#and it's like the smallest thing of it all

[throwdownyourheart]

Y’all’re missing out by not including the entire post.

Text:

I just blacked out and ate a whole rotisserie chicken and got hard because of it. Is that normal on T?

Hey guys!!! I'll be 1 month on t on the 16th! Wahoo!

I hadn't feel much different except for my dick who has been screaming at me from my pants 24/7 like a dog wailing from a crate under its master's bed. It's fun ngl, i wish purchsasing sex toys from overseas wasnt illegal because MAN am i busy taking care of that. Lmao. lol even.

Anyways! today I woke up with a slight feeling that I had cotton in my troath and my voice felt like it was vibrating (if that makes sense). I wondered if I had catched something in college but no? I feel fine? Just hot like how that Jacob guy was feeling in New Moon (2009).

But my main issue (or only issue really) is that I went to take a nap and when I woke up I was FAMISHED for chicken. ABSOLUTELY RAVENOUS FOR A BIRD. Bro!!! I dont even rmemeber going to the chicken place; I just remembered opening the door, a flash forward to me in the chicken place and then BOOM: Me in my hammoc surrounded by chicken bones and empty honey packets (chicken with honey>>>).

(Nsfw) Also, at some point between the chicken juices dribbling down my chin and my face being stuffed with chicken breast bitten straight from the carcass I got smSO hard about it. And I don't even know if it was the way I was eating the chicken (tho i admit i was going ham on that thing), the fact that I was satisfying my chicken needs or because of the taste alone? I feel like a pervert in the best way but also in a slightly confused way, I've gotten turned on by innocuous shit in the past like someone showing me a new song but never slurping chicken????

Now I feel kinda bad by the way I judged teenage boys in my youth. Man, if I knew they were going feral over the smallest pleasures in life I would have given them more grace. I thought I knew sexual drive until I got on T and the satisfaction of cleaning my house got me railed up. My bad teenage boys, yall didn't make empathy easy but I should have persevered. (Nsfw)

Bacteria to the chicken.

Is this normal? This all consuming hunger? Is it because of the hormones??? I felt like I was a vampire in a frenzy but instead of sucking the life force off of a virgin I was sucking chicken bones it was WACK.

And if this animalistic chicken eating episodes are normal, when do they stop? Lord know I don't have chicken-once-a-week money so this better get under control FAST.

Also. The way people talk about hormone changes I thought it would be gradual, not a bunch of nothing followed by puberty hitting you like a brick to the dick, would have loved a heads up lmao.

EDIT: WHY THE FUCK WAS I FLASH-BANGED BY MY OWN POST ON TWITTER DOT COM

[00valentina-writes00]

Could you do Ambessa and Sevika with a reader who's really introverted? Thank youu🫂❤️

♡♥︎ 𝕊𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕂𝔸 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔸𝕄𝔹𝔼𝕊𝕊𝔸 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕥 ♥︎♡

♡𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕜𝕒♡

♥︎ Sevika respects your need for space. She’ll give you the quiet moments you crave, but she also won’t hesitate to check in, making sure you’re okay. She’s the type to simply sit beside you in silence, just feeling your presence without pushing for interaction.

♥︎ She’s not much for small talk, so she’s perfectly content with your more reserved conversations. She likes the deeper, meaningful moments, especially when you share something you’ve been thinking about in the comfort of silence.

♥︎ Sevika notices the subtle signs that you need time alone. She won’t ask questions—she’ll just leave you to your space without making you feel guilty about it. She knows when to give you space without making it an issue.

♥︎ When she does interact with you, it’s always in a way that feels comforting rather than overwhelming. Her low, steady voice helps keep your anxiety at bay, and she always speaks in a calm, no-nonsense tone.

♥︎ She understands when you don’t want to go out, and she’ll stay in with you. Whether that means watching something low-key or simply spending time in each other’s company without the need for words, Sevika gets it.

♥︎ Despite her tough exterior, she’ll sometimes offer small, thoughtful gestures. Like making sure you have a hot drink or making your favorite meal, even if you never asked for it.

♥︎ She won’t push you to be more social. If you don’t want to deal with people, she’s more than happy to take care of things without dragging you into them. She values your peace and understands your boundaries.

♥︎ Sevika’s got a weirdly soft side when it comes to you. She’s the type to gently brush her fingers through your hair or rub your back when you’re feeling overwhelmed, always keeping it quiet and steady.

♥︎ She doesn’t make a big deal out of it when you’re not up for physical affection, but she makes sure you know she’s still there with a hand on your shoulder or a quiet touch when you need it.

♥︎ At times, she’ll give you a look, almost like she’s checking if you’re okay. She’s so observant, catching even the smallest shift in your mood. Sometimes, all it takes is a nod from you, and she’ll know how to adjust without saying a word.

♥︎ She’s a master at knowing when to be quiet and when to speak. If you’re deep in thought or in your head, she won’t try to force conversation—she lets you come to her when you’re ready

♥︎ Sometimes, when you’re feeling anxious, Sevika won’t ask what’s wrong. Instead, she’ll just do something familiar—like sitting with you, offering a cigarette, or doing something that feels grounding for both of you.

♥︎ She’ll never judge you for being quiet or withdrawn. There’s no pressure to be anything other than yourself with her, and she’s one of the few people who sees the value in your silence.

♥︎ Despite her commanding presence, Sevika has a weird way of knowing exactly how to make you feel safe when you’re overwhelmed. It’s in the way she stands, the way she quietly observes, always creating space for you to be yourself without fear of judgment.

♥︎ She doesn’t mind if you’re the type to retreat into books, music, or your own thoughts. She’ll sit next to you, just existing with you, content that you’re sharing that space in your own way.

♥︎ Sevika understands your need for independence. She doesn’t try to fix everything. Instead, she lets you deal with things at your own pace, offering support only when you ask for it.

♥︎ When she sees you come out of your shell—even a little—she’s oddly proud of you. There’s a soft edge to her smirk when she catches you laughing or talking with someone. She’ll never outright compliment you on it, but you can tell she’s impressed.

♥︎ She’s the type of girlfriend who will insist you take breaks and step away from stress, but she’ll also respect it if you want to handle things on your own. It’s all about balance for her.

♥︎ When you get overwhelmed in a crowd, Sevika will always find a way to get you out of there. Whether it’s making an excuse to leave early or simply pulling you to the side for a quick exit, she’s got you.

♥︎ She knows you might prefer just one-on-one time, so she’ll do what she can to make sure you’re never pressured into group settings that make you uncomfortable.

♥︎ Sevika’s loyalty runs deep. When you’re down, she’ll stay by your side, a steady presence in the background, quietly supportive, offering you the space you need while also being there when you want her.

♥︎ Finally, she’s the kind of partner who’s happy to let you be exactly who you are—quiet, introverted, and uniquely you. She appreciates your calm, your quiet strength, and the way you help her see the world from a different perspective.

♡𝔸𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒♡

♥︎ While Ambessa is commanding and often larger-than-life in her presence, she knows how to make you feel safe in your introversion. When you’re feeling overwhelmed, she’ll create a space where it’s just the two of you, letting you retreat into the comfort of silence.

♥︎ When you’re too tired to talk, Ambessa will gently remind you that you don’t need to say anything—your presence alone is enough for her. She understands that sometimes, silence speaks volumes.

♥︎ If you’re ever feeling drained after a long day, Ambessa will offer you her company without demanding anything from you. She might pour you a drink, sit beside you, and simply exist in your space without pressuring you to be anything other than yourself.

♥︎ She’ll occasionally tease you, but it’s always lighthearted and with affection. She enjoys seeing the subtle shifts in your expression when you try to hide your smile or laughter at her dry wit.

♥︎ Ambessa knows the value of personal time, and she’s perfectly content with letting you retreat into your own thoughts. She’ll never take it personally if you need space; she understands that your quiet moments are just as important as your shared moments.

♥︎ When you’re feeling particularly introverted, she’ll find ways to give you space while still being close. She might work nearby, allowing you to feel her presence without being forced to interact if you’re not up for it.

♥︎ Ambessa will sometimes look at you in a way that says everything—those deep, knowing glances that speak volumes without words. She’s incredibly perceptive and can sense when you’re feeling overwhelmed without you saying a thing.

♥︎ If you need a break from the chaos around you, Ambessa will ensure that you can escape to a quieter place. Whether it’s her private office or just a secluded corner, she’ll make sure there’s peace for you when you need it.

♥︎ When she knows you’re feeling anxious or stressed, Ambessa will offer her hand or give you a touch of reassurance. She’s not the type to force conversation, but her touch is often all you need to feel grounded again.

♥︎ Despite her intimidating persona, she’ll soften her voice when she speaks to you, knowing that you’re more comfortable when things aren’t too loud or intense. Her words come with purpose, but also a gentleness that helps ease your mind.

♥︎ Ambessa doesn’t mind when you’re introverted around others. She’s proud of your calm, quiet strength, and she’ll often give you a knowing look, silently acknowledging that you’re doing just fine without saying a word.

♥︎ She enjoys watching you in your element when you’re doing something you love, whether it’s reading, sketching, or simply taking a walk alone. Her gaze is full of quiet admiration as she watches you retreat into your thoughts, appreciating the depth of who you are.

♥︎ When you’re not feeling like talking, Ambessa will give you small affirmations to remind you that you’re valued. It might be a compliment, a small smile, or simply a soft “I’m proud of you” when you least expect it.

♥︎ Ambessa knows how to read your body language, and she can tell when you’re beginning to feel drained. When that happens, she’ll shift gears and create a more private, calming environment for you without making it awkward

♥︎ If you’re having trouble navigating a social event or gathering, Ambessa will be your rock. She’ll make sure you don’t feel pressured to perform socially, and she’ll give you an out if you need one.

♥︎ When you do choose to open up, Ambessa listens with unwavering attention. She never interrupts, never judges, and always values the words you do share. Her silence in those moments is the most supportive kind of presence.

♥︎ Ambessa is fiercely protective of your peace. If anyone or anything threatens to disturb your calm, she’s quick to put it in its place. She’ll handle it quietly, often with a few choice words, making sure your introverted nature isn’t pushed out of balance.

♥︎ She’ll often surprise you with small gifts or gestures that show she’s thinking of you. A book she thinks you’d love, a quiet walk around the city, or even a cup of tea with your favorite flavor—it’s her way of showing she cares without overwhelming you.

♥︎ When you need to recharge, Ambessa will make sure to give you the time you need. She won’t pressure you to interact with her or others, knowing that sometimes the best way to show affection is by letting you be yourself.

♥︎ She’s not the type to need constant reassurance, but she’ll make sure you feel seen. When you’re with her, it’s like nothing else matters; it’s just the two of you, with her providing the kind of quiet strength that balances out your own.

[papayacinnabun]

my valentine - oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count - 1.8k

summary - your boyfriend takes you on a special date, and a special ride...

warnings - 18+ mdni, smut, oral f receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, car sex

a/n - happy valentines day! oh god i wish i had a rich boyfriend who loved me 😮‍💨 masterlist

sweet.

that's how the bouquet of roses oscar brought you smelled. satisfyingly sweet.

he presented them to you when he picked you up from your apartment, standing dorkily in front of his sleek mclaren 720S. oscar was grinning like a kid in a candy store as he handed them to you, placing a tender kiss on your cheek to not mess up your fresh lipstick. 

“you look so beautiful my love.” his praise always made you blush, warm and well-timed.

“thank you baby, you look very dashing yourself.” you stepped back for a moment to admire your boyfriend in his suit, he obviously went all out for the occasion.

“i had to dress up for my valentine of course,” he said as he took your hand to help you into the car. that made you laugh. it sounded so dumb and lovesick that you both treasured valentines day so much, but oscar was someone you wanted to celebrate with all the time if you could. 

everyday with him was bliss, and it felt like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. its a rare thing to find someone who understands you completely and expresses themselves without farce, but you truly found that with oscar.

and now almost a year in, you sat across from each other in the candlelight of a swanky monaco restaurant deliberating over what to order. 

you looked up from the menu to admire oscar. his brows were knitted together in a thoughtful expression, eyes scanning over the myriad of entree options. he was clearly torn about what to order, making you giggle at his seriousness. 

“what are you getting?” oscar asked as he looked up, eager for some help. 

“having a bit of trouble there osc?” you croon teasingly, reaching out to rub his hand. he gives you a look that screams ‘hey don’t make fun of me’, and envelopes your small hand in his. “fine, i think i’ll get the salmon. it sounds very good.”

he makes a noise of confirmation and nods his head, bringing his attention back down to the menu. “i’ll get the same, i trust your judgement.”

and that’s how it worked between you. even for the smallest, most trivial things, you just trusted each other. 

two hours and some glasses of expensive wine later, you walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. 

“that was lovely baby, thank you so much” you mused, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

“i’m glad you enjoyed it, love. i’m thinking we head back to mine and have some cake and watch a movie, how’s that sound?” his hand left yours to rest at your waist, pulling you closer to him. his hand smoothed over the thin fabric of your dress, sending goosebumps all over your skin. 

your eyes lit up at the mention of cake, oscar knew it was your favorite dessert. but the tension between you two was even more delicious, oscar’s hand starting a chain reaction of desire in your body. 

“sure you don’t want a different type of dessert first?” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively at him, causing a wide grin to break out on his face. 

“are you offering?” he asks jokingly, his hand gripping a little tighter at your waist. 

you blushed and tugged your bottom lip into your mouth, shrugging playfully as you finally approached the car. it was parked on the street because oscar knew you wouldn’t want to wait for the valet and waste the night. 

he opened the door for you, hand only leaving your waist at the last minute to help you in. your dress rode up a bit as you got in the car, the long slit in the fabric exposing the soft skin of your hip a bit. oscar’s eyes darkened, glinting with something new. desire?

he gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine, his gaze wandering back over to your thigh. 

oscar abruptly turns the engine off. 

“oh are we not goi-” you start, a bit confused. 

“get in the back.” he interrupts, voice low. 

“osc you’re out of your mind.” you shake your head, adrenaline steadily coursing through you now. 

“i need you now baby, you’re driving me crazy.” he leaned over to look at you, his large hand coming up to rub the inside of your thigh. the feeling made your brain go numb. 

“we’re in public!” you whine out, getting a bit frustrated as his hand traveled closer and closer to the lacy edge of your panties. 

“don’t worry, the windows are tinted. i’m gonna take care of you beautiful, just need to have you right now.” he whispers, breath sending shivers down your spine. a whimper escapes your throat involuntarily. 

you finally nod, lust overshadowing your rational thinking. you unzip your dress, shrugging it off to reveal your dark red lace lingerie. oscar’s eyes got wider, unblinking as he looked you over. kicking off your louboutins, you climbed over to the backseat, his needy hands on your waist assisting you.

he looks at you like a wolf does its prey, determined and hungry. 

his suit jacket and tie are quickly torn off and abandoned in the driver’s seat as he raced to join you. 

immediately his hands were all over you, caressing and groping every inch of your skin like it was the first time he was seeing you. 

“hiding this from me? naughty girl. would’ve left the restaurant sooner if i knew. always so pretty for me.” he praised as his lips ghost over your neck, leaving the lightest kisses as he traveled down to your collarbones and over the lacy material of your bra. in one movement he undid the clasp and pulled it off, revealing your supple tits. 

oscar moaned at the sight of your perky nipples, running his thumbs back and forth over the peaks. your eyes fluttered closed in bliss, savoring the warmth of his large hands massaging your breasts. 

“kiss me, please” you practically begged him, needing to feel his mouth against yours. he didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, soft and gentle at first, but steadily becoming more hurried and messy. he couldn’t get enough of you. 

you kissed each other so fiercely, teeth clashing together. your hands reached up to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into your mouth. 

“fuck- need- to- taste- you,” he said in between open mouthed kisses to your neck as you squirmed under him. finally his fingers wander down between your legs, rubbing your aching clit over the red lace. you gasp as he pushes the fabric aside and dips into your wetness, collecting it with his fingers. he stares into your eyes as he lewdly sucks his digits clean of your juices. 

oscar gives you no time to react, leaning down to lick a stripe up your folds. your mouth falls open in bliss as he wraps his lips around your sensitive clit, sucking lightly.

he expertly maneuvers his tongue, eating your pussy like a man starved. he hooks his arms under your thighs to pull them over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “sweetest little pussy all for me,” he breathes out quickly, barely wasting a moment before diving back into your slicked folds. 

your back arches off the leather seats, feeling the familiar buildup of your release. his hold on your hips tightens as his tongue circles tantalizingly over your puffy clit, before closing his lips around the bud. 

“please… wanna cum,” you whimper out as his tongue delves inside you, nose bumping up against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you shamelessly rock your hips up against his face for more friction, earning a groan from oscar that reverberates through your core. 

“give it to me baby” oscar encourages, speeding up his movements. a choked sob travels up your throat, your orgasm ripping through you harshly. your pussy clenches around nothing as oscar greedily laps at your release, finishing by pressing small kisses to your thigh. 

“gonna let me fuck your pretty cunt now? make you cum all over my cock too baby?” you were already flustered from your orgasm, but his words made you blush even more. brain too fuzzy to speak, you just gave him a desperate nod and reached up to fumble with his belt. 

oscar chuckles as he helps you unbuckle it, all while keeping your legs hoisted over his broad shoulders. finally he frees himself from his boxers, his hard cock smacking against your stomach. he guided his tip to your entrance, toying with your puffy clit before slipping inside. rubbing your hip reassuringly as he pressed in inch by inch. oscar was big. he filled you up completely, your tight cunt struggling to accommodate all of him. 

“you can move osc, feels good” you practically cry out, pussy fluttering around his length. he leans down to kiss you passionately, beginning to thrust his hips at a steady pace. curses fall from his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth envelopes him completely over and over again.

“i love you so much baby,” he professes, hands digging into the soft flesh of your tits. you bring your hands up to his face, stroking his cheeks softly with your thumbs. 

“i love you more,” you gasp as he picks up his pace, the sound of slapping skin filling the car. he fucked you harder, practically bending you in half as he drills into your perfect cunt. his cock hit the deepest parts inside of you, your orgasm slowly building up again. 

“oh god i’m almost there,” you cry out as you approach your peak, hands grasping his strong biceps for support. every inch of your body was on fire, pure pleasure coursing through your veins. only oscar could make you feel this way, so loved and filthy at the same time. it was uninhibited ecstasy. 

you scream his name as your orgasm sends waves of shock through your body, your cunt pulsing as oscar thrusts into you deeper through the high. 

“so beautiful baby i’m almost there. shit, you take me so perfectly, gonna cum inside your pretty pussy.” he slurs, drunk on pleasure. just seeing you fall apart brought him even closer to the edge, his restraint falling apart. 

“fill me up osc, wanna feel you” you urge breathlessly, whining as your overstimulated clit brushes against his skin. his movements grow ragged, slowing down as he thrusts one final time and releases inside you. your name falls from his lips as his hot cum paints your walls, filling your needy cunt. his cock throbs as he pulls out, hissing at the sensitivity. 

“you alright love? that was unreal” he praises as he kisses your forehead gently. 

“mhm” you nod tiredly, watching as cum leaks out from your hole, “shit we made such a mess on these nice seats.”

oscar lets out a laugh and guides you to sit up leaning against him for stability, “definitely worth it love.”

“it was amazing, but i still want my cake you promised.” you pout, rubbing his face tenderly. 

“of course, my valentine. but lets take a breather before we drive back, you took everything out of me.” 

[eunandonly]

HOW BOYNEXTDOOR LOVES YOU

how boynextdoor shows their love for you, even if it isn't always by words

( 対 ) boynextdoor + fem. reader 1230WC · tooth rotting fluff contains! skinship, kissing so cheesy holy sharts / archive

은 : sorry for posting so late >< i've been so busy lately because of exams and couldn't post, but i'm back now ^^ i hope you enjoy ~

myung jaehyun

with myung jaehyun, love isn’t just quiet care. it’s a bit like him; bubbly and playful. he’ll throw his jacket over you with a little joke and a smile that warms you up more than the jacket itself, winking as he pulls the lapels up dramatically to keep you protected from the cold wind. 

he notices things, even if he pretends not to. “you’re holding your bag funny. give it to me.” he’ll say, taking it from you before you can even protest. it doesn’t matter if it weighs a ton. jaehyun will carry it for you.

on rainy days when you two are sharing an umbrella, he’ll tilt it to your side so you’re protected from the raindrops even as his side gets drenched in rainwater. when you try to tilt the umbrella back to him, or tell him to get under it properly, he’ll just smile and say, “i like the rain.” before giving you a peck on the cheek.

and with all this, jaehyun never expects anything in return. jaehyun gives his love without expectation or demand because, well, he loves you.

park sungho

sungho could listen to you talk forever. whatever nonsense you say, whatever irrelevant thing you’re rambling about, if it’s you, it becomes poetry to park sungho. 

sungho remembers the smallest details about you. he remembers the way you take your coffee, the name of the book you once mentioned during a conversation, the exact shade of the sky on the day you first said “i love you.”

sometimes, he even remembers the things you forget; the date of your childhood hamster’s birthday, the lyrics to a song you used to hum under your beeath as you busied yourself in the kitchen- which he took the time to figure out what song it exactly was so he could play it for you on the guitar one day- the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought. some people say these random bits and pieces of you are useless, but sungho keeps them close, storing the, in the quiet corners of his mind to pull out when the time is just right.

“you like this one, right?” sungho will say, handing you a drink exactly the way you like it. “you wanted to watch this movie,” he’ll murmur as he turns on a film you mentioned briefly weeks ago. “you always sleep better when it rains,” he’ll say, opening a window when the first drops hit the pavement.

park sungho says your name like it’s the most beautiful word in the world. it’s not just a name to him, it’s much more than that. 

lee sanghyuk

riwoo often reaches for you without realising. his fingers brush yours when you’re walking side by side, barely a whisper of his warm skin against yours, but enough to make your breath hitch. he tucks a stray strand of hair behind our ear absentmindedly during conversations, his touch light as if he’s handling delicate glass.

riwoo doesn’t even notice how often he does it. how his body naturally gravitates towards yours like second nature. when you’re laughing, he leans in just a little closer. you have a pretty laugh. when you’re focused on something, his hand settles on your wrist.

riwoo’s actions aren’t calculated. they’re not meant to fluster you. it’s simply how he is. his the type of person whose love is felt in the warmth of his palm against you break as he guides you through the door, in the way his knee knocks against yours under the table, in the way his drapes his arm around you.

sometimes when riwoo realises, it's different. the moment he realises that his fingers linger too long, that his touch isn’t just habit but something more, he hesitates. his eyes flicking to yours to make sure you’re not uncomfortable in any way. when he gets your reassurance, he shakes off any doubt with a small smile, his hand staying where it is.

han dongmin

taesan’s love is found in ink stained fingers and the way his lyrics always seem to sound like you. he doesn’t always say it outright, it’s not always blatantly there. but if you listen carefully, you’re woven into every song, every notes, every unfinished berse scribbled in the margins of his notebook.

maybe taesan doesn’t say “i love you” in the way others. but he’ll give you pieces of himself in a song, in a melody, in the esy his voice and eyes soften when he sings the lines that remind him of you.

when you can’t sleep in late hours of the night, taesan will sing you to sleep with a new song he worked on earlier that day, smiling down at you fondly as you doze off to his soft voice.

it’s taesan’s way of showing you love. he might not be the best and telling you exactly how much he loves you with words, but his music says enough for you to know. the lyrics that are always referencing you in one way or another, the melody that sounds a bit too much like your pretty laugh. he writes about late night talks and your pretty eyes, the way the silence between you two are comforting instead of lonely.

kim donghyun

leehan’s love for you is found in the way he looks at you- like you hold the stars in your hands, like you’re the only person existing in the vast universe. his gaze lingers a second too long, that moment always filled with unspoken words that can’t quite be translated into words.

it’s the way leehan’s pretty eyes soften when you talk, the way he watches you even when you’re not looking, memorising each and every detail of your face. he thinks you’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and he can’t help but admire you.

you’ll sometimes feel a gaze locked on you when you’re busy with something- cooking, studying, you name it. and when you turn, it’ll be leehan, staring at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile that only holds fondness. seeing you flustered from his gaze only makes him watch you more, smile widening when your cheeks turn pimk as you pretend you didn’t see him staring at you like that.

when you finally meet leehan’s gaze, when you finally catch the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, you’ll understand just how much leehan loves you, even if it’s done quietly.

kim woonhak

woonhak’s love for you is found in laughter, the kind that leaves you breathless with a pain on your side, the kind that turns even the worst days into something bearable.

woonhak’s the person who notices when you’re quiet with tired eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. instead of asking what’s wrong and focing out words you don’t have, he nudges you with his shoulder, makes a ridiculous face and cracks the woest joke you’ve ever heard since you existed.

and somehow, somehow, it works.

perhaps the joke is so terrible, it made you laugh, or maybe it’s just that face woonhak made, but it gets a smile out of you. and that’s all he needs. 

woonhak always seems to know what you need. and when you laugh, the weight lifting just a little, he smiles like he’s gotten the whole world. 

well, to woonhak, he has.

[masterdreamweaver]

i have further commentary about this that i put into the tags at first but i think it should be part of the main post so it doesn't get lost in further reblogs;

#like hey with all due respect. you are conflating a good handful of things (i don't think i said this part right but that's not the point)

checking tumblr on the phone when you're in the bathroom is a habit. combing your fingers through your hair when you're nervous is a habit.

saying "i can't form habits, the habit forming part of my brain is broken" is. in and of itself. a habit.

hello. i have been professionally diagnosed with adhd twice. it is so much easier now that i am medicated about it. yes. but also quite literally. op is Right.

#i have a life threatening disability that will genuinely kill me if i forget to take my medication #i forget to take my medication a lot. i know this.

#outsource your habits. outsource your motivation. set timers. set reminders. #give yourself a gold star sticker. ask your friends to tell you that they're proud of you. #there are things that make it easier and you are. not entirely wrong. but you're being a negative nancy about it.

#i don't know if i do fully believe you when you say that you've broken your tasks down to the smallest step either

#like my steps for medication are #get food. count carbs. do math. do shot. #that's not small enough. #do shot-- that's so simple and easy. right

no. i have to: - grab my insulin case. - open it. - take syringe out. - take alcohol swab out. - take vial out. - open alcohol swab. - swab top of vial so it's clean. - take backstop cap off syringe. - take front cap off syringe. - purge empty air from syringe. - draw in air. - stick needle in vial. - inject air into vial. - flip vial and syringe upside down. - draw out insulin into syringe. - inject back into vial to get rid of air bubbles. - repeat if necessary. - draw out correct dosage. - take vial off of syringe. - hit syringe with vial in case there's any air bubbles left in there - set syringe down. - expose flesh. (i usually do my shots in my stomach so this is usually as simple as "lean back in chair. lift up shirt." but it's more complicated if you're in public or wearing something more complicated than pajamas etc) - pick up alcohol swab again. - wipe flesh clean with alcohol swab. - set down alcohol swab. - pick up syringe again with one hand. - pinch flesh with the other hand. - place needle against skin. - push needle into flesh until it's fully in there. - inject insulin into flesh. - hit the stopper with my thumb a bit to make sure i get every unit. - remove syringe from flesh slow and careful. - set it down. - pick up alcohol swab. - wipe flesh clean with alcohol swab a second time. - set alcohol swab down. - pick up syringe and syringe caps again. - put both caps back on the syringe. - put syringe in sharps container. - put alcohol swab in trash. - put vial back into medkit. - put medkit back into its place (on my desk i have an organizer with all my shit so it's in reach every second)

and even all THAT. that can be broken down FURTHER. anything can be made simpler and less complicated and easier.

there's a post i need to find which is genuinely about this; "go get a glass of water" for someone without problems might have to be broken all the way down into "stand up walk to door open door go out of door close door walk to stairs walk down stairs walk to kitchen walk to cabinet open cabinet grab cup take cup out of cabinet walk to sink hold cup under faucet turn on sink turn off sink move cup to mouth drink water"

but it's. yeah. you should have made that your own post instead of venting on some genuinely well-meaning and helpful advice

here's some more unsolicited adult advice as someone in her 30s who knows there are a lot of twenty somethings and teens that follow her: if you're trying to build a new habit you really want, and are struggling, you have to break it down to the smallest building block possible. If you're failing, you haven't thought small enough. I know it's possible to hear stories of people who just snapped into new life mode one day by "just deciding", but truly what's happening there is a confluence of events and experiences that force the brain into some sort of epiphany. You cannot will an epiphany. It'll never work. For most times of your life, you will need to build habits intentionally, and that means not working against yourself and to set micro goals. like laughably tiny goals. because once that easy tiny goal is met, you can build off it, tiny goal after tiny goal until you reach your big goal.

so for example, if you want to be a morning person that gets up at ass crack dawn so that you can work out, eat brekkie, shower, and get to work at a leisurely pace, and you're not that person because you will hit your snooze button 800 times, you have to get the big picture goal out of your head. think smaller. "I want to get up 15 minutes earlier than I normally do." If you can't do that, make it 5 minutes. "I want to cook breakfast every day" hell no too big. "I want to eat something, anything, before I leave the house" hell yeah, fantastic. When you go to the grocery store to make sure there are things in the house for breakfast, if you keep buying bagels and microwave sandwiches that you ignore, you gotta think smaller. SMALLER. What's something so easy to eat that you'll never say no to. Is it a yogurt? Is it a handful of grapes? Is it a hostess ho ho? is it hot cheetos? FORGET the big picture of the fantasy put-together woman preparing a full nutritious meal that you'd be proud to admit to. Think only of the smallest goal you can achieve. If you know you can't say no to an ice cream sandwich, put a ton of ice cream sandwiches in your freezer and have one for breakfast every day until it's so instilled in you that you gotta get up to eat something you can start diversifying.

It sounds like, from the lack of habit place, that must take forever. But really it doesn't take too long to form the habit once the discipline kicks in. the trick is that you have to give your brain something easy to become disciplined to. If it's too hard, think easier and smaller. No one has to know. Literally no one in the gd world has to know that for 4 weeks when you were 22 you had an ice cream sandwich for breakfast every day. who cares. If it gets you eating oatmeal with fresh fruit in a few months who cares. you did it, yay. smaller, easier. if you can't do it, think smaller and easier. smaller!! EASIER!!! You are not thinking smaller and easier enough. break your brain thinking how small and easy you can go. SMALLER. EVEN SMALLER, SIS.

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

FINAL CHAPTER: TASTE.

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. (10,2k words)

Author's note: Can't believe it's the end already. Thank you so much to each and everyone of you for following Taste series ♡

Taste. /teɪst/ (n) 1. the sensation of flavor perceived in the mouth 2. a brief experience of something, conveying its basic character.

The first thing Minho ever learns about taste is balance.

A dish can be technically perfect—each ingredient measured with precision, each technique executed flawlessly—but if it lacks harmony, it falls apart. Too much sweetness, and it becomes cloying. Too much salt, and it overwhelms. Too much bitterness, and it alienates the palate.

The key, Chef once told him, is knowing when to lean into one over the other. To understand how the sour sharpens, how the sweet soothes, how the bitter lingers, grounding everything in something real.

Minho spends years mastering that balance in food. He doesn’t realize, until now, that he has never quite mastered it in himself.

The sharpness of ambition pushes him forward, the bitterness of disappointment keeps him guarded, the salt of hard work keeps him steady—but he has never truly let himself indulge in sweetness. Not until you.

And now, as he watches everyone in the kitchen, his chest feels both light and anchored.

For the first time, he isn’t just chasing balance. Minho has found it.

He moves through the kitchen with sharp eyes and precise steps, watching every station like a hawk. The air is thick with heat, the clang of pans and the rhythmic chopping of knives forming a symphony of controlled chaos.

A new order spits out from the machine, and Minho grabs the slip without missing a beat. He barely glances at it before his voice cuts through the noise.

"Two risottos, one sea bass, one osso buco—fire it now!"

A chorus of Yes, Chef! echoes back as he moves.

"Hyunwoo, take the risottos. Seungwan, the sea bass is yours. Seojun, on the osso buco. Felix, where’s my agnolotti?"

"Coming up now, Chef!"

Minho barely nods before his gaze lands on you. "Hurry up with that basil pesto."

"Yes, Chef!"

The kitchen hums, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, but Minho doesn’t let up. He paces through the space, watching every detail, catching the smallest missteps before they happen.

“Are you all tired yet?” he asks, voice loud enough to cut through the frenzy.

No one answers. They know better. A slow smirk tugs at Minho’s lips. He stops between Hyunwoo and Felix, arms crossed. “This is all your fault.”

Hyunwoo glances at him, amused. “Yes, Chef?”

Minho nods toward the packed dining area beyond the kitchen doors. “All of you. It’s your fault the restaurant is bursting with customers.” He shifts his weight. “It’s your fault that expectations are through the roof.”

Hyunwoo grins. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho continues his path to the entrée line, sharp gaze flickering over the plates in progress. “If anyone screws up, you're all dead.”

Instead of intimidation, the response is instant, almost teasing. "Yes, Chef!"

Minho strides back to his table just as Seojun, Seungwan, and Hyunwoo present their dishes for final inspection. He leans in, taking in the plates, the precise plating, the balance of color and texture. He picks up a fork, slicing into the tender osso buco before taking a bite. A smirk tugs at his lips.

“First-place winners, indeed,” he mutters. Then, louder— “Pass!”

The three of them beam before rushing back to their stations, pride radiating off them.

Minho exhales, just slightly. The chaos, the heat, the relentless push for perfection—this is what a kitchen is supposed to feel like.

It’s exhilarating. Exhausting. Satisfying.

Because this kitchen? It’s his now.

-

Minho steps out of the restaurant, inhaling the crisp night air. The warmth of the kitchen still clings to his skin, the adrenaline from dinner service not yet fully faded.

He glances up at the restaurant’s facade, eyes landing on the banner draped proudly across the entrance—Congratulations to Farfalle’s Seojun, Park Hyunwoo and Choi Seungwan. Winners of the New Chef Culinary Challenge!

A quiet chuckle escapes him. It's ridiculous, really, but he can't deny the swell of pride in his chest. They earned it.

Shaking his head, Minho turns toward the parking lot, his pace unhurried. He doesn't expect to see anyone waiting, but the moment his eyes land on you, leaning against his car with that familiar, knowing smile, he feels his pulse stutter for a fraction of a second.

You were waiting for him. Your lips curve just a little more as he approaches, the kind of smile that tells him you’ve already decided how this night is going to go. Minho stops right in front of you, gaze flicking down as you reach for the front of his jacket. Your fingers curl into the fabric, tugging him closer—close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath when you finally speak.

"The contest is over," you murmur, voice low, teasing. "You're done helping the team."

Minho tilts his head slightly, watching you, feeling the heat of anticipation coil low in his stomach.

"Which means…" Your fingers tighten ever so slightly against his jacket. "Tonight, I'm taking back what's mine."

A smirk ghosts over his lips. The thrill of competition, the rush of victory—none of it compares to the way you look at him now.

Minho isn’t sure what’s going to happen next. But he can’t wait to find out.

-

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Minho barely has time to react before you shove him backward. His back hits the sofa, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he watches you climb onto his lap, your eyes dark with intent.

You waste no time, crashing your lips against his, the kiss hungry, urgent. Your hands are already working open the buttons of his shirt, fingers quick, almost impatient, as if you've waited too long for this moment. Minho lets you take control, but his own hands aren't idle—they move instinctively, sliding over your waist, your back, gripping and tracing every inch of you he can reach.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of late nights at the restaurant, weeks of stolen glances, of tension thick enough to cut with a knife. And now, finally, there's no more waiting.

Minho exhales sharply against your lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers tighten on your hips. He can feel the heat radiating off you, the way your body presses so perfectly against his.

God, he missed this. Missed you. And now, he’s not holding back.

Minho groans into the kiss as your fingers finally push his shirt open, sliding over the exposed skin of his chest. His hands tighten on your waist before gliding up your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you.

Your lips move hungrily against his, tongues tangling, breaths mingling. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers trailing down your spine, reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. His grip grows firmer as he shifts beneath you, the heat between you both rising with every second.

You break away just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as your fingers lazily trace patterns on his chest. Minho smirks, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingertips teasing over your skin.

“You’ve been waiting for this, huh?” he murmurs, voice husky, his breath warm against your lips.

“Tell that to yourself,” You teasingly respond before pressing another kiss, slower this time, but just as intense. Minho groans softly, his hands exploring, savoring the feeling of you, the way you melt into him so effortlessly.

The night is just beginning but Minho’s hands are impatient now, his fingers slipping beneath your clothes, rough and eager. You gasp against his lips as he tugs at your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion before tossing it aside. His eyes darken as he takes you in, a smirk curling on his lips.

“God, you're perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with want, but you don’t give him a chance to say more—you crash your lips back onto his as your hips beginning to move, grinding on his growing bulge.

Minho groans as your hands explore his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin. His own hands travel down your back, gripping you tight as he shifts beneath you, his body pressing insistently against yours.

You grip his shoulder as you grin harder, your heating core making friction with his crotch. The heat between you is undeniable, every touch electric, every kiss more desperate than the last.

You slow down as you drag your lips down his neck and before he knows it, you get up from his lap. You stand in between his spreading legs, your eyes locked in a steady gaze as you unzip the zipper of your skirt and then letting it drops, pooling around your ankle before you kick it aside.

You bend down and put your hands on each of his knees, leaning in until your lips meet his in a rapturous open kiss. You let go of his lips only to continue making a trail of hot kisses down his body and then, before he knows it, you drop to your knees.

You look through your lashes as your fingers move to his belt, tugging it free with a satisfying snap. Minho flashes you a sly smirk as you slowly pull the zipper down and then roughly pulls the front of his jeans.

“Impatient, are we?” he teases, though his own hand is just as eager as he grabs you by the neck.

You pull his cock out of its confine, you gasp at how hot, how stiff he is in your hand. You slowly stroking it, once in a while, your gently rub the head with your thumb before giving it the gentlest of kitten lick but it's enough to make Minho gets hot all over. His ear, his chest, parts of his body reddening as desire makes his skin flushed.

His other hand reaches for your jaw, he tilts your head toward him and then shoves his thumb into your mouth. Your lips automatically wrapped around it, sucking and twirling your tongue around it. It gives him an idea what your mouth feels like and it gets him impatient.

Minho roughly pulls his thumb out of your mouth, sending a string of saliva dripping down your chin but instead of wiping it off, you grin at him and open your mouth wider. Then slowly, you bring your head lower as you aim his cock into your mouth.

“Think you can take it, mmh?” his voice is dripping with condescension.

You take him little by little. You take a second to adjust yourself before taking more of him. You pull away when it gets too much and doing it all over again.

Minho can’t decide which one is hotter: Watching you pleasing him with your mouth or how eager you are to please him.

He grabs the stray hairs covering your face and gathering it at the back of your head, one hand holds firmly holds it, forming a makeshift ponytail. That way, he can watches your lips wrapped so beautifully around his cock.

“Come on, you can take a little more,” his voice is low, husky and assertive.

You tilt your head a little to the side and take him up on his challenge, taking more of him until Minho feels nothing but the back of your throat. Your hand compensate the rest you can't take.

“Now, let's see what that pretty mouth can do,” he sighs, tugging at your hair a little harder.

You sync your mouth and hand movements and eventually finds the rhythm that makes Minho’s eyea fluttering shut, intoxicated by the way your mouth feels around him. Low grunts spilling out of his slightly parted open mouth. He must admits that you're too good at it.

You stop when he's close enough to the edge and gasp for air, you don't bother with the saliva dribble down your chin so Minho wipes it for you. Then without hesitation, he plants a kiss on your open mouth.

He pulls away but he keeps cradling your head in both hands and mutters, “You look pretty like this.”

He helps you get on your feet and wastes no time tugging his fingers on the elastic band of your underwear. He looks up at you but his hands are pulling your underwear down your legs. He then lifts your leg, resting the sole of your feet next to his thigh.

He begins by placing fluttering kisses on your inner thighs and not stopping until his mouth meets the source of heat. Gosh, you taste so sweet, so intoxicating that Minho buries his mouth deeper in your wetness.

You moan with your head lolling to the side, your hand is tangled in his dark locks while the other is gripping at his shoulder. In no time, Minho succeed on making your legs trembling that you end up on his lap again.

You prop your knees on the sofa, giving you the space to align his cock with your entrance before you slowly lower yourself on him.

“Oh...” your moan is low and sultry, it goes on until you take all of him.

Minho plants a haste kiss on your neck and then presses his mouth close to your ear. “You feel so fucking good,” his voice strained, as if overwhelmed by what he's feeling physically.

He slumps lower on the sofa, allowing you to drop your hands on his knees and plant your feet on the sofa. That way, you're free to move against him, bouncing on his cock and at the same time, giving him the best view of his cock slipping in and out of you.

“Keep going,” he sighs in between his breathless grunts, “You’re fucking me so good. Don't stop.”

You keep going for a few moments until you tire yourself out and you're settling down onto his back. Minho immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly as he starts bucking his hips down from under you.

The world narrows down to just the two of you—skin against skin, breath mingling in the space between kisses. Minho’s hands grip your waist, guiding you, his touch firm yet reverent, like he’s memorizing every part of you. The rhythm is unspoken but understood, each movement drawing you closer, deepening the connection between you.

And then, in the midst of it all, something shifts. A sudden rush of emotion wells up in your chest, raw and overwhelming. Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks as you slow down, locking eyes with him. Minho’s gaze softens, the heat in them replaced with something deeper, something that steals the breath from your lungs.

"I love you," you whisper, voice barely audible but carrying all the weight of your feelings.

For a moment, Minho stills. His expression changes—something flickers behind his eyes, something unguarded, completely open. Then, his lips part, his voice hushed yet firm. "I love you."

His hands tighten on your hips, not possessive, but grounding, as if anchoring himself in this moment. He pulls you down into a kiss that’s different from the ones before—not rushed, not desperate, but filled with something far more intimate.

The movements between you grow softer, slower, every touch lingering, every breath shared. It’s no longer just about the heat or the need—it’s about this, about the way you fit together, about the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

And as Minho presses his forehead against yours, whispering your name like a prayer, you know—this moment, this feeling, is something neither of you will ever forget.

There’s no space between you now, nothing but heat and breathless laughter, the two of you tangled together, lost in the moment as the world outside ceases to exist.

-

The warmth of Minho’s body lingers against yours as you lie tangled together on the sofa, skin still burning from the passion of moments before. His lips trace lazy, playful kisses along your neck and chest, his soft laughter vibrating against your skin as he intentionally tickles you with them.

You giggle, half-heartedly pushing him away. “Minho, stop,” you murmur, breathless.

He only chuckles before relenting, his eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a moment to simply look at him—his tousled hair, the sharp yet delicate angles of his face, the way his lips curve into the slightest smirk even when he isn’t trying. Every detail of him is unfairly beautiful. You’ve always thought so, but in moments like this, when he’s bare before you, when his body is still marked by the traces of your touch, you can’t help but admire him more.

Minho is sculpted like something divine, every line and ridge of muscle seamlessly carved into perfection. The sharp planes of his collarbones, the expanse of his chest, the flex of his abdomen as he shifts beside you—it’s mesmerizing. And his face… god, his face. Even when he’s teasing you, even when he’s looking at you like he knows exactly how much power he holds over you, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

You reach up, running your fingers along his jaw, and suggest, “Wine?”

Minho pecks your lips before pulling away. “I’ll get it,” he offers, and without a second thought, he gets up, not bothering to cover himself.

Your gaze follows him, utterly shameless as he walks toward the kitchen. You could watch him for hours—the way the light catches his skin, the strong lines of his back, the easy confidence in every step he takes. He is a masterpiece, and you drink him in like he’s the finest piece of art you’ve ever seen.

Minho glances back and catches you staring. His lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Stop staring, you perv!”

You grin, shaking your head in defiance. “Never.”

He scoffs and turns away, busying himself with picking a bottle of wine from his collection. You sit up, pulling the quilt from the other end of the sofa to wrap around yourself, and in the process, your elbow knocks something off the coffee table. A soft thud follows, and when you glance down, your eyes land on a large brown envelope. Your stomach drops.

Italy. The address on the front is unmistakable.

A sinking feeling settles in your chest as you reach for it, your fingers trembling slightly. You don’t need to read much to understand what it is. A contract. Minho’s name in bold. An offer from Paolo’s, the world renowned Italian restaurant.

Which only means that Minho is leaving.

Your heart clenches painfully, but you quickly put the papers back into the envelope just as Minho returns, a bottle of wine in one hand, two glasses in the other. His eyes flicker to you immediately, and for a second, the room feels heavier. He sees you putting the envelope back, and you know that he knows.

Forcing a smile, you reach to take the glasses from him. He says nothing, just watches you as he removes the cork, the rich scent of wine filling the air. But it’s not enough to distract you.

As he pours the deep red liquid into your glass, you keep your voice light, casual. “Paolo scouted you, huh?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, he wants me in his kitchen.”

You take a sip before asking, “Does that mean you’re going to Italy?”

Minho brings his own glass to his lips, pausing before replying. “Do you want me to go?”

The weight pressing against your chest is suffocating. You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “As your girlfriend, I wish you wouldn’t,” you admit softly, keeping your grip on the glass firm. “But as a chef… you should go.”

Minho smirks, lips curving just enough to taunt. “Ah... You want it both ways.”

A breathy, shaky chuckle escapes you. “I guess I do.” Then, barely above a whisper, you ask, “So… that means you’re going?”

Minho takes another slow sip before nodding.

You knew this was coming. You expected this. But still, the confirmation stings like an open wound. You force a smile, hoping it hides the ache beneath. “If I were you, I’d go too.”

He watches you carefully, his gaze unreadable.

You swallow hard and meet his eyes. “You have to be good to me until then.”

His smirk returns, but there’s something softer in his expression. You add quickly, “And I’ll be good to you too.”

He nods, but as you look at him, the weight of it all—the inevitable goodbye, the time slipping away—becomes too much. Your eyes sting before you can stop them, and the first tear escapes, sliding down your cheek. You quickly brush it away, rough and careless, but more follow.

Minho moves closer, his hands reaching for you with the gentleness that always undoes you. He tilts your face up, his thumbs sweeping away the tears with careful strokes. His voice is quiet when he says, “Don’t cry.”

You nod quickly, even as more tears slip free. You offer a small, trembling smile. “I’m just happy for you.”

And you are.

But your heart… your heart is breaking.

-

Minho sets the last plate down on the dining table, the smell of freshly cooked breakfast filling the kitchen. Everything is ready—the only thing left to do is wake you up.

He walks toward the bedroom, but as he reaches the doorway, he stops. You’re still curled up on the bed, bundled in the duvet, your breathing soft and steady in sleep.

Last night’s conversation replays in his mind, the weight of it settling heavy in his chest. The next second, his jaw tightens when he remembered the one thing that nags at him.

“She didn’t even try to stop me from going,” he mutters under his breath, voice low and bitter.

A scoff leaves his lips before he strides toward the bed. He grabs your foot, giving it a firm tug, just enough to jolt you from your sleep. Your head slumps down against the pillow, and a sleepy murmur escapes you as you stir. Slowly, you blink your eyes open, meeting his gaze.

Minho’s voice is cold. “Wake up. Breakfast is ready.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves the bedroom, heading back to the kitchen. The moment he steps away from you, he exhales sharply, as if the air in that room had been suffocating him. He pours two mugs of coffee, the steam curling up in delicate wisps, but his expression remains tense.

It’s only after a short moment that he hears your footsteps. You emerge from the room, wearing his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely around you. Minho doesn’t react, even as you step close and press a quick kiss to his cheek before murmuring a soft, “Good morning.”

You take a seat at the dining table, and the sight of the breakfast spread makes you gasp. “Wow,” you say teasingly, picking up your coffee. “What’s the occasion?”

Minho settles into the chair across from you, leaning back slightly. His tone is casual, but there’s an edge of something unreadable in his eyes. “You asked me to be good to you,” he says simply.

You chuckle at that, taking a careful sip of your coffee before setting the mug down. As you pick up your fork, you glance at him and say, “I just remembered that I have to go somewhere today.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t let his curiosity show. Instead, he keeps his tone indifferent. “Eat your breakfast before you go.”

You take a moment to chew, then look at him again. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Minho tilts his head slightly, pretending to be disinterested. “Where?”

“I’m looking for apartments.”

His fingers tighten around the handle of his coffee mug. He still doesn’t look at you. “Why?”

“Chef Sara is moving out soon,” you explain, setting your fork down. “And I can’t afford the rent by myself.”

Minho’s next words come out without much thought, his voice calm, almost nonchalant. “You don’t have to worry about the rent if you come with me to Italy.”

Silence lingers between you. Then, you smile—small, knowing, a little sly. “Come on. Just come with me,” you say softly.

Minho exhales through his nose, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He doesn’t have anything better to do today anyway. “Fine.”

Minho lets himself be dragged through yet another apartment viewing, barely paying attention as the property agent talks through the details. He already knows you’re not going to take it—your face gives everything away. The moment you saw the kitchen, your enthusiasm faded, your disappointment barely masked by the polite nods you kept giving.

Then, the property agent, oblivious to the way Minho is barely tolerating this whole ordeal, suddenly comments, “It’s a little small for two people.”

Minho barely has time to react before you loop your arm around his, leaning into him with a sweet, practiced smile. “It’s fine,” you say smoothly. “We’re in love, so the small space doesn’t matter.”

Minho stiffens slightly, caught off guard by the sudden declaration, but the property agent only smiles bashfully, nodding in agreement. “Ah, of course. Love makes everything easier.”

Minho resists the urge to roll his eyes.

When the agent asks if you’re interested in any of the places he showed you, you respond with yet another polite smile. “We’ll take our time considering it.”

Minho bites back a sigh of relief when you finally part ways with the property agent, the two of you walking back toward where his car is parked. As you keep your arm linked with his, Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “You’re dragging me around so I’ll lend you money, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen in exaggerated surprise. “How did you know?”

Minho scoffs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You hum, as if you’re genuinely considering it. “Should I look around Taesoo’s neighborhood instead?”

“It’s all the same,” Minho mutters.

You suddenly stop walking and let out a dramatic pout. “Then I don’t think I can afford anywhere else.”

Then, just as Minho is about to remind you again that you don’t have to, you turn to him, your voice casual—too casual.

“I think I’ll go to Italy with you.”

Minho freezes. His breath catches slightly, but his expression remains neutral. He blinks at you, processing what you just said before responding. “What?”

You give him a small, knowing smile. “At least in Italy, I can stay with you. Right, Chef?”

Minho’s heart stutters in his chest. He doesn’t want to react too quickly, doesn’t want to get ahead of himself—so he asks, voice steady but probing, “Do you really mean that?”

You hold his gaze for a second, then, without a word, you slowly let go of his arm. Then you shrug, nonchalant as ever, and turn away, walking off as if you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.

Minho’s eye twitches. “You—stop right there.”

You don’t. Instead, you keep walking, laughing under your breath.

Minho doesn’t think. He just starts chasing after you. “Why do you keep changing your mind?” he shouts, exasperated.

You don’t answer, just laugh again, quickening your pace.

Minho curses under his breath but can’t stop the small smirk forming on his lips as he picks up his speed, determined to catch you.

-

Once the dining hall is finally empty, you allow yourself a moment to relax. Sitting at the coffee station, you stack your hands together and rest your head on top of them, sighing deeply as you let the exhaustion of the day seep out of you.

A while later, Minho joins you, settling on a stool just one seat away. You lift your head, smiling despite your fatigue, and in your most professional tone, you tell him, “You did a good job today, Chef.”

Minho scoffs, eyes flicking away from you. His voice carries a quiet bitterness as he mutters, “I’m going to leave, and you don’t even seem to care.”

You bite back the urge to tease him, watching him sulk like a child. Instead, you soften your expression and say, “I do care about you.”

Minho looks at you for a second, as if assessing the sincerity of your words, before looking away again, unconvinced. You lean forward against the counter, tilting your head as you ask, “Do you know when I first started caring about you?”

Minho’s curiosity piques. He turns his head slightly toward you. “When?”

For the first time ever, you decide to reveal it. Meeting his gaze, you say, “It was back in culinary school, during one of our earlier classes. You helped me French trim a lamb rack.”

Minho frowns, visibly confused.

You smile at his reaction and continue, “That’s how I fell for you.”

Minho's eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing.

You lean your elbow on the counter, propping your chin in your palm. “All the other guys kept telling me I was doing it wrong, but you were the only one who actually showed me how.” A small, nostalgic laugh escapes you. “I was so nervous, I couldn’t even look you in the eyes.”

Minho’s lips twitch, the corners threatening to curl upward. He props a hand under his chin and asks, “So… was it love at first sight for you?”

You nod, smiling.

Minho's smirk deepens, the amusement clear in his gaze. “Really?” he presses, as if trying to tease a different answer out of you.

“Yes.” You nod again, this time more confidently. “That’s when I started caring about you.”

You pout slightly, feigning disappointment. “But you don’t even remember that day. You only started caring about me recently.”

Minho opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, a new voice enters the conversation.

Chris slides onto the empty stool between you and Minho, effectively cutting off your moment. He swivels to face you, giving Minho his back. “So,” Chris starts, his tone light and playful, “should we do something fun this weekend?”

Behind him, you hear Minho scoff, but Chris ignores it. “Is there anything you want to do?”

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “Uhm... not really.”

Chris hums, unfazed. “Then, maybe there’s somewhere you want to go?”

Minho lets out a sharp breath before finally breaking his silence. “Hey, Chris—Manager Bang,” he calls coldly.

Chris finally turns to face him.

Minho stares at him, unimpressed. “You seem rather pleased that I’m going to Italy.”

Chris shrugs. “You’re going to work at one of the best Italian restaurants. Of course, I’m pleased.” Then, with a grin, he adds, “And while you’re gone, I’ll take care of her for you.”

Minho’s expression darkens, irritation clear in his posture. Without another word, he gets up from his stool. “You two go ahead and talk. Do whatever you want,” he mutters. “Leave me out of it.”

Then, just before leaving, he shoots you a glare, as if blaming you for the entire conversation.

Once he’s gone, Chris leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “It’s not like him to leave us alone.”

You let out a dry chuckle and rest your hands on the counter again.

Chris watches you for a moment before sighing. “You’re right, though. I like that we don’t feel awkward around each other… but it must be different for you.”

You shake your head, quickly denying it. “It’s not that. It's just... I don’t get Minho sometimes.”

Chris gestures for you to lean in closer. Without questioning it, you do. Lowering his voice, Chris says, “I bet he’s not actually going to Italy.”

You blink, pulling back slightly. “Huh?”

Chris nods toward the direction Minho walked off in. “He hasn’t been acting like himself. It’s obvious to me.”

Your forehead wrinkles in confusion. “He doesn’t seem that way to me.”

Chris lets out a small chuckle before draping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close until your heads are touching. “If it were me, I wouldn’t want to go either,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t want to be far away from someone I love.”

The way he says it makes sense, but at the same time, it’s Minho. Who knows how his mind works?

Chris suddenly grins and holds his hand out toward you. “Come on. Let’s bet on it.”

You roll your eyes but ultimately shrug and take his hand, sealing the bet.

-

You don’t notice Minho carrying anything until the two of you step out of the car, and you see a paper bag in his hand. He doesn’t mention it, and you don’t ask, leading the way to your dad’s house instead. Letting yourself in, you call out for your dad from the foyer. When no response comes, you sigh and drag Minho inside with you.

Turns out, your dad is in the kitchen, busy preparing food. “Dad?”You call for him again, and this time, he finally looks up—first at you, then at Minho.

Minho quickly straightens, offering a polite nod and a greeting. “Hello, sir. How are you?”

Your dad doesn’t bother replying, only narrowing his eyes at you before grumbling, “Why are you just standing there? Make yourself useful.”

You roll your eyes but move to help, expecting Minho to follow. Before he can, though, your dad gestures for him to sit instead. You suppress a laugh at the way Minho hesitates, clearly uncertain, before reluctantly taking a seat at the dining table.

While you work, you sneak glances at them. Minho shifts uncomfortably in his seat before finally handing your dad the paper bag. “I brought this for you, sir,” he says. “It’s supposed to be good for your health.”

Your dad eyes the gift before scoffing. “I heard you're going somewhere?”

Minho’s gaze flickers to you, just for a second, but it’s enough to make you feel guilty. You never told him you mentioned Italy to your dad. He nods politely. “Yes, sir.”

Your dad sets the bag aside, uninterested. “And what about the two of you?”

You cut in, setting the first dish on the table. “We’re still working together in Farfalle, dad,” you say quickly.

Your dad ignores you, keeping his focus on Minho. “So, you’re breaking up?”

You and Minho exchange an uneasy glance, but before either of you can answer, your dad presses further. “If you’re breaking up, why’d you come here?”

Minho clears his throat and forces a polite smile. “We aren’t completely breaking up, sir,” he answers carefully.

Not liking where this conversation is heading, you hurry to set the rest of the food on the table and put an end to it. “Let’s have dinner first,” you say firmly, patting Minho’s thigh under the table as a silent reassurance. He softens slightly, but his posture remains stiff, and you have to bite back a laugh.

Your dad nods. “Let’s eat.”

Minho, still tense, mutters a quick, “Thank you for the food, sir.”

Your dad doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches Minho intently as he takes his first bite. Minho chews carefully, clearly aware of the scrutiny.

Your dad leans back in his chair. “Should I cook it again?”

Minho’s eyes widen slightly, and he swallows quickly. “No, sir. It’s fine.”

Your dad clicks his tongue. “You can just say it.”

Minho shakes his head, taking another bite. “No, really, it’s good.”

Your dad smirks. “You can say no, but you can’t say it’s delicious.”

Minho chews faster, then swallows hard. “It’s delicious, sir.”

Your dad raises a brow. “So, did I pass your test?”

You groan, reaching over to squeeze your dad’s arm. “Dad! Can you stop?”

Desperate to shift the mood, you grab the wine and fill everyone’s glass, hoping it’ll help things settle. But of course, your dad isn’t done yet.

Halfway through dinner, he turns to Minho again. “What’s better about you than my daughter?” he asks bluntly. “Besides being a chef.”

Minho straightens slightly but doesn’t answer right away.

Your dad continues, “She’s going to be a chef too, eventually. And when that happens, you’re out.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Dad, please—”

Minho speaks up before you can stop him. “Not everyone can be a chef, sir.”

Your dad scoffs. “If everyone else can, why can’t she?”

Silence.

Your dad clicks his tongue. “I sent her to Italy to become a classical pianist, and what did she do? Went to culinary school behind my back. And now, after all that, she still can’t be a chef?” He shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

You stiffen, barely daring to look at Minho. You clasp your hands together under the table, feeling embarrassed with what your dad has just revealed to Minho.

Your dad chuckles humorlessly. “She didn’t have a problem not contacting me for years. I doubt she’ll have a problem being away from you.”

You glare at him, but when you finally sneak a glance at Minho, he’s already looking at you—sharp, unreadable.

Your dad sighs dramatically and gestures toward the liquor cabinet. “Bring me the bottle of liquor.”

You cross your arms. “You shouldn't be drinking, dad. It's—”

Your dad scowls. “Just do what I said.”

Not wanting to argue, you push yourself up from your seat and make your way to the cabinet, grateful for the excuse to hide—for just a little while.

-

It’s only been—what, five glasses? Maybe six? Minho isn’t counting, but he knows he’s one drink away from crossing the line into being properly drunk. Before that happens, he pushes himself up from his seat and mutters, “Bathroom.”

You glance at him before pointing down the hall. “End of the hall to the left.”

Minho nods and makes his way there, feeling the slight unsteadiness in his steps. Inside, he leans over the sink, twisting the tap and letting the cold water run over his fingers before splashing it onto his face. He exhales sharply, gripping the edges of the sink as he stares at his reflection. His head is buzzing, and he needs to clear it.

A few minutes pass before he leaves the bathroom, but just as he’s about to step into the living room, he hears your voice—low and sharp.

“You shouldn’t be drinking that much.”

Your dad scoffs. “Why do you care?”

Minho freezes in the hallway. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but then your dad’s voice lowers, his words slurring slightly.

“If you love him so much,” he mutters, “why are you letting him go?”

Minho’s fingers twitch at his sides. He should walk in. He should make his presence known. But he stays put.

There’s a pause before you reply, your voice quieter now. “Why? Do you not want me to lose him? Is that it, dad?”

Your dad lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re not exactly a great catch.”

Minho frowns.

Your dad sighs heavily. “Someone has to take care of you when I’m gone. Who else would do that? Who else but Minho?”

Silence.

Then, your voice—soft, wounded. “Why would you say that, dad?”

Your dad exhales, long and tired. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I just… I miss your mother so much.”

Minho swallows, his chest suddenly tight. If he steps out now, he’ll be interrupting something—something raw, something unspoken between you and your father. So he lingers a moment longer before quietly making his way back to the living room.

The moment you see him, you straighten, forcing a small smile. “I’ll get my dad to bed,” you say.

Minho glances at your dad—head slumped, completely knocked out—and shakes his head. “I’ll do it.”

He carefully lifts your dad, guiding him to his room. By the time he returns, you’re already clearing the table, stacking plates onto the counter. Without a word, Minho joins you, gathering the empty glasses and wiping down the dining table.

You move on to the dishes while he puts the leftovers into containers. The kitchen is quiet except for the sound of running water and the occasional clink of plates. There’s an understanding between you, a rhythm in the way you move together, no words needed. But Minho speaks anyway.

“So...” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “You weren’t exactly slacking off.”

You don’t turn to him, but he catches the small smile on your lips. “Yeah,” you say. “I was juggling between music school and culinary school back then.”

Minho exhales, leaning against the counter. “And the guys everyone thought you were dating?”

You shake your head. “Friends from music school who helped me practice for recitals.”

Minho nods slowly, taking in the weight of these small revelations, these pieces of you he didn’t have before. He slides these pieces into place and it's all clear to him now.

Once the food is stored away, he steps closer. Without thinking, he slides his arms around you, pressing himself against your back. He dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head before murmuring, “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away. You just nod. But Minho knows better. Your silence says more than words could, so he tightens his arms around you, lowering his head to place another kiss on your neck.

You stop washing the dishes abruptly. The water continues running, but your hands are still. Then, in a voice so quiet he almost misses it, you whisper, “I can’t leave my dad... again.”

Minho doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. And in that moment, he finally understands.

-

Minho stirs awake, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The room is dim, the early light barely slipping through the curtains. He blinks up at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing on him—not just from lack of sleep, but from the thoughts that kept him awake through the night.

You’re curled up beside him, lost in dreams, breathing softly against his arm. He watches you, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers are lightly curled against his sheets. And then, like every night before, the same question echoes in his mind.

Am I really going to leave this?

Just the thought of it makes his chest tighten. His arm moves before he even thinks, wrapping around you, pulling you close as if holding you tighter will somehow anchor him here, keep him from drifting away. The idea of losing you—it’s unbearable.

Minho exhales, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and in that quiet moment, he makes up his mind.

With another lingering kiss to your bare shoulder, he carefully untangles himself from you, slipping out of bed. He pulls on a shirt and pads barefoot into the living room. His eyes land on the envelope lying untouched on the coffee table, the same one he’s been avoiding. He picks it up, running his thumb over the edge before taking a deep breath and stepping outside.

He stops at a door next and presses the doorbell. It takes a moment, but soon, the door swings open, revealing Sara. She blinks at him, then offers a soft, knowing smile. “If you’re looking for her, she didn’t come home last night.”

Minho smirks. “I know. She’s with me.”

Sara flashes him a knowing smile and Minho doesn’t give her time to tease him before handing her the envelope. “Here. You should go instead of me. You'll be better at it,” he says simply.

Sara glances down, recognizing the weight of what he’s holding out to her. Her brows furrow, and when she meets his eyes, there’s disbelief in hers. “Paolo’s? Haven't you always wanted to work there?”

Minho shrugs. “Not anymore. I think I like Farfalle better than world-famous restaurants.”

Sara exhales a short chuckle, tilting her head. “Because of her?”

Minho’s answer is immediate. “It’s far more than just her.”

Sara shakes her head slightly, pressing the envelope to her chest. “Minho, I don’t think it’s a good time for me right now. Not when I'm... like this.”

His brows knit together. “What do you mean? Like this?”

Sara’s fingers tighten on the envelope. “Like this. All broken up.”

Minho scoffs. “What’s broken? Your hands? Your tongue?” He nods toward the envelope. “As long as your hands and tongue are fine, what more do you need as a chef?”

Sara lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s tinged with something fragile. “I should at least be better than what I am right now.”

Minho gestures toward the envelope. “Then be quick about it. This spot won’t open and wait for you forever.” He holds her gaze for a beat longer, a silent challenge in his expression, before turning and heading back to his apartment.

Minho feels a lot lighter because it's all up to her now. Whether Sara takes it or not, he believes she'll make the right decision.

The moment he returns to his apartment, warmth settles in his chest. He walks into the bedroom and finds you exactly as he left you—still curled up, still lost in dreams. A small smile tugs at his lips as he sits on the edge of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

He tenderly cups your jaw, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek and suddenly, your eyes flutter open. The moment you see him, that familiar softness fills them, the warmth that makes everything else fade away.

“Morning,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. You lean into his touch and close your eyes for a brief moment.

Minho only smirks in response, but he keeps cradling your face like it's a fragile object.

You stretch slightly, then give him a lazy smile. “Breakfast?”

Minho raises a brow. “Are you asking me to cook breakfast?”

You shamelessly nod and grin, your fingers lightly tracing the evident vein on his forearm.

He scoffs. “Are you saying you'll never cook for your boyfriend?”

Still drowsy, you playfully reply, “Why should I cook when I have a boyfriend who's a chef?”

Minho huffs, amused, but the smirk on his lips softens as he leans down. He kisses you—slow, deep, lingering. A kiss that says everything he hasn’t put into words yet.

Then, with a sleepy smile, you murmur, “Not just a chef. My boyfriend is the best chef in the world.”

You don’t even seem to notice the way he falters. You just keep looking at him, all warmth and certainty, like calling him the best chef in the world is the simplest truth.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to brush it off. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

You grin up at him. “I mean it. The best chef.”

Minho doesn’t know why that gets to him the way it does. Maybe it’s because he’s spent his whole life proving himself in the kitchen, fighting for recognition, never feeling like it’s enough. But you—you say it so easily, so sincerely, like you’ve never once doubted it.

He swallows, unable to stop the way his body softens against you. Instead of a snarky remark, instead of brushing it off with an eye roll, he just looks at you, something unbearably tender in his gaze.

And then he kisses you again. Slower this time, deeper. Like he’s sealing this moment, like he’s trying to make you understand that he’s here, he’s staying, he’s yours.

When he finally pulls away, he lingers, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “I’ll cook breakfast.”

And just like that, he knows—there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

-

Minho raps his knuckles against Chris’s office door before pushing it open, stepping inside without waiting for an answer. Chris barely glances up, finishing the last strokes of his signature on a document before setting his pen down and gesturing toward the chair across from his desk.

"Have a seat, Chef," Chris says, standing as Minho lowers himself into the chair. Instead of staying behind his desk, Chris moves to the single sofa facing him, his posture more relaxed than usual.

"I was just about to bring this up with you," Chris begins. "We need to start looking for new cooks."

Minho nods, his voice calm. "I’ll take care of it."

Chris tilts his head slightly, a sly smile creeping onto his lips as he leans back against the cushions. "Are you only going to hire men this time, Chef?"

Minho barely reacts, only giving a dismissive glance. "I told you, I’ll take care of it."

Chris hums, but there’s something sharper in his expression now, something more observant. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies Minho. "Does this mean you've decided not to go to Italy?"

Minho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lets a smirk play on his lips—subtle, but just enough.

Chris catches it immediately. His grin widens, and he leans back again with a muttered, "I win the bet."

Minho’s eyebrows pull together slightly. Of all the reactions he expected, Chris being happy wasn’t one of them. He tilts his head. "Did you just say something?"

Chris waves him off with a flick of his hand. "Nothing."

Minho eyes him for a second longer, but Chris shifts gears, settling back into his usual professional demeanor. "Chef, I know you have the authority to make the hiring decisions," Chris says. "I trust you with that. But I’d like you to keep me updated now and then."

Minho raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Chris exhales, resting an ankle over his knee. "I know the kitchen is yours, and I have no intention of interfering or challenging you. This is purely for the sake of the restaurant. From now on, let's be open about what kind of strategy you're running back there."

Minho narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. "Since when did you get so interested in what happens in the kitchen?"

Chris smiles—not his usual smug smirk, but something softer. "Since it became clear to me that people are more important than money."

Minho watches him for a long moment, weighing his words. He finds, much to his own surprise, that he doesn’t immediately feel the usual irritation toward Chris.

Instead, he nods, just once and maybe, just maybe, Chris is not as annoying as he thought.

-

The kitchen is alive with movement, the clang of metal against metal, the sizzle of hot oil, the rhythmic chopping of knives. Heat radiates from the stoves, from the bodies moving in sync, from the sheer force of effort that everyone is putting into the final push of the night. Minho reads the orders, his voice sharp and clear above the chaos, but beneath it, there's something deeper—something that makes his chest tighten as he shouts encouragements, urging them to finish strong.

The last dishes land on the chef’s table. Minho stabs the final ticket onto the board. The printer hums softly for a second, and then he turns it off. Silence washes over the kitchen—not complete, but significant. He looks around, at the people who have worked beside him, sweated through long hours, fought through exhaustion, and created something brilliant night after night.

"This is it," Minho announces, his voice carrying through the space. "This is our last order of the day—and the last in this kitchen for some of us."

His eyes find the entrée line—Seojun, Seungwan, Hyunwoo. Soon, they'll be gone, off to Italy to study, to chase something bigger. Minho lets that reality settle for a moment before continuing.

"Before we close for good tonight, I want everyone to prepare their final dish for our VIP guests." He looks at each of them, his gaze firm but full of meaning. "Make it your best."

A chorus of voices rises in response. "Yes, Chef!"

The energy shifts—not somber, not sad, but determined. Minho calls out the orders, listing the best of what they can offer, then gives the signal. "You may start!"

And just like that, the kitchen comes alive again.

This time, as Minho walks through the stations, it feels different. It’s not about control or perfection—it’s about seeing them, about feeling the weight of everything they’ve built together.

He stops by Felix’s station, watching as he twirls fresh pasta in a pan with practiced ease. "Looking good," Minho comments.

Felix grins, focused but pleased. "Thank you, Chef."

At your station, he watches you work, the effortless way you shake the frying pans, flipping the ingredients with precision. You meet his gaze, and he gives you an impressed smile. Before he can say anything, Taesoo, watching you in awe, blurts out, "Chef, can you teach me to shake frying pans like that?"

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. "That depends on you."

Taesoo groans. "Just say yes or no!"

Minho flicks his forehead hard enough that Taesoo yelps in pain.

You chuckle at Taesoo’s pout, murmuring, "Don’t worry, I’ll teach you."

Minho moves on, observing Seungwan carefully garnishing a tuna salad, Hyunwoo pouring clear soup with the kind of care most people reserve for handling delicate glass. At Seojun’s station, he pauses. "I’ll help."

Seojun shakes his head. "I got it, Chef."

Minho doesn’t budge. "Let’s do it together."

For a second, Seojun hesitates—then he shifts, making room. Side by side, they cook in unspoken understanding.

Seojun murmurs, "The beef is good today."

Minho smirks, seasoning his own cut of meat. "It is."

And just like that, the dishes are sent out. The kitchen exhales, the weight of the night lifting. The finality settles in.

Minho lets out a breath. "We’re officially closed for business today."

Taesoo starts clapping, and soon, the entire kitchen follows. It’s not just for the hard work tonight—it’s for everything.

People scatter, exchanging hugs, handshakes, pats on the back. The air is thick with something bittersweet, something profound. It’s an ending, but it’s also a beginning. The entrée line will leave. Minho won’t work with them in this kitchen again. But they’re going toward something greater, toward dreams they’ve worked for.

As the kitchen quiets, Minho turns to them. "Good luck on your studies."

Seojun steps forward first, surprising him. He extends his hand. Without hesitation, Minho grips it firmly.

"Thank you, Chef," Seojun says.

Minho nods, a rare softness in his expression. "You’ll do well."

He moves to Seungwan and Hyunwoo next, shaking their hands, exchanging quiet words of encouragement. When he lifts his head, he sees you watching him from across the room, a fond smile playing on your lips.

And for the first time, as he stands here, surrounded by the people who have built this kitchen with him, Minho feels it—this is where he belongs.

-

You step into the locker room, not expecting anyone to still be there. But there he is—Seojun, standing by his locker, his fingers grazing the nameplate on the door with a wistful look in his eyes. He doesn’t notice you at first, lost in thought, but when he hears your footsteps, he turns and smiles.

You hesitate for only a moment before stepping closer. You didn’t get a proper chance to say goodbye earlier, and now that you have him alone, you take the opportunity. “Good luck on your studies, Sous-chef,” you say sincerely.

Seojun turns fully to face you, his smile widening.

“You should travel a lot while you’re there,” you continue. “Don’t just stay at school. Go beyond the fancy restaurants—find the small pasta shops tucked away in alleyways. There’s so much to learn from the locals, from the people who’ve been making pasta their whole lives.”

His eyes brighten, as if he’s already imagining it. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

Then, as if something just occurs to him, he reaches up and tugs at his sous-chef necktie. In one swift motion, he pulls it free and extends it toward you.

You blink in surprise, staring at the fabric in his outstretched hand. It takes a moment to register what this means. When you finally take it from him, your fingers curl around it carefully, reverently.

“Chef will decide on the new sous-chef,” Seojun says, “but I’m giving my vote to you.”

Your heart swells. You’re proud of him, proud of everything he’s accomplished, but you’re also deeply grateful. The weight of his support, of his belief in you, settles warmly in your chest. You look up at him, smiling brightly. “Thank you so much, Sous-chef.”

Seojun waves you off lightly. “You deserve it.”

He turns back to his locker, reaching for the door handle—but then he pauses. A second later, he pivots to face you again, something unreadable in his expression.

“And oh, you must be happy.”

The words catch you off guard. You frown slightly. “About what?”

His lips curve into a knowing smile. “That Chef is staying in Farfalle.”

Your breath stills.

It’s news to you. And what’s even more surprising is that you’re hearing it from Seojun rather than from Minho himself.

You manage a small nod, masking the mix of emotions swirling inside you. “Please, tcare of yourself, Sous-chef,” you say, shifting the conversation back to him.

Seojun smiles, giving you a final nod before turning back to his locker.

You move to the other side of the room, gripping the sous-chef tie a little tighter as your thoughts drift elsewhere. Minho isn’t going to Italy.

You should be upset that he didn’t tell you first. But that feeling is eclipsed by something else—something impossible to ignore.

Minho is staying.

-

The dining hall is packed, the room filled with chatter and laughter as the cooks and staff gather around long tables. The scent of freshly prepared food lingers in the air, plates and bowls scattered across the tables in a feast prepared with care. Tonight is a farewell party for Seojun, Hyunwoo, and Seungwan—the three chefs who will soon be leaving for Italy.

They sit together at a table near the front, joined by Minho and Chris. You’re seated nearby with Felix and Taesoo, the three of you sharing quiet conversation between bites of food. In the crowd, you spot familiar faces—Minji and Yura, who must have been invited for a reason.

A sharp clink rings through the air as Minho taps his wine glass with a spoon. The noise settles as everyone turns their attention to him. He remains seated, but his voice carries through the room with ease.

“Before we begin the party, I’d like to propose a toast,” Minho announces. “To the people who made this feast with their utmost care and skill.”

A round of applause erupts as everyone cheers for the three departing chefs. Seojun, Hyunwoo, and Seungwan nod in acknowledgment, their expressions a mix of pride and gratitude.

Minho shifts his gaze to them, his tone steady yet sincere. “Good luck. Take care of yourselves. Let’s all meet again in better shape, okay?”

“Yes, Chef,” the three of them reply in unison.

Satisfied, Minho sits back down, and Chris takes his turn to speak.

“I have another announcement to make,” Chris begins, his voice brimming with anticipation. “Since a part of our kitchen family is leaving for Italy, it’s time to welcome new members who will be filling those empty spots.”

At his words, he gestures toward Minji and Yura. “Stand up, you two.”

Minji and Yura exchange confused glances before slowly rising from their seats.

Chris continues, “After careful consideration—and after consulting with Chef—we’ve decided that no one would be better suited for these roles than you two.” He smiles, then extends his hand toward them in invitation. “So, Minji, Yura—please accept our offer to work at Farfalle, starting next week.”

All eyes shift to the sisters. Minho raises his glass slightly, watching them expectantly.

Minji and Yura share another look—this one filled with silent understanding—before Yura breaks into a wide smile. “We’ll be ready next week, Chef!”

A satisfied nod from Minho while Chris grins in reaction. “Then it’s settled. Now, let’s enjoy the feast.”

Cheers rise again as glasses clink, laughter spilling into the air. The party resumes, but as you glance back at Minho, you catch a flicker of something rare in his expression—contentment. Maybe even pride.

-

Minho has been searching for you all over the restaurant. The locker room, the kitchen, the back entrance, even the steps where he always finds you when you need a moment alone—you’re nowhere to be seen. He exhales sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in mild frustration.

It’s only when he’s walking toward his car that his phone buzzes in his pocket. A message from you.

Meet me at the bar.

Minho doesn’t need to ask which one. He already knows. It’s the same bar where he first met you.

When he arrives, he spots you immediately—sitting in the exact same seat as that night. The memory surfaces effortlessly, but Minho pushes it aside, stepping forward, approaching you from behind. He leans in close, just enough for his breath to ghost over your ear, and murmurs, “That’s my seat.”

Slowly, you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze. “So what if it is?”

Minho smirks, sliding onto the stool next to you. He gestures to the bartender and quickly order a drink. But as he waits, he reaches for your drink instead, taking a slow sip before setting it back down.

You watch him with amusement. Then, without a word, you pull something out of your bag, holding your hand out to him.

The sous-chef tie.

Minho’s eyes flick to it for a second before he looks away, feigning indifference. “What’s that?”

You bump his shoulder, playful yet insistent. “You know what it is.”

Taking back your drink, you sip from it before tilting your head toward him. “Now that I’m a sous-chef, I want to go back to the pasta line.”

Minho lifts his own glass, taking a sip—and immediately gasps at the aftertaste. He glances at you. “Who says you’re a sous-chef now?”

You pout at that, eyebrows knitting together in protest. “Sous-chef Seojun gave me his vote. Now I want yours, too.”

Minho clicks his tongue and daringly gaze into your eyes. “How dare you argue with your chef?”

You narrow your eyes at him, boldly. “How much more do I have to prove to you, hug? What else do I have to do?”

He leans back slightly, meeting your gaze with that unreadable expression he always wears when he’s making you work for something. “Be good at everything.”

You groan. “And when do I get to be good at everything?”

Minho shrugs. “Why are you asking me? That’s up to you.”

You huff, pressing further by grabbing his arm and make him looks at you. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Minho watches you for a moment before he simply says, “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

Your lips part, ready to argue again, but this time, Minho smirks. The way you’re whining, the way you’re pressing him for answers—it reminds him of how he met you. How things have unfolded ever since.

So he leans in, close enough for your noses to almost brush. “Let’s do it.” His voice drops slightly, lower, more deliberate. “Go out with me. Date.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, instead of answering, you take him by surprise—pressing your lips against his in a kiss so sudden that he barely has time to react.

Minho is still for only a second before instinct takes over, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw. The first kiss is hurried, almost clumsy, but when you start to pull away, he stops you. Fingers curling against your skin, he brings you in for another kiss—this time, slow and deep. Proper.

When he finally pulls back, he lingers there, eyes fondly gazing into yours, flickering with something unreadable, something softer than before. The years of tension, the push and pull, the battles fought in the kitchen and beyond—they all led here, to this moment. A quiet certainty settles in his chest.

Minho has always believed that food tells a story. Every dish holds a memory, every flavor carries a feeling. And if love were a taste, he thinks it would be something like this—bold yet familiar, unexpected yet deeply satisfying. Something that lingers long after the last bite.

His lips brush against yours as he mutters. “You know, I think you might be my favorite dish after all.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but he catches the smile you try to hide. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“Stay. Have another drink.” His thumb grazes over your cheek, his smirk unmistakable. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Instead of answering, you smile before leaning in for a gentle kiss and then reach for his hand. Your fingers brush against his, a quiet gesture, warm and certain.

For once, Minho doesn’t have anything clever to say. He just laces his fingers with yours, holds on, and lets the moment settle.

Tomorrow, the kitchen will still be loud. The work will still be demanding. The challenges will still come. But tonight, there is just this.

A beginning wrapped in an ending. A promise folded into a touch.

And for Minho, that is more than enough.

-

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

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[dreaminguponlilypads]

HOLY FUCK!!! I absolutely adored “punishment”!! You did really well writing it, had me HOOKED

Would love to see a part 2, please (no pressure tho! I appreciate whatever you decide to post <33)

ofccc!!

PUNISHMENT PT.2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

pt.1

The days that followed were unbearable.

Simon had faced impossible odds before. He had survived missions that should have been his last, endured horrors that would break lesser men. But nothing—nothing—felt as gut-wrenching as the way you now looked through him like he wasn’t even there.

You weren’t avoiding him, not outright. You still showed up for training, still ate meals with the others, still followed orders with the same precision and focus that made you an asset to the team.

But to him? You had gone silent.

Every glance you used to give him—soft, full of warmth—was now vacant. Every touch, every whispered joke between you both, had vanished. If he spoke to you, all he got in return was a clipped nod or a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

He was losing you.

And it was his own damn fault.

Simon tried everything.

At first, he kept it simple—small gestures, reminders that he wasn’t giving up. He’d leave a cup of coffee on your desk the way he used to. You never touched it. He’d linger beside you during training, offering help or pointers. You’d take instruction from anyone but him.

He hated it.

Then, one night, he found himself standing outside your door, his fingers hovering just above the wood.

He had rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over. Had tried to figure out how to fix what he broke. But for the first time in years, words failed him.

So he knocked.

Silence.

He tried again. “Love.” His voice was quiet, rough with emotion.

Nothing.

Simon exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against the door. “Please.”

Still, you didn’t answer.

But he could feel you on the other side.

His hands clenched at his sides. He could walk away. Give you space. But the thought of losing you, of letting this fester, made something cold settle in his chest.

So he did what he had never done before.

He let himself be vulnerable.

“I never deserved you,” he murmured. “I know that.” He let out a slow breath. “And I sure as hell don’t deserve another chance after what I did. But I need you to know… it stopped being a joke the second I met you.”

Silence.

Simon pressed on. “I was an idiot. I thought I didn’t need anyone. That I didn’t deserve anyone. But you—you came into my life, and you made me want more.”

His throat tightened. “You made me better.”

He swallowed hard, his fingers grazing the ring box in his pocket.

“I was going to propose.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Not because of a bet. Not because of guilt. But because I love you. Because I want a life with you.”

A long pause. Then—

The door didn’t open.

But he heard the quietest hitch of your breath.

It was enough.

For now.

-

The next day, Simon didn’t push. He didn’t hover, didn’t force conversation. He gave you space.

But during a morning briefing, when he passed by you to take his seat, he caught the smallest thing—

A cup of coffee.

Placed beside his usual seat.

Your silent way of saying you had heard him.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t ready to let him go either.

Simon knew better than to rush things.

The coffee had been a small olive branch, but it didn’t mean everything was okay. You were still distant, still guarded, but you hadn’t completely shut him out—and that was enough to keep him from spiraling.

He took it slow. Kept his distance but made sure you knew he was there. When you needed extra ammo at the range, he was the first to hand it over. When you stayed behind after training to work on close-quarters combat, he was the one holding the pads, letting you take out your frustration in controlled strikes.

And when you finally—finally—looked at him without that hollow expression in your eyes, he knew there was still hope.

It was nearly a week later when you finally spoke to him.

You found him sitting outside, mask pulled down, a cigarette burning between his fingers. It was late—most of the base had already settled in for the night. The sky stretched above, dark and endless.

You hesitated.

He noticed.

“Didn’t think I’d see you out here,” he murmured, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He didn’t look at you, didn’t push—just let you decide how much space you needed.

You sat down beside him, leaving just enough distance that he felt the absence of your usual warmth.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I don’t know how to fix this.” Your voice was quiet, raw.

Simon inhaled deeply, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before finally turning to look at you. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “But I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling around the fabric of your fatigues. “I trusted you.” Your voice wavered slightly. “You made me believe I was worth something, that I—” You exhaled shakily. “And then I find out it started as some bet?”

Regret twisted in his chest. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice sharpened, but not with anger—just pain. “You don’t know what it’s like to finally feel wanted, only to realize it was never real to begin with.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “It was real,” he said firmly. “Maybe not at first. And maybe I was too much of a coward to tell you sooner. But everything after that first date? That was real.”

You searched his face, eyes flickering over every inch of him like you were trying to determine if he was telling the truth.

And then, so quietly he almost missed it—

“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

For someone who hardly trusted anyone, it sure hurt more than it should've.

Simon exhaled, his grip tightening around the cigarette before he finally put it out. “Then let me earn it back.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “However long it takes.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t leave, either.

Instead, after a long silence, you leaned just slightly against him, the smallest shift, barely noticeable—but he felt it.

And Simon knew.

You weren’t ready to forgive him.

But you weren’t ready to walk away, either.

[spiderb00]

- ROMCOM

Megan Skiendiel x actress!reader 

“Your girlfriend's birthday will always be special” 

Genre – Fluff  Warnings –  none 

Now playing – Feels Like, by Gacie Abrams 

Your schedule has never been tighter, all your commitments seem to have got in the way. The recordings for the new season of Percy Jackson were in full swing, the interviews for events, the awards where your films were nominated, it was all so crazy. You never imagined that you would have a life as a Hollywood star, at least not when you were only nineteen, but it happened. You'll be eternally grateful for everything you've achieved and still achieve, but you couldn't deny how much you just wanted to relax at times.  

Being recognized for your work was incredible, you could never deny that, but you knew you certainly weren't cut out for Hollywood. Sometimes you missed your simple life as a teenager, sometimes you wondered what it would be like if you had continued working in your father's small bookstore, but these thoughts soon faded when you remembered Megan.   

Megan was one of the biggest reasons for you to face the difficult days, knowing that at the end of the day you could see her beautiful face, even if it was only by video call. Your girlfriend's energy always gave you the strength to keep fighting, you were just two young souls trying to unravel the world together, and that made you very happy.  

You begged on your knees for Megan's managers to give you a few days with her, fortunately, they agreed after an assurance that you would be back on time. So you set everything up, called Megan's friends and got everything in place.   

The island was beautiful, the resort was better than any hotel Megan had ever stayed in, and being with you made everything better. Hand in hand, you walked along the beach, enjoying the sand, the sun and the waves. You had fun with your friends, making fools of yourselves and laughing at the smallest things, just being teenagers for a few days.   

Megan didn't think things could get any better, but you always exceeded her expectations.   

It was early and you had a hard time getting Megan out of bed, the sun and all the previous day's activities making her more tired than usual. But when you finally managed to get her out of bed, you dragged her out of the room you two shared, keeping quiet so as not to wake any of your friends, who were sleeping in the rooms next door.   

Walking quickly down to the beach, Megan and you were giggling playfully, Megan's chest felt like it was about to explode, the feeling of being in a romantic comedy movie was always present in her chest when she was with you.   

“Come on, Meg. We'll miss the whole thing if you don't hurry.” You said, pulling the girl through the hallways of the hotel.  

“I'm going as fast as I can, baby.” Megan said, the giggle she was holding back tickling her throat.   

When you finally made it out of the hotel, you hurried even faster, pulling Megan closer to the pool. The girl wasn't even paying that much attention to your haste anymore, because now she had understood everything. Megan was looking up, impressed by the shades of purple and orange that were appearing in the sky. The sunrise was happening, the sensation Megan felt could not be compared to anything else.  

Both of your steps became slower, and now Megan realized that you were on the beach, which was only a few meters from the resort. The sound of the crashing waves, the color of the sky, the sensation of warmth that was building up all over her body, the sand on her feet and the way your eyes shone in the specific light, made Megan's heart beat faster.   

Still holding your hand, the Chinese girl felt like crying, but not from sadness, it was simply that feeling of love, soft and simple. That feeling of comfort and all those thoughts of how it could never end.   

“Don't you think it was worth waking up early?” You asked, bringing Megan's hand to your mouth and kissing it.   

Megan watched in amazement, every detail of the moment being stored deep in her heart. “Everything is worth it with you.”   

Looking at Megan, you saw the way your girlfriend was looking at you. Her big eyes made you melt, and the way her hand fit into yours made your chest swell.   

“I wanted some time alone with you, so I thought about it.” You said embarrassedly. Your cheeks were burning red, all because of the way Megan was looking at you.  

Taking your face in her hands, Megan caressed your cheek, smiling at you before leaning in and kissing your lips. Your hands went to her waist with muscle memory, and your shoulders relaxed as soon as Megan sighed into the kiss.   

“I love you.” The smile on her face made your smile appear.   

You loved Megan, every detail of her made you feel like the luckiest person in the world, and all you wanted was to spend the rest of your life admiring her up close.   

“I love you more.”   

Hugging you, Megan laid her head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as she admired the different colors of the sky.   

hi everyone, I hope you're all well.

this is really short because I'm running out of time, but I've wanted to make a fic with megan for so long that I had to make this one.

anyway, drink some water, stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[radioiaci]

An eyeroll was given to the other's joke which did not fly over Alastor's head. But he did not want to give it much credence, otherwise he'd be a bit expectant of Vox to take it too far. And the kissing was much more of interest, the shift of the other's hands to brace up against his shoulder and his head to keep him there sending light shivers up and along his spine.

He hated to admit it. But Vox, messy though he had a tendency to be, could always capture his attention with that mouth. Especially in this slow, languid way that pulled a small sound from the back of Alastor's throat in turn - particularly as the compliment was given to him, the context of which he did not quite understand, but did not want to question. He'd done good. In some capacity. In some way. And that meant that Vox would be more likely to stay with-

No. That wasn't how that worked. Or how any of this could work. And he pushed that thought out of his own conflicted mind, fixating instead on the feel and taste of Vox's mouth. That was what he had the capacity for in the moment, even as he felt the smallest pang of concern in his own gut.

This could not last. It would not. In some way, he would ruin it. Or Vox would. Or Lilith would. Or something.

Such a fleeting moment that he knew would be stolen away from him one way or another. He could not have Vox wrapped around him forever.

For some reason, the sudden stark fear of losing what he'd regained surged within him, encouraging him to deepen that kiss even further. No longer a steady, slow thing, but something a little needy; a little desperate, fingers splayed against Vox's back from where they were tucked underneath his body and keeping them flush together.

Alastor knew that he would never be happy. Not him. Never him.

He had to take what he could get now.

Before it was all ripped away.

“I have… one thing pressing..— normally there’s two..” he added like he thought of the joke while talking and rushed himself to quick say it. Excited about his own dick joke. He gave a funny lighthearted giggle under his breath as he reached his arms up to stretch again. Then relaxed slowly, sprawling out more, luxuriating on the fancy sheets and the sleepiness of the late morning.

He could of course already feel the nagging bite of anxiety and paranoia. Three days now. Three days he had been away from Voxtek without contact. Was it still there?? Was it burning?? Would he have time for damage control?? Why the fuck was he risking so damn much….—

Vox pushed his hands up his face trying to rushedly banish the thoughts. It was strategy… he wanted those cameras in the hotel…. It was strategy. He demanded to his own thoughts. The whole mental ordeal had only taken a moment.

Then cleared his throat and refocused on the man lounging on top of him- just in time to receive the kiss.

And it was such a good kiss.

“Mm..” he murmured into the kiss. Unable to answer well without further disrupting the kiss. His cyan eyes thinned, then slowly drifted shut as the kiss deepened. And felt no real urge to answer further.

His hands moved up to hold the other.

One hand to Alastor’s jaw very gently, and the other moving to support his shoulder. The hand on his jaw very soon crept to the back of his head though. Pulling their mouths together further and deepening the kiss. Slow and pushing his tongue in to map out the new human mouth. He tasted so good.

“..you did good..” he finally muttered without thinking about it. Meaning the hotel the drugs- everything up until this point. He had a moment to elaborate- but didn’t. They didn’t usually have genuine moments like that. And the thought of starting now made his heart pinch very uncomfortably.

Somewhere deep in his chest, he was still mad about being left. Not because of the lame surface level answers he would whine about.

Because sooner or later he was going to be handed a crossroads. And even whiffing the thought made him sick.

But this was hell.

So he kept on kissing. And slammed that skeleton of a thought right back in the closet and threw away the key.

[gf2bellamy]

hiii lovely! i’ve been absolutely adoring ur work and was wondering if you’d consider writing some sort of hurt/comfort? like reader had a bad day and kind of blows up at spencer, and because spencer’s a Smartass he’s good at help king rewarded through it? :)

misdirected — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n) content warnings: established relationship, reader being upset , also reader feeling guilty for lashing out a/n: hiii ! hope you like this <3 also omg him in this gif he looks so good

You pushed open the door to your apartment. The moment you stepped inside, you let out a long, heavy sigh.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, the thud echoing softly in the quiet apartment. Shrugging off your jacket, you hung it on the hook by the door, your fingers brushing against another jacket already hanging there.

You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as you recognized it immediately—Spencer’s. The sight of it made your chest tighten.You bit your lip, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary.

Today had been one of those days. The kind where nothing went right, where every little inconvenience felt like a personal attack, and where you were pretty sure you’d used up all your patience before noon.

You weren’t in the mood to talk, to explain, or to be around anyone, really. And yet, here you were, standing in your apartment, knowing Spencer was somewhere inside.

You could hear the faint sound of the shower running. For a brief moment, you were grateful. At least you had a few minutes to collect yourself.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and then turned back to grab your bag from the floor. Slinging it over your shoulder, you made your way to your bedroom, the one place in the apartment that felt like a sanctuary.

Though, if you were being honest, it wasn’t just your sanctuary anymore. Over the past few months, it had slowly become Spencer’s too. His books were scattered across your nightstand, his sweaters mixed in with yours in the dresser, and his favorite blanket—the one he insisted was scientifically proven to be the coziest—was draped over the foot of the bed.

You opened the dresser and grabbed the first sweater your hand landed on, not even bothering to check whose it was. As you pulled it over your head, you realized it was Spencer’s.

You slipped your own sweatpants on, then glanced down at your feet, noticing you’d grabbed two different socks. One was a plain black one, the other a mismatched striped one. A habit you’d picked up from Spencer, who always seemed to wear mismatched socks.

You made your way to the living room, and sank into the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest.

You stared into nothing, your thoughts swirling as you replayed everything that had happened today. Today was one of those days where it felt like the universe itself was conspiring against you.

You groaned loudly, brushing a hand over your face as if you could physically wipe away the frustration. Your mood was sour, and you knew it. You weren’t exactly the best company right now. 

As you glanced at the coffee table, you realized how chaotic it looked. There were books stacked randomly—mostly Spencer’s, of course—along with a half-empty mug of tea, a notebook with scribbled notes spilling out of it, and a few random pens scattered about.

The sight of it made you frown slightly. Normally, the clutter wouldn’t bother you, but today it felt like just another thing that was out of place, another reminder that nothing was going right. 

You leaned forward, searching for the remote to turn on the TV, hoping to distract yourself with some show or movie. But of course, the remote was nowhere to be found.

You sighed, slumping back against the couch in defeat. It felt like the world had it out for you today, and even the smallest things were determined to make your life harder. 

You didn’t hear the sound of the water stopping, nor did you notice Spencer’s footsteps as he walked into the room. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, a towel in his hand as he dried his damp hair, that you realized he was there. His smile was soft, almost tentative, as if he could sense your mood. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

You looked up at him, your expression tight. You were trying to be nice, you really were, but the anger and frustration were still bubbling under the surface, threatening to spill over.

“Hi,” you answered shortly, your tone dry. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his gaze studying you for a moment. He didn’t say anything right away, and you were grateful for that. Instead, he finished drying his hair and draped the towel over the back of a nearby chair.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends. He looked so… normal. So calm. And it only made you feel more out of sorts. 

He didn’t push, didn’t ask what was wrong. Instead, he just sat down beside you on the couch, leaving a little space between you, as if giving you room to breathe. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. 

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice quiet. “You look like you’ve had a day.” 

It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t take it as one. You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

After a moment, he reached over and gently placed his hand on your knee, his touch light. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his tone careful, like he was tiptoeing around the edges of your mood. 

“No,” you said shortly, shifting your knee so that his hand fell away. You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a second as you tried to rein in the frustration bubbling inside you.

It wasn’t his fault, you knew that, but right now, everything felt like too much. Even his kindness felt like it was pressing against the walls you’d put up. 

“Where’s the remote?” you asked abruptly, your voice sharper than you intended. You leaned forward, digging through the cushions and moving a pillow aside.

Spencer watched you carefully, his eyes tracking your every move, but he didn’t say anything right away. 

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly, his tone calm and measured, like he was trying not to set you off further. “I saw it on the table the last time I used it.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, your hands dropping to your sides.

“Yeah, well, look at this table,” you said, gesturing wildly toward the cluttered surface. “There’s so much stuff. How am I supposed to find anything in this mess?” 

Spencer’s gaze flicked to the table, then back to you, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond right away, and the silence only made your irritation flare. 

“Why do you even have, like, five books here?” you continued, your voice rising slightly as the frustration spilled over. “Do you really need all of them out at once?” 

You didn’t mean to snap at him, not really. But the words tumbled out before you could stop them, and once they were out, you couldn’t take them back.

Spencer didn’t react. He didn’t get defensive or argue back. Instead, he just sat there, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.“It’s a mess. I’ll clean it up.” 

You stood up abruptly, the guilt of how you’d spoken to him now pressing heavily on your chest, mixing uncomfortably with the anger from your awful day.

Without a word, you walked to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself. You leaned against the counter, your hands gripping the edge as you stared down at the sink, trying to steady your breathing.

Spencer was sweet—too sweet sometimes. He didn’t deserve the way you’d snapped at him, and the realization only made you feel worse. 

Back in the living room, Spencer stayed seated on the couch, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. He wasn’t sure what to do. He hated seeing you like this—frustrated and upset.

He wanted to help, to fix it, but he also knew that sometimes the best thing he could do was give you space. Still, it didn’t stop him from feeling a little helpless as he sat there.

After a moment, he stood up and quietly began tidying the table, stacking the books neatly and placing the scattered pens and notebooks into a more organized pile.

He glanced toward the kitchen. You were still leaning against the counter, your back to him, and he could tell by the way your shoulders were tense that you were still upset. 

It was late—later than you’d realized. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to you, and you decided there was no point in staying up any longer.

You stopped tapping your fingers on the counter, pushing yourself away from it as you left the kitchen without a word. As you passed by the living room, you glanced at Spencer.

He was still sitting there, a book open in his hands, but the table in front of him was now clean and organized. The sight made the pit in your stomach grow heavier.

He’d tidied up, just like he said he would.

You walked to the bathroom, forcing yourself to go through the motions of getting ready for bed even though you had zero energy to do anything.

Once you were done, you trudged to your room and plopped down on the bed, your head sinking into the pillow. You stared up at the ceiling, the events of the day replaying in your mind like a broken record.

The quiet of the room felt suffocating, and you realized how much you hated falling asleep without Spencer beside you.

Time passed—minutes, maybe more—as you turned from side to side, unable to get comfortable.

Just as you were about to give up and grab your phone to distract yourself, you heard footsteps approaching your room.

They were soft, hesitant, and then Spencer appeared in the doorway. 

He stood there for a moment. He was holding a book in one hand, his other hand resting on the doorframe as if he wasn’t sure whether to come in or not.

His hair was slightly messy and still wet. He looked at you, his expression soft but uncertain. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh… I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight. With you, I mean. If that’s okay.” 

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the ceiling. But after a moment, you nodded, still avoiding his gaze. 

Spencer didn’t need more than that. He stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him before walking over to the bed.

He set his book down on the nightstand and climbed in beside you, his movements careful.

Usually, you’d curl up against Spencer, your head resting on his chest as you listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms would wrap around you, one hand gently tracing patterns on your back while the other held you close.

You’d fall asleep like that, tangled together.

But tonight was not like that.

The pillow under your head was definitely not as comfortable as Spencer’s chest, and the absence of his arms around you made the bed feel colder, emptier.

You missed the way he’d kiss your forehead before you both drifted off, the way he’d whisper little things to you—sometimes random facts, sometimes just “I love you”—until you fell asleep.

Then, quietly, almost hesitantly, Spencer broke the silence. His voice was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he mumbled.

You didn’t respond right away, your back still turned to him. But then he kept talking, his voice a little steadier now. “I, uh… I read this study once that said physical touch can help reduce stress. Like, hugging or cuddling. It releases oxytocin, which is sometimes called the ‘love hormone.’ It’s supposed to make you feel calmer, more connected. I know it’s not a fix for everything, but… maybe it could help. If you want.” 

His ramble was so Spencer—sweet and a little awkward—that you couldn’t help but smile slightly, even though he couldn’t see it. You turned around to face him, finally meeting his eyes.

In the dim light, you could see the concern etched into his features, the way his brows were slightly furrowed and his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

He looked so earnest, so genuinely worried about you, that it made your chest ache. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For how I acted earlier. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I was just… overwhelmed.”

You paused, your fingers nervously picking at the edge of the blanket. “And thank you for cleaning up the table. I know I was being… a lot. You didn’t have to do that.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment before he let his hand fall to the bed between you.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it. Bad days happen. I just… I hate seeing you like this. I just want to help.”

You looked at him for a moment, your heart swelling with affection.

“You do help,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “Just by being here. You always help.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and without another word, he opened his arms to you. You didn’t hesitate this time. You moved closer, letting him pull you into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other cradled your head against his chest. You sighed, the tension in your body slowly melting away.

“You’re still a little damp,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest as you felt the coolness of his skin where the shower hadn’t fully dried. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “I’ve got you to keep me warm, don’t I?”

You smiled faintly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For… everything.”

Spencer didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just held you a little tighter, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back.

And as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you realized that no matter how bad the day had been, it always felt a little better when it ended like this—with him by your side.

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 4

『Everything Begins From There』

Disparities Between Our Souls You finally reunite with (some of) your family and ask them for help Disclaimer(s): N/A

Chapter 3 <- Chapter 4

Cass had arrived at the rooftop where Damian was at not even 30 minutes after she had said she would. The two had thoroughly inspected the house as best as they could from the distance they were at. Not much was revealed, it had looked almost the exact same as it did before you disappeared.

Hours had passed since your first appearance and when you had gone into the house, many theories about what happened to you were said but none had made sense. The two had stayed on the rooftop, even as they saw the sun peek through the horizon. Their patience was wearing thin, but if this waiting could lead to at least the smallest hint to what happened to you, then it would be worth it.

Finally, when the sun had fully risen, barely visible through the smog, out you came. You were not alone either, the other vigilante was at your side, carrying the rogue that Damian saw last night. They saw you nod at your partner before a silk-like substance come out of your wrist, using it like ropes to jump from one building to another.

Cass and Damian stealthily followed you around the city, utilising the skills they were taught in the League of Assassins. The route you took had been familiar to them, but they had disregarded the thought, focusing on not losing you to your speed instead. Yet, as mere minutes went by, and great distances were covered, they could ignore it no longer. Not when you had stopped in front of the Wayne Manor, their home.

Your home.

You felt your heart beat in your chest and your mind race as you swung through the streets of Gotham. You moved through alleyways that you knew were always empty of thugs. Every once in a while, you would swing high enough to see the city, and every time, you would make sure to take in the scenery. The view of Gotham would never fail to calm your nerves, even with all the pain it had caused you.

As you crossed the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, you knew there was no turning back. The manor made its way into your sight not long after. You didn’t know if you felt relief or dread, or maybe even both. You wanted so badly to turn around and go back to your aunt’s house, but you had no other choice.

You easily jumped over the fence and walked up the stairs to the door. Just like at your aunt’s place, you had hesitated to knock on the door, but one look at your husband was all that you needed to steel your nerves. Alfred had opened it almost instantaneously, something inside you was telling you that he had been expecting you. You were right of course, he had been waiting since he first heard of your appearance last night.

“Master [Name]. Welcome back.” You weren’t surprised to know that even through the mask, he knew it was you. That’s just how he always was.

“Hi Alfred. How are you?” You asked him, attempting to not make this reunion any more awkward that it has to be.

“I have been well. Please enter, master [Name].” The gap between the double doors widened and he bowed down as you entered. You quickly thanked him as you walk inside. “Please follow me into the cave. I’m sure you have plenty to say.” You nodded, your footsteps echoing as the three of you walked down the hallway and into the Batcave.

The Batcave thankfully had an area that held many cells, and that’s where Miguel had put the anomaly. Had it been a normal cell, you wouldn’t had trusted to put him there, but this was your family and you knew their security was top notch.

In another area, sectioned away from the basically-prison area and the main, a couch was set, a coffee table in front of it and TV across from it. You didn’t remember this room, but you knew time inevitably changes things, and this was one of them. You sat on the couch, Miguel sitting beside you, silently taking in his surroundings.

Alfred offered both of you tea, which you had gladly taken up and you husband cautiously accepting. You were thankful for the silence, it gave you time to collect your thoughts, to think about what you wanted and what you should say.

This peace did not last for though. Three familiar figures had barged into the room, and from their frazzled looks, you could tell they had ran. It was your siblings—or at least some of them. Questions and statements had rushed out of their mouths, a cacophony of voices filling the room. It was safe to say, you were overwhelmed. You were thankful when Alfred silenced them, pointing out how panicked you had looked.

“I’ll answer your questions later. I just want to know, where’s everyone else, especially Bruce?” You asked them.

“The other’s are busy right now, they said they’ll come when they finish what they need to. B is on a mission with the JL.” Cass replied. You inwardly sighed, a part of you had hoped B would be here so you could see his reaction, but perhaps this was for the best.

“Alright. Ok. That’s fine.” You muttered under your breath, your disappointment was immeasurable, but you knew you should’ve known better. After all, you had arrived here out of no where. Even if they hadn’t neglected you, dropping everything and coming back to the manor in such short notice was an almost impossible task. Miguel clasped your hand is his, silently comforting you. That was when Tim spoke up.

“Who is this man with you? Oracle and I have scoured everywhere for anything but nothing.” Of course your family’s first words to you would be an interrogation.

“He’s my husband.” You state plainly.

“And why is there no records of this conjugation?”

“Because it didn’t happen in this universe.”

The silence was loud. Just those few words had explained everything. The family was no stranger to multiverse problems, so it was almost astounding how this realisation had never been made until now. Until you were the one that was saying it to them.

“So why return now? It seems like you’ve already made a life for yourself in this other universe, so why throw it away to come back here?” Damian questions, and for once, his voice isn’t filled with contempt at you.

“We don’t even want to be in this universe. Hell, it’s detrimental for us to even stay here for too long—well not for me but for Miguel and the anomaly.”

“Anomaly?” They all asked, in sync.

“A being that doesn’t belong in this universe.” Miguel had spoken up. You let him continue his explanation of the multiverse and the anomalies, with him being more verse in the topic than you were. Once again, they were quiet at the end of his talk, processing the info dump they had just received.

“Ok… Enough with that though. Have you been well in the past years? Are you going to leave me again?” Cass spoke up. You were taken aback by her words. You didn’t expect for someone in the family to actually question your wellbeing.

“I’ve been doing great. As for the second question, that’s the reason why we’re here actually. We need your help fixing our gizmos so we can go back to our universe. We tried earlier but no results came out of it, so we’re hoping you guys could help us.” You could see Cass’ face drop, you were leaving her again, and this time, voluntarily.

“What do we get out of this?” Tim questioned.

“More knowledge of the universe and gadgets that could help you travel it, if you wanted to.” They all had contemplative looks on their faces, and you knew they were all debating on if this was a worthy deal or not.

“I believe we should help master [Name].” Alfred spoke up. You were grateful, this was probably the one factor that they needed to make their final decision, Alfred’s approval. The three of them nodded, yet you could tell Cass and Damian’s were hesitant. You stood up from the couch, and so did Miguel.

“Great. Let’s get started then.”

Taglist (open)

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @yaoizee @bat1212 @mybones537 @cim0nnin @ninihrtss @redkarmakai @a-lurking-fae @1abi @lettucel0ver @leeiasure @chericia @yotokx @amber-content @oscarisaac2099 @awawage @k-anaru @randomlyappearingartist @cutelittlesugarfairy @ironsaladwitch @pix-stuff @capswife @bibliophile-yomna @inojinieeee

This chapter is kind of a filler chapter, so I apologise for that guys

I lowkey got addicted to binary puzzles when I was writing this and that's why it took so long lmao

Also, a little rant but oml my physics teacher actually makes me hate the subject so much, which is so sad cuz we're doing a cool topic this term, which is nuclear physics

Anyways, mistakes are free to point out and will be fixed immediately

This week's title doesn't come from the lyrics of a song, but does come from an MV! Wiege recently released on Valentines and I felt I had to include it somehow

Have a nice day/night everybody <3

Also the next chapter of DBOS will be delayed since it is the week of my birthday!! Yippee

[dalazzx]

can i request hybrid wolf toji x hybrid lamb reader ???

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Warnings. WolfHybrid!Toji x HybridLamb!reader, shy!reader, size difference, smut, crying, fat cock, Tw noncon

Toji hadn’t even heard of such a cute thing like you even existed but lo and behold you were standing in front of him in the smallest dress he had ever seen a woman in and the most adorable ears atop your head.

He had just finished a job and was now standing in front of you soaked in some bastards blood, you were a shaking mess and not responding to the way he snapped his fingers near your ear. The only way he brought you back to reality was lifting up your soft fluffy ear and screaming in it.

You quickly pushed him as hard as you could but Toji didn’t budge an inch, but you sure did fall flat on your ass, quivering and looking up at Toji with the most innocent eyes that could be mustered, oh he was infatuated with you from that moment forward.

He took you right where you stood and brought you into his dark world, you stood in the middle emitting such a bright warm light.

That night Toji takes you he revenges you, despite your pleas of being a virgin he can’t help himself to a cunt that was begging to be ruined, he compared the size of his fat cock to you and groaned loudly, the sheer joy coursing through the head of his meaty cock down to his balls drove him mad.

He spreads your plush thighs apart roughly digging into the fat and hurting you, he loosens his grip a little when a whimper falls from your lips. When Toji slips a finger inside your drooly pussy you bleat…

You’re so quick to cover your mouth and look away in shame. It handnt even occurred to Toji that you actually made those noises, he’s definitely going to pry more out of you.

His flushed tip remains only a little past the tip, he wants to badly to shove everything inside of you, he’s fighting himself to not just pound you till you’re crying and unconscious.

Toji moves his hips in a slow motion, working you around him and trying to get you open.

“Pussy’ so fuckin’ tight..” he growls lowly in your ear.

He shoves another inch inside of you, all his control slips from him when you let out an even louder bleat, he shoves his entire length inside you in one swift movement.

Time seems to stop completely when you’re screaming and immediately cumming around him, his balls tighten and with all his strength he pins your legs up into the nastiest mating press.

He ignores the way you whine in pain and fucks into you over and over, he sees the way your toes curl and the way your mouth hangs open at your impending doom.

He bounces off of you in a nice rhythm, feeding off on all your reactions, it’s going to be an extremely long night for you.

[00valentina-writes00]

Can we have a thing where it's Sevika/Ambessa x reader where it's purely just aftercare after a particularly rough night of sex?

♡♥︎Aftercare after a rough night♥︎♡

♡Sevika♡

The room smelled of sweat, smoke, and something darker—something that lingered between the sheets and on the tips of fingers that had gripped too tightly. It was warm, the kind of warmth that came after a storm, heavy and oppressive but settling into something softer, something that whispered, stay.

Sevika moved first. Not far—she never did—but just enough to roll onto her side, the weight of her prosthetic shifting as she leaned on her elbow. Her free hand, the one that had pinned you down just hours before, reached out now with a tenderness that didn’t quite fit the way her fingers were calloused, the way her touch was usually so unforgiving.

“You good?” Her voice was husky, deeper than usual, softened by exhaustion and something quieter, something she wouldn’t name but showed in the way her thumb traced absentminded circles into your thigh.

You hummed, barely coherent, but the way your body pressed into her told her enough. Still, it wasn’t enough for Sevika.

She shifted again, this time rolling onto her back before pulling you against her. The muscle of her abdomen was taut, but she was warm—so warm, and despite the way your body still ached, despite the way her fingers had left bruises on your hips, you melted into her without resistance.

Sevika wasn’t one for words, not when they weren’t necessary. Instead, she let her actions speak. The way her fingers trailed up and down your spine, slow and deliberate. The way she pulled the blanket up, tucking it around your shoulders. The way she adjusted herself, ensuring you were as comfortable as possible despite the wreckage of the night.

It was in moments like these that you realized how much she truly cared. Not in grand gestures, not in flowery words, but in the way she made sure your water was within reach, the way she smoothed the hair from your face, the way she kissed your temple and let her lips linger there longer than necessary.

Sevika exhaled, long and slow. “Didn’t mean to go so hard on you.”

You chuckled, the sound weak but affectionate. “Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

That earned you a low rumble of laughter, but even then, she was still watching you, still searching your face for anything—any sign of discomfort, any trace of pain. When she found none, her body relaxed just a little.

“Next time,” she murmured, fingers still tracing slow patterns along your back, “I’ll take it easier on you.”

You knew she wouldn’t, not really. But that was fine. Because she would still be here afterward, still be this—warm, steady, and yours.

And that was all you needed.

♡Ambessa♡

Ambessa had always been an unstoppable force, a woman who commanded attention with nothing more than her presence. Even now, lying beside you in the dim candlelight, she exuded power—raw and unyielding.

But here, with you, there was something else beneath it all. A gentleness that only came after the battle was over.

Her fingers, so skilled in wielding weapons and bending the world to her will, now worked delicately, tracing the length of your arm as if memorizing every inch of you. She had taken her pleasure from you in ways that left your body weak, trembling in the aftermath of her hunger. But now, in the quiet, she was something softer—something careful.

“You endured well.” Her voice was a purr, thick with approval, but beneath it, there was a thread of concern, laced so finely it was almost undetectable. Almost.

You turned your head to her, catching the flicker of emotion in her eyes before she masked it with something unreadable. Ambessa had never been one to show vulnerability, but here, in the sanctuary of your shared space, she allowed herself the smallest moments of it.

Her fingers brushed over a mark on your shoulder—one she had left, one she would wear like a trophy if given the chance. But now, she only traced it, contemplative. “Was I too much?”

You knew what she was really asking. It wasn’t about whether or not you could handle her. You could—you always did. No, she wanted to know if you still felt safe in the wreckage of what she had done.

Shifting slightly, you leaned into her, pressing a kiss to the pulse point of her wrist. “Never.”

That pleased her. You could see it in the way her lips curled, in the way her hand shifted to cup your cheek, thumb dragging slowly over your bottom lip.

“Good,” she murmured. Then, as if deciding something, she moved.

You barely had time to react before she was lifting you, settling you into her lap with an ease that made it clear she was still at full strength despite the night’s exertions. Your body protested, muscles sore and overworked, but Ambessa held you in a way that made you forget the ache.

She reached for the water on the bedside table, bringing it to your lips without a word. You drank, letting her take care of you in this unspoken way, and when you were done, she set it aside and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You are mine,” she whispered, voice thick with something possessive, something deeper than mere ownership. “And I take care of what is mine.”

You sighed, letting yourself relax fully into her, knowing that no matter how rough she was, no matter how intense, she would always be here after.

And that was enough.

[ieatedyourcrayons]

My ticci toby head canons! part…idk!

-He’s the type to shake up sodas at the gas station then put them back on the shelf

-He likes to sit on the couch as curled up as possible. he wants all his limbs close together in a ball

-Definitely a 2K player. loves sports games

-Tomato lover. slices tomatoes and eats them plain

-He’s lowkey amazing at eyeliner. effortless wings.

-Drenches all his chicken in bbq sauce…

-Bad redbull addiction

-lowkey the type to scare kids in public for fun

-Gaslights over the smallest things

“Oh did you go to the store?” Jeff ask while pointing at walmart bags on the counter

Toby who obviously went to walmart, “nah. I hate that place”

“But you just set your keys down?” Jeff responds

“Um no? are you okay?” Toby replies with judgement.

-Spongebob enjoyer.

-Constantly quotes and references spongebob

“Oh like that one episode of spongebob?”

[jellyfishoreo1206]

This is very self-indulgent after I just watched Pezzy playing Poppy Playtime Chapter 4. MY BOY DOEY DESERVED BETTER 😭😭😭

Platonic fluff! Sorry if this seems so short y'all

WARNING ⚠️: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE NEW POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER

----

Every day that passed within the walls of this hell hole facility was filled with fear–everybody was on edge, with the smallest of sounds from the outer area of the Safe Haven sending terror throughout the toys, even you. You've seen what was out there, seen what awaits behind those gates–waiting...waiting for the chance that everybody's guard is down.

With a pained sigh, you push yourself up from the bedroll despite the ache that shoots throughout your chest–no use in sleeping when the growing hunger and dark memories are plaguing your thoughts. But what to do?

The Medic said you should rest, but no matter how many times you adjusted yourself or stayed still, sleep was nowhere to be found...and when you did sleep, the nightmares plagued every inch of your unconscious mind–fallen friends you could've saved, the Prototype finally getting into the Safe Haven, succumbing to the starvation...

Or worse, becoming so hungry you eat your friends.

...

No. That won't happen. Never will happen.

With a quick look outside the tent flaps, one thing you noticed was the dimmed lights–"nighttime" within the Safe Haven. Normally the other toys would be too anxious to go to sleep, but it seems like it was one of those rare days where everyone turned in for the night.

Though, one light seemed to have stayed on...the generator room's light, a stark contrast compared to the dim setting of the Safe Haven.

The only people who hanged out in the generator room were two people–Poppy, and Doey. With another quick scan of the Safe Haven, you spot Poppy and Kissy in their tent on the other side of the room, huddled close to one another. So that left one person left.

It's very usual for Doey to be in the generator room often anyway–anxiously checking if the generator had succumbed to anything bad. But never at this hour does he check.

...At least you hoped he didn't.

The amount of pressure Doey had been under for the last few days has left you more worried for him than ever. You tried to help shoulder the weight of all the responsibilities that weighed him down but he was stubborn–believing it being a burden that no one else should carry but him, the person who everyone looks up to.

Though the more responsibilities that pile up on his plate, the more he likely he'll drown in the stress and worrying of everyone's safety.

That's Doey for you, always worrying and caring for others before himself.

Well, might as well find out what he's up to.

Climbing out your tent, taking a quick moment to breath when the pain in your chest flared, you quietly made your way over to the lit room. At the doorway, you could hear the distinct mumbling of Doey and the sound of the generator door hinge softly closing shut. It seems he was checking on the generator, but why at this time?

"Doey?" He jumps at the sound of your voice, turning around in surprise to see who else was up at this time. He looks absolutely exhausted –you didn't even know the doughman could even have eyebags. Just how long has it been since he's last slept?

"Y/n! What are you doing up? You should be resting!" He frets in concern, fully turning away from the generator and towards you to check you over for any injuries. Always worrying for others, typical Doey. "Especially since that recent scouting mission of yours." He adds, doughy hands on his hips as he gave you a look of disappointment and anxiousness.

The mention of what you gained while scouting gave a dull pulse along the skin of your chest, but you ignored it in favor of what was happening now. You quirked an eyebrow at him, "You're worried about me? Doey, you of all people should be asleep right now." Hell, his eyes are barely open! They look like they are several seconds away from closing shut.

"I'm fine."

"We both know that's full of—"

"Language!"

"Sorry, sorry–it's just," You struggle to find the certain words to describe what you are trying to say, the both of you had this argument conversation several times before! And everytime he brushes it off as if his well-being doesn't matter, "-I just hate seeing you like this. I-I know you wanna make sure the others are okay and I understand that! But you're also ignoring your own needs!"

You gesture to his face, "Hell! When was the last time you got proper rest?" He opens his mouth to respond, but flatters, mulling over the question in his mind.

"I'm...not sure." He hesitantly responds, looking back towards the generator with slight confusion. How much time did he spend checking the generator?

"Then let's get you to bed, big guy." Placing a hand on his arm, you attempted to gently coax him out the room and into the direction of his unused tent, "Can't think if you're too tired to come up with a single coherent thought." You jest lightly.

Doey's face is unreadable–was he going to interject again? But he merely gave a heavy sigh, exhaustion clearly seen in his expression and body. "Maybe you're right.." Yes! Finally you got through to him and that thick doughy head of his!

"Let's get you to bed, big guy."

He merely mumbles, eyes slipping shut before rapidly blinking open, following your led as his foot steps fill the haven with the soft sound of thuds.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"..do you mind staying with me?"

"Don't mind at all, Doey."

"Thank you."

"Always happy to help, Doey."

[moongirlcleo]

Morning

AN: Check out all of my works on AO3! -> | link

The first thing you register is warmth. The second is the weight draped over your waist, solid and unmoving.

You blink sleepily, only to find Xavier curled up beside you, his silver hair messily splayed across the pillow. His arm is locked around you like a vice, his face buried against your shoulder.

"Xavier," you mumble, attempting to wiggle free.

A low grumble is your only response, followed by an even tighter squeeze.

You huff. "You're awake, aren't you?"

"No," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "Sleeping. Go away."

You stifle a laugh. "This is my bed."

His hold doesn't loosen. If anything, he shifts closer, nuzzling against your neck with a content sigh.

"You were warm," he murmurs, as if that justifies his blatant act of hostage-taking.

"You’re too warm," you counter, poking at his side in a weak attempt at revenge. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he chuckles, the deep sound rumbling against your skin.

"Guess you’ll just have to deal with it."

You groan, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. You should have known better—Xavier isn’t the type to wake up easily, especially when he’s comfortable. And apparently, you make an excellent pillow.

With a resigned sigh, you let your fingers thread through his soft, silver hair, absentmindedly brushing against his scalp. The effect is immediate. He hums in satisfaction, melting into your touch like a lazy cat basking in the sun.

"Mm… you should do this more often," he mutters sleepily.

"You should let me get up more often."

His lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "No promises."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers never stop moving. If he’s going to be a stubborn blanket, you might as well enjoy it.

And so, as the morning light filters through the curtains, you decide that maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind being trapped in Xavier’s arms after all.