#Rating: mature

[yubinism]

i’ve read a lot of your writing before, but taste honestly feels like something else entirely. i don’t know how you manage to outdo yourself every time, but this one had me hooked from the very first line. you can feel the love and care you put into every word—it’s not just a story, it’s an experience.

the chef au is such a perfect setting for the themes you wove in. there’s this beautiful rhythm to it, like the pacing of a kitchen—fast, intense, but also layered with those moments of quiet precision. the way you describe food? it’s like i could taste it myself. but what really got me were the undertones, the emotions simmering beneath every interaction. you don’t just tell a story about food and chefs, you tell one about connection, ambition, and the ways we pour pieces of ourselves into what we create.

i loved how the tension builds, not just between the characters but within their own personal journeys. you captured so much through those little, quiet moments—like the way they work around each other in the kitchen, the way unspoken words are conveyed through a glance, or how a dish can carry a message no one else understands. it’s honestly insane how you can make something as mundane as chopping vegetables feel charged with meaning.

and then there’s the chemistry. oh my god. it’s slow-burn perfection. you made me ache for them, and by the time things started to boil over, i was practically screaming. you’re so good at balancing that push and pull, letting the readers live in the tension before delivering those satisfying payoffs.

i keep coming back to the metaphors too—how food reflects who we are, how we show love, how we heal. it’s so understated but so powerful. it’s like every plate they serve in the story is more than just food; it’s a piece of their soul, their vulnerabilities, their ambitions, and their longing. it hit so deep.

this fic is just… beautiful. you’ve crafted something so rich, so layered, that i feel like i’ll catch something new every time i re-read it. thank you for writing this and for sharing your talent. i can’t wait for the next chapters, im so proud of you my babi 💗

TASTE.

CHAPTER I

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. (15,3k words)

Author's note: It's my first fic series this year so pls enjoy it and don't be shy to share your thoughts on it ♡

Piquant. /ˈpikənt/ , /piˈkɑnt/ adj. 1. having a pleasantly strong or spicy taste 2. interesting and exciting, especially because of being mysterious.

Farfalle was more than a restaurant—it was an institution.

Nestled in the heart of city’s bustling upscale district, the Italian fine dining establishment stood as a beacon of culinary excellence. With its pristine white façade adorned with golden lettering, it was a destination where food enthusiasts and critics alike gathered to experience the extraordinary. Inside, chandeliers sparkled like constellations above the polished marble floors, while the soft hum of conversation merged with the clinking of crystal glasses and the soothing notes of classical Italian music.

For years, Farfalle had been celebrated not just for its impeccable dishes but for its unwavering commitment to authenticity. Each plate told a story—one of passion, precision, and tradition. The handmade pastas, aged Parmigiano, and imported olive oils were matched only by the artistry of the chefs who brought them to life.

Yet, behind the glamour of the dining room, the kitchen was a battlefield. The restaurant’s reputation rested on a relentless pursuit of perfection, and the pressure to uphold its Michelin star weighed heavily on the staff. Every dish was scrutinized, every garnish meticulously placed, and every mistake unforgivable.

But this year marked the start of something new—a transition that sent ripples through the culinary world. Farfalle’s long-time head chef had retired, leaving behind a legacy that seemed impossible to surpass. The news of his replacement had been met with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

Enter Lee Minho.

The name alone was enough to spark both awe and dread. A man renowned for his uncompromising standards and fiery temper, Chef Lee’s reputation preceded him. Some called him a genius; others called him impossible. And now, he was poised to take Farfalle into uncharted territory.

As the restaurant prepared for his arrival, the staff whispered in hushed tones, speculating about what the new head executive chef would bring—or destroy. Would he preserve Farfalle’s legacy? Or would he tear it apart to rebuild it in his own image?

Only time would tell.

-

Minho adjusts the cuffs of his tailored coat, standing across the street from Farfalle. The restaurant glows like a jewel in the night, its golden lettering catching the soft light of the streetlamps. A small line of well-dressed patrons stretches from the door, their faces a mix of excitement and impatience. Even from here, he hears the faint hum of life—clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter.

He doesn’t need to step inside to know the kind of experience Farfalle offers. The meticulous exterior, the perfectly aligned tables glimpsed through the window, the hushed efficiency of the servers—it all speaks to a restaurant accustomed to excellence. Yet, as his sharp eyes scan every detail, his mind already races with ideas.

The plating could be more dynamic. The menu, from what he’s seen online, needs innovation without losing its roots. And the staff? Well, he’ll find out soon enough if they can match his standards. If not, he’ll shape them into what he needs—or replace them altogether.

Minho crosses his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching in thought. He can see why Farfalle is revered, but to him, it’s still just a canvas. A blank slate ready for his brushstrokes. He has no intention of simply maintaining its legacy; he intends to redefine it.

A gust of wind sweeps through the street, carrying the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted garlic. The dinner rush is in full swing, and the kitchen must be at its peak intensity. His fingers itch to walk in, to observe the chaos, to see how the staff functions under pressure. But he knows better than to intrude during service.

“Not the time,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

He lets his gaze drift down the street. The nightlife in the area seems just as vibrant as the restaurant itself. Neon signs flicker above bars and clubs, and the sound of music spills out into the crisp evening air.

With a final glance over his shoulder at Farfalle, Minho makes his decision. “Let them have their dinner rush. I’ll see it when it matters.”

He strides down the street, blending into the flow of people, his thoughts shifting to the possibilities awaiting him in the city’s nightlife.

Minho wanders the streets for nearly an hour before he finds what he’s been looking for—a bar tucked away from the chaos of the city’s nightlife. The dimly lit sign above the door reads Ambra, and the soft jazz drifting from inside piques his interest.

Stepping in, Minho instantly knows he’s made the right choice. The bar is intimate, with low lighting and leather seating that exudes understated elegance. The hum of quiet conversations fills the space, blending seamlessly with the music. Shelves stocked with an impressive selection of liquors line the wall behind the counter, and the bartender moves with practiced precision.

Minho takes a seat at the bar, orders a beer, and leans back to absorb the atmosphere. It’s rare for him to feel this at ease, but tonight, he allows himself to indulge. The first glass goes down quickly, a refreshing antidote to the brisk evening air. By the time he’s nursing his second, he feels a satisfying warmth settle over him.

After a while, he slides off his stool and heads to the restroom. When he returns, however, he stops in his tracks.

Someone’s taken his seat.

You.

You’re perched on the stool, casually sipping a drink, your posture radiating effortless confidence. Minho narrows his eyes as he approaches.

“That’s my seat,” he says, his tone clipped and direct.

You glance at him, unfazed. With the faintest of smirks, you take another sip. “So what if it is?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, the intensity of his gaze sharpening. Most people would flinch under the weight of it, but you remain completely indifferent, your calm demeanor only intriguing him further.

He stares at you for a moment longer, his mind tugging at a strange sense of familiarity. “Have we met before?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not an actress or a model, are you?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, and you let out a soft chuckle. “Why? Do I look like one?”

“Something like that,” he replies, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. “Or maybe I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You lean in, just enough for him to catch the faint scent of your perfume and the warmth of your breath. Your voice drops to a playful murmur. “Maybe you saw me in your dreams.”

For a moment, Minho blinks, caught off guard by the audacity of your response. Then, to his own surprise, he laughs quietly.

“Is that so?” he says, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks.

You lean back, returning to your drink as if nothing happened. But Minho doesn’t take his eyes off you. There’s something about the way you carry yourself that keeps him hooked, an unshakable confidence that challenges him in a way he’s not used to.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft but insistent.

You glance at him, taking your time as you swirl the liquid in your glass. “Why? Do you need it to keep dreaming?”

His smirk deepens, his curiosity growing. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m interested in making it a reality.”

You study him for a moment, your gaze unwavering as you sip your drink. Then, with deliberate slowness, you set your glass down and tilt your head. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “Come with me. Let’s see if your theory holds up.”

The corner of your lips curves into a smile. You take another sip, letting the moment stretch out. Finally, you set your glass down and rise from the stool, brushing past him as you head for the door.

Minho follows, his interest piqued more than ever.

-

The elevator ride is quiet, but the air between you and Minho crackles with unspoken tension. Minho keeps his hands in his pockets, stealing quick glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. You, however, seem entirely at ease, leaning casually against the elevator wall, your lips curved in a faint, knowing smile.

When the doors slide open on his floor, Minho leads the way, his steps purposeful but unhurried. His hotel room is at the end of the hallway, and the sound of his keycard beeping against the lock breaks the silence.

He glances at you, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his sharp features, but it’s gone in an instant. The door clicks open, and he steps back, gesturing for you to enter first.

You flash him a smile—one that’s more challenging than polite—and step inside. The room is spacious but sterile, the kind of impersonal luxury that defines high-end hotels. Warm, ambient lighting softens the edges of the modern furnishings, and the faint hum of the city outside seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Minho trails behind, quietly closing the door as his eyes follow your every movement. You take in the space, walking slowly, your fingers grazing the back of the leather armchair by the window. It’s a room meant for passing through, a temporary refuge, but tonight, it feels charged with possibility.

Turning around, you face him, your gaze locking onto his. The intensity in your eyes mirrors his own, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

The silence stretches, taut and electric, until you break it. Your voice is low and laced with challenge. “So… are you ready to make your dream come true?”

Minho exhales softly, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smirk. He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “That depends,” he says, his voice rich with quiet confidence. “Are you?”

You hold his gaze, letting the tension simmer between you, a charged pause filled with unspoken promises. You move toward the bed, each step deliberate, each motion radiating quiet confidence. You climb onto the bed without hesitation, settling back against the pillows with an air of unshakable ease. His eyes follow the slow arch of your movements as you stretch out, your gaze locking onto his with an almost defiant intrigue.

You tilt your head slightly, one leg bending at the knee as your skirt shifts, revealing a whisper of lace beneath. The soft, seductive curve of your lips carries a challenge as you murmur, “Come. Make your dreams come true.”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Minho’s lips, sharper on one side than the other. His dark eyes glimmer with something dangerous, something intent, as he steps forward with measured precision. His gaze never wavers, a simmering intensity that would make most crumble—but you hold it, your calm composure only fueling his fascination.

He reaches the bed and leans down, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in without touching. His breath is warm against your cheek, the closeness of his presence a magnetic pull. You feel the weight of his gaze as it lingers on your face, searching, daring you to falter.

But you don’t.

Minho leans over you, bracing one hand on the mattress beside your head, the other sliding gently along your jaw. His thumb brushes your skin, a touch that sends sparks down your spine. He’s so close now that his breath mingles with yours, warm and tantalizing.

You don’t break the gaze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles as if to challenge him further. Minho takes the bait, his smirk fading into something darker, something more intent. He closes the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow at first, deliberate, testing.

His mouth moves against yours with a growing fervor, each kiss deeper, more demanding than the last. His hand shifts, trailing down to your waist, pulling you closer as his weight settles beside you. The heat between you builds, your breaths quickening as the world outside the room fades to nothing.

You feel his fingers brush against the fabric of your skirt, his touch firm yet unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. His lips leave yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw, then your neck, each kiss igniting a fire that spreads through you.

Minho lets the silence stretch for just a moment longer before his hand trails down, finding your bent knee. With a touch that’s both deliberate and unhurried, he lifts your leg slightly, tilting it closer to him. His lips graze the soft skin of your thigh, leaving a slow trail of kisses that climb higher with every breath.

The air between you grows heavier, the atmosphere charged and electric. You sense the shift as his focus sharpens, his movements deliberate yet unspoken, the tension between you nearly tangible.

Minho finally dips his head lower, the closeness of his breath on your clothed core igniting a fire along your skin. You close your eyes briefly, caught in the moment, every action a silent promise of what’s to come.

Taking you off guard, Minho tugs the fabric of your underwear between his teeth and drags it down your legs until it's off of you. Nothing is getting in his way now but before that, he shot you a menacing look before planting his mouth on your cunt, taking the first step in making his dream comes true.

-

Minho is wrong to think that he's the one who won't be easily satisfied tonight. You're on all fours, taking it well even though he is going as hard as he can, the skin slapping sounds echoing in the room louder than the lewd noises spilling out of your parted mouth.

“Harder, harder,” you repeatedly say between your moans. You're barely holding on, your hands are gripping the sheet under you, your legs trembling, a sheen of sweat coated your skin yet Minho finds it hot that you're asking for me.

Minho grabs a fistful of your hair and gently tugs at it, using it to tilt your head to the back, allowing him to plant ferocious kisses on your neck. He then presses his mouth to your ear and whispers. “Harder, huh?”

You slightly turn your head to the side to meet his gaze. “Harder,” you simply say back to him.

Hearing you saying that with a commanding yet seductive tone, he feels challenged. He grips each side of your hips, hard enough his nails digging into the flesh and he takes a second of break before launching himself into you, harder than before.

Your moans grow louder so you plant your head onto the pillow to try muffle it, your hands are now holding the side of the pillow like it's your lifeline.

Minho lowers his mouth on your back shoulder, placing kisses with his teeth faintly scraping your skin. “Isn't it what you want, huh? I'm giving it to you.”

He adds speed to his thrusts and the intensity of his movements make the bed quakes along with it. At first, he thought you were just being greedy but fuck, you're taking it so well.

“You're close, huh?” Minho murmurs with his eyes fixated on the way his cock slipping in and out of you.

He lowers himself until his chest meets yours and putting his arms around your waist, he plants his mouth on your shoulder as he takes you with him, kneeling on the bed. His muscular, veiny arms wrapped around you, keeping you steady as he keeps thrusting into you despite you're on the brink of climaxing.

You tilt your head to the back, letting it drops onto Minho’s shoulder, your moans grow low and hoarse as you're closing in on your high.

Minho silently holds back himself from getting carried by the way your fluttering around him but he likes it, oh, the way you sucking him deeper into you. There’s nothing like it, he's enjoying every second of being inside you. His hands wander your sensuous body as you're relishing your orgasm. He catches you smiling with your eyes closed and satisfaction painted on your face, nothing arouse him more than realizing that he made you like that.

“That good, mmh?” his lips graze your ear as he speaks.

When he thought that you couldn't impress him more, you turn around and push him hard until he collapses onto the bed. He props an elbow but your hand pressed to his chest, gesturing him to stay down.

You slyly smile as you hover above him, your eyes filled with mischief as you say. “Now, I'll make your dream comes true.”

It's like you’re not tired or spent at all from the previous session. You're bouncing on his cock with both of your hands firmly resting on his chest as support and when you get tired, you're switching to rolling your hips back and forth at a painstakingly slow motions.

“I can see that you like that more,” you murmur, now rolling your hips in circular motions, earning low grunts from Minho.

He thinks it's not just about the way you're fucking him but it's also the way you're enjoying doing it to him. The sly smile never strays away from your face, provoking him but at the same time, arousing him so much that he knows his high is close, too damn close that it happens without him realizing it.

By the time he knows he’s cumming, he finds himself gripping your thighs as you keep moving, slowly and deliberately, teasing his sensitive cock as it's filling the condom with his seed.

Throwing all of your hair to the side, you lower yourself on him until your lips meet in a rapturous kiss that keeps Minho floating on cloud nine. You continue peppering his face and neck with kisses, you prop an elbow next to his head, just staring at his face with that crooked smile lingering on your pretty face.

“So, how does it feel now that you dream came true?”

Minho closes his eyes and blissfully smiles, he then shakes his head. When he opens his eyes, they instantly found yours. He hastily kisses your lips before speaking, “But it’s not the end of the dream yet.”

-

The soft shuffle of footsteps pulls Minho from sleep, his body reluctant to stir. He groans quietly, his eyes heavy with the weight of lingering exhaustion. Cracking them open, he squints at the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. It’s still dark out—far too early for his liking.

He turns his head, catching sight of you moving around the room, your bare silhouette outlined in the dim light. You’re bent slightly, picking up your clothes from the floor, the soft rustle of fabric filling the quiet space.

Minho watches, saying nothing, his gaze following the fluid movements of your body. There’s a magnetic pull in the way you carry yourself, confident and unhurried. He wants to call out to you, ask you to come back to bed, but the words stay lodged in his throat.

You step into your underwear, sliding the fabric up with practiced ease before reaching for your bra. Minho’s eyes trace the lines of your figure as you fasten it behind your back, your fingers deft and steady. Next comes your skirt, which you pull up with a casual swing of your hips.

Turning around, you catch his gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes when you realize he’s awake.

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. His voice is rough with sleep as he asks, “So when can I see you again?”

Your lips curve into a playful smile, your demeanor coy as you tilt your head slightly.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Minho tries another way.

You remain coy and continue buttoning up your blouse, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look at him.

“Why are you hesitating? You're supposed to refuse on the first time,” he teases.

“I'll be working,” you simply answer.

“What time you get off work?”

You tuck your shirt into your skirt. “I would only be free at night.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, slightly narrowing his eyes as he asks you, “At what time?”

“Around midnight.”

Minho’s eyes narrow slightly, his curiosity piqued, but he doesn’t press further. He can tell you’re not one to be cornered easily, and there’s something about the mystery that only draws him in more.

“There's only one thing a man and a woman could do together at that time,” his voice filled with playful lilt as he's sitting up on the bed and sending the duvet slides down his shoulders, exposing his bare upper half body.

Getting no response from you, Minho scoots closer to the edge of the bed. “I guess you find me attractive. You didn't turn me down once.”

His eyes are commanding as he searches for yours and won't stop until you hold his gaze. “I'll see you around midnight at the same bar then. Not tonight or tomorrow, but the day after. Let's say you turned me down for tonight and tomorrow. Okay?”

You slip on your jacket, adjusting it with a quick, practiced motion before walking toward the door. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you glance back at him, your smile softening just a fraction.

“You’ll see me soon enough,” you say simply, your voice carrying an ease that lingers in the air long after you’re gone.

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving Minho in the quiet stillness of the room. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his tousled hair. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he stares at the spot where you stood, already thinking of the next time he might see you again.

-

The faint hum of kitchen appliances fills the early morning quiet at Farfalle. Minho arrives even earlier than expected, the weight of his position settling into his steps. He walks through the restaurant as if already claiming it. His first stop is the dining hall.

The soft morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the elegant tables adorned with pristine white linens. He takes note of the layout—the alignment of tables, the polish of the silverware, and the sparkle of the glassware. It’s all flawless, but Minho already imagines ways to elevate it further.

His steps lead him to the heart of the restaurant: the kitchen. The air inside is cool, the silence only broken by the occasional clatter of utensils and the low murmurs of the few staff already prepping for the day. Heads turn as he strides in, his presence commanding attention even without an introduction. He doesn’t offer a word of explanation, his sharp gaze enough to unnerve those caught staring too long.

Minho moves through the space, examining the stations, the organization of the pantry, the sheen—or lack thereof—on the stoves. Every detail is cataloged in his mind. A few whispers ripple through the staff.

“Who is he?”

“Is that the new head chef?”

“He looks... intense.”

By the time the morning briefing begins, everyone is assembled in the main kitchen. The restaurant manager, Mr. Oh, clears his throat to silence the chatter.

“Good morning, everyone. As you all know, we’ve been in search of a new head chef to lead this kitchen. Today, I’m pleased to introduce the person who will be taking Farfalle to new heights.” Mr. Oh gestures to Minho, who steps forward with a composed, almost cold demeanor.

“This is Chef Lee Minho.”

Minho scans the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Good morning,” he says, his voice low but carrying an edge that commands respect. “Before we begin, I’d like to get to know the team I’ll be working with. Introduce yourselves—name and position.”

One by one, the staff steps forward.

“Seo Jun, Sous Chef, Meat Station.”

“Ha Yura, Sous Chef, Pasta Line.”

Each introduction is met with a brief nod from Minho, his expression unreadable.

Then it’s your turn. Dressed in your white chef’s attire with your hair tucked neatly under a bandana, you look like any other member of the team. Minho’s gaze briefly skims over you before moving on, but when you step forward and speak, something halts him.

“I'm in the pasta Line.”

Your voice is calm, but there’s a teasing lilt to it. His eyes snap back to you, narrowing slightly as recognition flickers across his face. You meet his gaze, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. The same lips he kissed the night before.

Minho’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. He feels the faintest twinge of disappointment—mixed with intrigue. You’re not just someone who caught his attention for one night. You’re one of his chefs. His interest deepens, but it’s complicated now, tangled in a dynamic he can’t control.

You hold his stare with a confidence that unsettles him. It’s clear you’re enjoying his momentary lapse, the way his usually steady composure falters just slightly.

“Welcome to Farfalle, Chef Lee,” you say smoothly, the faintest hint of amusement in your tone.

Minho recovers quickly, masking his thoughts behind his usual cold demeanor. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice clipped. He moves on to the next introduction, but the tension lingers, thick and unspoken.

The rest of the briefing passes without incident, but as the team disperses to begin their tasks, Minho’s thoughts remain on you. He can’t decide whether this is a cruel twist of fate or a challenge he’s strangely eager to face. Either way, it’s clear to him: working in this kitchen just got a lot more complicated.

-

The kitchen hums with quiet activity, a low symphony of clinking utensils and running water. The scent of freshly chopped herbs lingers in the air as you wipe down your station, the stainless steel gleaming under the fluorescent lights. You’re focused, meticulous, ensuring every corner of your workspace is spotless before the chaos of service begins.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Minho entering the kitchen. Dressed in his crisp chef's coat, he radiates authority, his steps deliberate and measured as he takes in the environment he now commands. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his gaze on you.

You glance up, catching his eyes. His expression shifts, a playful smirk curling the corner of his lips.

“When you said we’d meet again soon,” he begins, his voice low and teasing, “I didn’t think you meant here. In this kitchen of all places.”

You lean casually against the counter, resting a hand on your hip. “And here I thought you’d be glad to see me again.”

His smirk deepens, but his eyes remain unreadable. “Should I be?”

“You tell me,” you counter, tilting your head slightly. “Or did you regret meeting me that night?”

Minho pauses, letting the silence stretch. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing his response carefully. Then, with a faint chuckle, he shakes his head. “How could I regret it?”

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, sensing there’s more he’s about to add.

“But,” he continues, his tone dropping just enough to send a subtle chill through the air, “something tells me you’ll regret meeting me here.”

His smirk turns sharper, more menacing, as he flashes a smile that feels like a warning. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before turning away and walking to the chef’s table at the center of the kitchen.

Minho surveys the area, his sharp eyes missing nothing as he settles into his position of authority. The chef’s table, positioned strategically for both observation and action, will serve as his command post. Every dish will pass through him, every detail scrutinized to ensure it meets his exacting standards before it leaves the kitchen.

One by one, the rest of the kitchen staff begins to trickle in. The chatter picks up as stations are claimed and preparations continue. Knives flash as vegetables are diced with precision, and the air grows warmer as the stoves are fired up.

By the time the restaurant opens, the kitchen is a hive of activity. Minho stands at the helm, his arms crossed as he observes his team. His sharp gaze flicks from one chef to the next, silently assessing their movements and demeanor.

“There’s this nervousness when waiting for the first order. But there’s always happiness when empty plates return so just relax and continue what you have been doing before.”

“Yes, chef!” everyone replies in unison with a hint of excitement in their voices.

The sound of the printing machine cuts through the hum of the kitchen, signaling the arrival of the first order. The staff pauses, their eyes darting to the small slip of paper as it prints out.

“Shall we start?” Minho’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, steady and authoritative. “Table number four. One Grancio, one porcini, two fettuccine and one vongole.”

“Yes, chef!” Everyone answers in response to Minho’s order.

The kitchen springs to life, the rhythm of Farfalle's service beginning in earnest. Minho’s eyes linger on you for just a moment longer before turning his attention to the plates coming his way, ready to set the tone for the day—and for his reign in the kitchen.

-

The faint aroma of freshly baked bread still lingers in the shared apartment as you sit at the small kitchen table, peeling apples for a late-night snack. Yura and Minji, your roommates and fellow chefs at Farfalle, chatter animatedly in the living room. Their excitement fills the quiet space with a buzz of energy.

“I swear, he’s like a fresh bottle of olive oil,” Yura gushes, her eyes practically sparkling. “Sleek, refined, and expensive.”

Minji giggles, her tone dreamy. “Not to mention, he’s so handsome. Those sharp features... and the way he walks? Confident, but not cocky.”

You stay silent, focusing on the rhythmic glide of the knife over the apple’s skin. Their words echo in the background as you continue peeling, occasionally flicking the pieces into a small bowl.

Yura’s gaze suddenly shifts to you, curiosity lighting up her features. “Hey, didn’t you say you and Chef Lee went to the same culinary school in Italy?”

The question makes you pause, if only for a fraction of a second. You quickly resume peeling, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah, we did.”

Yura leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So? What was he like back then? Was he always this good?”

You slice the apple cleanly, avoiding her eager gaze. “He was... impressive,” you answer, keeping your tone even. “He was one of the best students and won a lot of cooking competitions.”

Minji’s eyes widen. “Wow, really? That’s amazing! Did you guys ever talk or hang out?”

You shake your head, carefully cutting the apple into thin slices. “Not really. He was focused on his work, and I was... just trying to keep up. I doubt he’d even remember me.”

Minji frowns slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your response. “But you must have crossed paths, right?”

“Sure,” you reply casually, placing another neatly sliced piece into the bowl. “But Minho wasn’t exactly the type to stop and chat.”

Yura sighs dreamily. “Well, he’s certainly something now. I mean, did you see how sharp he looked in his chef coat? And the way he handled the kitchen today? So commanding!”

Minji nods enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t mind getting scolded if it’s from someone like him.”

You suppress a smile, the corner of your lips tugging upward briefly. Their admiration feels almost innocent, a sharp contrast to the memories quietly tucked away in your mind.

Instead of commenting, you place the knife down and start arranging the apple slices on a plate. Yura and Minji continue gushing over Minho, their excitement filling the room with a warm, almost naive energy.

You glance at them briefly, observing the way their faces light up as they talk about him. You don’t say a word, letting their admiration float freely in the air. The stories you could share stay locked away, hidden behind the veil of your quiet demeanor.

It’s not your place to ruin their perception, not yet. So you offer the plate of neatly sliced apples to them with a small smile, pretending you know nothing about the man they’re so smitten with.

-

The sound of laughter echoes faintly through the apartment as you shuffle out of your bedroom, still bleary-eyed from sleep. In the living room, Minji is curled up on the couch, glued to the television. She’s watching her favorite cooking show—the one with Chef Sara, her idol—her expression full of admiration.

“Minji,” you call, your voice heavy with morning grogginess, “How about breakfast?”

She glances over her shoulder, her innocent smile catching you off guard. “But it’s the episode where Chef Sara visits Florence. You know how much I love this one!”

You sigh, dragging a hand through your hair. It’s not like you expected Minji to be in the kitchen; she rarely helps with breakfast. As the youngest in the apartment, she’s grown comfortable letting you take on the responsibility.

The clinking of utensils draws your attention to the kitchen. Yura’s sitting at the dining table with her hair wrapped in a towel, sipping coffee while scrolling through her phone. She doesn’t even look up as she says, “Good morning. Breakfast ready yet?”

You suppress a groan and trudge into the kitchen, tying your apron over your pajamas. It’s always like this—Minji caught up in a show, Yura leisurely sipping coffee, and you stuck cooking for the three of you. You start peeling eggs and slicing fruit, your mind wandering as you go through the motions.

By the time you finished getting ready for work, you rush out of your apartment, nearly tripping over your untied sneaker in your haste. The morning routine has become a battlefield of time with Yura and Minji monopolizing the bathroom and leaving you scrambling to get ready after them. The faint echo of the apartment door slamming shut behind you accompanies your hurried footsteps down the hallway.

Reaching the elevators, you frantically jab the button and bounce on your toes, silently pleading for it to arrive before you’re late for work. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal Minho standing inside, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his sleek black coat.

You freeze for a second, caught off guard by his presence. Regaining your composure, you step in and flash him a faint smile. “Good morning,” you murmur, keeping your tone neutral.

Minho acknowledges you with a brief glance, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he’s amused by something. The doors close, and the elevator begins its descent, the silence stretching between you like a taut string.

You focus on the glowing numbers above the door, counting down to the lobby. Your heartbeat quickens, though you’re not sure if it’s from the rush or his proximity.

As the elevator hums softly, Minho’s voice breaks the quiet. “Don’t forget. Midnight.”

You turn your head slightly, your brows furrowing in confusion for a split second before his words click. The bar. The unspoken rendezvous.

You glance at him, catching the faint smirk tugging at his lips. His tone is casual, but the way his dark eyes linger on you hints at something more.

The elevator dings open, and the cool morning air from the lobby filters in. You step out, pausing just long enough to glance back over your shoulder. “I’ll see you there,” you reply, your voice steady despite the subtle thrum of excitement coursing through you.

Without waiting for a response, you stride toward the exit, leaving Minho behind as the promise of midnight lingers in the air like the taste of something forbidden.

-

Minho strides into the kitchen, his polished chef coat pristine, and his expression unreadable. He takes his usual place at the chef's table, positioning himself so he can observe every station in the kitchen. His eyes sweep over the staff like a hawk surveying its territory, lingering just long enough to unsettle.

Leaning casually against the table, he crosses his arms. “Is everyone excited for the first order?”

Next to you, Minji perks up, her voice carrying a coquettish lilt. “Yes, Chef.”

The kitchen momentarily halts as all eyes turn toward her, some raising eyebrows, others hiding their amusement. You keep your gaze down, focusing on your pasta dough, but you can feel Minho’s sharp stare shift toward her.

A faint smirk touches his lips. “Let’s see if you can live up to that enthusiasm.”

The printer by the wall whirs, and the first ticket slides out with a soft beep. Minho snatches it and glances at the list, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Table number two. Three Caesar salads, two fillets, one pasta primavera.”

“Yes, chef!” Everyone responds in unison.

The kitchen bursts into life, the clatter of pans and the hiss of flames filling the air. You focus on your station, expertly tossing fresh pasta in a creamy sauce, the rhythm of the kitchen taking over.

Not long after, Seungwan approaches the pass with a plate of Caesar salad. The portion towers on the plate, the croutons precariously stacked like a culinary Jenga. Minho’s brow furrows as he steps forward, his gaze fixed on the dish.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

“It’s the Caesar salad, Chef,” Seungwan replies, a nervous edge creeping into his tone.

Minho picks up the plate, holding it at arm’s length as if inspecting it for flaws. Then, in one swift motion, he sends the plate crashing to the floor. The shattering sound reverberates through the kitchen, freezing everyone in place.

“Does this look like a Caesar salad meant for a fine dining restaurant?” Minho’s voice rises, sharp and unforgiving. “This isn’t a family buffet! Start over, and this time, don’t make it look like a joke.”

Seungwan stammers, his face flushed with embarrassment as he scrambles to clean up the mess and start again. The rest of the kitchen watches in stunned silence, hands momentarily still, as if afraid to move.

Another ticket prints, and Minho retrieves it with unnerving composure. “Table number eight. Two more fillets, one minestrone, one ravioli.”

He glances around, his voice cutting through the tension. “Why is no one responding?”

The silence stretches painfully until the staff collectively murmurs a hesitant, “Yes, Chef.”

You tighten your grip on the handle of your pan, throwing yourself into your work to avoid his scrutiny. Next to you, Minji fumbles with her sauce, her earlier confidence replaced by nervous energy.

Minho’s gaze sweeps over the kitchen again, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Good. Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

The atmosphere is heavier now, every move calculated, every dish triple-checked before reaching the pass. The truth is clear to everyone—this is Minho’s kitchen now, and no one is safe from his exacting standards.

-

The atmosphere in the kitchen is strained, the tension palpable as every chef rushes to perfect their dishes under Minho’s watchful eyes. Minji approaches the chef’s table, her plate of risotto carefully balanced in her hands. She sets it down with a nervous smile, stepping back to let Minho inspect it.

Minho glances at the dish, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, it seems like he might pass it, but then his hand moves with unexpected force, shoving the plate back toward Minji.

“This isn’t a risotto,” he says coldly, his voice cutting through the hum of the kitchen. “Do it again!.”

Minji’s face flushes with embarrassment, but she nods quickly, snatching the plate and retreating to her station.

Minho straightens, his sharp gaze sweeping over the kitchen. He steps away from the table, moving with purpose toward Hyunwoo’s station, where the younger chef is carefully garnishing a bowl of soup.

“Stop,” Minho orders, his tone laced with authority. He picks up a shrimp from the garnish and holds it up for everyone to see. “Is this a joke? You didn’t even bother to devein it.”

Hyunwoo stammers, “I-I didn’t think it was necessary for this dish—”

“Do I need to devein your brain too?” Minho interrupts, his words laced with sarcasm. Hyunwoo’s face turns red as he mumbles an apology and quickly begins redoing the garnish.

Minho moves on, stopping next to Seojun’s station. The sous chef’s cooking is impeccable, but Minho’s attention is drawn to the trash can beside him. He picks it up, examining the contents with a grimace.

“This,” Minho says, lifting the can higher, “is worth months of your salary.”

Before anyone can react, Minho dumps the contents of the trash can in front of Seojun, creating a mess of perfectly good ingredients discarded unnecessarily. The room goes silent, all eyes on Seojun, whose jaw tightens in suppressed anger.

“Next time,” Minho continues, his tone icy, “if you feel the urge to waste food, do it at home. Not in my kitchen.”

“Yes, chef,” Seojun weakly respond, his hands gripping the edge of his station, but the fury in his eyes is unmistakable. Minho smirks, satisfied, and strides back to his chef table.

The uneasy calm is broken when a dish is returned from the dining hall. The staff member hesitates before approaching Minho, holding the plate carefully.

“The customer said the lobster is too tough,” they report nervously.

Minho’s eyes narrow as he glances at the dish, then shifts his gaze to Yura. “Redo it. Now.”

Yura, already simmering with frustration, nods sharply and returns to her station. Minutes later, the same dish comes back to the kitchen, the dining hall staff once again bearing the plate.

“The customer still says the lobster isn’t right.”

Yura’s temper snaps. Without a word, she storms out of the kitchen, ignoring the stunned silence of her colleagues. She marches into the dining hall, her face flushed with anger, and approaches the table where the complaint originated.

“Excuse me,” she says loudly, placing her hands on her hips. “What exactly is the problem with this dish? Do you even know what properly cooked lobster is supposed to taste like?”

The customer, a middle-aged man with a calm demeanor, raises an eyebrow. He sets down his fork and looks up at her, his expression unreadable.

“Actually, I do,” he replies evenly, pulling out a business card and placing it on the table. “I’m a food critic for Culinary Gazette. This restaurant is being reviewed for next month’s issue.”

Yura’s eyes widen, the weight of her mistake crashing down on her. The rest of the kitchen staff watches through the small window, horrified. Minho, standing at his table with his jaws tensed.

Yura walks back into the kitchen, her face pale and her usual fiery confidence replaced by dread. The moment she steps through the door, she’s met with Minho’s piercing gaze. He’s standing near his chef table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but undeniably intimidating.

The silence in the kitchen is suffocating as everyone watches the exchange, their work forgotten. Minho doesn’t waste time. He strides toward her, stopping just a foot away, and lifts a finger to point at her.

“You’re fired,” he states coldly, his voice carrying an air of finality.

Yura’s shock quickly turns to indignation. Her face flushes, and her temper reignites as she begins protesting. “Fired? For what? For defending my work? That critic doesn’t know anything—”

Minho interrupts her with a dismissive shrug, stepping around her and returning to his chef table. He casually picks up a spoon to inspect a sauce from a nearby plate, tasting it as if the argument isn’t worth his attention.

“Defending your work?” he says, not even looking at her. “You stormed out of the kitchen and embarrassed this restaurant in front of a food critic. If you think that’s defending your work, then you’re not cut out for this industry.”

Yura clenches her fists, her voice rising. “This is ridiculous! I’ve been working here longer than you. You can’t just walk in and—”

“Enough.” Minho’s voice slices through her tirade like a knife. He looks at her then, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “This is my kitchen now. And in my kitchen, there’s no room for your temper or your excuses.”

The finality in his tone leaves no room for further argument. Yura stands there, breathing heavily, her defiance wavering as she realizes there’s no changing his mind. The rest of the staff exchange nervous glances but remain silent, unwilling to draw Minho’s ire.

Satisfied, Minho turns back to the dish in front of him, as if the conversation never happened. “Someone clean this station,” he says over his shoulder. “We have orders to get out.”

Yura stands frozen for a moment before storming out, slamming the door behind her. The tension in the kitchen lingers, but everyone quickly gets back to work, unwilling to be the next target of Minho’s wrath.

Minho tastes another dish and smirks faintly, his voice low but audible enough for those nearby. “Let this be a lesson—anyone who steps out of line will face the same fate.”

The room is silent except for the sound of knives against cutting boards and the faint hum of the kitchen appliances. Minho’s authority is unquestionable now, his control over the kitchen absolute.

-

Minho steps out of the kitchen freezer with Taesoo following close behind, their breaths visible in the cold air as they finish inspecting the frozen stock. He closes the freezer door and turns to speak, but his attention snaps to an unexpected scene at the far corner of the kitchen.

Minji and Seungwan are leaning against a counter, locked in an intimate embrace, completely oblivious to the two men’s presence. Their quiet murmurs and soft laughter fill the otherwise silent kitchen, unaware they have an audience.

Taesoo clears his throat deliberately, and the sound jolts them apart. Minji and Seungwan freeze, their faces paling as they register Minho's cold stare.

“I-I’m sorry, Chef,” Minji stammers, stepping back from Seungwan. “We—uh—it won’t happen again.”

Seungwan nods quickly, his face a mix of guilt and fear. “It was a mistake, Chef. We weren’t thinking.”

Minho says nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between them before he turns on his heel and walks away.

“Gather everyone in the dining hall after service,” he says to Taesoo, his voice low but commanding. “We have some things to address.”

The dining hall is eerily quiet, the usual warm glow of its chandeliers casting an ominous light over the small group of kitchen staff seated at one of the larger tables. Minho stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Let’s start with the lobsters,” he says, his gaze settling on Yura. “The issue lies in how they were stored in Styrofoam boxes, making it impossible for the freezer to maintain the correct temperature.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “That’s your responsibility, Yura. You failed to ensure the proper handling of the seafood for your station.”

Yura opens her mouth to argue, but Minho raises a hand, silencing her.

“You embarrassed this restaurant in front of a critic, and now I find this. You’re fired.”

Yura’s temper flares immediately. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Minho cuts her off, his tone cold and final. “This is my kitchen, and you’re no longer part of it. Pack your things.”

The room feels heavy with tension as Yura storms out, slamming the door behind her.

Minho’s attention shifts to Minji and Seungwan. “Now, about you two.” His voice is calm, but his words are razor-sharp. “The kitchen is a sacred space. It’s where we create, where we work, where we respect the craft. It is not where we indulge in personal relationships.”

Seungwan swallows hard. “It was a mistake—”

Minho cuts him off again. “There are no excuses. Romance has no place in my kitchen. For that, you’re both fired.”

Minji’s eyes widen, and she steps forward quickly. “Wait! Chef, it’s my fault. I—” Her voice falters slightly, but she pushes through. “If someone has to leave, it should be me. Seungwan is a great chef. Don’t take this opportunity away from him because of me.”

Minho studies her for a long moment, his cold gaze flickering with something unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Fine. Seungwan stays. But you... you’re fired.”

Minji’s shoulders sag, but she nods in resignation. “Yes, Chef,” she says quietly before walking out of the dining hall without looking back.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minho allows himself a faint smirk. Everything is falling into place. No women in his kitchen, just as he intends.

But then his eyes land on you, standing quietly at the end of the room, your expression neutral. Minho’s smirk falters for just a moment before he turns away, heading for the door.

“This kitchen isn’t for the weak,” he says over his shoulder. “I hope the rest of you can keep up.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you feel the weight of his unspoken challenge settle over you. Minho’s plan might be working for now, but he hasn’t dealt with you yet—and that, you realize, makes you his next obstacle.

-

Minho pushes open the door to the locker room, his steps echoing faintly against the tiled floor. He walks toward his locker, his focus seemingly on the lock in his hands. The metallic clang of the lock twisting open echoes, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the soft rustling of clothes behind him.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Minho freezes. Two lockers away, you’re standing half-dressed, your black lace bra visible as you methodically pull on your shirt. His breath hitches for just a moment, though his expression remains neutral.

He doesn’t say a word, instead quietly observing your movements. The way you move—unhurried, deliberate—strikes him as oddly familiar. But he can’t place where he’s seen it before.

You button your shirt, unaware of his watchful eyes. Finally, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, sparing a brief glance in his direction. Your expression is unreadable as you walk out of the locker room, leaving Minho behind in the lingering silence.

Moments later, Taesoo enters, a casual grin on his face. “Hey, Chef,” he calls out, leaning against a row of lockers. “So… you really don’t remember her, huh?”

Minho frowns, closing his locker with a sharp click. “What are you talking about?”

Taesoo chuckles softly. “You and her went to the same culinary school in Italy. Everyone thought you two were close.”

The words hit Minho like a puzzle piece snapping into place. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Memories flash through his mind—bits and pieces of a classmate who rarely took things seriously, who was more interested in fleeting romances than perfecting recipes.

“Oh? She’s the one who was always slacking off,” Minho mutters, almost to himself.

Taesoo gets confused. “Huh? She still graduated, didn’t she?”

Minho stands still for a moment, letting the realization settle in. That’s why you seemed so familiar. That’s why he couldn’t quite figure you out until now.

With this newfound knowledge, Minho’s lips curl into a faint smirk. He shuts his locker with finality, grabs his coat, and walks out of the locker room without another word.

The night air is cool as Minho steps out of the restaurant. The city buzzes around him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His destination is clear.

The bar isn’t far, just a short walk away. As he approaches, the faint hum of music and chatter grows louder. Minho pauses at the entrance, running a hand through his hair.

He pushes open the door, stepping into the warm, dimly lit space. His eyes scan the room, searching for you. Tonight, he plans to uncover more than just a drink.

-

It's midnight and you're here at the bar where you met Minho. You sit at the same spot, quietly sipping your drink as the faint hum of music and chatter fills the space. The warmth of the liquor burns your throat, grounding you amidst your swirling thoughts. The door creaks open, and you feel a presence slide onto the stool next to you.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Funny,” Minho says, his voice low and teasing. “That’s quite a face for a girl who came to meet a guy.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. His smirk is as sharp as ever, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I wonder if you're still dating around like you did back in culinary school?” he asks casually, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious.

The comment stings, and you clench your glass tighter. So, he recognizes you now.

“Finally remembered me, huh?” you retort. Then, leaning slightly closer, you counter, “What about you? Still traumatized by your past experience, I see? Is that why you fired all the female chefs?”

For a moment, Minho’s smirk falters, but he recovers quickly. “Is this how you treat a guy on a date?” he asks, brushing off your words like dust on his coat.

You scoff but don’t respond. Instead, you press forward, determined to get answers. “You planned it, didn’t you? Firing all the women in the kitchen because you don't want women in your kitchen.”

Minho doesn’t answer right away. His silence feels heavier than the music playing in the background. Then, suddenly, he leans in. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Let’s do it,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “You and me. Go out. Date.”

The words catch you off guard, and you blink at him, trying to read his expression. He’s serious, but his seriousness feels like a challenge rather than a confession.

You hesitate, weighing the implications. To say yes would mean leaving the job—leaving the kitchen you worked so hard to be in. As if reading your thoughts, Minho adds, “You can’t work in my kitchen. There’s no place for women there, and you know it.”

The bartender interrupts the moment, sliding closer to ask, “Another round?”

Minho seizes the opportunity, turning to you. “Well?” he asks, his voice smoother now, almost seductive. “What’s it going to be? Another drink with me or...?”

He leans in closer, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Stay. Have another drink. Let’s see where this goes.”

You feel the heat rise in your chest, but you don’t look away. Instead, you drain the rest of your drink, the glass making a soft clink as you set it down on the counter.

Still holding his gaze, you rise from your stool. You say nothing as you turn and walk out of the bar, your decision clear in your mind. If Minho wants to get rid of you, he’ll have to try harder.

Minho watches as you disappear into the night, the sway of your silhouette fading into the city’s glow. You didn’t look back, not even once, and yet he knows—he knows—you’ve accepted the challenge he silently laid at your feet. A smirk tugs at his lips, though his chest tightens with an unfamiliar ache he refuses to name. This isn’t just about control or proving a point anymore. There’s something about you that unnerves him, something that stirs a dangerous mix of irritation and intrigue. You’re a complication he didn’t plan for, and complications, Minho thinks, always have a way of unraveling the best-laid plans.

-

The kitchen is chaos. Orders spill from the printer at an unrelenting pace, each ticket a stark reminder of the restaurant’s packed lunch service. Farfalle is fully booked, and the staff can barely keep up. The tension is palpable, the air thick with the mingling aromas of simmering sauces and stress-induced perspiration.

At the pasta line, you’re barely holding it together. Seungwan has stepped in to help, his movements quick but clumsy as he fumbles with the pasta portions. It’s clear he’s unfamiliar with the intricacies of the station, but there’s no time to complain. With fewer hands in the pasta line, the pressure feels insurmountable.

“Move faster!” Minho’s voice cuts through the cacophony, sharp and biting. He stands at his chef table, watching every station like a hawk, barking orders that keep the team on edge. “Don’t just stand around like electrical poles.”

Your hands ache from tossing pasta, the boiling steam stinging your face as you strain spaghetti and toss it into the pan. Beside you, Seungwan drops a ladle, cursing under his breath as sauce splatters onto the counter.

“Pick it up!” you snap, your patience thinning as the next order comes in. You’re already juggling three pans, but the thought of falling behind propels you forward.

Minho’s footsteps echo as he approaches. “What’s taking so long on that linguine?”

“It’s coming!” You shout over your shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze.

You can feel his eyes boring into you, assessing every move you make. The weight of his scrutiny is suffocating, but you push through it, your focus unwavering. You can’t afford to falter—not now, not ever. Not when proving yourself means everything.

“Faster, faster!” Minho demands, his tone clipped. “The customers are screaming in hunger.”

The words sting, but you bite them back, tossing the finished linguine onto the plate and sliding it onto the pass. “It’s done,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest.

You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. No matter how overwhelming the orders, no matter how loudly he shouts, you refuse to let him believe—even for a second—that you can’t handle this.

The weight of the frying pan, clams, broth, garlic and pasta is 1,5 kilograms. Since you're holding two pans, that's 3 kilograms combined. That's almost the weight of a newborn baby so right now you're practically rocking a baby in your hands and Minho is trying to say is that in the kitchen, men are better with babies? Not a chance.

This isn’t just about the pasta or the orders. It’s about proving him wrong, about showing him that women can not only survive in his kitchen but thrive.

By the time the rush subsides, your arms feel like lead, your body drenched in sweat. But when Minho glances your way, his face unreadable, you meet his gaze head-on. You don’t say a word, but your silence speaks volumes: I’m still standing.

-

The kitchen is eerily quiet after the lunch rush, save for the faint clinking of utensils and the hum of the exhaust fans. Most of the staff are resting their arms on counters or sipping water, their faces etched with exhaustion. You stand by the pasta station, massaging your sore wrists discreetly, hoping no one notices.

But Minho notices.

From his position at the chef table, his sharp eyes catch the subtle movements of your fingers rubbing against the tender skin of your wrists. His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—a brief, almost imperceptible calculation.

Without a word, Minho leaves the kitchen, disappearing into his office. A faint murmur of conversation filters out from the slightly ajar door, his voice low and measured as he makes a phone call.

Dinner service looms, and the staff are back at their stations, bracing themselves for another storm. The tension is palpable, a collective anxiety that builds with each passing second. You’re adjusting your mise en place when the kitchen doors swing open.

Minho strides in, a commanding presence as always, but it’s the figure trailing behind him that draws everyone’s attention.

The new guy is tall and lean, with long, bleached hair pulled into a loose bun. Freckles dust his cheeks and nose, softening his sharp features. He’s beautiful, almost too pretty to be real, and for a moment, everyone wonders if Minho’s broken his own rule about women in the kitchen. But no—there’s no way.

Minho stops in the center of the kitchen, his eyes sweeping over the staff.

“Let me be clear,” he begins, his voice cold and biting. “Today’s lunch service was a disaster. I overestimated all of you—thought you could at least prepare one meal correctly without fumbling like amateurs. Clearly, I was wrong.”

The staff exchanges uneasy glances, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Minho turns his gaze to Seungwan. “Get back to your station,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Seungwan nods stiffly, retreating to his corner of the kitchen.

Then, Minho gestures to the newcomer. “This is Felix. He’ll be taking over the pasta line.”

Felix steps forward, his expression calm but focused as he positions himself beside you. He gives you a brief smile—warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the cold indifference that permeates the kitchen.

Before everyone can process the change, the first order for dinner service comes through.

Minho wastes no time. “Table number six. Two risottos, one linguine with clams, one carbonara!”

The kitchen springs to life, knives chopping, pans sizzling, and voices calling out orders. Felix moves with practiced ease, his hands deft and precise as he takes over part of your workload.

For the first time all day, you feel a flicker of relief. But as you glance at Minho, watching him observe the chaos he’s orchestrated, you know this is far from over.

-

The bar is dimly lit, the warm glow of amber lights reflecting off the rows of bottles behind the counter. Minho sits at a corner table, nursing a glass of whiskey. Across from him, Felix sips a cocktail, his relaxed demeanor a sharp contrast to Minho’s brooding intensity.

Felix sets his glass down, his freckled face tinged with amusement. “I’m still surprised you called me. What’s it been? Two years?”

Minho tilts his glass, the liquid swirling lazily. “I didn’t have a choice,” he says bluntly. “The kitchen is chaos. Everyone’s far below my expectations.”

Felix leans back in his chair, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Sudden desperation, huh? Not very Minho of you.”

Minho gives a short laugh. “I should’ve called earlier, but you know how it is. Didn’t think I’d need help.”

Felix raises a brow. “Well, I’m here now. But I gotta say, I was surprised to see her there.”

Minho’s grip on his glass tightens ever so slightly, but his expression remains neutral. “Who?”

Felix smirks knowingly. “You know who. The girl at the pasta line. What’s her name again?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho replies dismissively, waving a hand.

Felix chuckles, leaning forward. “So, you’re letting women in your kitchen now? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Minho lets out a low, sinister chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Felix’s teasing fades, replaced by curiosity. “You haven’t moved on from it, huh?” he asks, his tone quieter, more serious now.

Minho doesn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stares at his glass.

Felix continues, “You know, Italian kitchens demand commitment and adaptability. Times are changing. There are tough female cooks these days, and some are damn good at what they do.”

Minho smirks, finally meeting Felix’s gaze. “You don’t need to worry about it,” he says, his voice smooth and composed. “My kitchen isn’t just any kitchen. It’s not meant to be easy-going.”

Felix studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before taking another sip of his drink. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a hint of something—disapproval or resignation, perhaps—in his tone.

Minho downs the rest of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. “Thanks for stepping in, Felix. Just do your job, and don’t get too comfortable.”

Felix laughs lightly, raising his glass in a mock toast. “With you around? Never.”

The conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the weight of Felix’s words lingers in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

-

The soft hum of the coffee machine fills the small apartment as you shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy from the night before. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint aroma of cinnamon, a small comfort in an otherwise tense atmosphere.

Yura and Minji are already seated at the kitchen table, their postures slouched as they stare at their laptops. Each of them clutches a steaming mug of coffee, their expressions tired and resigned. Yura is the first to glance up at you, offering a half-hearted smile.

“Morning,” she mutters, her voice hoarse.

“Morning,” you reply, moving toward the fridge. The silence is heavy, save for the occasional click of keys as Minji scrolls through job listings.

You decide to make breakfast, a small gesture to lighten the mood. Pulling out eggs, bread, and vegetables, you get to work, the sound of chopping and sizzling breaking the quiet. You carefully avoid mentioning Farfalle or Minho, knowing it’s a sore subject for both of them.

Yura breaks the silence first, her tone hesitant. “We’ve been talking,” she starts, her eyes fixed on her screen. “Minji and I… we’re going to have to move out soon.”

Your hand stills on the spatula for a moment before you force yourself to keep flipping the eggs. “Oh?”

“We just… we can’t afford rent anymore,” Yura continues, her voice tight. “Especially without jobs lined up. And, uh, we’ll need to take the deposit money too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You knew this was coming, but hearing it aloud makes the reality sink in. Living alone will be expensive—rent, bills, groceries—it’s a lot to shoulder on your own. You might have to find a roommate sooner rather than later.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I get it,” you say, your voice calm. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. I hope you both find something soon.”

Yura gives a small nod, though her eyes are still glued to her screen. Minji doesn’t say much, just takes a long sip of her coffee.

You finish plating breakfast and place the dishes in front of them. “Here,” you say, managing a smile. “Eat up. And good luck with the job hunt.”

“Thanks,” Minji murmurs, finally looking up.

As they start eating, you sit down with your own plate, your mind already racing. The weight of their impending departure looms over you, but you push it aside for now. You’ll figure it out—just like you always do.

-

The dining hall buzzes with low murmurs as the kitchen and service staff assemble for the morning briefing. You stand in your line, feeling Taesoo’s presence lingering just behind you, a quiet support in the tense environment.

Felix strides in moments later, his presence like a burst of sunshine cutting through the cloudy atmosphere. His bleached hair glows under the morning light, and his freckled face radiates a kind, unbothered smile. “Hey,” he greets, his voice soft yet carrying a note of warmth. “It’s nice to see another familiar face here.”

You offer him a polite smile. Of course, Minho would call Felix. The two were practically inseparable back in culinary school, despite Felix being a year below Minho. Felix had always trailed after him, eager and wide-eyed. It doesn’t surprise you in the least to see him here, undoubtedly Minho’s protégé by now.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply with a small smile. “Looking forward to working with you in the kitchen.”

Felix grins, his gaze sweeping the gathered team. He greets the others with the same warmth, extending his hand as a gesture of goodwill. The service staff respond with polite nods, but the kitchen team barely acknowledges him, their faces etched with stony indifference.

Felix leans closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Why are they acting like that?”

You glance at the kitchen crew, their tension palpable. “Probably because they think the Italian grads are taking over the pasta line,” you murmur back.

Before Felix can respond, the manager enters, followed closely by Minho, who radiates authority with his sharp, no-nonsense expression. The low hum of conversation dies down as the manager clears his throat and begins the briefing. He details the full lunch and dinner bookings, emphasizing the need for efficiency and teamwork.

When the manager finishes, Minho steps forward, his presence commanding the room. “There’ll be further restructuring in my kitchen,” he announces, his voice calm yet laced with an edge.

The manager blinks in confusion. “Restructuring? You fired people yesterday, and we barely managed the orders. We need more hands, not—”

Minho cuts him off with a raised hand. His gaze sweeps the room before landing squarely on you. His finger points in your direction, sharp and accusatory. “You,” he says, his tone cold. “From today, you’ll share the locker room with the service staff.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You stiffen, refusing to back down. “No, chef,” you flatly refuse.

Minho’s brow arches, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “Why not?”

“Because I’m part of the kitchen staff,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

The room holds its breath as the two of you lock eyes in a silent battle of wills. Minho’s jaw tightens, his gaze never wavering, but you refuse to look away. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he looks elsewhere, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do whatever you want.”

Minho pivots, addressing the team again. “Moving on. First, Farfalle will no longer serve foie gras.”

“But that provides us a lot of sales,” someone from the service team blurts out.

Minho’s eyes snap toward the entrée line where the most resistance is coming. “Foie gras is made by shoving a funnel down a goose's throat and force feeding it until its liver becomes the size of a fist. I don’t support animal cruelty, and this restaurant won’t either.”

A ripple of shock and murmurs sweeps through the room. Sous Chef Seojun steps forward, his face twisted in disbelief. “But foie gras is our VIP customers' favorite.”

“I’m not here to pad your wallets with unethical practices,” Minho snaps, daringly gazes into Seojun’s eyes.

Before Seojun can argue further, Minho barrels ahead. “Second, spoons will no longer be served with pasta dishes.”

Hyunwoo mutters under his breath, loud enough for the room to hear, “This is ridiculous.”

Minho’s gaze snaps to him, sharp as a blade. “From now on, we're going to use half as much sauce on our pasta. Pasta should soak up the sauce so that you don't need a spoon to eat it. In other words, pasta shouldn't be so watery. You should be able to to chew it and enjoy the nutty texture, instead of slurping it down. It should be served on a flat plate without a spoon and watery sauce. So that means, there'll be no more bowl type dishes as well.”

The air is thick with tension, animosity brewing among the staff. Minho, however, stands unshaken, his stance firm, his eyes daring anyone to challenge him further. Felix shifts beside you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and unease.

You can feel the kitchen’s collective resentment bubbling beneath the surface. And though you don’t agree with Minho’s methods, a part of you can’t help but admire the sheer audacity with which he holds his ground.

This is Minho’s kitchen, and everyone is learning that the hard way.

-

The lunch rush descends upon the kitchen like a storm. Orders pile in, each ticket a new test of patience and precision. But today, the storm is harsher. The absence of foie gras and spoons from the menu seems to have lit a fuse among the patrons. Complaints echo from the front of the house to the kitchen, carried in by the servers who are met with Minho’s unflinching glare.

“Table six wants to know why there’s no foie gras,” a server stammers, holding the ticket like it’s a shield.

“Because we’re not barbaric,” Minho snaps without looking up from the plated pasta he’s inspecting. “Next question.”

Another server rushes in. “Table three says there’s not enough sauce on their pasta.”

“It’s a sugo, not a soup,” Minho barks, flicking his hand dismissively. “If they wanted a bowl of tomato water, they came to the wrong place.”

The kitchen vibrates with tension. Even the sous chef, who usually keep his grumbling to a minimum, can’t mask their irritation. Seojun’s jaw tightens as he works the grill, his movements sharp and mechanical. Across your station, Hyunwoo mutters curses under his breath, his hands trembling as he reduces yet another sauce to Minho’s exact specifications.

You stand at your station, hands moving on autopilot as you toss a pan of pasta, the repetitive motion grounding you. The complaints weigh on you too, but you keep your head down. You’ve made it this far; you’re not about to let Minho—or anyone else—see you falter.

“Focus!” Minho’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip, directed at no one and everyone. “If I hear one more plate leaves this kitchen without my approval, someone’s going home early. And not in a good way.”

“Yes, chef!” Despite the chaos, the kitchen soldiers on. Plates go out, tables are cleared, and somehow, the lunch service marches toward its conclusion. By the time the last order is fired and plated, an exhausted hush falls over the team.

The other cooks exchange glances, their disdain for Minho unspoken but palpable. Felix, ever the optimist, claps Taesoo on the shoulder and offers a reassuring smile.

Minho surveys the room, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. “Good work,” he says, his tone begrudging, like the words physically pain him. “But don’t think for a second this means you’re keeping up. Dinner service starts in five hours. Clean up and get back to prep.”

As the team disperses, you take a deep breath, the ache in your wrists flaring as you stretch. Another day in hell, you think. And yet, you can’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Against all odds, you finished the service.

But you know this is just the beginning. With Minho at the helm, there’s no such thing as smooth sailing. Only storms.

-

The dining hall is crowded as all of the staff are taking their break and having lunches, indulging in the rare peace before dinner service. But you have other plans. Quietly slipping away, you make your way to the cashier’s terminal, your heart thumping with anticipation.

The order history is your goal—a record of the Italian consulate’s dining habits. Scrolling through the list of past reservations, you start to see the pattern. Each visit showcases a different dish, meticulously selected as though the consulate is sampling the entire menu, piece by piece. One glaring omission stands out: Vongole.

The realization lights a spark of determination. Heading to the freezer, you prep the clams with care, imagining the dish that might just win over one of the most discerning palates to grace Farfalle’s dining room. But as you emerge with your bounty, Minho appears, as if conjured by your audacity.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks, his voice laced with curiosity and skepticism.

You straighten your back. “The Italian consulate will order Vongole tonight,” you reply confidently.

Minho’s expression shifts into a cynical smile. “And what makes you so sure?”

“I checked his previous orders,” you explain, meeting his gaze without flinching. “He’s ordered everything on the menu except Vongole. It’s the only dish left.”

For a moment, Minho simply stares at you, as though debating whether to dismiss you outright or acknowledge your boldness. Then, a sly smirk tugs at his lips. “We’ll see,” he says, brushing past you.

Dinner service is in full swing, the clamor of the kitchen almost deafening. Minho’s sharp commands ring out above the noise, each order executed with mechanical precision.

Then comes the moment everyone has been waiting for—the consulate’s arrival. The manager sweeps into the kitchen, a nervous energy radiating from him as he announces their presence.

Minho’s expression remains unreadable. “Focus,” he orders, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The anticipation is palpable as the consulate’s table lingers over their menu, debating their options. When the order finally comes through, all eyes turn to Minho as he reads the slip of paper. His gaze flicks to you, holding it for just a second longer than usual before he barks out the order.

“Vongole!”

Felix raises his hand immediately. “I’ll make it,” he volunteers, his enthusiasm earnest.

But Minho ignores him, his attention fixed on you. “You,” he says firmly, pointing in your direction. “Make the dish.”

Your heart pounds, but you give no outward sign of hesitation. “Yes, Chef,” you reply, moving to your station with purpose.

As you work, Minho hovers nearby, his presence both unnerving and oddly reassuring. Halfway through your preparation, he approaches, holding a bottle of wine.

“Use this,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, glancing at the label—it’s an expensive bottle, undoubtedly his personal stash. “Chef, this is—”

“It’ll elevate the flavor,” he interrupts, his voice steady. “Use it.”

Swallowing your nerves, you nod and accept the bottle. The addition of the wine transforms the dish, the aroma wafting through the kitchen as you plate the pasta with precision.

The staff exchange glances—some envious, others suspicious. But Minho ignores them all, his focus entirely on the dish in front of you.

“Serve it,” he orders once the plate is finished.

As the dish is carried out to the dining hall, a charged silence falls over the kitchen. All that remains is to see if your gamble—and Minho’s faith—will pay off.

-

The dinner service nears its end, the kitchen quieting as the last orders are plated and sent out. You’re tidying up your station when the manager steps in, his expression unreadable.

“The consulate wants to meet the chef,” he announces, then adds, “and the one who cooked his Vongole.”

Your heart skips a beat, an icy wave of anxiety washing over you. Did you mess up? Did it fail to meet his standards?

“Let’s go,” Minho says, already heading toward the dining hall.

You fall in step behind him, nerves gnawing at your composure. Minho walks with his usual confidence, his back straight and his presence commanding. It’s only when you reach the consulate’s table that you notice someone unexpected seated beside him.

Chef Choi Sara.

Recognition hits like a slap. Sara isn’t just a famous culinary star; she’s Minho’s ex from culinary school. They were inseparable back then, both as a couple and as rivals, constantly pushing each other to excel. Stories of their relationship are almost legendary in the culinary world—a whirlwind of passion, competition, and ambition. But something happened between them, and whatever it was, it ended both their romance and their partnership.

You glance at Minho, searching for a reaction. His face remains as unreadable as ever, but there’s a tension in his posture, a flicker in his eyes that betrays his composed demeanor.

The consulate rises with a warm smile, shaking Minho’s hand first. “Congratulations on your new position,” he says. “The food tonight was exceptional, as always. You’ve truly elevated this restaurant.”

“Thank you,” Minho replies, his voice steady and professional.

Then the consulate turns to you. “And you,” he says, his tone lighter but no less sincere. “The Vongole was exquisite. You’ve got a remarkable talent.”

You bow slightly, your voice soft with humility. “Thank you. I’m flattered you enjoyed it.”

Before the conversation can continue, Sara interjects, her smile sharp and knowing. “Well, it’s no wonder the food is so good,” she says, her voice laced with confidence. “The three of us went to the same culinary school, after all.”

Her words hang in the air, pointed and loaded. It’s as if she’s reminding Minho—and perhaps you—of their shared history, of the heights they reached together and the tension that pulled them apart. Minho doesn’t respond, his focus remaining on the consulate, but the air between him and Sara is thick with unspoken words.

The consulate gestures to a box beside his chair, lifting a few bottles of wine. “A gift,” he says, handing them to Minho. “I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I’ve enjoyed your cooking.”

Minho accepts the gift with a polite nod, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a glimpse of memories resurfacing. You can’t help but wonder what this exchange is stirring up for him.

“Shall we take a picture to commemorate the evening?” the consulate suggests, already standing to pose.

You barely have time to process the request before you’re lining up beside Minho. As you smile for the camera, you feel the faintest brush of movement. Glancing down, you see Sara’s arm looped through Minho’s, her posture relaxed and confident, as though she belongs by his side.

Your smile falters for a split second before you force it back into place. The flash goes off, but your mind is already racing.

As you walk back to the kitchen, questions swirl in your mind. What’s the nature of Minho and Sara’s relationship now? Did their rivalry ever truly end, or was it just another layer of their complicated dynamic? And more troublingly, does Minho still harbor feelings for her? The possibilities unsettle you, leaving you to wrestle with a mix of curiosity and unease.

-

The kitchen is less hectic as the only sounds that can be heard is the low hum of post-service cleanup, exhaustion settling into the faces of the staff. Minho stands in the center, a bottle of wine in hand, his expression unreadable. With a sharp twist, he pops the cork and pours glasses for everyone.

"Here," he says curtly, passing out drinks. "Celebrate while you can."

The team exchanges wary glances before lifting their glasses. Minho's tone is brusque, but his actions are a rare acknowledgment of their hard work. You sip the wine in silence, watching him walk away with the second bottle tucked under his arm.

Minho heads toward his office, his steps measured and deliberate. He’s halfway to the door when he freezes, his sharp eyes catching a figure leaning casually against the wall near his office—Sara.

"Minho," she calls, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Still the last to leave, I see."

“What do you want?” he asks coldly, brushing past her toward his office door.

Sara pushes off the wall and falls into step behind him. “I just wanted to check on you,” she says breezily, her tone too light to be genuine. “Word is that Farfalle’s sales are plummeting since you took over. Not exactly the success story everyone expected.”

Minho stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are dark, his patience clearly thin. “Mind your own business.”

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “I just hate to see someone who used to be the best… fall so far.”

Minho doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps into his office, setting the bottle of wine down on the desk. He gestures toward it, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Recognize this?” he asks.

Sara’s gaze flickers to the bottle, and for a moment, her confident facade cracks.

“It’s just wine, Minho,” she says, though her voice is quieter now.

“Not just wine,” he counters. “It’s a reminder. A reminder of the moment you ruined everything. Of how you planned to take me down.”

Her expression hardens, but she doesn’t deny it.

“It was a mistake,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “A shameful, momentary mistake.”

Minho laughs, though there’s no humor in it. “A mistake?” he repeats, his disbelief cutting through the room. “You planned it, Sara. Every step. And now you’re trying to rewrite history?”

Sara looks away, her silence speaking volumes.

Minho steps closer, his voice low and laced with disdain. “The real mistake wasn’t trusting you. It wasn’t even competing with you. The real mistake was falling in love with you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and final. Without waiting for a response, he grabs his coat and strides past her, leaving Sara standing alone in the dim light of the office. Her carefully constructed poise falters, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as the door closes behind him.

-

The soft ding of the elevator echoes in the quiet corridor as you wait, exhaustion heavy in your limbs after a long day. Your mind drifts to the task you’ve been putting off—informing the property agent about listing your apartment for a roommate. Just as the thought settles uncomfortably, you hear footsteps approaching.

Minho steps into view, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He takes a spot beside you, his presence commanding the space as you both wait for the elevator in silence.

The doors slide open, and the two of you step inside. The hum of the elevator is the only sound until Minho finally breaks the silence.

“You must be happy,” he says, his tone laced with mock indifference. “I let you keep your job, I let you cook for the consulate, and I even let you use my wine.”

You glance at him, a small smile playing on your lips. For the first time in a while, this feels like the Minho you’d met that night, not the cold, sharp-edged chef from the kitchen.

“Thank you, chef,” you say softly, your smile widening. “You really are the best.”

Minho’s lips twitch as though he’s fighting a grin. “Flattery does not work on me,” he mutters, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Amused, you turn slightly to study him. His jaw is set, his expression stoic, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. Acting on impulse, you step closer and gently cup his jaw, tilting his face toward you. His eyes widen in surprise, but before he can react, you lean in and press your lips to his.

For a moment, he freezes, but then he relaxes, his hands finding your waist as he returns the kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way he pulls you just a little closer—it’s electrifying, and the rest of the world fades away.

The elevator chimes, signaling your floor. Slowly, you break the kiss, a playful smile on your face as you step back.

Minho leans in as though to capture your lips again, but you quickly place a hand on his chest, teasingly stopping him. “Goodnight, Chef,” you say, your tone light and mischievous.

His lips part, as if to protest, but you’re already stepping out of the elevator. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the look of longing on his face before the doors slide shut, leaving him standing there, wanting more.

-

Ever since that kiss, Minho can’t stop thinking about it. The memory keeps replaying—the warmth of your lips, the way your breath hitched right before it happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It can’t happen. And yet, he can’t deny how much he still wants to pursue whatever this is.

If only you weren’t working in his kitchen...

Stepping out of his apartment, Minho sighs quietly, raking a hand through his hair. He presses the elevator button and stares at the numbers lighting up as the lift ascends. The soft creak of your door opening makes him turn, and he sees you stepping out, adjusting the strap of your bag.

You spot him and offer a faint smile. “Morning,” you say, your voice light but cautious.

The elevator doors slide open, and you both step in. The space between you feels charged, the silence heavier than it should be. Minho shoves his hands into his pockets, debating whether to say something. This is his chance, but he knows he has to tread carefully.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low but steady. “Listen to me carefully.”

You glance at him, waiting for him to continue, your expression unreadable.

“I don’t want to fire you,” he says firmly. “But I need to remind you… you’re just a chef in my kitchen. Nothing more.”

The words land heavier than he expects, and he watches as your expression shifts. A flicker of something he can’t quite place crosses your face before you mask it again.

You stay silent for a moment before nodding.

Minho frowns slightly, uneasy. “Understood?” he asks, needing confirmation—for himself as much as for you.

“Yes, Chef,” you reply, your voice calm and unwavering.

The formal response makes his chest tighten. It’s what he wants to hear—what he needs to hear. But it feels like a wall has gone up between you, colder and more impenetrable than before.

The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open to the ground floor. Minho steps out first, reminding himself of his own rules. No women in his kitchen. No romance in his kitchen. Even if he wants to break them.

-

The dining hall hums with quiet conversation as the service and kitchen staff gather for the usual morning briefing. You stand among them, arms crossed, waiting for Mr. Oh to arrive. It's strange—he’s never late for these meetings.

The minutes stretch, and impatience grows. Finally, Minho steps into the scene, exuding authority as he takes charge. “Let’s not waste time,” he says, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “We’ll start—”

The double doors to the dining hall creak open, silencing everyone. All heads turn toward the entrance, and a collective murmur ripples through the room as a figure strides in.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that seems to absorb the light, the man’s presence is magnetic. His pale skin contrasts sharply with his dark attire, and his piercing gaze sweeps over the staff, commanding their attention without a single word.

He moves with an air of calculated confidence, each step echoing in the hushed hall. Reaching the front of the room, he turns to face the gathered crowd, his lips curling into a faint, enigmatic smile.

“I apologize for the disruption,” he begins, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a subtle edge of authority. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chris, and as of today, I am the new manager of Farfalle.”

A wave of whispers breaks out among the staff, curiosity and unease blending in their expressions.

Chris doesn’t waver. He clasps his hands behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “I look forward to working with each of you.”

His words hang in the air like a challenge, leaving an unspoken tension that prickles at your skin. Without waiting for a response, Chris gives a final nod and steps aside, his presence lingering even as he moves.

Minho watches him with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, his jaw tight. The air in the room feels heavier, charged with the dramatic shift Chris's arrival has brought.

“I'll make it short,” Chris begins, his tone steady and authoritative. “I'm closing down the restaurant.”

And just like that, the briefing takes on an entirely new weight, ending not with words, but with the undeniable realization that change is here—and it wears a sharp black suit.

-

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

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @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

[strbymacaroon]

Silent Love: Master-List!

Master-List:

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹ ૢ་༘࿐ Synopsis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

Yet, the tables seem to turn when he comes knocking on your door asking for your help. For something in exchange, of course.

Under one agreement, that is.

CW: Alternate Universe - College/University, Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

.・-: ✧ :ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹ Reader here on Ao3 ⊹༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter One: 14k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ New Roommate(s)

“… “I can’t deal with your sobbing when I’m trying to go to bed because he broke your heart again.” It’s the reason you're moving out, actually. That's being mean, it isn’t the reason why you’re moving out. But, it definitely is one of them…”

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Two: 9k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Sexual Tension

"...Maybe you imagined the whole thing, you were up really late and could’ve been sleep deprived. You can’t, right? That’s impossible, you’re not crazy. Besides, if you’re not imagining it, Yuuji had to have heard, right?..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Three: 11.7k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Fake Dinner Date W/Feels

"...You yell at the door. It’s way to fucking early to be dealing with this shit, why couldn’t he bother you in the afternoon? You glance at the clock on your counter, the numbers ‘2:57 PM’ glaring back at you, oh shit. Okay, fine, maybe it is time to get up..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Four: 26.6k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Project Week

"...You weren’t necessarily dreading this moment, but you aren’t looking forward to it. Things are just back to being silent between you two. Now, you have to follow him around like a lost puppy..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Five: 10k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ "Good Guy."

"...You feel your stomach drop. Sukuna presses his lips together, his eyes moving up and down your frame, before naturally looking at the women besides him. He can see your expression sour from the corner of his eye, and it makes his stomach turn uncomfortably..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Six: 27.1k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Forgiveness?

"...Uruame nods, placing the things on the table. “Of course, I’m here for Sukuna.” They place the final item, and you quickly observe they’re the ingredients for cookies..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Seven: 34k words.

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ A Lovely Night

"...“Shit! Sukuna why didn’t you—“ If possible, your stomach twists even harder. The space next to you is empty, void of any form of existing life other than a messy pillow. You feel your eyebrow twitch, before punching his pillow. That fucking lying ass son of a bi..."

ૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Eight:

.・゜-: ✧ :-︑︒⚬∙︓· : ̗̀ ➛ Epilogue...

[cultofdionysusnet]

Thrill of the Hunt - Masterlist

Art assembly by @anyamaris, contributed by all the staff

Introducing! The Fae Realms

The Fae Realms beauty is divided into three kingdoms: the gracious Day Court, Latha, with its long mountainous range, the curious Dusk Court, Ciaradh, containing valleys and cities, and finally, the dangerous Night Court, Oidhche, stretching into marshes and fields.

The inhabitants will never lie to you, simply spruce themselves up a bit, and please leave all iron belongings at home when visiting. The Fae Realms also can boast of time moving differently than in the mortal realm, so please leave us a five-star review on the added benefits of visiting our lovely lands. *

Enjoy our attractions such as The Wild Hunt!

Looking for an exhilarating and once-in-a-lifetime experience? The Fae Realms offer a thrilling adventure full of heart-pumping and blood-chilling moments. Race through a forest, a meadow, anywhere your heart desires as a Fae pursues you tirelessly. There is no end to the chase…unless you want to be caught**. Because here in the Fae Realms, we have a motto: we hope you never leave! Because you won't be able to.

Imprinting: written by @mint-yooxgi

The most important mark a Fae can bestow upon another is that of an imprint. Consisting of a simple bite mark, usually located in and/or around the neck area, the mark designates a special connection between the one who is bitten and the biter. These bonds can be either platonic or romantic, but always depend on an intense emotion from the giving Fae. Once bonded, the mark symbolizes to others that one or more bearing such markings should not be touched by other Fae, for they are under the ‘protection’ of the Fae that has done the marking. Once given, the mark cannot be undone unless another with much stronger emotions comes along to reclaim the mark bearer, and negates the original bond. As such, we have a variety of imprints, ranging from best friends, to former lovers, to even those who enjoy claiming what’s theirs! Hopefully you don’t get stuck with one of those ones…

Here's a list of our Sponsors!

Jan.1: @anyamaris (Once upon a Crimson Moon) Yeosang, Ateez Jan.2: @strawberryya (The Art of Seduction) Yunho, Ateez Jan.3: @biaswreckingfics (Merry Dancer) Beomgyu, Txt Jan.5: @flurrys-creativity (Enypnion) Changbin, Stray Kids/ Yeonjun, Txt Jan.6: @mint-yooxgi (Fight or Flight) Ateez, Mingi Jan.7: @wooyoungqueen (Until the Edge of Dawn) Stray Kids I.N/ Ateez, Wooyoung & @sanjoongie (Honey Lies and a Sweet Bite) Stray Kids, Hyunjin/ Ateez, San Jan.8: Anya (The Games We Play) Stray Kids Felix Jan.9: Nea (Too pure for heaven but fallen nonetheless) Txt, Taehyun Jan.10: @kpop-stories-21 (Better than Before) Txt, Soobin & (Stains of Crimson) Ateez, Jongho Later Dates: Flurry (Panacea) Stray Kids- Bang Chan, Jisung and Seungmin

*Any and all humans who cross into the fae realm are subject to torture, dismemberment, etc etc, we have something for everyone!

**The fae of this realm are not liable for any damages, emotional or otherwise once you cross over!

[merlinrarepairfest]

Title: sweet like honey AO3 username: kairennart (personaje) | @kairennart Rating: Mature Warnings: Choose Not To Use Warnings Medium/Word Count: Digital art Pairing/main characters: Lancelot/Arthur Pendragon Up to 10 tags: Shade Lancelot

Summary:

Lancelot's lips don't leave Arthur's as he slides his hand under the pillow and grabs the dagger. He sits up, feeling the way Arthur shifts underneath him, and with both hands drives the dagger to his King's chest.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60072397

[rsbigbang]

R/S Big Bang Fic & Art: This Way We Fall (M)

Title: This Way We Fall

Author: @heartofspells

Artist: @drunkdumbfucker

Beta Reader: @tracingpatternswrites

Summary:

All he'd wanted was some time. Just a bit of time to get his head back on straight. But time had turned into two dead friends, twelve months spent in Azkaban that had felt like years, and a head more damaged than when he'd started.

Blinded by distrust and grief, Sirius had turned his back on Remus, thinking it would cost him nothing while it had cost him everything. Now, five years later, drowning in his own fog of terrible days and worse actions, Sirius stands a small chance of gaining back some of what he's lost in the form of his godson once thought gone. The only thing that stands in his way is the man currently raising Harry; the man Sirius cast out of his life like broken shards of glass. Remus doesn't trust Sirius, but Sirius is determined to claw his way back and mend what once was broken by his own foolish hands.

read on ao3!

[daydreamingfoxglove]

Day Twenty-Five: Day & Night

@microficmay, words: 83, ship: drarry, rating: M

_ _ _ 

Day and night Harry could not get enough of him. Of the soles of his feet digging into Harry's spine. Of his lithe body, rocking in rhythm with Harry's own. Of his heaving breaths, hot against Harry's throat. 

Perhaps his favourite was Draco's lips, kissed raw, parted in ecstasy. Maybe it was his grey eyes, clouded over like the sky before lightning. Or his long hair, golden strands pooled past flushed shoulders. He couldn't decide, but, whatever it was, he couldn't get enough.

_ _ _

Previous parts on A03

[merthurglompfest]

Title: Instead of Roses By: @paceprompting Gift for: DarKymi / @rehaliahdrarys Rating: Mature Word Count: 14, 371 words Warning(s): Merlin gets a bit ill in the beginning, nothing serious, but otherwise No Archive Warnings Apply Creator Notes (Optional): If I could add and add to this prompt forever, I really think that I would. It was lots of fun to write and be a little extra! Thank you to DarKymi for such a creative prompt, and helping me write outside my comfort zone. ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: After Merlin mistakenly eats a poisonous flower, the only cure involves him losing control of his magic. The chaos that ensues leads Arthur to several conclusions: 1) he needs to legalize magic in Camelot, 2) he enjoys watching Merlin's magic more than he ever thought he would, and 3) he can't keep pushing down his feelings for his loyal sorcerer for much longer.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54663001

[winterknights]

FIC: All I Want For Yuletide Is You, You Idiot

Title: All I Want For Yuletide Is You, You Idiot Author/Artist: tansyuduri Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur Prompt: N/A Word Count: 5,887 Rating: Mature Contains: Hypothermia, poison, A fade to black sex scene. Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Notes: Beta: Beta Calamity-Talvi Schweet_Heart Summary After Arthur survives Camlann in an alternate version of Camelot, Merlin decides to court him by getting him the only gift he can think of for a King. Unfortunately, this leads him into life, endangering disaster. Will Arthur find him in time?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61079278

[excelsiorfics]

Vengeance Drives For Uber

Date: April 20, 2019 Author: rokhal Rating: Mature Word Count/Status: 115,292, complete Dynamic: Robbie Reyes & Eli Morrow, Robbie Reyes & Gabe Reyes Characters: Robbie Reyes, Gabe Reyes, Eli Morrow Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional manipulation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Angst, Family feels

Summary:

Last year, eighteen-year-old legal guardian Robbie Reyes made a deal with the ghost of the serial killer possessing his body: together they will unleash their rage on those who endanger Los Angeles, and when they find someone truly evil, truly deserving, they will kill them. Since he made the deal, they've maimed plenty, but killed no one, and the ghost is getting impatient. Robbie gets a side-job driving his Ghost Rider car for Uber. This goes about as well as one could hope: he doesn't attack any passengers, but he does stumble upon a murder victim. Robbie wants the killer to pay, for reasons he does not understand. Eli wants Robbie to finally fulfill his end of the deal and kill somebody, anybody. To avenge the innocent dead, Robbie is finally willing to cooperate. They work together to identify and hunt the killer. Meanwhile, Lisa takes Robbie to meet her parents, Robbie plans for his future, Ramón Cordova pays it forward, Guero Valdez adapts, the woman who got slipped a pink pill puts her apartment back together, a cop from New York comes out west hunting Ghost Riders, and Gabe understands more than Robbie knows.

[snamioneasks]

Fanfiction.net: 5 most popular WIPS - October 2025

Bound to Him by georgesgurl117 - M, currently 93 chapters  At the behest of Lord Voldemort, Severus Snape is forced to commit a deplorable act against one who should have been under his protection. Bound by Dark Magic, he and Hermione Granger must learn to trust one another and themselves as they work together to thwart the dark plots surrounding them.

Quantum Entanglement by CaspianAlexander - M, currently 50 chapters Voldemort won. The last of the war criminals Hermione Granger is about to face public execution. Except - it doesn’t work out that way. What would you do if you went back twenty years in time? With nothing to lose, Hermione creates a ruthless deception. She enters Slytherin as pureblood Hermione Black with one thing on her mind: Revenge. Unapologetic trope-abuse.

Let Me Protect You by BarelyAWriter - M, currently 24 chapters Dumbledore decides that Hermione will be instrumental in aiding the war effort at the start of her fourth year. Using her time-turner, she might find the time to make his plans work, but she will need guidance from her growing friendship with Snape. Disrupted by a marriage law in 1997, how will events unfold? A story with a slow-burn romance.

Utterly Barbaric by weatherwings - T, currently 77 chapters Experimental potions apprentice Hermione Jean Granger is running out of time, options and allies. Forced to make some of the most difficult decisions, only one certainty remains: She will never submit to the Ministry's insidious Marriage Law. Going on the run, Hermione is labelled a Ministry Malcontent and receives help from the most unexpected places.

Subtle Support by Angeltsuki - M, currently 99 chapters  Hermione has a life-debt to pay to Harry Potter and will do whatever she can to pay it back. Harry has no idea. She'll go through the fires of hell to repay him, and he won't even notice. It helps when a spy notices. An unlikely partnership is forged to fulfill their debts. Slow burn. HG/SS Contains: Slash, violence, angst, swearing, and love.

Parameters

Ordered by reviews.

Updated in the last two years (following the blog's definition of abandoned work).

Sins of the father by Emmaficready appears as 4th in this list, but since it appears on the AO3 list posted yesterday, I decided to skip it here aiming to showcase a diversity of authors.

-Lisianpeia

[mindthewitch]

New GO fic! From me!

Rating: M

Summary: Normally, Aziraphale wouldn’t give in to his basest curiosities, but this situation was one of a kind. He had the opportunity to observe Crowley without suspicion, since he and Jim would be in Aziraphale’s bookshop. He could hide, remain unseen, and Crowley would be none the wiser.

Aziraphale paused at the door for just a moment, thinking about his morality and the ethics of spying on Crowley speaking to his former boss, the boss that tried to eliminate him. But, he thought, I could understand how he’s feeling. He never talks about how he’s really feeling.

Neither do you, a little voice whispered. He told it to quiet itself as the angel followed Crowley swiftly up the stairs and made himself invisible to the pair.

He had reached the top of the stairs as he heard Crowley softly say, “Let there be light.”

Tags: no archive warnings, Fluff, angst, smut (eventually/minor), dancing, emotions, vulnerability, aziraphale ur gonna blind people with that smile

[lightsonparkave]

Check out the amazing fills for round 54 below!

If you missed out on participating, remember that you can always submit something for a round that already ended. You can find out more information about that in the guidelines.

You can see all of the prompts for Round 54 here. In addition to looking at this master list, you can search for works by rounds, creators, work types, ratings, and universes on this page and peruse the Lights on Park Ave AO3 collection.

Round 55 has now begun and will run until October 31. The theme is the undying, and all the prompts can be found here.

FIC

AU

"A Knight's Treasure" - Naivelittleprincess/@sunnysideprincess Anthon follows Steven to battle. But the knight is not too happy about the rescue. He would rather have his mate hidden and safe, at least until the birth of their first child.

"An Alternate Tale of a Fall" - felisnocturna When a strange, winged man falls into the sea off the coast of Thera, Stephanos doesn't hesitate to jump in after him. Little does he know that saving Antonis will change more than just his plans for the day.

MCU

"Darling, your grave is right next to mine" - Naivelittleprincess/@sunnysideprincess This time he isn't alone. This time, when the plane goes down, Tony is right there with him, his voice wavering even as he quips about the horrible makings of their coffin.

"Romcom Fantasies" - @starkparade Tony runs into Steve at the airport, and when the hotel Tony booked in Washington DC abruptly cancels his reservation, Steve offers him to stay the night at his place. It sounds like something straight out of Tony's romcom fantasies starring Steve, except Tony is convinced that Steve is in love with someone else.

[strbymacaroon]

❀ “That’s Jean’s Girl” ❀

❀ Toxic Jean Kirstein x Smart Petite Fem. Reader. ❀

❀ Sypnosis:

Jean. Kirstein.

Jesus Christ, who didn’t know his name? Everywhere you looked you were sure to find someone talking about. Looks, sex, attitude, money, anything you could think of was latched to that name. And, he lived up to his reputation perfectly.

A toxic, full of himself, man-whore. Someone who uses other people for his own gain.

And his next target? You.

A sweet, innocent, naive, freshman girl.

Right?

❀ Genre:

Attack on Titan, College AU.

❀ Content warning:

Dark content, manipulation/toxicity, previous relationships, slight voyeurism, degradation, sub, smut at the end, oral sex, revenge sex, non-penetrative sex, explicit video recording, dacryphilia, Scum-bag Jean, etc. (Not proof-read.)

❀ Word Count:

28.5K words.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Jean lifted his glasses to the bridge of his head, a few strands of hair framing his face as he pulled his best friend, Eren, to his side. “Let me tell you one thing.” He told him, smiling as some girls passing by. “Nothing is sweeter than a little virgin creaming on your dick for the first time.” 

Eren shoved his best friend away, “Ew.. I swear, we need to censor you.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his soda. “But, I guess that’s just how you are.” And, Eren wasn’t lying. 

Jean and Eren were popular at their campus. Hell, people in neighboring campuses knew about them. That’s just how it is. Cherry chasers, playboys– whatever people called man whores, because they would call them everything, but that. 

A painful double standard? Yes. Annie knows full well, but that’s how the world is. 

The two boys didn’t care. They were trying to enjoy their youth. So, shitty decisions and careless actions were their constant. Even if they were at the expense of other people, mostly girls they hooked up with. In short. They were someone people didn’t want to get tangled up with. 

Jean laughed, “Everyone knows it, and loves it.” He walked up, glancing at the menu. Jean always liked to change what coffee he drank before going to class. He always found it boring to stick to one thing. It got repetitive and bland, he always liked to experience new flavors. Especially the ones no one knew about, it was like his little secret. 

And, Jean was known for gatekeeping things. “Besides, some girls are into that.” Jean said, nodding to himself and choosing a flavor. Was it something new? He could’ve sworn he’s never seen it on the menu before.. “They wanna’ fix me or some shit.” He rolled his eyes, “You know how some bitches are.” 

Eren groaned, “Yeah, I know.” He said, pulling out his phone and clicking on his last messages. Trying to pick out a certain conversation he just had last night, but he couldn’t recall the girl’s number.. 2056 or 2065?.. I know it’s one of the two. 

He handed the phone to Jean, scrolling up slightly. “Just had one last night.” Jean grabbed his phone, reading the messages. 

“Damn, that’s kinda harsh.” He said, cringing at his best friend’s reply. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’ I mean, Eren did just meet the girl. 

“What? She said she wanted to be there for me for the rest of my life.” He made a face, “She didn’t even know my favorite color.” 

“She also said she’s available tonight at eight.” Jean said, handing the phone back to Eren. “And she’s got a pretty good guess on what your favorite color is.” He pointed at the picture she just sent Eren. A sexy lingerie photo, with his favorite color, emerald green.

“I told her about it last night.” He said, pushing his phone into his pocket. “I just didn’t feel like committing to someone I met a week ago.” Which was completely reasonable. 

“Wait, she was planning to be there for you, when you two barely met?” Eren shrugged, beforing nodding. “Wait a week ago? Is this that one girl from the party?” He snapped his fingers a few times, trying to think of her name. “Pieck was it..”

Jean smiled, “Yeah, you’re right. That was her name.”  Damn, how the hell did Jean know her name and Eren didn’t. He was slightly embarrassed, but didn’t know how to bring it up. Especially after the two of them slept together that night. 

Eren doesn’t really remember though, he was practically black out drunk when it happened. He just woke up to a piece of paper under his phone, along with a— ‘I’ll text your later’ note. He didn’t even know her name at the time. 

“Damn, must be nice.” Jean said with a laugh, “I’d give anything to make a girl that obsessed with me.” He was being sarcastic. 

Eren rolled his eyes, “Girls are that obsessed with you.” 

Jean laughed, “No, they’re not–” 

“Hey, uhm..” some girl giggled behind them, “You’re really cute, can I get your number or something?..” Jean turned over his shoulder, peering at the two girls behind him. One girl was slightly closer to him, the other a foot behind her. She was cute. Small. He liked that in girls, when they were shorter than him. Jean turned his head to Eren. And Eren gave him a look that could only be described as– ‘I told you so.’ 

Jean rolled his eyes, looking back at the girl. “Sure, yeah.” He pulled out his phone, handing it to the girl. “I’ll shoot you a text, yeah?” Something was telling Eren, Jean wasn’t going to ‘shoot her a text.’ He was just trying to be polite. When the two left, Jean turned back to him rolling his eyes. 

“What? I thought you wanted a girl to be obsessed with you.” Eren teased, “Give it a week and I think you’ll have a Pieck of your own.” 

Jean groaned, walking up to the counter after what felt like forever. “I fucking hate you.” 

Eren smiled, leaning on his shoulder briefly. “I love you too, horse–cock.”

“I thought it was horse–face?” Jean replied, noticing no one was tending to the cashier. Was this Starbucks really that packed? I mean, they did just wait thirty minutes to order so– maybe..

“It was.” Eren replied. “But, I feel after recent events— that name is more fitting.” 

Jean tapped his fingers on the counter, bringing his body over and looking at the people. “You know that wasn’t me in the video.” He said, turning over his shoulder. “Unless you’re dying to find out.” 

“Go fuck Floch if you’re that horny.” Eren laughed, “You know how hard he gets over you.” 

“Shit, I’m not getting in between what the two of you have.” Jean clicked his tongue. “If I remember correctly he did say he was a Yeagerist.” 

“He was high, and stupidly drunk.” Eren defended, leaning his back to the counter. “We all say stupid shit high and drunk. I don’t even know half the shit that’s going on when I’m drunk.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Jean dismissed. He totally wants to fuck Eren.

“I’m so sorry for the wait! We got backed up for a second.” Hands clasped together, showing sorrow. On your thumb, a white gold, purity ring. That’s always a good sign for Jean. Jean turned his attention to the small cashier, eyes beaming widely at him. His eyes went to the tag. 

‘Y/n ❤︎︎’

How cute, you drew a heart by your name. Right above it was ‘1st year: Student.’ And you were a student, a freshman at that. Even cuter. You pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, pushing your glasses to the bridge of your nose. Placing your finger on the screen of the computer. “You know how busy college coffee shops can get, everyone needs coffee in their system.” You giggled, giving him another smile. 

“I can already feel myself relapsing, I need it in my system.” Jean joked, smiling at you. Dimples denting into his slightly tan skin. 

You giggled, leaning closer. “You and me both, but I want a cake-pop.” You bit your lip, “I seriously love sweet things. It’s like— my favorite thing ever!” You paused, before awkwardly adding— “Along with the color pink.” 

Jean felt a chill go down his spine, he laughed it off, trying to ignore the thoughts traveling through his head. Not the one he was talking with. You were his type. “The ones from here?” 

“Yes!” You said, almost a little too loud for your liking. You pressed your lips together, your hand coming to your lips. “Yes, especially the ones from here.” You said, quieter than before. Giggling at yourself. 

Jean felt his heart flutter for a second. That was cute. 

You shook your head, pushing your glasses to the brim of your nose. “But, what can I get you?” You turned your head to the side, looking at something before looking back at him. Smiling cutely, adding a head tilt for good measure. Jean looked at Eren. Eren looked at Jean. Who were you? They’ve never seen you on campus. Which would kind of make sense, it was the beginning of the second semester, and you were a freshman. 

You were cute. Small and soft spoken, Jean wondered how soft spoken you would be crying over his cock. “Uhm,” Jean shook his head, trying to ignore his dick for a second. And his head. “Get me the cake batter frappuccino, venti.” 

You looked at him, blinking with wide eyes. Your lips pressed together slightly, wiggling slightly. Like you were suppressing a laugh. Before tapping on the screen. “Alright, Cake Batter Frappuccino.” You turned into your shoulder, a small huff of air leaving your lips. Almost like a small laugh. 

No, it was a small laugh. “What?” Jean asked, intrigued. Who were you? Cute, that’s for sure. He wanted you. 

“Just—“ you let out a small giggle, pressing your hand to your lips. “I’m so sorry— that’s just my favorite drink.” You told him, clearly lying— well, half lying. That wasn’t what you were laughing about. 

“Is it?” Jean could see that. You seemed like a person who likes sweet things. Candy, flowers, lollipops, cards, maybe even stuffed animals. 

“I’ve never tried it.” Jean said, sliding you his card. “Wanted to try something new.” He said, his dark eyes bouncing to your shiny ones. You nodded, checking the price. 

When your friend —and coworker— bumped into your shoulder, smiling at him. “So I’ve heard.” She replied to Jean, glancing at the computer screen. She pouted, “Goddammit.” You stuck your tongue out at her, whispering— “You owe me thirty and I’m leaving after this.” You pushed her away, grabbing his card and smiling. “It’s going to be eight, eightyseven.”

You glanced at him before putting the card into the machine. “Is that okay?” Your lip went in between your teeth, glossy and soft. Jesus.

Jean swallowed, biting his tongue. But, he couldn’t stop himself, “You don’t have to ask, just do what you want.” His hands went into his pockets. 

Your eyebrows came together, “Uhm, yes I do?” You swiped the card, “It’s kinda’ policy..” 

Eren snickered, turning it into a cough when Jean glared at him. “Sorry, yeah.” 

You handed him back his card, grabbing a cup and a sharpie. You lifted your head, about to ask his name. However, the two of them were walking away. Rude. 

You rushed after them, “Excuse me!” You said, catching the one with a man-bun attention. He elbowed his friend. 

Jean looked back at you, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.” You said, pointing at the cup with the sharpie. Pink, it was a cute pink. 

Jean felt frozen, you didn’t know his name? Everyone knew who Jean was. Hell, people in neighboring colleges knew who Jean was. 

“Jean.” He said. He didn’t know why, but he hated that you didn’t know him. Everyone knew him, except you. He wanted you to know him. You were going to know him. Or, know him enough to let him get in your pants. Either two worked. Maybe, you were the new flavor he wanted to try. New and different, something no one knew anything about. And, Jean always gate-kept things. 

You smiled, writing down his name. Placing the cup on the counter and sliding it to your coworker. “I’m off.” You slid off the barista apron, starting to walk off when someone stopped you. 

“Y/n! Uhm! Could you—“ they stopped, going to the edge of the counter and waving for you. Making you smile and nod your head. Placing your hands against theirs and saying, “Yes?” 

The guy hesitated, before finally speaking. If Jean remembered correctly, his name was Porco. Pock is what his friends call him. Popular dude he was, knew a lot of people. But, nothing much compared to Jean. The only reason Jean knew about Porco was, because he asked his ‘girlfriend,’ Historia, out on a date. Jean didn’t do anything about it, just went out of his way to find out information about the guy. “Would you want me to walk you to class?” Porco said, his hand going to his neck and rubbing it nervously. “I think we have the same class together.”

You blinked a few times, before smiling at him kindly. Your skin heating up, fingers playing with your hair for a moment. “Mr. Ackerman?” 

Porco smiled, “Yeah, Mr. Ackerman.” Your voice was still so soft. Porco didn't know if you were being nice or flirty. He hoped it was the latter. “Let me go change and I’d love to walk with you.” You always loved making new friends. “Oh wait! Let me just give you my number!” You passed him a pre-written note, something you were going to give to someone else. Porco took it, and bashfully smiled at you. 

You gave him a final smile, a small pat on the hand and turned around. Your hair snugly held in a messy bun. You looked so— nerdy. Jean’s never been with a nerdy girl. An innocent, small, nerdy girl. Sounded like fun. Eren noticed his best friend's transfixed gaze. Smiling to himself he instantly played on the idea, “Did you find a new drink you wanna try?” 

Jean shook his head, “I think I did.” 

Eren gestured to the blonde boy, “Well, you better hurry up and grab it before someone else does.” Eren pulled out his phone, “I’m going to call a friend.” He took a final glance in your direction. 

Jean nodded, walking up to Pock and placing his hand on his shoulder. Porco turned to him, making the brunette friendly smile at him. It was a common thing to see with Jean, he was always smiling. “You know Y/n?” It was intimidating. 

Porco blinked a few times, shaking his head. “No, we just have a class together.” 

Jean faked a relieved sigh, “Oh, then nevermind them, it’s nothing.” He turned on his heel, about to return to Eren when Porco called for Jean. Making him give his best friend a knowing smile. It was just too easy sometimes. 

“Is there something.. wrong? With that?..” Porco had his arms crossed over his chest, slightly offended by Jean. 

Jean shook his head, “No, no. Nothings wrong,” he cooed, his smile staying put. “You just share a class with her, right?” His hands were in his pockets again. Playing with something inside. 

Porco’s eyes glanced at it, then answered. “Uhm, kinda.” 

“Good.” He said, turning back to Eren. Speaking to him over his shoulder, his smile was gone. “Because, that’s my girl you’re talking to.” Jean gripped the item in his pocket. “And, I fucking hate the idea of someone trying to get at her.” 

Eren looked at Porco, seeing him glance at him for help. Which wasn’t something Eren was going to give him. He didn’t like to deal with this side of Jean, it was toxic and annoying. 

“You know how it is.” You know how I can be. Was what Jean was really saying. 

Porco’s eyes widened, “Shit, my bad man. Didn’t know you two were a thing.” Jean pushed a strand of hair off Porco’s face. 

Jean didn’t correct him. I mean, soon enough it would be true. That’s how it always ended. Jean always got what he wanted. “Well, you know now.” He pushed him away, scowling lightly. “So, don’t do it again.” 

Porco thickly swallowed, glancing at Eren. He only glanced up and gave him an amused smile, Eren wasn’t going to help. 

Porco sighed, pushing his way out of the coffee shop. Jean’s eyes followed him, watching as he joined a group. Probably his friends, before they all walked away. Demanding for an explanation on what just happened. 

Jean watched with an amused smile as Porco pointed at Jean. Now, none of those guys were going to talk to you.

You walked out, hugging your friend and looking around. Trying to find the male who you were just speaking with. Where did he go?.. Before walking to where he was once standing, not too far from Jean. 

“He left.”

You turned to Jean, blinking at him confused. “But.. he’s the one who invited me to walk with him?..” You placed both hands behind your back, holding onto them. 

Jean shrugged, “Guys can be like that.” 

You giggled, “I guess so.” You played with the white gold, purity ring, on your thumb, trying to keep yourself occupied. “Are.. you like that?” You were playful, smiling at him kindly. 

“Why don’t you find out.” He played, taking a step in your direction. Glancing down at your feet, seeing that they weren’t pointed in his direction. Hm. 

You nibbled on your bottom lip, giving him a kind smile. Looking at him with your shiny eyes before looking away, “Well, if you see him, tell him I don’t have Mr. Ackerman’s class today, I just didn’t want to say no.” You had another job to work though. You twisted around, taking a step towards the exit. “Bye.” You kindly said. Finally, leaving the coffee shop with a soft ‘ding!’

“She seems interested.” Eren said, watching you walk away. You also peaked his interest, but not in the way Jean was interested. No. He probably was going to do some research on you. 

“She wasn’t.” 

Eren gave him a look, cutting off his thoughts. “You’re kidding?” He rolled his eyes, “I swear you’re so conceited sometimes.” 

“She wasn’t, her body wasn’t facing mine, when she smiled the corners of her eyes didn’t crinkle, and she kept the conversation short and away from opening it further.” He said, “She didn’t want to be talking to me, she was just being polite. Just like she was being polite with Porco.” 

“I doubt that.” 

Eren and Jean turned their heads to the barista, if Jean remembered correctly it was the one that hugged you. He walked up, giving her a smile. 

“Cake Batter Frappuccino?” She asked, “Is this what you always get?”

“No.” He took the cup from her hands, turning his back to her. “She was interested.” He told Eren, “Y/n, wasn’t.” He glanced at the name, smiling. Letting out an amused laugh. 

Eren tilted his head, “What?..” 

Jean twisted the cup to Eren, showing the name written. ‘Shawn :)’ “Yeah, she made it pretty obvious.” You knew who he was. You just wanted nothing to do with him. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose, putting pen to paper. Glancing at the board, coping down the equation and trying to complete it on your own. You knew how to do this, just happen to make small mistakes costing you the answer. You hate how tedious math can be. But, you can’t deny how much this was your passion. Blowing a strand of hair out of your face, you rested your head on the table. If you did the problem right, the answer should be 2. Which was ridiculous for how long it took you to finish it. Which wasn’t odd, just something you always complained about. 

Your professor lifted their hand, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “We’ll wrap this up later,” he dismissed, “I don’t feel like teaching it anymore, enjoy your weekend.” He walked to his desk, throwing the expo marker. “Homework is what’s posted in my class.” 

You giggled, closing your notebook and placing your pencil on top of it. Reaching for your bag and shoving your stuff inside. Trying to leave the classroom as quickly as possible. You didn’t want to be late for your job. “Mr. Ackerman,” you said, walking to the front of the classroom. “I was wondering if I can get an extension on the essay due tomorrow?” 

Levi's eyebrows came together, “I gave you a week to complete that assignment, why do you need an extension?” He had his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted to the side. 

“Well, I’ve had work everyday after this class til’ 10, and in the morning I work at the coffee shop until my first class.” You placed your hands behind your back, fiddling with your ring. 

“What time is your first class?” 

“Usually 12.” You were slightly embarrassed to ask this, you were always incredible at staying on top of your work. Just with the holidays coming up, and the end of the semester. Studying and work has started to become a blurred line. You wanted to get something nice for your family. “But, I promise you I’ll be able to get it done by next week, I’m going to get a long holiday break.” Almost two months. “Coffee shops aren't open when campus isn’t open and I’m friends with my manager.” You said. 

Levi sighed, “It’s fine.” He suppressed a smile, “Just forget about it, it’s nothing to worry about.” He walked to his desk, leaning against it. “It’s my Christmas present.” 

“I still want you to get me some AirPods, Professor Ackerman.” You responded, turning on your heel and walking away. 

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, “It makes me feel old.” Tapping his foot on the ground. 

You giggled, “Levi, you are old.” You played, “And, I don’t think you want me to call you Tío at school.” You turned on your heel, walking backwards as you walked with him. “And, I think that would make you feel older.” 

He has known you since you were a child. You could hear him mutter, “Spoiled brat.” Aauhh, you loved Levi, and he loved you. 

You turned back around, only to embarrassingly bump into someone. You could feel your face burn. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” You said, tilting your head up and looking at the person. You could feel the gears in your head turning, he looked familiar. 

“Y/n?” 

You told him your name? Oh, Shawn! The boy in front of you was Shawn. Or, mostly known as, the school's most infamous two faced boy, Jean. It had only been two weeks since you last saw him. 

“ Now, lets quickly–Pause  ▹ “

This was the last person you wanted to see. Why, you may ask? 

Because. 

Okay, not just because… it wasn’t as easy as pinpointing a specific reason. There were many reasons. But, to give you a few ideas!–

It was because you hated the way he treated women, his friends, and acted in public. It was extremely unattractive. Sure, people let him get away with it because he was conventionally attractive —which is debatable—, rich, and a star when it came to his sport. But, you didn’t care about any of that. 

Especially after the way he treated your best friend. Mikasa. 

Maybe, you can pinpoint your hatred, and where it started. 

Mikasa was a senior when you were a freshman. She would constantly say, you were her freshman. And, she absolutely adored you. You equally adored her. If that was possible. It probably wasn’t.

Mikasa bought you McDonald’s, took you shopping, drove you home, bought you Starbucks, and gave you money if you needed some. School lunches these days are expensive. She was like your big sister. The big sister you needed in your fucked up family and life. She really did help you with a lot of things. You seriously loved her. A part of you wondered late at night if you loved her too much. 

The plan was— Mikasa would apply to Trost State University. And, when it came time for you to go to college, you would also apply. 

You two were so excited! 

You wanted to meet her friends, but you only met a few of her close ones before she graduated. —Some of which you couldn’t remember— But, a bit before she left— you remember her distinctively telling you, “I met someone!” 

You wished you took a picture of her. You’ve never seen her that happy. You’ve never seen her love that hard. 

Maybe that was the problem. The only love she ever produced, was one stronger than the rays of the blistering sun. The two of you celebrated with —illegal— drinks for your age. It was sweet. She told you everything about him. And, let’s just say your expectations were high… “You don’t get Y/n, I’m obsessed.” Mikasa’s eyes widened, stuffing a fry into her mouth. Before grabbing a tater tot and adding it. 

“I feel like we got too many fries.” You said, grabbing a tater tot and popping into your mouth. Eating it quickly with your mouth open as it burned your mouth. Mikasa always made eating hot food so misleading, she made it look so normal. 

“I don’t think we got enough.” She ran her tongue over her pink lip. “No, but–I really think, this is the guy.” Her hands moved over the steering wheel, parking the car. 

“You said that about the last guy.” You groaned, giving her a look. Grabbed your ‘drink,’ and pressed the top against your lips. 

She pinched your cheek, “We made up, and I still do think he’s the one.” She sighed dreamily, “and he was amazing in bed.” 

You scrunched your nose in disgust, a chill going down your spine. “Ugh, I forgot you had sex.” You pressed your lips together, “It’s so gross.” You finally took a sip from your ‘drink.’ Okay, it was alcohol in a sippy cup. 

“Y/n, believe me. Once you find the one, you won’t hate it.” Mikasa said, looking at you for a second. “Unless.. you already found one.” 

You looked at her smiling, quickly putting the glass bottle down. “I have,” You placed your hand on her arm, “Mikasa, there’s—“ you faked a sniff, “there’s something I need to tell you..” 

She laughed, before grabbing your hand. “There’s something I need to tell you too, Y/n— I,” she closed her eyes, pretending to struggle. 

“Let’s just say it at the same time.” You muttered, getting closer to her face. Trying not to laugh. 

“I love you.” 

“I love Dilfs.” 

Mikasa’ jaw dropped. “Shit, me too but,” 

You snorted. “But— what?” 

“I totally misread the signals.” She said, leaning back into the driver's chair and getting another fry. “I thought we were having a moment.” 

You put your hand on her shoulder. “We were.” You took the fry from her. “But, not in a way you thought.” 

“Jesus.” She laughed. “I guess, I’ll just move onto my other hoe.” She smiled, “But, you were always my number one.” 

“Wait, you never told the guy's name.” You looked to the side thoughtfully, “Or, the guy before that..'' you felt your eyebrows mush together. “Wait, do these guys even go to our school?”

“Oh course they do, Y/n.” She rolled her eyes, “I loved Dilfs, but I don’t wanna date one.” She pressed her lips together and smiled, “Just yet..” 

You nodded, giving her a discrete thumbs up. 

“No, but his name is Jean.” She smiled, tilting her head back in her chair. “And, he’s the guy I’m going to marry.” And, you’ll never forget his name. Jean. 

It was always fresh in your head the next two years of highschool. “What’s he look like? Do I know him?” You muttered, twisting your body in the chair, and lifting your legs onto the seat. 

“No, unfortunately.” She murmured, “but, I do have a picture of him.” She reached for her pink phone, unlocking it and going to her camera roll. “He’s so cute!” 

You watched her squirm, smiling at her phone. Clicking on to something and flipping the screen to you. You could feel your smile slowly drop. “This is the guy you’re twisting your panties about?” You tilted your head, squinting your eyes. “He’s so—“ 

“Cute!” 

“Horse face.” 

“What.” 

You smiled, “He has a horse face.” You giggled, “Maybe he’s just not my type but, absolutely not.” 

She pouted, dropping her arm. “What?… I thought he was so cute..” 

“Mikasa, you thought Floch was cute.” You deadpanned. 

“I said, I didn’t think he was as ugly as people made it to be!” She almost shouted. 

You two giggled. “Well, if you're happy, that’s all that matters.” You smiled, “I just want you to be happy Mika, you deserve to be.” 

She smiled, bringing you into a hug. “Thanks, Y/n.” She pulled back, holding your hand. “What would I do without you?”

And, she was happy. Was. 

The moment the two of you parted, that’s when everything went downhill. It was probably the universe telling the two of you, you needed each other. And you did. You still do. 

She would still pick you up from school. Since your parents were never around to do it, and that’s when you would hear it. That’s when you would finally see your best friend— big sister, fall down in tears. 

Over what? A boy. Over Jean. 

You hated those days. Absolutely hated them. It was like you could feel her pain seeping into your heart. She would pick you up, and sob about what the boy she liked–loved did to her. The boy she loved. About how he cheated, lied, and ignored her. At some point, Mikasa wondered if Jean hated her. Mikasa was such a sweetheart, she thought she was doing something wrong. 

She was never in the wrong. And, that’s the Jean you know. The one who absolutely tore the heart of your big sister. The one who ruined her so much, she thought she was in the problem. 

The worst part was, every time she cried, it was always over something. One day– Fuck. 

One day, Mikasa claimed he wanted someone different. Jean wanted someone small, innocent, untouched, and cheerful. Something that—Jean claimed, Mikasa wasn’t. At least, not anymore. And, you saw it. The moment the gears in her head started turning as she looked at you. And, you had the same realization. 

Mikasa, just described you. And, that broke her. 

She no longer spoke to you after that. So, now that you were in college, you had to deal with seeing his ugly face. 

Where was she now? Unfortunately, she moved schools by the time you got accepted. But, the two of you stayed in contact. FaceTime every night, and some calls throughout the day. 

You two were still close. She managed to move on, but you could never forget the face and name of the man that broke her. Even if she forgave him. You wouldn’t. 

So, that one fateful day, you were working at the school Starbucks. You two were on call. The title, “Whore of Trost,” haunting your vision. A video the whole college knew about. “I can’t blame her for moving.” You whispered, “Poor girl, I can’t imagine what she must be going through.” You whimpered, existing out the video. You couldn't bear to watch anymore, you could feel yourself growing sick. You scrolled down looking at the comments. They didn’t help your condition. 

Mikasa mimicked your expression, turning away from her computer. “I can’t imagine, it’s a girl's worst nightmare.” She tilted her head, pressing her hand to her heart. “Have they caught who posted the video?” 

You shook your head, “They haven’t, I think the only thing that the school knows about is where it was shot.” The football locker room, “So, the whole football team is under surveillance.” You pressed your lips together, “But, I heard something about the baseball team getting revenge, or something.” 

“But, on a poor innocent girl?” Mikasa stressed, “I get the sports have their rivalry, but to bring an innocent girl into the mix is just fucked up. Keep it between the sports, not the students.” Mikasa scowled, she was very passionate about these things. “Was she dating one of the football players?” 

“No!” You stressed, “That’s what makes this so much more– frustrating. She was just an innocent bystander. In-fact, she didn’t even know she was being recorded.” What you don’t understand is why she hasn’t revealed who it was. 

Did the person have blackmail on her? Actually, was the video the blackmail?

“I hope she’s okay.” Mikasa’s voice cut you out of your thoughts. 

You nodded, “I hope so too.” 

“Are you on break?” Mikasa asked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Yes, I’m on my break.” You replied. Pressing a strand of hair behind your ear. Trying to forget about the heavy feeling on your shoulders. 

“How many goddamn breaks do you get?!” She asked, trying to make you smile. “You called me like an hour ago.” 

“I was also break.” You opened the door, peering into the barista room. Seeing everyone make drinks and take orders. It looked packed today, maybe you should be out there..

Naw. 

“You must be abusing your break privileges.” 

You forced a giggle, leaning back and walking into the room. Recalling something that happened recently. With something you did abuse. Actually, it was something you constantly abused. “I abuse my pretty privilege.” 

“Again?!” Mikasa asked shocked, “Did you make another boy cry?” 

You sat down on the small chair in the break room, “Look, I thought I liked this guy, really did. But, the moment we started—“ you giggled, “You know, having sex— I realized, absolutely-fucking-not.” You sighed, “Gave him the best head and pussy in the game, then dipped.” He was fucking horrible in bed. You couldn’t express that enough. 

“No wonder he was heart-broken.” She cooed, “He got pussy-whipped.” 

“They all get pussy whipped.” You put her on speaker, lowering your phone and looking through your messages. “Look, I’ll send you some shit he’s been sending me. It’s so fuckin’ cringy.” 

“Jesus, Y/n, what the hell happened to you.” You could tell she was joking. “Ah, it feels like just yesterday we were in my car, you telling me about how gross sex was— and now look at you!” She cooed, “A full on man-eater, leaving a trace of heart-broken guys with such an innocent face.” 

“Man-eater?” You questioned, sending the picture to Mikasa. A long string of messages about how much he loved you, and wanted you in his life. Only to soon follow they by— ‘one more time, let’s fuck one more time, please. Then, I leave you alone.’ 

Ah, men begging was always so funny. 

“Jesus, is that an 8-ball game you sent him?” 

“Yeah, he’s really bad, so it helps me raise my stats.”

“Jesus..” 

“What’s a man-eater?” You questioned again, still wanting an answer. Reaching into your pocket and playing with the small jewelry inside. 

“Exactly what you are.” She laughed, “If you searched up the definition ‘man-eater’ your face would pop up.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “But honestly, they deserve it.” Clearly. After the video was spread, you couldn’t agree more. 

But, you felt your throat run dry. Your heart stopped. Well, fuck me. “Mika, you wouldn’t believe who’s in line right now.” 

You could hear her groan on the other line. “God, don’t tell me.” There was a slight pause, before the two of you spoke at the same time. 

“Jean.”

“Your mom.” 

You made a face, “I swear to god, when will you drop that ‘your mom’ thing?” You asked, almost annoyed. But, you couldn’t be annoyed at Mikasa. 

“Never, Y/n. Never.” She giggled. “But, ew. I completely forgot he loves coffee.” 

You could feel your eyes bulge out of your head. “And, you didn’t think of telling me that when I told you I was applying to a coffee shop?!” You almost shouted. 

She laughed again, “I forgot.” 

“Bull-fuckin-shit.” You joked. Searching up the definition. 

‘INFORMAL

a dominant woman who has many sexual partners.” 

I guess that’s not completely wrong. 

Besides, you’ve always wanted to see a big strong, alpha male. Tied to your bed, begging you to touch him while you record. 

But, you were saving that for a certain boy. Which, coincidentally, was waiting outside for coffee. 

“I mean, this isn’t wrong.” You said, leaning back in your chair and sighing. “But, you know, all my sexual partners are just people I used to pass time.” Or, to get revenge for other people. 

“Or, hurt for other people.” Mikasa added. She was always good at reading your mind. 

“Some girls want me to hurt them for revenge.” You shrugged, “Who am I to say no.” You always understood the pain of someone who did you wrong in a relationship, you literally watched your best friend go through it. And, you couldn’t do anything. 

Now, you can. 

You try making up for it by helping other girls your age. 

“If you get the chance, do it to Jean.” Mikasa said jokingly. But, you couldn’t help, but notice how her tone deepened. A part of her wasn’t joking. 

“If I can, I will Mika.” You told her, standing up and throwing your hair back. Walking towards the doors, about to go outside. 

“Okay, Y/n.” She cooed. 

You peered outside again, looking at him. “I’ll call you back.” You wanted to do what you always did. “Luca! Get over here!” You whispered, pulling the cashier to the side. She looked at the person, quickly finishing their order and walking to you, confused. 

“I’m in the middle of—“ 

“The shark is out of the pond!” You whisper shouted. Eyes wide as you grabbed her shoulders. “The shark is out of the pond.” 

She blinked, “Oh, shit.” She looked out the door, “Don’t tell me.” You didn’t have too. 

“Do something shitty to his drink,” you told her. You weren’t allowed to serve drinks, only work as a cashier. “I’ll take the order.” 

Her jaw dropped. “Girl, I love you, but I can’t lose my job.” She gestured to the cashier, “Just over charge him.”

That wasn’t enough. “That isn’t enough after all the shitty things he’s done to—“ you paused, feeling guilt crawl up your throat. You didn’t mean to tell Luca about Jean and Mikasa, you just were so overwhelmed—

Luca pressed her lips together, not wanting to say anything. 

“How about this, we bet on it.” You forced a smile at her, “if he orders one of my favorite drinks, you give me thirty, and do something to the drink.” You smiled, “If he orders one of your favorite drinks, I’ll give you thirty and cover one of your shifts.” 

“Deal.” 

You smiled, “Good, lemmie cover this order.” You pushed the doors open, four things in your head. 

Jean wanted someone small, innocent, untouched, and cheerful. 

Just like Mikasa had once heartbreakingly told you. 

You turned to Luca, “If I win, I want you to fucking shit in his drink.” You smiled at her sweetly, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the white gold, purity ring. Slipping it into your thumb. “Kay?” 

She shook her head, “Whatever you want.” 

You pushed the doors open, widening your eyes, and smiling sweetly. Going behind the counter, “I’m so sorry for the wait! We got backed up for a second.” Your hands were clasped together, trying to show your —fake— sorrow. 

Your purity ring shining under the coffee shop lights. 

“ Play  || “

Sure, you’ve seen him around. But, you always avoided him, walking away, pretending not to see him, and plain out ignoring him. You didn’t want to see him. 

“Y/n?” 

Now, you couldn’t exactly do that. 

You pressed your lips together, suppressing the scowl that was building on your face. “Oh, hey!” You said, cheerfully. Holding onto your backpack’s strap. 

“That’s right, you have Ackerman’s class.” Jean grabbed his glasses, lifting them to the crown of his head. Smiling sweetly, “How’s this going for you? Easy class?” 

He’s trying to make small talk, Y/n. Don’t slap the shit out of him. 

Yet. 

Your eyes widened, faking your emotions. “Easy!? This class kills me.” You laughed, “But, I do excel in the material.” You smiled. 

“Maybe, you could tutor him, Y/n.” Levi interjected, “He seriously needs it.” 

You almost broke your neck when you twisted your head. You glared at Levi, speaking to Jean with your back to him. “What do you have in this class?” 

“Not something good.” Jean nonchalantly replied. 

You sighed, turning back to him and smiling. Clasping your hands to your chest and smiling, “Well, I’d be more than happy to help!” You placed a foot behind the other, tilting your head. “And, it’ll be completely free.” 

Jean smiled, “That sounds lovely.” He leaned down, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Bringing it in your direction, “Here, give me your number, I’ll text you where my dorm is.” 

You knew he wanted you to grab his phone, but you didn’t. You quickly went to his side, looping your left arm around his right one, and putting in your number. Hands wrapped around his single one holding the phone. 

Showing off the massive size difference between you two. Jean thickly swallowed, his eyes drinking up the skin you were showing. 

“Okay, I’m actually free next week today—“

“That works.” He cut you off, his eyes still trained on your hands. Slowly sliding off his body. 

You giggled, “Okay then, I’ll meet you at my dorm.” You said, running your tongue over your bottom lip. You turned on your heel, “See ya.” Jean smiled, his head following you as you walked away.  

Once you passed Jean, you turned to face Levi— walking backwards as you flipped him off. You hated your Tío sometimes. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You dramatically groaned, rolling your eyes the moment you hit the library. It had been too long since your last visit. And, after your Jean encounter close to a week ago, you needed it to be quiet while you studied. 

“Jesus, I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” You moaned. Leaning on the outside railing, you needed to sit down. You needed to be alone. 

Everyday was the same thing, Jean would go to your job, your class, and your dorm. Don’t ask me how he found out, because I don’t know. So, you had to put on your poker face, and smile at him every time he walked you around the campus. 

It almost felt like he was a puppy. 

He probably was purposefully acting like a puppy. Trying to get on your good side, or something like that. 

It’s so annoying. 

When you felt someone tug your hair. “You bitch!” 

You turned, grabbed her hand and scowling at her. “What the fuck!” Who the hell was this— “Historia?” You questioned, confused on why the hell she yanked your hair. I mean, Jesus, that hasn’t happened since highschool. 

Historia was the school ‘it’ girl. Someone who had boys wrapped around her manicured finger. You two shared some random math class together. You always noticed how often someone was asking for her number. However, she always declined. 

Why? She was dead set on one guy. 

Take a wild guess who it is. 

“You’re such a two faced, ugly, bitch!” She said, tears pearling in your eyes. “I fucking trusted you, and this is what you do?! Stab me in the back?” You shoved her off you. 

“Historia, what the fuck are you talking about?!” You asserted, taking a step back and looking around. Now, there’s people looking at us. “Cause, I haven’t done shit.” You tried lowering your voice. 

“Jean!” She shouted back. 

You could feel that name echo through your head. 

Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. 

Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean..

Fucking. Jean. 

Why did he have to influence everything in your life? Most importantly, why didn’t it have to be you? You don’t even know what’s going on.

You mushed your eyebrows together, sighing. “Historia, I still have no clue what you’re talking about.” You said calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation. 

Maybe if you—

You pulled up your phone, opening your messages. “The only reason I have Jean’s phone number is because I tutor him.” And, you just got that yesterday. “And, I just got it like a week ago.” 

You twisted the screen to her face, showing that the two of you don’t even have any message dialogues. “If you want, you can search up my socials, and see if I follow him.” You didn’t. 

“Wait..” she muttered, tears falling down her cheeks slowly. “You two aren’t dating?..” 

What. 

“Dating?” You seethed, almost in disbelief before tilting your head back and laughing. “Historia, I don’t do dating.” You placed your hand into your hair, rubbing the spot she yanked. “I would never date Jean, not after what I’ve seen him do.” You said, damn, she yanked me hard. 

“That makes more sense.” She whispered, “I thought I was weird after what you did to Floch,” She paused for a second, “and Niccolo.” 

You squinted your eyes, “Niccolo was an accident,” but deserved, “and Floch was a favor.” Because, Floch literally sucks. It was about time someone put him in his place. And, you have the desperate, pleading, messages from him to prove it. 

“That makes sense.” Historia placed one foot behind the other awkwardly. She felt a guilt crawl up her spine. She completely forgot what you did for girls on campus. 

Jean could be another victim that you're wrapping into your web. Which could be something someone asked you to do. 

You pushed a gold strand of hair from her face. 

Then, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Now, I need you to tell me everything.” You we’re trying to keep your cool, “Because, I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” 

Historia blinked a few times, before nodding her head. “I’m sorry.” She softly said, “But, if you hate him that much—“

“I do.” You cut her off, “You don’t understand the history I have with him.” She didn’t. That’s why her words didn’t completely piss you off. 

Historia pressed her lips together. “Did he do something.. bad?” He’s done bad things to her. Cheating seemed to be a familiar word when dating Jean. 

You sighed, taking a step back and looking at your feet. Closing your eyes, before opening them. “It’s about something he did to someone who was a part of me.” 

Mikasa. 

Historia thickly swallowed, “Then, I’m going to need you to sit down.” She grabbed her hands. “Because, it’s really bad.” 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You looked at Armin, then back to Historia. “Now that you’re all caught up,” you told him, “Historia, spill.” 

Armin grabbed your hand, shaking his head. “It’s better you hear from her, than Eren.” He whispered, squeezing your hand comfortingly. 

Eren. That name sounded familiar. If you recall correctly, that was a friend of Mikasa’s. Along with a friend of Armin’s. You’ve never met him, but you’ve heard about him when calling Mikasa. 

If you didn’t know any better, you believed Eren was Mikasa’s first love. 

You felt your eyebrows mush together at a realization, “Wait! You know about this Armin?!” You pushed his hand away, glaring at him. 

“..Yes..” Armin slowly said. 

You shut your eyes, “Oh my god, does everyone know, but me!?” You groaned, placing your hands to your face and keeping them there. 

By their silence. You took it as a yes. 

“How bad is it?” 

Armin silently grimaced. “I’ve never seen Jean act like this towards someone.” He leaned back in his chair, “I know he’s horrible, but not obsessive.” He muttered, “Especially with someone he doesn't even talk to.” 

“He likes the idea of you.” Historia added, “That’s what he’s obsessed with.” She bit her lip, hesitating. She didn’t know if this would be a good thing to tell you. “And, with the way you approach men, is exactly his type.” 

You’ve heard that one, too many times. 

“Makes sense.” You said, “That was my goal when I spoke with him, but I didn’t think it would work—“ you paused, “..this well.” 

Obsessive? Over the idea of you. 

That makes things easier. Now, you can make him fall hard for you. You couldn’t wait to throw him out like trash. 

“Anyways,” if you hear what he’s saying, it could possibly help you. Despite how much you don’t want to. “What’s this horse face been saying?” 

Historia blew a piece of hair out of her face. “It’s worse than what he said about Mikasa.” 

You pressed your lips together, your heart squeezing at the idea of Mikasa and her pain. You thickly swallowed, “And, how do you know that?” Rumors are just as fake as Barbie. 

She closed her eyes. “Because, I was sitting next to him when he said them.” 

But, that was something hard to deny. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Eren took a puff of his blunt, his eyes glossy. “Oh, have you two ‘made up,’ yet?” Eren asked Jean, smiling at the girl in his lap. 

Pieck. 

At least, who he thought was Pieck. He couldn’t think straight. 

“Yeah, and she’s tutoring me.” Jean replied, taking the blunt from Eren. “She’s also my personal cocksleeve.” He passed the blunt to Porco. Skipping over Historia. He never allowed her to drink, smoke, or do anything much when she was with him. 

Historia kept her gaze to the floor, the idea of Jean being so open about his infidelity stung. It stung and hurt worse than a cut to the wrist. 

Who the hell was Jean’s new play thing? 

“Damn, if I knew she was such a slut, I would’ve never looked her way.” Porco added, lifting his cup to the rest of the group of friends. Which consisted of most of the football team. “Don’t want someone ran through, right?” His eyes landed on Historia for a split second. 

Cheers and laughter of agreement erupted within the group. While Jean stayed quiet, a smile on his lips. “I’m telling you, the more innocent they look, the more of a slut they are.” He placed his hand on Historia’s head, bringing her close to him. “Right, Historia?” He smiled down at her, watching the way her lip trembled. He was humiliating her. 

She nodded. She only nodded. 

“Yeah, she knows.” He pushed her away, grabbing his cup and taking a sip. “But, seriously, I don’t mind.” 

Eren laughed, cutting into his sentence. “Because, that’s your girl Jean.” He smiled, “You should be the last person to care.” 

Porco’s eyebrows came together, “Wait, who the hell are you talking about?” He asked, “I thought you were talking about her,” he pointed at Historia, “But—“ 

“Y/n.” Eren cut in, grabbing his cup from the table and lifting it to his lips. “The barista you asked out. Her.” He sighed quietly, making sure no one heard. Before adding, “Jean’s girl.” 

“Her?!” He said, “Shit, that’s not what I expected.” He muttered, “She looks so—“ 

“Innocent, I know.” Jean wanted to ruin that, just like he did with Historia. Just like he did with every girl he was with. “That’s what drew me to her.” Like a moth to a flame.

“Ugh, I want someone like that.” Reiner groaned, “Just— not used.” He added. 

“Believe me, they’re out there. Virgins who can’t wait to get dicked down.” Jean replied, “Just gotta’ find them.” He laughed to himself. “Of course, not mine.” He sent Reiner a wink.

“Like we’d want some used whore like that.” Reiner added, “Sorry, but no thanks.” 

“You’d be surprised.” Eren said. 

Jean sighed, nodding his head in agreement. “That’s why no one’s been talking to her.” He added, “Everyone knows that’s my bitch.” Jean stood up, tossing his drink onto the table. Watching it spill into the carpet. 

He didn’t care, it wasn’t his carpet. 

He didn’t care about anything unless it was his. Those were the only thing he cared about. 

“Anyways, I’m out.” He said, “I’m getting bored.” 

Historia glanced over at Jean, then to Eren. Eren felt a small snag of guilt hit his chest. “Jean,” he turned over his shoulder, “What about Historia, you takin’ her home.” 

“No.” He added a scoffing laugh, “I don’t care.” 

And with that, Jean was gone.

Eren sighed, looking at the small girl, “I’ll take you home.” He pushed Peick off, “Let’s go.” He reached his hand out, taking Historia’s small one and gently pulling her off the ground where she was sitting. “You don’t deserve to be on the floor.” 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

That’s definitely not the little puppy following me around campus. You never released how two-faced Jean could be. 

“I can’t believe he said that to you.” Now, you absolutely needed to humble this man. Put his pleading text on the internet, some shit like that. Something to kill his goddamn ego. “I swear, I can’t believe people like that exist.” 

Armin nodded his head in agreement, you immediately leaned into him. Smiling at him, “I’m so glad you’re not like that Armin.” You mumbled into his jacket sleeve. “I swear, you’re so perfect babe.”

Armin smiled at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Before, looking back at Historia, while she sighed. “I’m so thankful for Eren, he bought me some coffee after.” 

Your eyebrows came together, “Wait, Eren bought you coffee?” You scoffed, “And, not your boyfriend Jean?” You saw Historia cringe at the word ‘boyfriend.’

Historia softly sighed, “Jean’s never bought me anything.” She blinked a few times, “He’s never bought a girl anything, thinks his love is enough. And, if you want him to buy you something, he always makes you pay him back.” She paused, “He says he doesn’t really like romantic gestures.” 

“Ugh, I hate him.” You groaned. 

Armin pressed his lips together, “I’m glad Eren’s still the same.” He added. Trying to change the subject. 

Historia meekly nodded in agreement. Her fingers toying with her sleeve. “Me too.” 

Your eyebrows came together, “Wait, wait, please don’t tell me you’re talking about Jean’s best friend.” You asserted, pushing Armin’s arm off you. “The guy who’s literally the embodiment of Jean.” Sure, he might’ve bought Historia a coffee, but so what?

Armin pressed his lips together. Not wanting to add to the rumors. “Sure.” His response was brief, almost stiff.

You sighed, turning your attention to Historia. “Wait, you’re dating Jean?.. I thought he didn’t date anyone?” Especially with the amount of girls always around him. 

Historia propped her arm on the table, letting her head rest in her hand. “We’re not together, he just says we’re dating when it conveniences him.” She let out a long sigh, “With the amount of times he’s cheated on me, it just hurts more to say we’re together.” 

You could feel your heart shatter when she told you that. It felt like the late night calls you and Mikasa used to have. When she was breaking down over this shitty human. You stood up, a determined fist near your heart. “Make him fall in love with me and dump his ass!” You said, determined and proud. A eager smile on your lips. 

Armin slapped his hand over his face, softly groaning. Why were you like this?

You felt your phone vibrate, and instantly you got a bad feeling. It was on the table, face down, catching everyone’s attention. You smiled, “How much you wanna bet it’s Jean.” 

Armin squinted his eyes, playing the odd in his head. “Thirty if it’s that one boy.” He snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember his name. “Niccolo was it? The one that’s begging you to fuck him again?” It was a good chance, since it was so fresh. He shrugged his shoulders, “Also. Forty if it’s Jean.” 

“Fifty if it’s Floch.” Historia added. 

You and Armin quickly agreed, Historia made the best bet. Floch was always texting you. 

You flipped the phone to you, glancing at the notification. You picked up your phone, flipping the screen so only you could see. Before smiling. “Fuck yeah.” You flipped the phone to the both of them, “It’s Jean and Floch.” And, Jean was asking for some tutoring. Fuck yeah. 

When, another number caught your attention. It was somewhat fresh, only sent an hour ago, and from an unsaved number.

324–1980–1234

Which was weird, despite not texting or calling the men you talked to, you always made sure to save their number. You didn’t like the idea of mixing up guys. Maybe, you didn’t save the number, because the numbers were so– unique. 1234, that’s so easy to remember. 

Obviously, not easy enough since you don’t remember the person. 

You clicked the notification, reading the text. A smile burning onto your face. Cute. Another horny boy asking you to fuck him. How original. 

More notably, he was saying ‘it can be a secret between the two of us.’ Which was odd.. Why would you need to keep anything a secret? You weren’t dating anyone, or talking to someone no less. His next text made you even more confused. 

‘Yk, since you’re Jean’s girl’

You could feel your eyebrows furrow together. Jean’s girl? What the hell? You weren Jean’s girl, in-fact– this was the first time you were hearing this. Wait, who the hell is this guy?! You were going to clarify, but Historia’s voice caught your attention. “How do you know this is even going to work?” 

You sighed, putting your phone down. I’ll respond later. “I don’t,” You lifted your eyes to Historia, “But, if I want this to work, you have to tell me everything you know about Jean.” You said, placing your phone down on the table. “And, I mean everything.” You leaned on Armin’s shoulder. 

Historia bit her lip, “I’m sorry, Y/n, but.. I don’t really know anything about Jean. Other than that, he doesn't talk to his parents anymore.” I can work with that. Historia glanced at Armin, “And, I don’t think anyone does.” She placed her hands on the table. 

Armin sighed, “He cut me off a month into college.” Armin placed his head on yours, accepting defeat with you. 

“Actually,” Historia voiced, keeping her eyes down. “I’m ashamed I haven’t told anyone, but..” She placed her hands to her face, whimpering to herself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

Your eyebrows came together, looking at Armin. The two of you stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. Unsure how severe Historia's confession may be. 

 Historia sniffed, blinking a few times, then finally looking at you. “I’m sure you both know the name..” 

You could feel your blood run cold before the name even left her name. 

“Annie.” 

The whore of Trost.

You could feel tears brim in your eyes at the thought. 

What did Jean know about Annie? And, why hasn’t he told anyone?… What was he hiding?

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Eren moved his foot up and down, glancing at the clock. Watching it tick in his room, hearing the loud music playing from his roommates room. Sighing into his phone, “I don’t know, he’s never acted like that. Like this!” He paused, thinking about what he said. “Well, never to this extent.” 

“Maybe, he is projecting?..” the person responded. 

“From what trauma?” He replied, “He had a childhood I— we were jealous of Mika.” Eren sighed, “I just, I can’t play pretend anymore for his sake. Jean’s become a different person..” 

Mikasa sighed into the phone, “We don’t know that Eren.” 

“We knew him enough to know he had a private chauffeur!” He almost shouted, “Seems like a life to be jealous of.” Eren didn’t have that growing up. Hell, he didn’t even think he was going to attend college because of the cost. Luckily, his academic scholarship helped him attend his dream school. 

Mikasa stayed quiet for a moment, “People change Eren, there’s nothing I– we can do about that.” Something probably happened to the poor-boy before he went to college. “Just wait until he messes up something he actually wants. I promise you he’s going to change.” 

“I don’t think so..” Eren sat up in his bed, “I’m telling you Mika, this Y/n girl really has him twisted.” It’s so weird. “It makes me uncomfortable. She makes me uncomfortable. They both make me uncomfortable.” 

Mikasa sighed, “You remember my best friend from highschool?” Eren’s eyes widened, no way.. “Y/n’s her. And, the two are deathly different, yet similar.” Mikasa hated to admit it. “But, I’m not worried about her, she knows how to take care of herself.” 

Eren nodded, “You think so?” 

“I know so, Babe. Y/n’s someone I warn boys about.” Mikasa sighed, “I think Jean’s the one that should be scared.” Mikasa bit her lip, leaning down on her bed. “I think Jean’s going to experience a real heart break for once.” 

“I hope so,” Eren placed his hand to his head, closing his eyes. “He’s such a shitty person.” 

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Mikasa interrupted, “She’s calling me, I’ll call you later Eren.” 

“See ya.” Eren heard the phone line end, making him place his device on the bed. He missed who Jean was. There was a knock on his door, making him sit up on his bed. Looking at the door, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Come in.” 

The door split open, revealing the person behind it. Jean. “Hey, I’m going out.” He informed Eren, “I have tutoring tonight.” 

Eren hid the expression building on his face. Pity, for you. “With Y/n?” 

“Yeah, with Y/n.” He responded coldly. “See ‘ya.” He was about to close the door when Eren’s mouth moved on its own. 

“Watch out.” Jesus fucking christ, Mikasa was going to kill him. 

Jean slowly walked back into the room, his eyebrows together. His shoes clicking on the wooden ground, “What was that?” Eren could pick up on the malice, yet confusion in Jean’s voice. Something he hadn’t heard in awhile. Hell, he hadn’t heard, let alone seen any emotions come from Jean. 

You know, other than lust. 

“She’s friends with Mikasa.” Eren said, making eye contact with his best friend. “That one girl you broke a while back.” Mikasa was a sensitive subject for Jean, Eren could tell by the way his eyes softened. Only for a moment. It disappeared. 

“Is she?” He leaned on the wall, “I mean, I know she seemed familiar, but I just thought–” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don’t care. It’s temporary. She’s temporary.” He corrected, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

“I know.” That’s what Jean always said. “Just.. felt like you would want to know.” 

Jean nodded, giving him a sarcastic, “Thanks.” Eren nodded back. Jean quickly left after that, the door clicking behind him. 

Eren held his breath for a second, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Mikasa, you got to be fucking with me,” Y/n being the threat? What a joke. You were the one who should be worried in this situation. 

But, Eren couldn’t ignore the weight that lifted from his shoulder. He warned Jean, so… anything that happens is his fault. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You sighed dramatically, “Mikasa, I don’t have anything sexy in my closet.” You groaned. 

“Well, where an oversized tee, with some panties.” She commented, resting her chin in her palm. “That always got him going when I was with him.” She shuttered. 

“Ugh, no.” You replied, “I have to be innocent about it, I can’t be too obvious.” Your closet was filled with clothing your mother bought you before moving. Along with things you had bought in your personal time. “What about a skirt?” 

“Sundress?” Mikasa suggested while removing one of the hair curlers from her hair. Blowing the silky strands of hair from her face. “Cute and sexy.”

You giggled, “I like the sound of that, oh!” You quickly dove for your drawers, searching around for something. “Mikasa, I swear if i can’t find this goddamn sleeping dress, I’m going to kill myself.” You were mindlessly tossing clothing from the drawer. 

“Oh! Is it that one.. Like– the lacy, silk dress you have?” Mikasa turned her attention to the camera, watching you frantically look for this article of clothing. 

“Yes! It’s a lace, satin, silk dress.” You added, letting out a ‘ah-ha!’ when you found it. You held it up to the camera, then placed it on your body. Holding it there for Mikasa to see. “Cute, right?”

She nodded her head, “Mhm! Super cute.” 

You slipped off your shirt and shorts, shimming into the natural fitting dress. Smoothing the material down your body, then looking at the camera. Fashing her a quick smile, “Shit, I can’t remember the last time I wore this?”

“You wore it with Floch.” Mikasa looked you up and down. “And, when we had a sleepover.” She grabbed her phone, bringing it to her face. Taking a screenshot on facetime, making your phone light up. 

You smiled, driving for your phone. “Eww! I look so gross!” You giggled, reaching for your laptop. Pulling up Mr. Ackerman’s classroom. When you paused for a second, looking at Mikasa. “Mika, do you?..” You bit your lip, wondering if you should ask. “Nevermind…” You didn’t want to get too invested in Jean, getting attached to him– was bad. That wasn’t how this worked. 

“No, don’t ‘nevermind’ me.” Mikasa huffed, “Tell me, what’s going on in your head, Y/n.” 

You sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you know anything personal about Jean?” Goddamn it, Y/n. So much for the getting personal bit. 

Mikasa looked at you for a moment, before softly sighing. “Well, back in highschool we were friends.” You didn’t even know he went to your highschool until Mikasa started dating him. “And, he was so kind and sweet. The sweetest boy you’d ever meet.” 

You watched as Mikasa slowly lost her beam. “Then, what?” You couldn’t help but be curious.

“That’s it, we don’t know.” 

We?

“He just changed. I don’t know why, or how? But, he did.” Mikasa sighed, “Some thought he got his heart broken, others thought a loved one died, but I just don’t know.” She bit her lip, “But, I think it has something to do with his parents.”

There was a knock at your door, making you jump. Quickly turning panicked, “Shit! I didn’t change my panties!” Mikasa giggled, ending the call. While you grabbed all your clothing, shoving it back into the drawer and changing your panties to a cute, lacy black one. 

You quickly flipped your hair back and forth, giving it volume before opening the door. Pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “Hey, sorry. Just got out of bed.” You gave him a kind smile, moving to the side and letting him come into your room. 

Jean gave you a familiar smile, “Don’t worry about it, Babe.” For some reason, the name didn’t sound too degrading. Which… worried you. “Looking pretty as ever.” 

You shut the door behind you, locking it. “Now?” You fiend, “Even when I literally just got out of bed?” You softly groaned. Now, your act is starting to begin. 

“Just got out of bed?” He turned his head to look at you, “Damn, I look like a beached whale when I get outta’ bed.” He ruffled your hair, “You look like a goddamn angel.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder. “Stop messing with me, I know you’re just saying that.” He walked in front of him, tilting your head up. Watching as his pupils dilated. 

He was such a sinful man.

“Me?” He placed his hand on your lower back, leading you into your room. “I would never lie to you, Babe.” You hated how sincere that sounded, because you knew it wasn’t. You knew it was a lie leaving his mouth. You knew he was mocking you. 

You fluttered your lashes at him, giving him a bashful smile. “Really?” You made sure to sound small. 

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Anything for my little tutor.” You giggled, damn, he was good. 

You pulled yourself away from him. “So, do you need help with the concept or the work?” You walked to the small table in the center of your room, taking a seat on the ground. “Or, just both?” 

Jean took a seat across from you, leaning back on his palms. “Uhm, both?” He awkwardly crossed one leg over the other. Too tall for the small table in your room. “Whichever allows me to spend more time with you.” 

You could feel your mask chip with your next question. “But, you don’t even know me?” What if I was a killer? What if I wanted to do bad things to you?

“This is why I’m getting to know you.”Jean replied, “You’re different.” 

You blinked a few times, “Am I?” He nodded. You let your fingers run over your table, “Different enough to be your friend?” You watched as he froze, tensed up so quickly you would’ve missed it if you blinked. “Different enough to know the real Jean. Not the one everyone on campus knows about?” You let your eyes study his reaction, which wasn’t the one you wanted. 

“Maybe.” He responded briefly, diverting his eyes from you. 

Perfect. 

You placed your hand over his much larger one. “Don’t worry Jean, I just want to be close enough friends where you feel safe to tell me anything.” You gave him a comforting smile, patting his hand softly. “M’kay?” 

And, that’s when you knew you caught him off guard. In a good way. His shoulders relaxed, his sly smile dropped, and his eyes softened. He gave you a sincere smile, “Whatever, you dork.” He said, pulling away from your hand. 

You just gave him another smile, standing up and reaching to your bed. You giggled, easing the tension. “Do you want me to get you a pillow or something?” You tilted your head, “Just to get you more comfortable.” You stood up on your tippy toes and leaned forward, trying to reach for one of your pillows. You could feel Jean's eyes on the back of your thighs. Which was gross, but good for your situation. 

He found comfort and attraction in you. 

“Uhm, yeah. That would be nice.” He cleared his throat for a second, biting the inside of his cheek. Catching the soft stuffed animal you threw at him. Jean looked at it, before looking at you. “You still sleep with stuffed animals?” He placed it under him. 

“Of course!” You expressed, “And, don’t let Spot hear you say that, he gets grouchy.” You pointed at the stuffed pillow he was sitting on. 

Jean laughed, “Of course, I assume he doesn't mind me sitting on him.”

“He doesn't.” You smiled at him, “He likes it, actually.” 

Jean pressed his lips together, feeling them wiggle. Trying to hold the laugh bubbling in his throat, however he couldn’t hold it back. “Shit, of course, of course. He’s probably into that.” His hand went under him, feeling the soft fur of the stuffed animal. 

You tilted your head to the side, pushing a strand of hair from your shoulder. “People sitting on his face? Who isn’t?” 

Jean’s eyebrows raised for a split second, almost like he was shocked. “Can’t disagree with that, tutor.” He flashed you a charming smile, his pupils dilating for a second. 

You scrunch your nose quietly, “Ew, you perv.” You shook your head, sitting back across from him, bringing your knees to your chest. Reaching for your computer and placing it on the table. “Okay, how about we start with the assignment due this week.” You tilted your head, “That way I can grasp what you do and don’t know.”

“Okay, sure, that works.” he reached for his laptop inside his backpack, placing it on the table. A space gray color. “Only if I get more things to sit on.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself. “Ew, as if. I feel bad for Spot, and that’s his kink.” You let out a small giggle. 

You reached under the table for your pencil bag. Pulling out a few pens, highlighters, and pencils. Along with a notebook and your textbook. “I hate the fact that this is the only class that actually uses the textbook but,” you shrugged. 

Jean looked at his screen, “That’s why I use the online version.” Jean leaned forward, flipping the computer screen to you. Showing you his pdf. “It helps me save money.” He also downloaded it illegally but..

You blinked at him a few times, “Wait, that’s actually so smart.” More subtle praise. “And yeah, that works perfectly.” 

“I mean, I downloaded it illegally, but yeah.” He sighed, “I tried my best to avoid this class my freshman year, but it bit me in the ass.” He sighed, “That’s karma I guess.” 

“You believe in Karma?” You tilted your head at Jean. 

Jean laughed, “No, just like to humor it every now and then.” His eyes traveled up your hand, “Do you believe in karma?” 

You opened your textbook, flipping to the chapter you were reviewing. “Absolutely, I believe everyone gets what’s coming to them.” You smiled at him, “So this tutoring better work so I can get my good karma.” 

Jean laughed, “Sure, sure. Anything for you, Babe.”

A shiver went up your spine. Anything for you. Those were some sweet words on Jean’s tongue. 

You blinked a few times, collecting your thoughts together before looking at your textbook. “Okay so, this is all about the concept we’re reviewing now. Pretty much explains how to do the homework.” Which was extremely rare for this class. 

Jean looked at your textbook, then his screen. “Okay.” He started scrolling through the document. Secretly glancing at the page you had opened, trying to find where in the book you were. His eyes met yours, wanting to ask for help, but the way you were patiently waiting with a smile, it made him continue looking on his own. “Okay, it’s here, right?”

You leaned forward, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and making sure he was in the right section. He was. Surprisingly. You gave him a kind smile, “Great, good job, Jean.” You briefly patted his hand, looking at your textbook and grabbing a highlighter. Your eyes discreetly watched him, looking for a reaction. 

A shiver. Jean liked that, he really fucking liked that. In fact he wanted more.

You smiled to yourself, good. Perfect. He reacted well to praise. An often sign of not receiving it in youth. With your parents. 

Jean bit the inside of cheeks, gripping the table. “Okay so, we just read the stuff, then do the work.” He asked, shaking his head and bringing his distant attention to you. It felt like his mind was wandering– it was. 

“Yeah, that sounds great. Just highlight what you think is important, then we’ll go over it together,” you placed your chin in your hand. “It’s as simple as that.” You gave him another smile. It was the last reward you were going to give him. It was going to be odd to see a stone face after being so accustomed to a kind smiling one. 

It wasn’t long before the two of you finished reading, pulling up the assignment. You pushed your textbook to Jean, allowing him to look at what you marked up. “I thought that this was important in general, so I just marked it up.” 

Jean just nodded, his eyes scanning over what you found important. Mentally noting that it was pretty much identical to what he highlighted. “Good, just about what I expected from my smart little tutor.” Jean looked at the first question, already knowing the long steps of progress needed to complete the question. Jesus, he didn’t want to do it. 

“I hate this class.” He groaned, his eyes wandering to you. Waiting for your response, but it never came. Just silence, your eyes glued to your computer screen, and paper. 

Which was expected, you tended to get lost in your studies in the library or in class. Something Jean observed the first few times he ‘ran’ into you conveniently. So, he gave you some space. I mean, it wasn’t like you were purposely ignoring him. 

Right? 

Soon enough Jean was just playing some random computer game. His eyes flickering back to you every now and then, checking up where you were in the assignment. It was so quite, he could practically hear the neighbors next door fucking. Actually no, that was his imagination.   Jean just didn’t like the silence, no one did. He sighed loudly, “This is so boring, and useless.” 

You didn’t respond again, just continued solving for your answer. Looking up for a second, like you were thinking, then returning back to your problem. 

Jean felt a small part of him regress. What the fuck. Now, you had to be ignoring him, but he wasn’t annoyed. In fact, it was something else. Like a stinging sensation in his chest. “Y/n?” 

You tilted your head up, looking at him. Giving him a single nod, the only form of acknowledgement. And for some reason, it made the sensation go away. Only a little bit. 

Jean felt his eyebrows mush together, not used to the cold almost distant responses you were giving him. And, his reaction. What happened to the sweet and bubbly girl that he was just talking to? Jean didn’t like this. In fact, he missed… 

“Do you like this class?” Jean asked, flashing you a charming smile. You naturally wanted to smile back, but you stopped yourself. “I mean, professor Ackerman just sucks, but..” his eyes landed on you, seeing the way you were mindlessly nodding. An almost bored expression on your face. 

He cleared his throat. 

You looked at his paper, then back to him. Seeing the way his hand came over the blank sheet. You let out a breath through your nose, “Jean, just do your work,” you looked down at your paper, “If you need help, then you can talk to me.” You flickered your eyes at him, then back to your work. Suppressing the smile building your lips. The things you do to take a picture of his expression. 

Confusion, but laced with some embarrassment. He almost looked shocked. It was a huge contrast to the usual cocky smile on his lips. God, you wished Mikasa could see this. 

Jean thickly swallowed, “I– I don’t know how to do the first one.” Did I just fucking stutter? His eyebrows came together, shifting the paper to you. 

Your eyes flickered to his, raising an eyebrow. “Have you tried to?” You pointed at his empty paper, “It looks like you haven’t even tried.” That pain returned back into his chest, but for some reason, this time it was worse. You leaned back, crawling over to him. “Here, let me watch you try.” 

Jean looked at you, then the paper. He knew how to do the fucking problem, he just wanted to talk to you. Was that pathetic? It sounded pathetic in his head. He sighed, working out the problem, quickly finishing it, and placing his pencil down. Looking at you and waiting for your reaction. 

Waiting for your approval. However, that thought stayed in his head. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was waiting for your approval.

You gave him a small smile, followed by an enthusiastic– “Good!” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

That was why. 

Then, immediately, you return to your work. Your neutral facade already taking over, “When you’re done with the worksheet, show it to me, I’ll correct what’s wrong.” You pointed your pencil at his paper, then returned it to yours. 

Jean could feel that buzz of happiness slowly disappear. Your words were so brief, the feeling was so brief, it made him crave for more. “Well– aren’t you going to check if this is wrong?” He pointed at the problem he just solved. 

“No.”

Why the fuck were you acting so–

“It seems like you already know how to do it.” You rested your cheek on your palm, looking at him. This time, you looked more interested. “Am I wrong?” Your tone stayed neutral. It sounded like you were bored. 

Bored of Jean. 

Jean could feel his heart drop at that thought. No one’s ever been bored of him. In fact, it was always the opposite. He always got bored with the person. And, for once in his life, he didn’t know whether he should lie or tell the truth. Lies were so fluid with him, but right now he couldn’t even think of one. “Yes.” 

Your eyebrows came together as you scoffed at him. Looking back at your paper, “Whatever, okay.” 

Jean stared at you for a moment, expecting you to add onto the sentence. Except, you didn’t. And, it stung. He didn’t like this feeling. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was feeling. All Jean knew was he didn’t like being told ‘whatever,’ by you. He cleared his throat, “No, is what I meant.” His tone was soft, almost embarrassed, but his face didn’t display it. 

Then, suddenly you were filled with life. Something Jean loved seeing on you. His chest fluttered with the reaction. You giggled, flashing him a big smile. “You’re so confusing, Jean.” You told him, tilting your head and sighing dreamily, “I like when you tell me the truth, makes me like you more. Makes me feel like I’m talking to the real you.” You placed your head on the table, dimples denting into your skin. “Good job, Jean.” 

Jean’s mind blanked at the praise. Giving you a smile back, as he returned to his paper. Eager to finish it. 

Now, was this manipulation? Yes. Yes it was. 

It is the most basic in the book. It could be complicated, but you always knew a way to simplify it. 

Love-bombing. 

You made sure Jean got used to the smiles and praise. Especially since he was around you so often. And, you had to make sure he enjoyed it as-well. To the point where it would be weird not to receive it from you. Which is exactly what happened. And, it got Jean to do something he wouldn’t under regular circumstances. 

Open up with the truth. 

It was simple, really. Jean missed the attention, the praise, and the smiles. So, he did something to get it back. You were conditioning him– ‘Truth, good! Lie, bad!‘

That way, when you asked him something –anything– he wouldn’t lie to you. In fear of the rejection that may follow. In fear of the reaction that may follow from you. Something you only learned from the best. 

You tilted your eyes up, looking at Jean. They met Jean’s instantly, and you felt yourself stutter, before speaking. You weren’t expecting him to already be looking at you. “Believe it or not, but my parents are the ones who bought me my textbooks.” You rolled your eyes. “Pretty embarrassing, right?”

“Really?” He asked, wanting you to continue. 

“Mhm, but it’s kinda weird since I don’t even talk to them anymore.” You placed your hand on the book, making eye contact with him. “Feels like I’m using them.” Which was a lie, you were very much still in contact with your parents. In fact, you were going to their house these weekend. 

Jean leaned forward, “You’re not.” He told you. “You don’t know what it’s like to use someone, and I promise you, it’s definitely not reading a book they bought you.” He answered truthfully. 

You smiled at him, nodding your head. “I guess that’s true, but still.” You looked up, then down, “I kinda’ feel bad.” You sighed, “I always feel bad..” 

“Don’t, parents are shitty.” He replied, “I didn’t even know my parent’s name until freshman year.” You watched as he sighed. 

“Freshman year of high school?!” That was a real shock. 

“No, college.” He chuckled. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 

That explains so much. You shook your head, “What? Of course not!?” You bit the corner of your lip, “It’s just unfortunate, no one should feel that way. No one should be treated that way.” That way they don’t turn out like this. Like you and Jean.

You’ve heard this story with almost every guy you’ve ‘been’ with. They’re always going through something, and taking it out on the people around them. You didn’t care though. 

It explains their actions. Doesn’t justify them. 

“Well, that’s just how it is.” Jean slid his paper over to you, placing his pencil down. “And, done.” When the hell did he even do it?

You blinked at him, “Done? I’m not even done?!” You couldn’t help it, but you giggled, grabbing his paper and looking over it. “And, it’s all correct.” You looked at him, “Jesus, are you sure you really need this tutoring? It seems like I could take some tips from you if you’re this smart.” 

“You’re the smart one here, Y/n.” He cooed, “I’m just here on my knees doing anything you want.” Jean smiled at you, his teeth flashing at you. His sharp canines caught your attention. Okay, maybe he was a little attractive. 

Another shiver. Hm. You wouldn’t mind seeing that. The worst part about that statement was— he wasn’t lying. 

“I doubt it Jean,” you really did, his pride was too big. “I feel like I’m the one who would do anything for you.” You flashed him a kind smile, creeping your hand slowly to your pencil. It’s about time for a reward. You pencil tipped over the table, and you brought your legs to your chest again, sighing dramatically. “Ugh, this is why I should buy pens.”

Jean waved it off, “Naw, the ink spills in your backpack when it rains.” Dipping his head under the table, grabbing the pencil off the ground. But, his eyes wandered up. He tried to stop it from happening. 

“Really?” You cooed, smiling to yourself. Watching as the tall male visibly tensed. Looking directly in between your legs. “I feel like you’re telling me from experience.” You leaned back slightly, spreading your feet apart. Allowing him a better view of your panties. A filthy and erotic sight for anyone.

Suddenly, he couldn’t think straight. His mind clouded with thoughts of you, only you. Filthy thoughts of what he would do to you. God, he would do anything for– what the hell was he thinking? He cleared his throat, “I have a lot of experience.” He said mindlessly. 

You giggled, pulling your feet together. “That’s not a good thing, Jean.” 

Jean quickly pulled his head up, hitting the back of his head under the table. You let another giggle slip from your lips, standing up and walking to his side of the table. Cupping his face with your hand, the other one coming to the top of his head and rubbing it softly. “Are you okay, Jean? That looked like it hurt.”

He blinked a few times, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “No, yeah. I’m okay, just got distracted.” Hell, he was still fucking distracted. You hand was so small and soft against his face. So comforting. 

You laughed, lifting his face up. Pressing a kiss on his forehead, “You’re so cute Jean, you remind me of cake-pops.” You pulled back, watching as his pupils dilated. 

“Cake-pops?” Jean’s tone was breathy, almost whiney. He placed the pencil on the table, watching as your hand left his face. He missed the sensation already, so comforting and sweet. Something he wasn’t himself. 

“Yup! Cake-pop.” You told him. “Jean, I adore cake-pops, so take it as a compliment.” You letured, returning to your side of the table. 

“Hm,” he hummed, looking back at the paper. “You know, for someone who doesn't like me, that’s such a weird thing to say.” 

You could feel your heart drop. But, you didn’t show it. You tilted your head to the side, eyebrows cutely coming together, “What are you talking about?” Your voice was innocent, confused, and most importantly hurt. How the hell did he come to that conclusion?

I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but he shouldn’t know that…

Not yet, at least. 

“Words and actions say different things, Babe.” He cooed, smiling at you. “Even with this whole fake facade, I can see right through you.” 

You need to think of a lie, and you needed to think of one fast. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well, I’m sorry that I don’t want to be another one of your girlfriends or—“ you cut yourself off, “I just want to be your friend, and I thought maybe if I—“ 

“If you what?” His eyes were trained on you, he was interested. 

“If I pretended that I liked you, we could be close and just be close.” You sighed, looking down. You voice dropping down slightly, “Maybe, it was stupid..”

“Don’t you hear the shit people say about me?” He scoffed, “You’re telling me you still want to be friends?” His voice was mocking. 

Comfort but confront him, Y/n. 

“Yes, I hear about you all the time. Which, I won’t lie, made me want to stay away from you.” You bit your bottom lip, “I’ve also heard about the things you’ve said about me.” 

Jean’s eyes darkened, his jaw tensing. That fucking bitch Historia. Jean quickly fixed his expression, biting the inside of his cheek. “You have?” He didn’t want you to know about that. He wanted to keep you innocent and sweet. 

You nodded. “But, I assumed you were just saying that because you were around friends.” You made sure your voice broke, tears welling in your eyes. Making them glossy and cute. “I don’t think you mean it, right?” 

Jean stared at you, his lips parting for a second. 

Jean felt bad. Which is something he doesn’t feel at all. In fact, he’s never felt bad about something he’s said. Even when the girl was openly telling him, breaking down in front of him too. So, why did it feel like a part of him was breaking with you?

“Of course not, Honey.” He brought you into his arms, his hand coming to your hair. “I just– I just have to keep up with an image—“ Jean froze. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he admit that? “It’s weird, and complicated. Something with an old friend.” What the fuck was happening to him?! 

You looked up from his chest, giving him a smile. “Thank you for telling me that.” You mumbled, “I’m happy you’re comfortable enough to open up to me.” 

“I’m comfortable telling you anything.” Jean hated that. Why? Because it was so true. Someone he met almost a month ago, and he was willing to break apart his heart for you to look inside. He didn’t even know why. 

You snuggled into his chest. “I’m glad.” You let out a content sigh, hugging him. 

Jean hesitantly hugged you back. “Me too.” That was a lie, because— for once in his life he felt like he could open up. And, what was so bad about that? You just wanted to be friends. The only girl he wanted, just wanted to be friends. 

This has got to be karma. 

What the hell was he thinking? He was just doing this to have sex with you. 

Jesus, his mommy issues were starting to pop out. 

“How about we just rest on it.” You pulled away from him, smiling up at him. “We’ll meet up at the same time next week. You cupped his cheek, pulling him closer to your face. Smiling as you watched him nearly nuzzle into your touch, eager to have more. “M’kay?” You cooed, letting your eyes dip from his to his lips. Only to quickly return them back. 

Jean thickly swallowed, before giving you a sincere smile. “Okay.” 

You hummed approvingly. Rubbing your thumb soothingly. 

Men are so easy. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Butterflies surrounded you while you walked back to your dorm from class. Well, normal people called them relationships, but you liked to make it sound pretty. Because that’s how relationships should be, beautiful. 

Despite everything that you’ve done, and everyone you’ve done, you strive to be in a relationship one day. A romantic relationship, where the male you love, loves you equally as much as you love him. 

He buys your chocolates, big stuffed bears, bigger than you! Along with huge bouquets of flowers you’ve seen only on tik tok. Cards with cute notes inside, and jewelry decorated with diamonds. The romantic stuff. 

You craved that shit. 

You were just waiting for the right guy. 

And, yeah, you know what you’ve done is bad. But, if it makes it any better, you do feel horrible when it’s over. Because, everyone has a reason behind their actions. And, you know it doesn't excuse their actions. In fact, it doesn't even excuse yours. 

But, you still feel a little guilty. Because, deep down, you secretly care about every single guy you’ve been with. Hell, a part of you cares about Jea–

Armin's laugh cut you out of your thoughts, “I can’t believe it, I’ve heard from Eren that he doesn’t even respond to him.” You adjusted your phone, keeping it pressed to your ear. “And, you’re just leaving him on delivered?” 

Oh yeah, you were on call with Armin. Currently talking about how often Jean texted you. In fact, he was texting you right now. You just didn’t have the energy to respond. 

And sure, you were used to the bombardment of texts from each boy you got with. And, you always tried your best to respond quickly and thoughtfully. 

At first. It was simple, talk to them the first few days, then just ghost them. Then, come back like nothing happened. People crave for things they can’t have. So..

You placed your phone into your back pocket, grabbed your AirPods. “I mean, it’s not forever. It’s a temporary thing.” You blew a bubble with your pink gum, “Just until he gets attached to me.” Or confesses he likes me, one of the two. 

Armin laughed, “Okay, okay. Whatever you say.” There was movement on the other line, “Wait, hold up. I’m like five minutes from the dorm.” 

You laughed, “Okay, damn. Didn’t know you hated talking to me that much.” Armin was frantically about to explain himself, but you ended the call. Giggling. 

“I swear he’s such a sweetheart—“ 

“I’m so sorry!” 

There’s no way that just happened. 

You could feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Sure, you’ve bumped into people, but you’ve never bumped into them so hard you fell to the ground. “No, it’s– it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

His hand came to yours, pulling you off the ground quickly. Almost like you were a grape, maybe even a feather. “I didn’t see you, shit.” He laughed, his hand coming to his blonde hair. “Sorry, you’re just way smaller than me.” 

You felt your eye twitch with annoyance, “Gee-thanks.” 

He laughed again, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.” 

You tossed a chunk of hair over your shoulder, eyeing him up and down. A football jersey and the number 12 catching your attention. Hm. Number 12, Colt Grice, offensive, football player. Why were so many football players popping into your life? “I don’t think I threw it.” 

Colt tilted his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. A playful smile on his lips, “I think you should, promise I’ll be able to catch it.” 

Maybe, you didn’t need to wait any longer. You already liked this guy. Corny? Sure. But, in a cute, quirky way. You laughed, holding your hand over your lips. “Jesus, you’re so corny. Does that work with all the girls?” You placed your hands behind your back, admiring the man in front of you. 

“I don’t know,” he sucked in air through his teeth, “I think you should be the one telling me that.” Colt leaned down slightly, “Did it work?” His eyes flickered to the purity ring on your thumb, before looking back at you. Wait a minute.. Purity ring? Why did that sound familiar? 

You giggled, nodding your head. Covering your hand slightly, shit, forgot that was on.  “I’m Y/n.” You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at him. 

Nope, Colt was throwing that shit back at you. You watched as he turned white. Tensing up like a goat who just got jump scared. And, like God had sent one of his angels, a friend slung an arm over Colt’s neck. Eyeing you up and down for a good second, before looking at Colt. He looked familiar… “Shit man, you know that’s Jean’s girl you’re talking to, right?”  

His voice sounded even closer to home. It hit you like a truck, Porco. 

His words sunk into your head, and you felt your eyebrows mush together. Your hand resting on the strap of your bag and holding onto it, your knuckles turning white. “I’m sorry, what?” Why the fuck was he calling you Jean’s girl? You two weren’t dating. Shit, the two of you weren’t even fucking. 

“Jean’s girl,” Porco said with a smile, a hand combing through his slick back hair. “What? First time hearin’ the nickname? It said all around the school.” 

Nickname? “I’m afraid so, I’ve never heard someone call me that.” You forced a smile, looking at Colt. Please don’t believe the bullshit this guy’s saying. “I have no clue what he’s talking about.” You really didn’t. 

“White gold purity ring on your thumb, short, and tutors Jean.” Porco smiled at you knowingly, clicking his tongue. “You know exactly who you are.” 

I do know exactly who I am. You shook your head, discarding that thought. 

“And, you’re fucking Jean while trying to get with the whole football team.” Porco loudly laughed, a mocking smile displaying to you. “See, told you Jean was right, and you didn’t want to believe me.” 

You wanted to ask— what? But, you knew you wouldn’t like the answer. In fact, you already knew the goddamn answer. Colt looked at you then his friend, a smile building on his lips. “Damn, you really are a slut.” He leaned his head back for a second, “And, I thought Jean was just being extra when he told us about you.” 

You could feel your heart shatter. “I’m not even—“ you looked away, “I’m just his friend.” 

Porco leaned towards Colt, lifting his hand to his ear. Whispering something, “Who’s begging to suck his horse-cock.” 

You slapped him. You slapped him so fucking hard, your hand burned. 

His face was to the side, a red hand mark burning into his skin. His eyes welling with tears from the stinging pain. “What the fuck is your problem?!—“

“Begging? I’ve never— and will never beg for any man.” You shook your hand, trying to cool the feeling down. Before, reaching for your phone, and pulling up your messages. “Sorry, I think the only person begging is—“ You turned your screen to both of them, giving a sweet smile. “You.” You innocently blinked a few times, “You are 1234, right?” You smiled at him, “Or, is that another guy named Porco on the football team, begging me to sit on his face?” 

When you gave Porco your phone number so long ago, you thought he wasn’t going to text you. So, imagine your surprise when you were in the library with Historia and Armin, and saw a text from an unknown number. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots on who the mystery man was. Colt looked at Porco, snickering. While he glared at you, almost like he was in shock. Before, muttering a soft— “Bitch.” 

You smiled, “I know.” You brought the screen to your face, scrolling up. “I know you’re with Jean, but I still really want to get to know you.” You scrolled a little farther up, “I know I shouldn’t be asking you this. Since you’re Jean’s girl, but, I seriously can’t get you out of my head. Please, let’s fuck. Just once.” You smiled, turning your phone off. Sliding it into your pocket, and tilting your head to the side cutely. Porco’s jaw dropped, while Colt just blinked in shock. “Now, tell me everything Jean has been saying.” You smiled, “Before, I show him what the fuck you’ve been sending me.” 

Colt looked at Porco, then you. “I thought you said you two weren’t dating.” 

“We aren’t.” You replied instantly, “But, Jean obviously cares about me. Enough to lie about shit, to get people off my back.” You looked at Porco, “Enough to tell you to stay away from me.” You let your eyes drift to the side. “So, go spill.” 

Colt thickly swallowed, while Porco pressed his lips together. He was the one to speak first, “He always tells us you’re just another girl obsessed with him.” His hand went to his hair,  “I can…” he lightly groaned, not wanting to say it aloud. “..I can text you about it.” He almost whispers. 

You smiled at him, “Thank you, Babe.” You turned on your heel, giving them a final wave before walking away. Turning the corner and letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Pressing your back to the wall, along with your hands.

Porco turned to Colt, “She’s such a bitch, no wonder Jean’s so obsessed with her.” He laughed, “She’s just the female version of him.” 

You stayed at the corner, listening as they walked away, before making a way of your own. You could feel your mind running, your hands shaking, and your heart pounding. You didn’t know if you were pissed. Oh no, wait, you were. But, you were equally as hurt. Maybe, it was karma. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned over your shoulder, seeing Armin. Your chest fluttered, instantly you hugged him. Sighing out, shutting your eyes, your throat burning. Constricting, even. “Uhm, are you okay?” Armin placed a hand in your air, his other arm wrapping around you. 

“I’m so fucking pissed right now, Armin. You don’t even know.” You mumbled into his shirt, before tilting it up. His eyes widened at you, shocked to see the tears pearling in your eyes. Falling down your cheeks, “I should’ve beat his ass the moment I saw him, rather than do this stupid shit. That way I wouldn’t be considered a total slut who begs for his dick.” 

Jean’s girl. That title burned into your head. It burned itself above your head, a title for all to read. That’s who you are. Jean’s girl. Some untouchable trophy nobody could touch, but Jean. And, he would kill anyone who tried. That’s why, no one was going to try. Colt being a prime example of it. Now that you were Jean’s girl, no one was going to touch you. Because, everyone was scared of him. Scared of Jean. So much for waiting for the right guy. 

An idea popped into your head. Unless…

Armin’s eyes softened, “I’ve been hearing about that..” you could tell a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, looks like this has been going around for awhile. “Jean’s just like that with everyone. I promise, once this is over, everyone will forget about it.” 

“Unless, everyone is distracted by something else.” You pulled away from Armin, wiping your tears. Which felt so embarrassing to do. You hated crying, it felt like you let the person get to you. “I think I have an idea.” 

Armin wiped a tear from your cheek, cupping your face. “Think it over, Y/n. Before you do something crazy.” He smiled, “Besides, haven’t you done enough already? He’s obviously smitten with you, just ghost him.” 

“No.” You sighed, pulling away from him and grabbing your phone. “I haven’t done what I wanted to.” You looked for Jean’s number. 

Armin thickly swallowed, nervous to what you wanted to do. But, he asked anyway, “What do you want to do?” 

You pulled up your phone, calling Jean. “Record him begging me to fuck him.” You smiled, “Show people who the real whore is.” Then, Jean picked up. “Hey, Babe. What’s up?” 

‘Hey BabE, wHat’S uP?’ Shut the fuck up, you thought. “Meet me at the Starbucks, before I fucking kill you.” You ended the call. There goes your innocent, cute, sweet, cursing it bad!– persona. But, maybe your anger was justified. No, fuck that. Your anger is justified. 

Armin blinked at you, almost in shock. “Wait, aren’t you scared this is going to throw Jean off?” He clicked his tongue a few times, “From like your whole innocent persona?” 

You shook your head, “Anyone would be pissed to hear you’ve called them a slut.” You smiled, flashing him your ring. “Even the purest of people.” You were going to fucking kill him. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You stood impatiently in front of the Starbucks you worked at. You had given Armin your keys and backpack, rushing over to your job. Agreeing to meet Armin in your dorm after you killed Jean. Tapping your foot impatiently. Glancing at the time on your phone. 

3:50.

You sighed, sitting at one of the tables outside. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. You waited for a goddamn hour in the freezing cold. 

You loudly groaned, standing up from your seat, and shoving it back into the table. Struggling for a moment, because the chair refused to move. You shut your eyes, trying to silently compose yourself. You were so done with this son of a bitch. You weren’t even mad or sad, just done. You didn’t even want to continue with the shitty plan, you didn’t even want to see Jean ever again. In fact, the next time you saw him, you were going to end—

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I was trying to find your favorite color.” 

You could feel everything rush out of your head. Fuck no, I’m still pissed as hell. You opened your eyes, only to audible gasp. You pupils landed on a huge bouquet of pink flowers, decorated with white and red. A closed letter in the middle.

Like.. the tik tok ones… Behind it, a smiling Jean. A black turtleneck, and silver chain decorating his neck. Hair slicked back with his sunglasses on the crown of his head. Gray jeans, with some black converse, his fingers decorated with black gloves and a single gold ring. Finally, a jacket that pulled his outfit together. He was holding onto a bigger pink stuffed bear. Jesus, it’s bigger than you. Jean saw you looking at it and brought it close, “I also got a friend for Spot.” 

You blinked a few times, in shock. Your lips parted, “I—” You composed yourself, “I thought you didn’t buy your girlfriend's things.” You said without thought. Your eyebrows coming together in slight confusion and anger.

Jean smiled, his dimples denting into his cheeks. “You’re not my girlfriend, you’re my tutor.” The scent of sweet flowers flooded your senses. It almost made you dizzy. 

“Historia is.” You immediately shot back, distracting yourself. You didn’t like the way he addressed you. Actually, had he ever called you by your name?

Jean bit the inside of his cheek, you looked hot pissed. “Not anymore.” He placed the bear in your hands, suppressing a laugh as he watched you stutter backwards, not expecting the weight. “I broke up with her.” He wasn’t going to tell you that he just broke up with her over text right before he came to meet you. 

“So, if I called her right now, she would tell me she’s single.” You accused, pressing your face into the stuffed animal. Cake-pops. It smelled like cake-pops. A shiver shot down your spine. 

Your heart fluttered… You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress the heartfelt smile building on your lips. You loved things like this. You peered at him from behind the fluffy bear. Jesus, Jean loved your eyes. So shiny and deep, he didn’t like seeing them so mean. 

“Yes.” He watched as your eyes softened, your body melting into the bear. It made his heart flutter, “Remember, I’d do anything for you.” Jean lifted the bouquet, “Even if it’s a shitty bear.” He just wants to see you smile. 

“So, you know what this is about then.” You glared at him, holding onto the stuffed bear tighter. Trying to remain composed. 

Jean closed his eyes then sighed, running a free hand through his hair. “Yes.” Unfortunately. When you get with a lot of women, you tend to pick up on things they get mad about. 

“Then, stop saying shit about me.” You looked back to the flowers and reached your hand out, grabbing the letter caught in between them. A white envelope. You opened it up, and looked at the beautiful gold cursive. You looked at him before reading what was inside. Jean didn’t say anything, just watched you. 

Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words. ‘To the girl who makes me want to buy her shit, I’m sorry. I can’t buy enough to represent how much I am, but maybe this helps. X’  

You glanced at the bottom, seeing a Starbucks gift card. Right above it, ‘Buy as many cake-pops as you want. I’d do anything to see you smile.’ You blinked a few times, your heart fluttering. Face burning. “You’re such an asshole.” You mumbled, holding the letter close to your chest. How’d you know my one weakness? “I hate you.” 

Jean smiled at you, “I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head, “No, you’re not.” 

“I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n.” Jean pushed a strand of hair from your face, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. His thumb rubbed soothing circles, “I promise to never say anything about you again.” He got closer, whispering– “Promise.” 

You shook your head again, “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not. I can’t lie to you.” His eyes softened, his lips parted for a moment, almost like he was unsure what to say. Or, if he should say it at all. “If you want me to break my heart apart for you to look inside. I would do it without a thought.” You nuzzled into his hand, finding it comforting. What would Mikasa think if she saw you? 

Your eyes sharpened, your nose twitching. “I fucking hate you.” You tore your face from his hand, stuffing it into the bear. Inhaling the scent of cake, and strawberry. You loved that favor. He’s so perfect. You hated how this was so perfect.

Jean kept his smile, walking closer to you. Wrapping his arms around your body, pushing the stupidly big bear out of the way. “You know you love me.” He cooed.

“I hate you.” You mumbled into his shirt, tears pearling in your eyes. “I fucking hate you.” I hate how you know what to say. I hate that you know what to do. You wrapped your free arm around him, melting into his warm body. You sniffed, “I hate you so much.” Your voice cracked. So warm.

Jean dropped his head, trying to rest it on yours. He sighed in defeat, “I hate you too.” 

You shook your head, “No you don’t.” You didn’t want to hear that, you didn’t want to hear anymore lies. You were so done. 

“I know.” Jean whispered, titling his head back. “I could never hate you.” He hated how he couldn’t lie to you. He hated how he couldn’t say no to you. He hated seeing you cry. He hated how he couldn’t hate you. “Let me walk you back to your dorm.”

It was silent. “Okay.” 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You remember the weird looks you got back in elementary. But, that was nothing compared to the ones you were getting right now in college. A huge bear in your arms, bigger than you, and Jean holding a massive bouquet of flowers beside you. 

This was worse than elementary. When you met your door, you didn’t want to face Jean. You just wanted to go inside, you just wanted to see Armin. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.” You sighed, “Just, stop.” You told him, turning on your heel and facing him. “Just leave and–” 

“Don’t do this,” Jean had some desperation in his tone.

You pressed your lips together, unsure of what to say. “Don’t do what? Tell you to leave?” You placed one foot behind the other. “I’m not doing anything, you’re just acting weird.” Now, it was your turn to lie. 

Jean could feel his heart drop. That hurt way more to be told, then say. “C’mon Y/n. We can be something– amazing. I can be good to you, I can– I will be good to you.” He was nodding his head, his lips giving you a shaky smile. 

And suddenly, you had three boys in-front of you. All saying the same thing, at the exact same time. Just another repeat of the cycle. 

“This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this, I can’t–” Floch sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you. Please, don’t– don’t leave me.” His hands were shaking by his side. Aching to hug you. 

“We’ve just met,” you argued. Looking away and pushing a strand of hair from your face. “I promise, what you’re feeling is temporary. You’re temporary.” You looked back at him. “The moment you feel even a slight shift in your feelings, you’ll be gone.” They’ve all done it before. Mikasa, Sasha, and Historia. 

“No, no– that’s not– we can work this out. Trust me.” Niccolo’s hand came to your shoulder, then moved up to your cheek. So soft and comforting, “Let’s try again.” He nodded his head, giving you a kind smile. “Let’s try again, please.” 

“There’s nothing to ‘try again,’ we were never a thing.” You closed your eyes, your hands grabbing onto the bear tighter. Which was something new to the cycle. “I just wanted to be your friend, and be there for you. You pushed that boundary, and now..” you looked down, “..I don’t even want to be friends.” 

Jean closed his eyes, “Don’t tell me that, Y/n. We– I–” 

You closed your eyes, you didn’t want to hear him say it. You hated this part. “Well, let’s just fuck once. Then, I promise to never bother you again.” They wrapped their arms around you, their arms shaking. “Just onc–” 

“Fine… Just try to think about it.” Jean placed his hand on your shoulder. Making the cycle in your head snap. Suddenly, it was just Jean standing in front of you. “Think about it for the rest of the semester if you have to.” His other hand went to your shoulder, “I’ll wait. I wait for however long you need me to.” 

Your eyes went wide, your breath caught in your throat. That was new. “I doubt that.” You didn’t know if you were lying. 

“I’ll prove it to you.” He replied immediately, “I’ll do anything for you.”

You held your breath, “Then, don’t say shit about me anymore. I don’t want to hear about ‘Jean's girl’ shit.” You let it go. 

Jean’s hands tightened around you, “Done. Fucking done.” 

“And, I don’t want to hear you talking, let alone fucking another girl.” You glared at him. Taking your free hand and placing it on his, tearing it away from your shoulder. 

Jean's lips twitched before he spoke, “Okay.” He nodded, “I can do that.” 

He hesitated. “Okay, well.. I–” you took a deep breath, feeling his fingers push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I trust you.” You want to trust him. Hell, the little girl inside of you aching for love, is telling you to trust him. You know not to trust her. 

Jean nodded, “Thank you,” he smiled softly, “Thank you.” It was so breathy and desperate, a shaky smile on his lips. His eyes were glassy and blown. 

You felt a shiver go down your spine. Strike, Y/n. Look how pretty he looks desperate. You grabbed the massive flowers from his hands, and twisted your door knob open. Thank god Armin left the door unlocked. “Bye, Jean.” You looked back at your door, making sure not to bump into your door frame. “I’ll see you next week for tutoring.” 

Jean smiled adoringly at you, nodding his head. “Okay, yeah. Can’t wait…” 

“Y/n, is that you?” Shit. Armin. Armin peeked around the corner, smiling at you. “And, guess what..” Armin’s eyes landed on Jean, and Jean’s eyes landed on Armin. You watched as Jean completely changed his expression. Armin soon followed suit. “You invited Jean over?” You could hear the coldness in his voice, such a contrast from his last sentence. 

You lifted your hand to Armin, “No, he–he’s leaving.” You looked at Jean, seeing the way he was glaring at your best friend. “You’re leaving.”

“Who the fuck is tha–” 

“If you ask me a stupid question don’t even bother trying to text me.” You asserted, “You’re doing so good, don’t mess it up, because your pride is getting to you.” 

It was silent as Jean continued to look at Armin, a thousand thoughts going through his head. His hands tensed by his side, before relaxing. Jean glanced at you, his eyes softening as he sighed. Almost in defeat, “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

You smiled at him, “Good job,” You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his cheek gently. “I see you.” You loved the way he melted into your touch before shutting the door behind you. Handing the flowers to Armin. 

His eyebrows shot up, “He bought you this?” Armin walked into the room, placing them on your bed. Grabbing the note in between the flowers to read it. “Wow.” 

You nodded, “Yup. He even bought me a friend for Spot.” You lifted the massive pink bear. 

Armin’s eyebrows came together, “He knows about Spot?!”

You nodded, “Yeah, he used him as a pillow.” You sighed, placing the stuffed bear on the ground. Then, sitting on top of it. “I still can’t believe he bought me these things.” 

Armin sat next to you, melting into the stuffed bear. “Me neither.” He laughed, “And, here I thought he didn’t like buying people stuff.” He doesn't even spare Eren a dollar for lunch. 

“Me neither.” You whispered. 

“What were you two talking about?” Armin turned his face to you. 

You looked down at the ground, “He apologized.” You sat down, “He apologized.” He said he would do anything for me. You didn’t believe him…

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Eren swiped his tongue over his lips, “I can’t believe you apologized.” He tilted his head to the side, “So unlike you.” Eren smiled to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re pussy whipped.”

Jean rolled his eyes, “I didn’t think I was, it just kinda slipped out.” Which was the truth, not the full truth. But, ultimately the truth. 

Jean apologized, because he genuinely felt bad, and he seriously didn’t want to mess up the situation between you two. He really liked you. Which was a weird thing to come to terms with in his head. 

Jean leaned his head back, placing his hand on his neck. “I mean, it’s easy. Just buy her random things, and she’ll be the one apologizing by the end of the night. I didn’t want to deal with a girl’s emotion.” 

Why was Jean saying this? It wasn't true, and it wasn’t even gratifying. At least with lying about… you. Jean got something out of it,

“Oh shit, don’t look now.” Eren laughed into his drink, “But, your girl is totally all over another boy.”

Jean’s head snapped in the direction Eren was looking. Already scowling, before seeing what was happening. 

It was you. Along with another boy, sitting close to you. 

Jean could feel the anger, and jealousy bubbling in his body. Fuck apologizes. Jean needed to get this boy far away from you. He wanted you for himself. 

Possessive, maybe? But, Jean truely didn’t give a fuck. He just wants you for himself.

Armin laughed, popping a fry into his mouth. “I swear, Hange is so weird.” 

“Right?!” You stood up, and an odd shiver went down your spine. You briefly looked around, was someone looking at you? “I thought she was a stripper in her past life from the way she was moving those hips.” You pushed his shoulder playfully. 

Armin burst out laughing, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to him. “Go get your lunch, dumbass.” He gently pushed you away.

You giggled, and stayed in your spot. Close to Armin. “I think I'm gonna get Panda Express.” You finally took a step back, looking at the food court. Pushing a strand of your hair from your face. 

Armin rolled his eyes, grabbing another fry and twisting it around in ketchup. “Of course you do.” He popped it into his mouth, raising his eyebrows at you.

You flipped him off, reaching in your hoodie pocket and pulling out your wallet. Leaving your backpack, but grabbing your phone. You opened your wallet, and silently counted your money. The Starbucks card Jean bought you, hiding in one of the pockets. You smiled to yourself. 

Wait.. did you just smile to yourself thinking of Jean?..

Ugh. Gross. 

You rolled your eyes and walked to the Starbucks you worked at. Quickly picking up three pink cake-pops. Two for you, and one for Armin. Then finally searching for the Panda Express in the food court. Eating one on your adventure. 

When you felt your phone ring. You reached for it, seeing the person calling you was Armin. You raised an eyebrow, but swiped your finger over the screen. Answering the call, and pressing the device to your ear. 

You got in the line for your food, looking at the menu. “Hey, Babe, what’s wrong?” You stayed quiet, expecting him to respond, but he didn’t. In-fact, it didn’t even sound like he called you on purpose. A butt-dial, maybe?...

“Yeah, I’m good Jean, thank you for asking.” 

You paused, no–you froze. Jean?

You grabbed your headphones, placing one of the buds in your ears and looking at your notifications. ‘4 texts from Armin.’

Pretty girl Armeen. 

Guess who’s walking around? Just a heads up. 

Wait, he’s sitting with me.  

Oh shit, Y/n, don’t come back

Call me right now. 

So, he was purposefully calling you. This wasn’t a butt-dial. You pressed the other earbud in your ear, turning on noise-cancellation, and raising up the volume. Trying your best to listen to the conversation.

“Class has been stressful, waiting for the year to be over.” Armin added a comforting laugh, trying to ease the tension you had to assume was forming. “But, isn’t everyone–” 

“You friends with, Y/n?” Jean’s voice cut through Armin’s, you could feel your eyebrows furry. 

Armin nodded, the sound translated from his headphones. “Bestfriends. We’ve known each other since highschool.” He swallowed nervously, “Why?” 

Jean didn’t say anything for a moment, and you could feel your breath still. In-fact, you stilled entirely, too scared to move. Almost scared to hear Jean’s response, actually– you were scared of Jean’s answer. He promised, you reassured yourself. 

“Oh.” 

You hated how tense his response was. 

“Oh?” Armin mimicked, “Is that bad?” 

“No.” Jean responded. 

You pulled out of line, finding yourself too engaged in the conversation to really pay attention to your surroundings. 

Armin laughed, “Okay, well–” 

“You don’t think of doing anything with her, right?” Jean asked, cutting Armin off. “I mean, that’s weird. You see her as a friend anyways.” His laugh cut through your body, making you frown.  

Armin didn’t say anything, which also worried you. Which led you to make your way back to the table. Still listening. 

Jean tilted his head at Armin, “Oh. Oh.” He laughed, “You do, fuck you little bastard. Playing the waiting game, right?” You could now see them. Jean was standing next to Armin, hands placed on the table. While Armin was still sitting down, tilting his head up to look at Jean. You kept your distance. 

Armin shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “The waiting game? I don’t–” 

“It’ll never happen,” Jean said, face stone cold. Eyes looking down on Armin, while his chin stayed high. Quite literally looking down on him. “Girls never go for their best-friends, they just go to you, and cry about the shitty boy they're dating.” Jean shrugged, “They cry about men like me using them, then leaving them like shit.” 

Armin was now visible glaring at Jean. Almost a silent way of saying, don’t do it. 

Jean did care. “Just like what I’m going to do to Y/n.” He laughed, “So, I guess you are somewhat useful.” You were now approaching the table.

Armin stood up, looking directly at Jean. “Don’t pull this shit, Jean–” 

“Or what?” Jean mocked, “You’ll tell Y/n?” Jean laughed, “I’m so scared.” He cried, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Armin pressed his lips together, thickly swallowing. He couldn’t force another word out. 

Jean smiled, dimples denting into his skin. “No, no, please–go ahead. I just buy her more shit since it’s so easy to win her over. I’ll promise to never do it again.” He scowled at him, “I’ll tell her all the shit she wants to hear just to get her on her knees, and sucking my dic–” 

“Is it really that easy?” You voice cut through Jean’s like a sharp knife, “Man, if it was really that easy, I’d probably be fucking the entire school.” You scowled, “But, it’s not, is it?” 

Jean’s back was to you, visibly tense. 

“Or what?” Armin mimicked Jean, finally answering his question. He raised his phone, while you did the same. Keeping the screens side by side. “I’ll have you tell her everything yourself.” 

You looked at Armin, and flashed him a kind smile. Whispering– “Thank you.” You turned, and tilted your head at Jean. 

Jean thickly swallowed, face gone white. He could feel his blood run cold, “Y/n, I– let me explain.” He tried rushing, turning his body to face you. 

“No.” You seethed. 

You took a deep breath, glancing at Armin for a second. Before collecting yourself.  

Letting your anger leave your body. 

You smiled, pressing your finger against Jean’s chest. To Jean, it felt like a knife piercing his body. “I’ll do all the explaining.” You drawled out, grabbing all your things, “Let’s get your tutoring session over with.” 

Jean’s eyebrows came together, utterly confused. He was expecting at least a slap, but it seems as if you were never angry. “Tutoring?” He questioned. 

You turned your head over your shoulder, smiling at him sweetly. “Of course!” You faked, “I’m going to teach you something your mother obviously didn’t.” You clasped your hands behind your back, making your way back to your dorm. Expecting him to follow. 

He was.

Jean glared at you, offended by your words. He hated when people brought families into arguments. “And, what’s that?” He pressed. 

You turned your head over your shoulder, batting your lashes at him. “Self-Respect.” 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You threw your backpack on your bed, watching Jean walk into your room, and shutting the door behind him. Locking it for good measure.  

“Sit.” You pointed at your bed, grabbing your phone. 

“I’m not sitting.” 

You sighed, always so disobedient. “Suit yourself.” You grabbed a drink from your mini-fridge, clicking it open and taking a sip. Placing the cake-pops on your coffee table. “Are you tense?” Your eyes moved over his shoulders. Seeing as they were close to his head. 

Jean rolled them out, trying to relax. “No, just nervous.” Why did he say that? “I don’t know why you brought me here.” He tried correcting, but it only filled what he didn’t want to be. Honest. 

You looked at him over the drink, blinking once. “Are you always this honest?” 

“No.” Jean needs to shut the fuck up. Jesus.

You giggled, pressing the drink to your lips. Trying to hide your smile. “Cute. That’s good to know.” You raised the drink to Jean, “Want some?” You passed him a gentle smile, one that made his body curl. 

Why were you being so nice? After what you just heard, after what you just said. Weren’t you going to kill him? Teach him– self respect, as you just said not too long ago. Maybe, you were going to poison him with your drink. 

Jean pressed his lips together and nodded, almost afraid to say no. 

You gestured for him to get closer, something he did slowly. Walking around your small coffee table and extending his hand. You turned your drink away, shaking your head. “Nu-uh.” You hummed, taking a step back and leaning on your absurdly tall bed. 

Jean’s eyes moved over your body, watching as you removed your sweater. Revealing the tight crop-top you were wearing underneath. You smiled sweetly as Jean, tilting your head to the side innocently. Placing your hand on his arm, and pulling him closer to you. 

Pushing him to the ground. Jean’s lips parted, about to speak when you spoke first. “Kneel.” You pushed the drink to your lips again, your lipgloss staining the cans opening. “I wanna do it for you.” 

Jean thickly swallowed, his mind racing. Your hands are burning him. His right knee hit the ground, then his left one. His hands pressing against your bedding, caging you between them. You just sweetly smiled, moving your free hand under his chin. Running your thumb over his bottom lip, pulling it down lightly. Then, bringing your soda to his lips. Lifting it, and watching his Adam's apple bob, drinking the cool liquid. 

You just hummed, watching as his long lashes fluttered shut. You just pushed his bangs out of his face, running your fingers through his soft hair. You finally understood the hype, Jean was so pretty. You pulled the drink back, placing the empty can on your bed. 

“It’s good, right?” You asked, bringing both your hands to his face. Holding it while the other played with his hair. “It’s my favorite drink.” 

Jean just leaned into your hand, nodding his head. “Yeah, but I don’t like how sweet it is.” He mumbled. 

“That’s exactly what I love about it.” You laughed, eyes skimming over his body. He was finally around your size, you didn’t need to crane your head to look at him. It was a nice change. “You look so cute.” You cooed. 

You could see Jean’s eyes dilate, his hand going to your legs. Holding onto them. “Don’t say that, it’s weird.” He retaliated. 

“You’re the one making it weird.” 

Jean leaned into you, his head resting on your stomach. “I hate this.” You continued to run your hand through his hair, encouraging him to continue. “Why are you doing this? What are you doing, what’s your goal?” 

Revenge. 

You blinked a few times, letting out a soft sigh. “What’s your goal when you get with a girl?” 

Jean tilted his head up, looking at you. “You know what my goal is, everyone does.” He sighed, a guilt crawling up his spine. “I’m not subtle about it.” Use them.

You let go of his hair, hands moving to his glasses, and removing them. Letting you look into his eyes, “So, you’re admitting the rumors are true?” You folded the glasses, placing them on your bed. 

“Yes.” Jean’s eyes closed, “Some of them are.” 

You tried to conceal your scowl, “Gross.” You mumbled, “You’re a real dick then.” 

Jean nodded his head, “Yeah, I know.” Jean knew he was a bad person. He’s heard it too many times around the campus, from women and men. It was so easy to be a bad person, so he didn’t know why he was trying to be a good one for you. 

Jean didn’t know why he was being so truthful with you. Was he trying to be a better person? Or, was he just trying to get with you, just like every other woman he’s spoken to. He didn’t know. 

Maybe, that’s why Jean was being so open with you. He just wanted to be a better person, and maybe he could start with you. Maybe, he was desperate to start with you. 

Someone Jean wanted to be with. Not someone who made him feel euphoric. He wanted the pain and the pleasure, the vulnerability and security.

“I can’t help it, that’s always how things turn out.” He mumbled into your stomach, a tickling sensation running through you. “I don’t ask for each girl to fall in love with me, I just want someone to want me.” But, when that happens, people get clingy and want commitment. Something that Jean doesn't want. 

You blinked a few times, before looking out your window. Mind drifting to Mikasa, a guilt shooting through your body. “I doubt things always turn out like that.” You responded, “I believe karma exists.” 

“I do too.” 

You looked back at Jean, watching as his arms moved around your torso. Holding onto you, closer than he’s ever held anyone. He could hear the smooth rhythm of your heartbeat. “Are you going to be my Karma.” 

“Do you love me?” You softly asked, fixing his hair. Your eyes are softer than anyone whose ever looked at him before.

“I don’t think so.” Jean blinked, and you could feel his long lashes on your stomach. His hands running up and down your back. 

You couldn’t help, but giggle, “Then, no. I don’t think so.” You blinked a few times, “I don’t think I’ll be the one to break your heart.” But, you’ll definitely play a part in it.

“I don’t break girls' hearts.” 

“You broke Mikasa’s.” You didn’t even think, it just slipped out. 

Fuck.

You could feel Jean still underneath your touch. “Mikasa?” He slowly said, “I don’t feel bad about her, at all.” Jean didn’t want to talk about Mikasa. That was a hard subject for him. 

You could feel the anger pulling through you again. He didn’t feel bad about tearing your friend apart? “You’re horrible.” You whispered, “Do you not know how badly you affect people?” You remained composed, this wasn’t going to work if you lost your temper.  

“Yes.” Jean responded, “I just don’t pity her.” He pulled back, hands slipping away from your body. Then, sitting on his heels. Hands still on your legs, moving up and down soothingly. Well, it was supposed to be soothing. 

And, who would’ve thought? Here you were about to forgive him. Now, you were going to continue on with what’s been brewing in your mind. You reached for your back pocket, grabbing your phone. “Should I ask why?” 

Jean shook his head, but answered anyway. “We had different plans after highschool, and it wasn’t going to work out.” His head went back to you, his head resting against your thigh. “But, she didn’t want to end things.” His voice was oddly soft. 

You didn’t say anything. Placing your hands on your bed, and sighing. You could feel your phone buzz underneath your hand. Unsure of your emotions. Your hatred for Jean spiraled off Mikasa. And now, you finally had his side to the story. 

Things needed to end, but she didn’t want it to. So, Jean had to find a way to make Mikasa end things.

No, don’t. This doesn't excuse the things he did in college. He still hurt a lot of people. See it through, Y/n. 

Jean closed his eyes, enjoying your warmth. It had been so long since hugging someone felt so– comforting. “You’re Mikasa’s best friend.” You couldn’t help but feel a little shocked, however you just nodded. “That’s why you looked so familiar.” 

You brought your phone to your face, looking through your photo gallery. “Maybe, I don’t remember you if we’ve met.” Your voice was oddly toneless. Jean hated when you spoke like that. 

 You found the video you were looking for, and left it on the screen, then turned off your phone. “You know, Annie moved.” You voiced, trying to kick off your shoes. “Any clue to why?” 

Jean’s expression didn’t change, he just moved back. Sitting on his heels. Eyes moving to your feet, watching as you struggled to get your shoe off. “No.” He grabbed your ankle, lifting it up and untying your shoelace.

You thickly swallowed, your heart racing by the small action. “You lied.” You whispered, “Everyone on this campus knows about Annie Leonhart. ”  

Jean pulled your shoe off, placing it gently on the ground. “I’ve heard about her, but I don’t know why she moved.” He looked at you again.

“Don’t,” you lifted your other foot, gesturing for Jean to also take it off. “You know exactly why she moved.” Jean’s hand moved over your other foot, hands pulling at the shoelace. 

“Because her sex video got leaked,” Jean responded, pulling off the last shoe. “That sucks, I don’t blame her.” He placed the shoe on the ground, the sound clicked through the room. “I would’ve done the same thing.” 

You lifted your phone to your face, opening it and playing the video. Eyes skimming over the tan, porcine skin. You flipped your phone, raising the volume. Watching as his eyes moved over the screen. “That’s you, right?” You pointed at the guy. “The guy, not Annie.” 

Jean thickly swallowed, unsure of what to say. Or, to what you were doing. “Are you trying to get me to confess that person is me? Because, it isn’t.” He responded, “I was as a party with Eren when this happened, I already told the school–” 

You hooked your foot around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Leaning down, and running your hands through his hair again. You hummed, eyes fluttering. “Can I check?” It came out so smooth, like honey to the mouth. 

Jean’s eyes dilated, his mouth going dry. “What?” He shakily inhaled, hands dropping to his thighs. “I–” He forced an awkward smile, unable to speak. “I don’t know what you’re talkin–” 

“Shut up,” you whispered, leaning in closer. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me to suck your dick, get stupid off it or something.” You mumbled. 

“While you’re showing me a video of some girl getting fucked?” Jean shot back, “While also accusing it’s me in the video, as well as the one who posted it.” He started to get up, but you placed your foot on his shoulders. Pushing him back to the ground. 

“No.” You quickly said, “I like you here.” You placed your calf on his shoulders, drawing him in closer. “I think you like being here too.” 

Jean hated how you were right.

Jean’s mind was at an internal debate. He was mad over your accusation, but desperate to touch you. He’s never hated, and lusted for someone as much as you. 

What was your goal?.. You never told him. 

Jean could feel himself nod, something he couldn’t control. His eyes are going everywhere, but in between your thighs. 

“Awh, how cute, love it when you’re honest with me.” You placed your foot back on the ground, grabbing his face and drawing it closer to yours, “C’mere,” you whispered. 

Jean swallowed, his tongue moving over his bottom lip as his hands went to your waist. Desprestly pulling you close to him, you just smiled. Finding it endearing how much he wanted to touch you. You pressed your lips against his, moving slowly. 

Your hands moving through his hair, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Pulling him closer to you, you could taste something sweet on his lips. You wondered if it was your cherry lip gloss, or maybe the drink the two of you shared not too long ago. 

Jean shakily exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. His hand trying to pull you closer to him. A small moan escaping his throat. 

“You’re so desperate.” You mumbled against his lips, listening as a soft whine left his throat. Making you continue kissing him. You could hear the video playing in the background, you wondered why Jean wasn’t more adamant on turning it off. 

His tongue moved over your bottom lip, your lips parting for him. You could feel his tongue move over yours, circling it, before grabbing you tighter. You jumped at the sensation. You could feel him pushing himself off the ground, something you didn’t want him to do just yet. 

“Stop, don’t.” You pushed his chest, parting him away from you. Watching as he took in a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering. You pulled your head back, smiling as he followed you. “No more kisses.” 

Jean’s Adam's apple bobbed. You couldn’t wait to run your tongue over it. Jean took in a deep breath, his eyebrows mushed together. Clearly frustrated with the lack of sensation, but he nodded.

You smiled and hummed, grabbing your phone and shoving it in his face again. “Is it you in the video?” Jean shook his head, making you roll your eyes. But, something caught your attention. You gave a pitiful laugh, “Are you hard?” You leaned down, “That’s so pathetic, and over a 5 second kiss no less.” You placed your foot on his thigh, trailing it up his leg.

Jean jumped at the sensation. His hand tightening around your leg. 

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me the truth,” you stopped, pulling back and finally sitting on your bed. “So, either you can walk out of the room with a boner, or you can just be utterly truthful with me.” You smiled at him, cupping his face and finally lifting him off the ground. “C’mon, let me take care of you Jean.” 

Jean took in a deep breath, feeling the way your voice seeped into his head. Clouding his mind like a drug, making his breath shake with every suckle of air. “I–” He looked away, “Y/n you don’t understand the severity of admitting something like that is.” 

You cut him off with another kiss, moaning against his lips as your eyes fluttered shut. Your hands moving over his chest, then to his shoulders. Pulling him closer to you. Feeling his arms wrap around the arch of your back, pulling your chest to meet his. You could feel his eagerness in the kiss. The way things were heating up too fast for your liking. 

“Slow down.” You told him, placing your forehead against his. Noses skimming each other lightly, “Enjoy the sensations, don’t rush into the finish.” You rubbed your nose against his, “What do I taste like?” 

Jean pressed his lips to yours quickly, “Strawberries, and cherries.” He kissed you again, “And, cake-pops.” He couldn’t help, but smile. 

You smiled back, “See. Being honest only brings good things.” You let your hands skim his face lightly, tracing his features. “Doesn't it feel good to be honest, it’s like a weight being lifted off your chest.” You pressed a finger above his heart. 

Jean pressed his lips together, feeling them tingle. “Yeah.” He breathy said, “It feels good to be open.” 

You giggled, pushing his chest away from you. Lifting his head, and pressing your lips to his ear. “Good, you can feel even better.” You pressed a kiss to his neck, “I want you to tear your heart apart, so I can judge what’s inside.” You bit him, feeling his jump. A whine leaving his throat. “Okay?” 

“Yes, okay.” Jean mumbled, his hands tensing around your waist. “What do you want, I’ll give you anything.” 

“Why’d you post the video?” You pulled back, pressing your back to the wall. Leaving Jean leaning on the bed. “You’ll get a big reward for this one.” You grabbed your phone, opening your camera app.  

“I didn’t post it, it’s— it’s a complicated story.” You could see the guilt in Jean’s eyes. “I– Annie had something on me, so I cut her off. I was scared she was going to get me expelled.” He sighed, “It isn’t me in the video, but..” He groaned, running his hand over his face. “But, I know someone in the baseball team posted it.” He just didn’t know specifically who. Which killed him inside.

“What did she have on you?” You grabbed his collar, popping one of the buttons open. Running your fingers over the exposed skin, then dipping your fingers lower. Reaching for his belt, undoing it. 

“She– she knows my mom.” 

You laughed, “A momma’s boy, how cute.” You mocked, pulling his belt from his pants. “But, so what? Who cares if she knows your mom?” You paused for a second, letting your eyes drift to the side while you thought about something. “Wait, I thought you didn’t talk to your parents?” Your eyebrows were mused together, displaying your confusion.

Jean swallowed, looking away embarrassed. “I don’t talk to my Dad, I just didn’t want to get into specifics at the time.” He whispered. 

You tilted your head, “Well, now you can.” You replied.

“My mom has–” Jean leaned into the crook of your neck, smelling your sweet perfume. “She’s just stressed out of her mind about how far from home I am.” You noticed how his sentence changed. “And, my Dad’s not even in the picture to comfort her.

You turned your head to his hair, rubbing your hand on his abdomen. “Awh, poor baby.” You let your fingers slip underneath his pants. “I still don’t understand why that matters?” Cold, maybe? But, you didn’t want to lie and comfort him. 

Jean groaned into your neck, his eyes fluttering. He didn’t know why he liked this so much. It felt so much more filling than anything he’s ever done before. “Annie’s in one of my classes, and knows I’ve been having someone attend for me.” He sighed, “And, I need that class to graduate. I can’t afford to repeat it– my mom wouldn’t be able to afford that stress.” He closed his eyes, “She needs me home.” 

You froze, blinking a few times. Almost in shock, it was an oddly sweet sentiment. “You’re–” still a dick. You pushed his head away from your shoulder. Pointing your camera at him, “That doesn't excuse anything, she was doing what was right.” 

“I didn’t care. I accepted that I wasn’t gonna’ graduate.” He fought back, looking directly into your eyes. “I didn’t even know the video was going to be posted, I found out the same way everyone else did..” Jean closed his eyes, “Once I knew about the baseball team rumor, I threaten to snitch. Then, I got a note saying the person would put the blame on me.” Jean tilted his head down, “He told me, no one would believe me. That— I would make the most sense.” You could see the guilt seeping from Jean.

You felt bad, yes. But, Jean needed to tell someone that. He shouldn’t have held onto it for so long. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe, you should’ve just gone to class. Just like everyone else.” You responded, “You need to tell someone. So, Annie can get justice.”

Jean’s eyes flickered to your phone, seeing how it was oddly pointed at him. “I want to, but I don’t know how. I don’t want to be framed.” He answered truthfully. “I don’t want my life to be ruined…” You could see genuine remorse laced in his face, even tears pearling in his eyes. “I adore Annie.” She didn’t deserve that.

His sincerity poked a knife in your chest, “I can help you.” You flashed him a nice smile, “We can bring Annie the justice she deserves.” You tiled, you head to the side. “Now, for being so good. You get a reward.” You pointed at your camera, the flash turning on. You were recording. You unbuttoned his pants, watching the way he tried helping you. A trail of hair that matched the one on his head moving down his abdomen. “Hey, Jean?” You pressed your lips against his, smiling. Feeling his hand move over the bulge in his pants, you placed yours over his. “Do you want me to do that?” 

Jean could feel his eyes flutter at the thought, your lips wrapped around his cock. You grabbed his face, pushing it away from you, and pointing your phone at his face. Jean flinched once the flash hit his face, “Tell the camera how much you want it.”

Jean’s eyes went wide, why was this so… hot? “W-what?” He blinked, averting his eyes. You just drew his face back to the lenses, opening your mouth and pointing at it. Silently telling him to do the same thing. 

Jean thickly swallowed, his lips trembling before his lips parted. You giggled, pressing your thumb to his bottom lip. Then, running it over his tongue. Watching as he stuck it out, his face dusted in a blush. 

Jean’s so hot like this. 

“Go on, tell me.” You placed your thumb in his mouth, pushing on the inside of his cheek. “What do you want?” You pulled your thumb away, a string of silva snapping as you did so. 

Jean sighed, his mind clouding. Just suck my dick already. “I want you to suck my dick.” He probably should’ve thought about that sentence more, before it left his mouth.

“Not good enough.” Your eyebrows were furrowed, glaring at him. “Do better, don’t disappoint me.” 

Jean's eyes fluttered. He shouldn’t have liked that as much as he did. A small whimper leaving his throat, “Can you please suck my dick, fuck.” His hand moved to his boner, rubbing it through the thin fabric of his boxers. He took a shaky breath in, “I really fucking need you to suck my dick.” 

You pushed his bangs out of his face, letting his eyes look into the camera– his pupils going small. You tugged his hair, making him flinch. His Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. “Good enough.” You hit the red button again, making the recording stop. “But, that’s not all I want.” 

You pushed yourself off the bed, letting your knees hit the floor. Jean racked his fingers through your hair, “What else do you want?” It was supposed to be defensive, disgusted, and dismissive. It wasn’t 

Your ears perked at that. “I want one more video.” You let your hands move up his thighs, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “You can do that for me, right?” 

Jean thickly swallowed, unable to think properly. His mouth dry as he whispered, “Mhm.” He moved his head to your neck, almost like he needed it to be supported. “I’ll do anything you fuck your tight pussy.” Fucking anything. 

You hated how your thighs mushed together at his words, but you ignored it and laughed, pulling down his boxers. “Good.” You kissed his ear, then his neck. Let your hand wrap around the head of his cock. You could feel a shock move throughout your body. 

You’re kidding, that rumor was true too?!

You looked down, seeing that your hand almost didn’t wrap around the head of his cock. Jean noticed, and smiled to himself. “I told you some of the rumors were true.” His hand wrapped around yours, moving it up and down his sensitive head. “Fuck yes, love this shit.”

You inhaled, trying to stay composed. Yeah, but c’mon– why’d the horse-cock one have to be true. “That’s so stupid,” you giggled to yourself. “I hate you, and your stupid dick.” You ran your thumb over the slit, watching as he stuttered. Closing one eye, and scrunching his nose.

Jean’s cock was oddly pretty. Which was something you never knew a cock could be but– here you were. His tip was flushed in the same color of his cheeks, two veins following to the base of his cock. One traveling on the underside, then moving back up to the top. While the other just went down the left side. The best part was, he was well groomed. 

You swallowed, swirling your tongue around the head. Closing your eyes, and pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock. Jean moaned, his dick twitching in your mouth. 

“God, fuck yes.” His hand went to your hair, holding it behind your head. “Deep— can you go deeper, please?” Jean whined, his hand tensing in your hair. He shivered, “Mhmp—“ he put his hand over his mouth, trying to control his moans. But, a muffled— “Fuck,” passed through. 

You couldn't say no to that, not when Jean couldn’t hold back his moans, because it felt so good. You wanted to head more. You inhaled before closing your eyes, and pushing yourself closer to his abdomen. Stretching your mouth open to accommodate his size. Why’d his dick have to be so big? 

Jean gasped, hips jutting forward into your mouth. His teeth clenched, a small whine leaving his mouth while his eyes watered. Why the hell was he so sensitive? Jean moaned, “Fuuck, ohmygod– don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” He could feel the back of your throat hit the head of his cock, and to think– you hadn’t even taken all of him in your mouth. 

You closed your eyes and pushed your head, feeling his dick fill your throat. A loud whine echoing through your room, your hands moving up and down what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You pulled back, running your hand up and down his cock. Rubbing the tip with the palm of your hand. Jean gasped, his chest jumping up. A deep groan leaving his lips.

Jean’s tip flushed pink, and oozed with pre-cum. Your hand going up and down, watch the obscene sight. It was so nasty and dirty. Sucking the dick of your best friend’s ex, yet here you were. Eyes watering at the thought of it entering you, your pussy soaking the panties you were wearing. 

You were horny over seeing Jean crumble in your hand.

You opened your lips again, sticking out your tongue and batting your eyelashes at Jean. As his cock meets your tongue again, making you open your eyes and look down. Watching as you moved down his length, moaning softly. The noise vibrated down his cock, making his thigh jump. “You’re so good, fuck I’ll do anything to keep you here.”

Jean sharply inhaled, rutting his hips forward. Trying to get deeper in your mouth, “Fuck, whatever– whatever you want, I’ll fucking do.” He said, stuttering over his words. You couldn't help, but feel your eyes flutter, slowly moving forward. Taking a good amount of him inside your mouth. A soft groan heard from above you, as his hand met your cheek, slowly caressing it before going to the bed sheets. Gripping onto them, as Jean tried to support himself. 

Your mouth was so warm. So hot and inviting, like it had been waiting to take his cock deep inside you. Jean couldn’t help, but wonder– how your pussy would feel? How hot, tight, twitching and desperate it would be. 

Jean hated how he wasn’t in control. He wanted his first time with you to be about you, and only you. Your pleasure. Not his. 

Then again, he was stopping himself from gripping your hair. Pushing your up and down his cock at a pace he enjoyed. Fuck the slow shit, he loved the messy pleasure. Where you don’t care about how you look, you’re just desperate to feel good. 

Jean wanted to make you cry and sob with pleasure, your eyebrows furrowed and mind empty. Pleasure swirling your head, cum spilling out of your pussy. Body twitching when he made you cum, again, and again, and again, and again. The way your mind would go stupid.

He wondered how hot you’d look squirting. 

All dumb and empty, drunk on the feeling of his cock hitting that perfect, little, spongy, place. The way you wouldn’t be able to think right, just stupid for him. But, right now, Jean was going to focus on you taking his cock slowly. 

Let you take control of the situation, because it felt so fucking good. Try to hold back the urge to fuck your throat. Jean wanted to let you do your thing for the time being. He would do what he wanted, later. 

Hopefully there was going to be a fucking later.

Jean loved being treated like this. But, he was also desperate to make you cry with ecstasy. 

You tried going back down, finding it a struggle to fit him in your mouth. Which was far more embarrassing then it should’ve been. It didn’t help feeling his cock slowly moving down into your throat. 

You were so used to being able to deep throat anyone, hear them whimper and cry like they never had before. And now, you couldn’t even deep throat Jean’s stupidly big dick. An event bulge even Jean could see, indicating how deep inside his throat he was. You took a moment to try and breath, before swallowing. Your throat slightly tightening around him to make him stiff. A particular groan leaving him that made you clamp your legs together. 

“Yes, yess. Fuck, you’re doing so well Y/n.” He groaned, cocking his head back. His throat displayed to you while his eyes fluttered, rolling to the back of his head. “I can’t—just, fuck—don’t stop. Don’t stop.. don’tstop.” Jean rocked his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. Cutting off your air. 

Soo fucking good. Was the only thing swirling in Jean’s head. Jesus, he was obsessed with you. Thank god you were finally sucking his dick, he wouldn’t be able to handle another day without this. Fuck, would you suck his dick everyday? 

Your eyes watered, pussy fluttering around nothing as you slowly moved back and forth. Feeling him inside in ways that should be disgusting, yet here you were enjoying it. You slowly moved your head back, removing your mouth from his cock with a small ‘pop!’ You sniffed, taking a moment to try and catch your breath as you looked at Jean. 

A smile building on your lips. 

Jean’s chest was rising and falling quickly, hands grabbing onto the sheets as he pulled his head back to look at you. His eyes were watering, his bottom lip red and swollen. His lips jittering forward every once and a while, making a chill go down his spine. He hated the pace yoy we’re going. A painful slow pace that made him want to grab your head and fuck your mouth. At a pace he would enjoy, thoroughly. 

Yet, he didn’t. He wanted to let you do your thing, for now at least. It wouldn’t be long until he got what he wanted. 

Looking up to Jean, you licked the corner of your mouth, your tongue peaking at him for a second. Before you tilted your head to the side, pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock, and taking a long hot lick up his dick, drool pooling down his cock. You made sure to trace it over the vein. 

Jean snapped his hand over his mouth, eyes rolling into his head. A moan leaving his covered lip. You couldn’t help, but giggle. Pulling your head back and taking a look at his cock. Jean’s chest rising and falling as deep breaths left him. 

 You didn’t want to admit it, but you liked doing this. Loved doing this. You didn’t know if it was Jean who you loved doing, or the action itself. You’ve given head before, but you’ve never seen a boy tear up because it was so good. 

Maybe, you just liked feeling Jean, and you didnt want to admit it. You liked when his bare hand touched your skin, the heat and roughness of it sending a satisfying shiver down to your clit. Running gently through your hair, and pulling it out of your face. 

Jesus, your panties were drenched at the thought. 

You wanted more of his skin. You wanted your mouth all over his bare skin, you were dying to feel him against you. Most of all, you wanted to kiss him. Your mouth desperate and eager to please—and kiss him. Feeling his tongue against yours, making your head cloudy and full of thoughts of him and only him. His flavor, scent, feeling, just Jean in general. You craved that.

Because, deep down—the reason you were with so many people, is because you're a good girl. Someone who loves to please, loves the attention. Yes, you were an attention whore, and lied about it. But, wasn’t everyone? 

Maybe, you were a little fake. But, you still followed through with every plan. Revenge always wins your secret desire, it was always so much more satisfying to see a man beg—rather than it being you. Maybe, you were just a switch. One that took whatever Jean gave her.

Jean has been dying to see you like this, on your knees looking up at him with your glossy eyes and sucking his cock. Legs clamped together, because of how much you were enjoying this. 

It was nasty, disgusting even but, you were enjoying this so much. Feeling his dick deep in your throat. Jean’s eyes on you, watching as you struggled yet powered through. The small moans, and grunts he would release when you tried fitting him all in your mouth. Still, that wasn’t enough for Jean, he wanted more. He wanted more of his dick down your throat. Wanted to see more of the bulge of your neck. Grab your neck to fucking feel it. 

Jean’s hand went to the top of your head, grabbing your hair and pulling you down his dick. His tip hits the back of your throat before deeply going inside. A small gag leaving you, tightening around his cock making Jean jolt forward. A soft groan catching your attention, eyes looking up to see as he tilted his head back. 

You were glaring at him, a warning for him not to touch you. You moved your head back, pushing his hand from your hair. You pressed your lips on the top of his cock, “Do that again, and I’ll stop.” You glared at him, “Don’t touch me.” 

Jean swallowed, a small moan leaving his throat. He just slowly nodded, hands moved to the bedding and gripping them. “Fine. Okay, okay.” He shakily sighed, “I won’t touch you.” 

You smiled sweetly, pressing a kiss to the tip. “Good, I’m so happy you can listen.” Let’s see if he follows through. You started moving forward and back, tongue feeling on his cock as you continued. Keeping at a pace that was hot and enjoyable for you. 

Jean thickly swallowed, head lollying back. His eyes met the top of the room. His nerves all over the place in the best way possible. Making his mind clutter, the only thing going through it was your name. Holy. Shit. He needed this shit. He needed you. 

You looked up to Jean, eyelashes fluttering as you moved back and forth. You were enjoying this. You were enjoying choking on your best friend’s ex, feeling his cock deep in your throat. Your panties were wet, your thighs rubbing together as you closed your eyes. A soft moan expressing this desire. 

You wanted Jean. Pathetically.

You swallowed around him, moving back and dragging your tongue to the tip of his cock. Running your tongue over the tip, circling around it before adding more pressure. Watching the way Jean jolted forward for a moment, his hands meeting your hair with a scratchy groan. 

Jean’s hands tensed around the bedding, catching your attention. Your eyes going to his hands, watching as they moved off the bedding. You were going to stop if he touched you. Jean’s hands went close to your head, tensing before going back to the sheets. Gripping onto them, he wanted to touch you. You couldn’t help, but giggle. 

You pushed your mouth down his cock again, this time— taking him all the way in your mouth. Something that caught you off guard. A sigh of relief from Jean audible from where you were. Your nose softly pressing against his abdomen, cutting off any air from reaching your system. A soft gag tightening around his cock as your eyelashes fluttered. Tears fell down your face as you closed your eyes. Trying not to choke, and touch yourself from the action. Wanting relief on your clit. 

You finally pushed yourself off. Tongue running over his head for the last time before smiling. Siliva decorating your lips, a few strands connected to his throbbing dick. He let go sheets, trying to catch his breath. The tip burning with pleasure, desperate to finish. You pushed your head down his cock one more time, moving back down. Ignoring the slightly uncomfortable feeling of your panties. 

You stopped, hearing Jean moan loudly. That was good enough. Dick still in your mouth as you pushed yourself off. Indicated with a satisfying, ‘Pop!’ Your head was fuzzy, still in a moment of bliss. Eyes slightly cloudy and watery, thighs clamped together. Your body is tingly and warm, clit sensitive at the thought of being touched.

You hated how much sucking dick affected you. 

You smiled at Jean, resting your head on his thigh. You were losing composure, which you couldn’t do. You needed to get what you needed, and you needed to get it fast. You slowly moved your hand up and down his cock. Feeling it twitch in your palm. “Remember how I said I needed one more thing?..” Your voice was smooth, almost sweet.

Jean blinked a few times, trying to regain his blurry vision. “Yeah, maybe– fuck.. Kinda.” He bit his bottom lip, hands moving around your. Helping you pick up the pace. You were tempted to stop, you did tell him not to touch you. But, you were almost done. So, it didn’t really matter. 

You pushed yourself off the ground. Pressing your lips to his, taking your free hand and grabbing his glasses from the bed. You made sure to run your tongue over his before pulling back, watching as he tried to follow you. You placed the glasses on his head, slotting them over his eyes. His bangs are slightly damp, and messy, draping over his eyes. You pulled out your phone, pointing it at Jean. Pressing record. “Do you wanna’ cum?” You pulled back, making sure to get his hand moving up and down his cock. Your smaller hand underneath, some pink nails peaking through the cracks.

Jean bit his bottom lip, his dilated as he looked into the camera. “Mhm.” 

“Words.” Your hand tightened around him slightly, making Jean flinch. Jean sighed, his face now read. Averting his eyes, “Can you make me cum, y/–” You slapped your hand over his mouth. Making sure the video wouldn't catch it. 

“Don’t say my name, Jean.” Your words were venom, “Men who can’t control their dick, don’t deserve to cum.” Your voice was deeper than before, but still smooth. There were two reasons you didn’t want him to say your name; 1. If this video were to be.. Leaked. You wouldn't want to be associated with it. 2. You would pounce on Jean if he moaned your name. 

Jean shook his head, blinking at you through the screen of your phone. “No, please!” He whined, shaking your hand off his lips. “Fuck, please let me cum. Inside you– on you.. I don’t fucking care just, please..” He cried, a tear rolling down his face. “I wanna cum, please make me cum.” He inhaled, tears pearling in the waterline of his eyes. “Fuck, yes. Please make me cum– fucking need it.”��

You thickly swallowed, stopping the recording and tossing your phone. “Fine.” You cooed, “but, only because you asked so nicely.” You smiled at Jean. 

Jean shakily inhaled, “Thank you, god fucking thank you.” You moved your thumb to the tip of his cock, rubbing him off while giving attention to the head. Watching as he moaned, grabbing the end of his shit and bringing it to his mouth. Biting into it and stuffing his moans, but desperate you watch your small hand around his huge cock. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the sight. 

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna’ cum.” He cried, his face nose scrunching cutely. You continued the motion, watching as Jean tensed. “Fuck, fuck–fuckfuck.” You watched as thick white ropes decorated your knuckles, making you giggle. You removed your hand, shaking it for a moment before retrieving a towel. Cleaning your hand and doing the same with Jean. Letting him collect his thoughts. 

It wasn’t long before he was staring at you. You smiled at him sweetly, “Finally able to think?” 

“What are you going to do with that video?” 

You sat on your coffee table, “I honestly didn’t think your dick was going to be that big.” You stated, ignoring Jean’s question. You pressed your hand to your lower stomach, “I wonder how deep you would be of me?” 

Jean thickly swallowed, closing his eyes. Trying to hide the fact that they were rolling back at the thought of being deep inside you. “Y/n, seriously. Don’t–” 

“I don’t know yet.” You responded, finally answering his question. You looked at your nails, “We’ll see.” You flashed him a kind smile. Your eyes widened, like you remembered something. Your hand went into your shirt, reaching inside your bra and pulling something out. A ring. You purity ring. “Here.” You tossed it at Jean, “It’s a little gift I give everyone I mess with.” You had a whole pack of them, it was a prank gift from Mikasa. You tilted your head, “It’s cute right, a little purity ring.” 

Jean’s eyebrows came together, showing his confusion. Everyone you mess with? Don’t tell me.. Jean could feel himself mentally groan. “Don’t tell me–”

“You’re kinda an idiot.” You voiced, smiling at him cheekily. “But, everyone falls for what they want to believe.” 

Jean sighed, slipping the ring over his pinkie. It was probably the only finger it could fit, even then– it didn’t even pass the joint. “Love it.” He said sarcastically. His eyes moved to you, “What now?” 

You looked up, “Maybe, apologize to Mikasa.” You pressed your lips together, “And, go tell the dean about Annie.” You nodded to yourself, that was the plan.

Jean looked to the side, “She doesn't want to hear from me.” He also followed it by, “I will.”

“Just say sorry,” You groaned, “I literally wouldn’t hate you so much if you apologized.” 

“You hate me?” Jean teased. 

“I’ve told you a thousand times.” You playfully rolled your eyes, “But, yes. I hate you.” Jean smiled, biting the inside of his cheek and looking away. You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing yourself off the wall and wrapping your arms around his neck. “But, isn’t this how it works, Babe?” You told him, “You leave before I wake up, or something.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re sleeping.” 

Your eyebrows raised, “Or, don’t tell me..” You pressed your hand over his heart, “You actually want to stay with me.” You cooed. 

Jean stayed quiet, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. You didn’t miss how his hand wrapped around your waist. “Of course not, I’m so ready to leave.”

Your eyes widened for a second. You sighed, “Good.” You whispered, “I’ll text you.” You scrunch your nose, “Maybe.” You didn’t want to make any promises. 

Jean smiled, “Okay.” 

You couldn’t say things turned out the way you planned. “You know,” You said, pushing yourself away from him. However, still standing close. “I’m thinking about leaking the video of you cumming.” You pressed your finger against his lips. Watching as his eyebrows mushed together for a moment, about to speak when you cut him off. “Do you still want me to text you?" It was a trick question. Of course you weren’t gonna leak the goddamn video. You weren’t crazy.

Jean’s eyes moved up, and down your face. “Yes.” He hesitated, but answered nonetheless. “I don’t want you to be my karma.” 

Your eyes widened at his response. Caught off guard, “I can’t promise you anything, though.” 

“I don’t care.” Jean pushed his head in your neck, pulling you closer to him. “This is good for now.” 

You laughed, placing your hand on your face. You sighed again, “I hate you.”

Jean kissed your neck, “Perfect, wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

You let your head fall on him, “Actually, if we go to the dean right now, and tell him what happened. I’ll ride you.” You cooed.

Jean sprung out of the bed, wrestling to put on his pants. “Fuck, I’ve been dying to tell the dean the shit I know. Get your ass out of bed, and watch me.” He glared at you, “I don’t care if he tries to blame me, at least I tried.”

“But, aren’t you scared?” You asked. “What if no one’s believes you?”

“No.” Jean softly replied, “I know that someone believes me. And at least— I helped with closure.”

You smiled fondly. “Good.”

Jesus fuck, Mikasa was going to kill you. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

[cultofdionysusnet]

Library of Illusion Event Masterlist

Welcome to the Library!

Take your time browsing each section and perhaps you'll find a story that strikes your interests! We have a few genres to choose from and several writers including @sanjoongie @anyamaris @thelargefrye @kwanisms @kpop-stories-21 @stardragongalaxy & @mint-yooxgi!

And don't forget to check the return cart in the lobby for books that haven't made it back to their shelves! Just make sure to take care and tread lightly in the Restricted Section, you may come across a few books that aren't for the faint hearted.

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖 |:| 📖

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

[merlinrarepairfest]

Title: Merlin's knight in muddy armour. AO3 username: ohmerthurcharm | @oh-merthur-charm Rating: Mature Warnings: Angst Medium/Word Count: 1,244 Pairing/main characters: Gwaine/Merlin Up to 10 tags: Merlin's magic revealed, angst, kissing, crying, escape, bathing/washing, affection, hopeful ending.

Summary:

Arthur is saved by Merlin publicly just before he gets seriously injured. The problem? His magic was revealed by his daring attempt in saving his King's life. Now he is on the run, with two pairs of footprints being tracked by the King and his men. Merlin has help and it is Sir Gwaine himself. Prompt: Gwaine has always been Merlin’s knight. By: HadrianPeverellBlack. This is for the Rare pair fest 2024.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60070792

[rsbigbang]

R/S Big Bang Fic & Art: Nothing in Particular (M)

Title: Nothing in Particular

Author: purpledinosaurss

Artist: tofulover

Beta Reader: @daydreaminlee

Summary: Auror's Headquarters, November 1st, 1981. In one interrogation room sits a bored Remus Lupin; in another, an irritated Sirius Black. Just earlier that day, the duo and four other rogues (identified by security as James Potter, Lily Evans, Peter Pettigrew and Regulus Black) have turned up at the doors of the Ministry of Magic with a dead body and five destroyed horcruxes. The Wizarding World is on a cliff's edge, and Auror Alastor Moody has two simple instructions: find out what happened to Voldemort, and get the suspects to say who killed Orion Black.

read on ao3!