are entirely reasonable in retrospect #who's to say I wasn't just an awful kid who could've just behaved better to avoid any of it #I just decided the world was unfair and ended up being entitled and ungrateful. thinking I suffered when I didn't #but seeing as I'm missing huge parts of my memory. I guess I'll never know for sure

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burningcomputerpersona · 1 month ago

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oh wow i am fucking terrible at pretending to be a person

#my autistic ass going to a meeting to discuss my accommodations with the professors #and just staring at them like a deer in headlights like 0.0 #and just listening to them saying what their plan is and saying 'that sounds good thank you' like five times #and like. i meant it every single time. but the lack of variety makes it sound like im repeating off a script #i shudder to imagine the impression ppl probably have of me #this is why i hate being in public ur always being Perceived by people and they will gossip with each other about it #like i am respecting your privacy and trying to improve your comfort by ignoring your presence and forgetting any specific details about you #and here you are refusing my goodwill and challenging me by Perceiving me and forcing me to be aware of that fact #you do realize that your actions are a declaration of war right #and that i am exercising a tremendous amount of restraint by not deleting your existence where you stand #sigh. i could use an eternal break from people. just. the shop is closed and only my friends get to interact with me #ppl always say 'noo you can't only interact with ppl you like' but guess what that's what I've been doing so far and it felt great #hell one of my friends was telling me the other day that his dad only has one friend. that being his wife.#and he doesn't rlly talk to anyone outside of that bc he doesn't want to nor feel the need to do so #and he's happy with it #and i heard that and was like 'your dad is literally living the life like i fucking wish that were me'#sigh. anyway the meeting ended very awkwardly bc i never know how to do greetings especially when ending things #and they kept throwing curveballs at me like 'stay warm during the weekend' which is a very nice sentiment and i tried to talk along with it #but also it threw me completely off guard and i forgot i probably should've told them to stay warm/healthy as well #just. ugh. reciprocating stuff without directly repeating it back is impossible and idk how/why ppl expect me to be able to do it #hell i get surprised whenever i say 'have a good day' or something and someone replies in kind #like theoretically i know that these are greetings ppl say almost as a habit. but it is absolutely not a habit to me #and when i say these generic greetings it's always bc i actually thought it organically and sincerely meant it #i just do not understand how or why ppl greet others all the time and ask these small talk questions that make you balance on a tightrope #maybe i need to move to a city-er city like new york or philly or something #I've heard ppl day chicago is like philly but nicer. well i could stand to get rid of some 'niceness'#and that's where the wonder years are from too so that's another bonus #i just wanna ignore and be ignored by strangers and have conversations that are direct and to the point is that too much to ask #mine #vent

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potentiallyangstyrandomthoughts · 2 months ago

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I know my dads fucking great and all cause he raised me and my sister by himself for over a decade cause mom was a crack head and left, but now that we all are moving out on our own soon he's just like really selfish and clingy. My sisters noticed it too and i get that he's lonely but like I'm not going to fucking baby him forever and be his only fucking source of companionship he needs to find someone else to bother. Like I'm trying so hard to not fucking snap at him I just want him to leave me alone and I know I'm supposed to care and be happy and be nice cause we are all about to live alone most likely in different fucking states so we wont see each other again aside from holidays. But like the time we are supposed to be enjoying he's just weird. He's weird and, as my sister would say " It's triggering me". Like it just fucking sets me off. He's different IDK. I know he's high ever since weed got legalized he's been smoking all the time and I fucking hate him when he's high he's pathetic and annoying as shit. And like yea that's a really fucking mean thing to say but I AM HIS MAIN FUCKING SOCIAL SUPPORT. He comes to me with EVERYTHING. He always sounds so fucking miserable and its only ME that he vents too like that he doesn't vent like that to my sister. And if I say I don't want to he gets fucking pouty? like a fucking child? So I shut down and stare at the wall and let him say whatever nothing it is that he's saying then I leave early cause I'm holding back fucking screaming at him like I don't care shut the fuck up . I can BARELY GET OUT OF FUCKING BED MOST DAYS. FUCK YOU. LEAVE ME ALONE IM DYING I CANT HOLD YOUR BAGGAGE TOO. YOU WANT ME TO BE HAPPY THEN STOP USING ME AS YOUR FUCKING LIFE PRESERVER IM DROWNING.

FUCK OFF.

#The more i remeber my dad did everything “ For his kids” The more i realize it was for “ HIS” kids. ya know?#I wonder if he just liked the idea of kids #i dont want to live here anymore it sucks #He just feels so selfish these days. He only talks about himself and theres no room to say anything #Leggit i can stand there and look like im about to shoot myself in the head #and he just doesn't stop talking #but he NOTICES.#he KNOWS i dont care he FUCKING SEES IT #I hate that even more #like he doesn't value what I want to do with my time at all #I've heard the same shit for 5 fucking years he just repeats himself im fucking tired of it #I was always pretending to listen cause i didn't really care all that much but not its getting to the point im just so fucking angry man.#He took off an extra day each week to “Help me with moving”#He gets high all day and does nothing and when i go to him hes like “ oh yea i forgot” or “ oh i did things for me today”#Don't fucking act like your taking off for me if it's just an extra day for you cause your tired #If your tired thats fucking fine but how fucking DARE you use me as the reason why your taking off.#Your just getting high you fucking addict #and i leggit spend all monday WAITING for his ass cause im like " well he said im basicly owned by him for this whole fucking day so i have #“To literally be at his beckon call all day otherwise he will be like ” but I said Mondays are for uss :////“ Fuck you fuck you fuck you fu #Now i only have one day where i get time alone and im so fucking angry i NEED time alone like i loose my MIND if i dont #Im going to fucking kill someone i stg #“Mondays are for us” Yea bitch and where on the contract did i sign? Like i had no say in this I NEVER do i just sit there and take it #you would never really listen anyway #god this is where i got it from #i got it from him #and mother #Am i evil?#having a really fucking bad day i guess man like shit #im gona play videogames about it felt nice to vent tho omg

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lokissweater · 4 months ago

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miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up�� all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

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