#hope you don't mind if i continue from here!

[cloudyynebulas]

Can you do a yandere shadow milk x reader where he got out from the game it self just to get them and forcing them in the game with him after he saw they was about to delete the game from there phone?

❝ 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗪, 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘. ❞

yan! shadow milk cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

episode 8 spoilers? sorta. mentions the new cookie, but that's about it.

cw : yandere themes, kidnapping, mind break, manipulation, obsessive behavior . . please read with caution!

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

You knew something was .. wrong.

Ever since the release of Spire of Shadows, where the highly anticipated, Shadow Milk Cookie, released as a playable character in his debut update, things began to change.

You were excited as anyone else. Who wouldn't be? After a year of waiting since his initial introduction as an NPC in Theater of Lies, you were apart of the thousands of people that hoped to see him return and become playable in the near future. When the trailer for the update was finally released, you were ecstatic.

Saving up your Crystals, Star Jellies and Skill Powders just for him! There was not a shred of doubt in your mind he'd most likely become apart of the current 'meta' in Kingdom Arena, so you knew the second you pulled him from the Nether Gacha, you could immediately put him at the max level!

Completing the missions as quickly as you could, just for a small chance of getting him from the gacha - your anticipation was immense, and you silently prayed to the screen each and every single time you managed to scourge up enough Light of Deceit for a singular ten pull.

When you finally pulled him from the gacha a little less than halfway to the pity pull, you beamed with joy - watching the animation play out. He was here!

Your excitement, once bubbling from within you, burst out like fireworks as you quickly maxed out his level and skill, giving him the best beascuit you had.

As you tapped on your phone, pressing buttons, adding him to your team, finding him in your kingdom, your joy beaming across your features - you failed to realize how this happiness was blinding you from sinister darkness just beyond the phone screen.

Days went by, and things were normal at first.

Then the glitches started. At first, they were small, insignificant errors like small visual bugs or a slight delay in gameplay. Small enough that you could simply shrug your shoulders and continue playing the game, but the more you ignored it - the worse it became.

After just a few days, you found yourself at a standstill. Staring at your phone screen, your eyebrows instinctively furrowed at yet another bug - though, this time, it was far more apparent. Like it was purposefully trying to grab your attention.

All the Cookies in your kingdom had.. been disabled, except for one.

Shadow Milk Cookie.

Your kingdom's design and layout was completely changed - all decors and designs being swapped with decor released alongside the update with Shadow Milk Cookie. Nothing but whites, blues and blacks adorned your kingdom.

Your Crystal and Coin count hadn't dropped. You didn't buy these items - so how could this have possibly happened?

Almost as if he knew you'd booted up the game, sensing your presence, Shadow Milk Cookie turned to face the screen from within your Kingdom.

His sprite winked at you, a gleeful grin forming on his features.

Odd.. you don't recall ever seeing that sprite anywhere.

Confused, and honestly somewhat unnerved, your thumb graces the Cookies button on the bottom right, opening up the tab. All of your Cookies were still there, but as you moved to tap on one of them, you were taken straight to Shadow Milk Cookie's profile instead.

What??

His animation played, bowing at you with a wink.

"Tis I, your humble jester! Here to brighten up your mood!"

You frowned, exiting his profile and, once again, moving to click another Cookie's profile. Though, just as before, you were taken straight back to Shadow Milk Cookie.

"..what the hell?" you muttered aloud.

At this point, it was clear. Your game was busted - or, possibly had some kind of virus. Although, a virus where your entire game is corrupted to just Shadow Milk Cookie was.. unheard of. Not a single person on the internet, from what you knew, had ever documented such an occurrence happening since the update's release.

You place the phone back down on your bed, sitting up. You walk towards your small laptop, flipping open the cover and logging into your account.

You fail to notice Shadow Milk Cookie's eyes seemingly following your movements as you move away from your device.

Wanting to believe that this was just some harmless bug, you immediately hop to your web browser, beginning to search up bugs or viruses relating to Cookie Run Kingdom, hoping you'd find someone out there who may've possibly had a similar experience to yours - and a possible solution.

With your gaze and mind locked focused on your hopeless searching, you failed to notice your phone slowly beginning to shake, being left idle on Shadow Milk Cookie's profile.

Deep inside, a beast rumbles - hands gripping the invisible bars of restriction that kept him away from your world. The confines of your small device that shackled him to this game.

Oh, to be trapped in a Silver Tree and a Video Game! How horribly hopeless is that? Though, with the knowledge that he had from being in a simple video game came with tremendous power that he could oh-so easily exploit.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, watching you as you searched for answers of your.. "virus". Or rather, his fun, silly little prank!

He let out a quiet giggle - expression darkening. You were finally giving him the attention he'd been longing for! Yes, being trapped in a small device wasn't the most pleasant, but it had some.. quirks!

Forcing you to pull him in his Nether Gacha so many times, modifying his own attack power to higher numbers, always speaking over any other Cookie who tried to initiate dialogue to you..

Seeing your oh-so adorable face so confused and bewildered at his silly pranks and games was just the cherry on top! Shadow Milk Cookie had to admit, he was a liiiiiiittle annoyed that it took you this long to really give him the attention he craved, but, what did it matter? His patience has rewarded him!

..But it still wasn't.. enough.

His grin fell to a frown - an ominous gaze watching your every movement. No.. - no this wouldn't do. Not only did Shadow Milk Cookie desire for your attention, he needed to physically be there, next to you.

What had gotten into him? His mind, clouded with nothing but twisted lies and maelstroms of darkness grew a twinge of longing. But not a soft, kindhearted longing one would express - no, this was something so much deeper. So, so much worse.

Shadow Milk Cookie craved to have you here, with him.

It was all clear to him. You were his.

Truthfully, just having your attention on him was fine, and it usually always sufficed his desires, but now .. now it was different. He wanted more.

Your phone began to shake.

Your endless searching that led you to dead end after dead end came to a screeching halt at the sound of a familiar voice, coming straight from your phone, speaking your name.'

"Y/N..!"

You paled.

Slowly, your head turned towards your phone. That couldn't have been your family - that didn't sound like them, nor could it have come straight from your phone like that.

"Oooooover here, silly!" Shadow Milk Cookie's voice teased. "Don't leave me hanging here!"

You slowly got up from your chair, walking towards your bed and lifting up your phone, where Shadow Milk Cookie was, floating idly - though, he was much closer to the screen now, gaze fixated right back at you.

Your mouth was agape - words of confusion and distress on the tip of your tongue - and yet, you couldn't find any actual words of coherency to mutter aloud.

The jester laughed at your disbelief. "What's the matter, Y/N? You look like you've just seen a ghost!"

His teasing mockery snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, and your thumbs quickly moved to swipe the game off your screen - with Shadow Milk Cookie's expression shifting into something more serious as the game disappeared from your screen.

Now back on your phone's home screen, you held a finger down on the Cookie Run Kingdom icon, waiting until the small popup appeared that would allow you to delete the app. With the game no longer on your screen, you took note of how even the game's icon had changed to Shadow Milk Cookie.

Screw trying to find a solution. Your horror had overtaken your senses, panic had spilled into your veins; this wasn't just some bug. This wasn't just some measly virus. This was something far worse. Something you couldn't possibly explain to another person without sounding like a fool.

The way he said your name - something that he couldn't possibly have knowledge of. And yet, he said it so clearly, so real, and when you finally approached him, he noticed you. Knew that you were there, looking back at him through a glass screen.

You pressed the delete app button - with your phone giving you a popup, asking you to confirm your choice. In a heartbeat, you selected confirm, and waited.

..and waited.

...

Why wasn't the app disappearing from your screen?

Your phone trembled. You couldn't tell if it was your own fear making you shake, or if it was something else. Something .. otherworldly.

Your fears were carved into reality as your phone practically thrashed itself out of your grip, tearing itself away from you and landing harshly onto your bed. A sinister, twisted laughter echoed throughout your bedroom, filling your ears and flying around the room.

You trembled, backing away as quickly as you could, your feet instinctively gliding you towards your bedroom door.

"Oh, Y/N!" his voice echoed. Shadow Milk Cookie's voice - his words clouding in your mind, like it was being sent to you telepathically. "Did you just try to delete me?"

You heard the Beast Cookie 'tsk in disappointment, clicking his tongue.

"So rude!" he scoffed. "And after everything I've done for you! It's almost like you're trying to get away from me!"

Your back collided with your bedroom door - hands reaching for the knob desperately, but your head was locked towards your phone that began to glow, it's screen taken over by a familiar shade of blue. You couldn't bring yourself to turn your back towards the haunted device, fearing that, even for a second that you might turn your back to him, it could mean the worst for you.

Hands finally grasping on the doorknob behind you, you twisted the metal knob trying to push your door open.

..The knob stopped halfway, unmoving.

You froze on the spot. Your door had locked itself, a bedroom door that never even had a lock, was now locked in place.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Shadow Milk Cookie laughed, his voice swarming in your head. "Where on Earthbread might you be trying to run off to? I'm about to make my big debut, here!"

A hand escaped from the phone screen. You held back a scream.

A blue hand extended out, and a familiar arm with jester attire began to emerge. It pushed itself out, revealing more of him.

His eyes locked onto you immediately - a large grin forming on his face as he had about halfway emerged from your phone screen.

The fear on your face was like a divine dessert - crafted and gifted perfectly sweet just for him.

Just like a wrapped gift basket that landed straight in front of his doorstep. You were right there - in his clutches. He had all the power he needed, and now, all he needed was you.

"Come along now!" Shadow Milk Cookie clapped his hands with glee, as blue puppeteer strings shot out from your phone, headed straight towards you. "We wouldn't want to keep our dear audience waiting, no?"

You yelped, quickly ducking your head to avoid the incoming web, and while your quick thinking may have saved you for just a few more seconds, it didn't matter. The strings quickly maneuvered themselves, wrapping around your waist, locking your arms to your sides and keeping you bound in place.

A scream lay trapped in your throat. You wanted to scream - to cry, to yell, anything to grab someone's attention. And yet - a voice, one that was most definitely not yours, echoed whispers in the back of your mind, keeping you silent.

You were quickly pulled straight towards the Beast, whos hands reached out to you the second you were in arms length of him, grabbing onto you - staring down at you with a menacing grin of victory.

His arms wrapped around you - possessive, as if the strings weren't enough. He needed to envelop you in his own embrace.

With laughter filling the air, Shadow Milk Cookie descended back down into the phone, and you were swiftly dragged along down with him. Your cries finally escaped your lips - but it didn't matter now. Your yelling and your tears were drowned out in his world of lies - his perfect world, that would be built for the two of you.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

You've lost track of time at this point.

Strings were tied around you on every limb, tangled up in a web of blue that kept you still. Your body had adjusted to this new world you'd been forcefully taken to - now with the proportions of any other Cookie that existed.

Not that many Cookies seemed to exist anymore. It was just you, Shadow Milk Cookie, and his two minions - Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire Cookie.

Whatever was left of your kingdom - you didn't know. When you awoke in this world after being dragged down into it by the hands of the Beast, you found yourself inside of a familiar Spire.

Your memories are hazy - and yet, on the day you were brought here, you remember seeing Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire Cookie awaiting the two of you to arrive, as if they were already expecting you.

"Master Shadow Milk Cookie!!" Candy Apple Cookie cheered - her eyes sparkling at the sight of the Beast Cookie appearing. "You're finally back!"

"I see this was the one that's been on your mind as of late?" Black Sapphire Cookie chuckled, his eyes analyzing you up and down - observing your terrified state. "They look absolutely horrified!"

"Everything went according to plaaaaaan!" Shadow Milk Cookie grinned, his voice, mockingly singing his own praise. "A little more rough than I was hoping for.. but, what can you do? When improv calls, who am I to say no?"

The jester turned to you, his hand grabbing at your chin, forcing your gaze that had been previously facing towards the ground, now looking towards him.

"Don't look so.. blue, Y/N!" Shadow Milk Cookie smiled down at you - his eyes shadowed under an ominous light - his mismatched pupils glowing softly in the darkness. "Trust me, dear, you'll adjust veeery quickly."

Everything after that was a blur.

Your gaze was hazy, staring towards a checkered floor. Darkness surrounded the room you were held captive in - a room that was supposed to be an elegant bedroom crafted just for you.

Your attire matched perfectly with the theme of this twisted place - nothing but dark colors and swirls of lies topped with a few bowties here and there.

The puppeteer strings around your form tightened ever so slightly.

Your mind raced. The words of deceit that constantly filled the back of your mind suddenly became louder - just like they always did. Apart of this horrid routine you were forced into.

.. Y/N ...

Stop fighting my will, Y/N.

This is your home now - and you.. you are mine.

Why do you still insist on fighting me? Why do you still wish to leave?

The world out there has nothing for you. This is your world.

You shake your head, eyelids shutting tightly as you ignored these honeyed, twisted words that beckoned you, wanting to embrace you and swallow up any last bit of fight you had left.

The presence in the room shifts. You don't even have to open your eyes to know that he's here with you now.

A hand softly lifts your chin.

"You're such a fighter, even after alllll this time." Shadow Milk Cookie spoke, a light chuckle following his words. "It's adorable, really."

His voice becomes far more stern.

"But these little charades are starting to bore me."

His grip on your chin is suddenly at your face, tugging you forward, your eyelids snapping open in surprise.

You stare back up at Shadow Milk Cookie. You want to glare - to be angry, to yell, to scream -

But you don't want to do that.

So you don't.

He smiles. You do not.

"You're all mine, Y/N." the Beast reminds you. "You'll come to accept the truth sooner or later."

He laughs.

"It's only a matter of time."

[rafeysdeer]

hiii I really love ur writing I eat it up everytimee ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😛

I was wondering if I could request a Jason Todd like thingy where reader is new to Gotham and she doesnt know her boyfriend (jason) is red hood or who he is really . And one night he just passes out straight in bed without even thinking about his suit and helmet and reader wakes up to this masked man in her bed and is like screaming and being like “wtf who the hell are you” “my bf is huge and he’ll fuck you up” and calling Jason and stuff and he’s just like tf?

Ik this request is like all over the place but I just randomly had this cute idea and I thought you’d eat it up 😍

thankkk uu ❤️❤️❤️

rough night (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where jason still keeps being a vigilante a secret from you, and you continue to be clueless that your boyfriend is red hood, until one rough night he forgets something a little important.

a/n: omg hi! i'm so happy with your request, sorry that it take so long, but here it is, i love how your mind work btw, hope you like it, i actually don't think my writing is good on this one, but the prompt is amazing! feel free to send requests!

It was a particularly calm night, at least for you, who had already done your bedtime routine, and were curled up in the couch with your favorite book, waiting for your boyfriend.

You watched on the news that there was a chasing, but this is Gotham, there is always a chasing on the news, you may not have lived here for long, but you are used to the special way of the city, fights, deaths and crimes that flooded the city on an ordinary weekday.

As much as you enjoyed waiting for your boyfriend to get home, so you could go to bed with him, he was pretty late today, and it was already late night, sleep was starting to overtake you, the book slowly becoming less interesting and more hazy, finally making you decide it was time to go to bed.

Now, even though Gotham is a dangerous city, and more than anything, unexpected, you definitely didn't expect that on a cool tuesday night you would walk into your room in your pretty pajamas and comfortable robe and find a huge vigilante lying on your bed, comfortable, as if he lived there his whole life.

And no one can blame you that your first reaction was to scream, scream for your life, while the book falls from your hand, you were in complete shock, the vigilante waking up confused as he looks around and finds you wrapped in your pink robe looking absolutely terrified.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? How did you get into my fucking apartment?" she said frantically as tears began to well up in your eyes as you grabbed the closest thing to you, to defend yourself, which turned out to be the lamp on your nightstand.

And the man lying in your bed looks just as confused as you do, even more, his head tilted to the side, you can't see through the intimidating red helmet, but you're sure if you could, you'd see a huge question mark hanging on his face.

"What do you mean who the hell am I? Have you lost your mind, honey?" And it wasn't until his voice came out modified by the modulator that Jason realized he was still in his full uniform, including his helmet, which explained his girlfriend's complete panic upon seeing him.

"Look, my boyfriend is going to be here any minute, and he's huge and he's going to beat the hell out of you, so please leave."

The words might have been intended to be threatening, but they lost their effect almost instantly when he knew that the boyfriend she was referring to was the one lying on the bed being threatened at that moment, and also by the tears he desperately wanted to wipe from your face.

And, as Gotham is the city of the unexpected, the unexpected happens, and the huge vigilante lying on your bed starts laughing, but not a threatening laugh, or a shy little giggle, he starts to really laugh, the kind of laugh that you throw your head back for laughing so hard, while slowly removing the helmet from his head.

And when your beloved boyfriend reveals himself, the lamp in your hand slowly lowers as your lips part in pure shock.

"Jason? What the hell is going on right now?"

She said while still holding the lamp, and looked at him more confused than ever, and the once scary and threatening vigilante stands up and wraps you in a hug, while you remain in complete shock.

"Did you have any intention to tell me about this at some point?"

Your mind, still recovering from the shock, manages to elaborate and ask, while you return the hug, as tight as you can, still shaking from finding out that your boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn't know if you were going to be ready to hear it, and if you would still be with me after you found out."

"If you would still see me the same way, you would love me the same way"

And now your shock is for a completely different reason, as you pull away from his embrace softly, your brows furrowed in pure indignation.

"Are you kidding me right now? Jason I would love you and be with you even if you were the fucking Batman."

And a comforting smile appears on your face, as you, on your tiptoes, hold his face in your hands as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and for you, he was.

"Jay, I love you regardless of any of this, if you're a secret vigilante at night, your secrets or anything else, because I love you for who you are and I need you to know that."

And now the bright tears in your eyes were for a completely different reason, you just didn't expect him to think that way, when right there in front of you is the man you loved the most in the world.

"God, what did I do to deserve someone like you?" he murmurs into your hair as you're wrapped around each other, you guiding him towards the comfortable bed.

"I ask myself that every day, Jay."

And now, with no secrets and curled up comfortably in each other, as it should be, he whispers to you.

"About that Batman thing, we need to talk."

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Director's Commentary:

First of all, THIS HIT 200 NOTES IN LESS THAN 2 DAYS????? 🥺💝🥺💝🥺💝🥺💝 Thank you SO MUCH EVERYBODY, I have never had any of my self ship art get this many notes this quickly!! I've also screenshotted every tag I've gotten and will continue to do so! Thank you so much everyone 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

Second, I hope that everyone knows I did this 100% original! I have actually had more than one person call this an edit, which makes me very proud of how convincing this apparently is as an imitation of the PPG style! 🥺 But no, I did all of this by hand myself! The screenshots were just referenced :D

Y'all should also know that I don't have any type of tablet or way to do digital art with a pen, I use Adobe Illustrator and only use my mouse. For the first image I did a sketch of the pose on paper and traced over digitally, but I'm proud to say for the other two I did it entirely originally using just reference images and my own imagination! That's something I'm usually not really able to do so I'm very happy that the final result came out so good

The context of the original scene is that Ms. Keane and Professor Utonium just went on a failed date that was set up by the girls, but ended up sharing a little moment after Ms. Keane accidentally tripped and the Professor ended up catching her. I'd like to think the context here is essentially the same, but I'd consider it an AU scenario because there wouldn't be a time in my ship canon where this setup would happen before Cherry and Mojo are dating.

I came up with Cherry's outfit kind of on the spot, it's basically just a fancy version of their normal outfit, with a low cut white shirt, yellow and orange cardigan, and some nice tan boots. They borrowed the choker with the pendant from their cousin, Ms. Bellum :3

I find it funny to think that Mojo wouldn't really wear an actual outfit out on a date, because in his mind, what fit could possibly be better than the villain outfit he designed for himself? He just put on a bowtie to be slightly more fancy 💖 That's actually a reference to the panel below from a DC PPG comic where he's trying to find a date for Valentine's Day and failing... I would have been there for him 🥺

Also I liked the idea of the moon being bright enough to shine through the back of Mojo's big ears, which is why the shading on them if a bit oddly shaped. No one has mentioned anything about that yet so I'm not sure how obvious that came across 😅

Ngl I struggled a bit on the background of Mojo's panel just because it's a unique perspective that I hadn't tried before, so I went and laid down on the floor in the corner of my room to see how the perspective of that looked 😂

In fact now that I think about it... This is the first time I've ever done a full color background at all, digitally OR traditionally. I'd say for my first time it came out pretty good!

In general I'm very happy with the end results, although there are a few mistakes here and there, like there's a secrion of Cherry's shadow that's not filled in all the way, and I think some of the background colors could be better adjusted so they don't blend together as much (especially the bench, what was I thinking making it so similar to the wall color aaaaaah)

That's all I can think of for now that I'd like to comment on. Once again thank you to everyone who has liked or reblogged and an even bigger thank you if you read this far! 🥺💝💝💝💝💝

There are benefits to being clumsy... sometimes you get to fall into the arms of a handsome chimpanzee 💜🩷💜🩷💜

Screenshot redraw of a cute scene from what's basically PPG's Valentine Day special! This was so fun to do, I feel like I learn more abt using Illustrator every time I go back to it :3 🩷 Reblogs are all seen and appreciated, click for higher quality!! Tag list + Screenshots referenced will be under the cut 💜

Tag List!! Click here to be added or removed.

@absentmoon, @avas-wonderland, @bee-ships, @beetleboyfriend, @berryshipbasket, @bugthecalmchild, @canongf, @cloudyvoid, @derelictdumbass, @dissonantyote, @edencantstopfallininlove, @final-catboy, @chickenout , @flowering-darkness, @gibles-lovely-selfships, @hoppinkiss, @hyperionshipping, @impulse-exe, @iwishihadfangs, @iyamifucker, @kissingarthurclaus, @lex-n-weegie, @lficanthaveloveiwantpower, @little-miss-selfships, @little-shiny-sharpies, @loogi-selfships, @mandrakebrew, @midoridayz, @mintpecks, @mothfinite, @mrs-kelly, @nameless-self-ships, @nerdstreak, @odysseyyaoi, @oleanderspride, @orbitingaroundyourlove, @paper-carnation, @reds-self-ships, @rotten--cotton , @spacestationstorybook, @squips-ship, @theheroand, @toogayforthistoday, @winterworlds, @yuzuibanagi

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 6

Summary: Edward and Bella's wedding day was fast approaching. Bella begins to struggle with the idea of becoming a vampire. She also wonders what a future with Edward could look like if he continues his turbulent relationship with Y/N.

TW: Mentions of marriage, manipulation, lack of regard for the feelings of others.

Edward stood on the terrace, looking out into the forest and watching the sun rise through the trees. Y/N made her way over to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

The silence settled easily between them and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. He hoped that their tense exchange from the previous day would be forgotten, but Y/N had never been one for turning over new leaves.

Y/N had always been impulsive and Edward dealt with it well until her impulsivity put Bella at risk.

"That gaudy ring that your human has been parading around with leads me to believe that congratulations are in order... I didn't think you had it in you to make so many life ruining choices in so little time," Y/N stated.

"How did you find out?" Edward asked.

"The real question is why you hid it from me," She replied.

"I didn't hide it," Edward said.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back if you told me you were engaged to her?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, "I needed you," He stated softly.

Y/N hated that he thought the simple statement justified his lies to her. Edward had never been outright cruel, he moved in the shadows with practiced precision. He kept his hands clean while burying the knife in her flesh like he had done countless times before.

Edward lied by omission, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You needed my power, not me," Y/N said.

"I care about you, Y/N... I want you to be here with us," Edward said.

"Where exactly do you think I belong in this perfect life you've created for yourself, hmm? Following you and your wife around until she eventually dies so you're not alone?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.

"I'm turning her into a vampire after the wedding," He said.

"Oh, how sweet of you to consider me when planning your happy life," Y/N replied bitterly.

"Don't patronize me, Y/N," He snapped.

"You started it," She said calmly, straightening up and turning towards him.

Edward huffed, "That wasn't my intention," He said.

"You're a fool, Edward. I have told you that you need to cut her loose and you've chosen to shackle yourself to her instead," Y/N said.

"I love her," Edward stated.

"She is plain... The only thing that makes her interesting to you is the fact that you can't read her mind. The fascination will wear off after a few decades and you will toss her away like chewed gum," She said.

"I would never do that to her," Edward snapped.

"But you did it to me without an issue," Y/N replied coldly.

Edward huffed, "You were a danger to her, Y/N," He said.

"No, I wasn't. If I wanted the girl dead, she'd be dead and you know that," Y/N said.

Y/N was right, she didn't need to be able to use her powers to kill Bella. Y/N may have had some ill intent during their previous interactions, but she hadn't taken any action.

Y/N had been Edward's trusted friend for years and he couldn't imagine a future without her. He loved Bella, but Y/N was family and he wouldn't turn his back on her.

"You're right," Edward muttered.

Y/N looked over at him, almost confused by his response to her, "Did you just agree with me?" She questioned.

Edward shot her a look, "I did, but don't let it go to your head... I know that you haven't been welcoming to Bella but I want to be able to trust you around her. I'm willing to continue our friendship if you are," Edward said.

"Is your little girlfriend going to be okay with this?" Y/N questioned.

"It doesn't matter. You're one of the most important people in my life and she'll have to deal with it," Edward said.

Y/N smirked, "Already picking favorites before you're even married... Good luck with the wedding," She said, stepping away from the railing and moving inside.

Edward lingered on the balcony, he felt unsettled after their interaction and he couldn't pinpoint why. Y/N knew about Edward's engagement and the plan to change Bella after the wedding which had been his biggest cause for concern.

No one in the family had told her, which meant that the news had come from Bella directly. Edward's relationship with Bella had been strained lately and an unsupervised interaction with Y/N could definitely explain it.

Bella hadn't been sleeping, her nights were filled with bad dreams and restless sleep. When Edward asked her about what was worrying her, she brushed him off and told him that everything was fine. Edward hated not knowing what she was thinking, she had been quiet and it worried him.

There had been no yelling or use of excessive force during his conversation with Y/N which should have made him feel better about their situation, but it didn't.

They were in uncharted territory and Edward couldn't help but feel on edge. Bella was still an undoubtedly fragile human and he just needed to keep her safe until the wedding. After that, she would be a vampire and a permanent part of the Cullen family.

Edward suddenly stiffened when he realized where Y/N had gone. She would do anything she could to push him and Bella further apart, even if it meant using his own words against him.

...

Edward raced to town and arrived in Bella's bedroom quickly, Y/N was sitting in a chair while the young human hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Hello, Edward. I was just updating your human on the details of our talk. I think you have a couple things that need to be discussed," Y/N said, standing up from the chair.

Edward grabbed her wrist, "Why would you do this?" He asked angrily.

"I just think everyone needs to know where they stand before our friendship can continue. The human agrees, don't you?" Y/N asked, looking over at Bella.

"Leave her out of this," Edward snapped, grip tightening on her wrist.

"Stop it, both of you. My god, you're like children and it's ridiculous," Bella said, Edward released Y/N's arm.

"Look, she's right about knowing where everyone stands, but I know that she only came here to try and mess with my head," Bella stated.

"Not as stupid as she looks," Y/N muttered.

"Shut up," Edward snapped.

"Can you go? You've caused a sufficient amount of issues now, Y/N," Bella mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and crossing her arms.

"It would be my pleasure," She said, turning her attention to Edward.

"Have fun cleaning up the mess you've created, Edward," Y/N smiled, disappearing without another word.

Edward let out a huff, "Bella, I was going to tell you about reaching out to her," He started.

"When?" Bella asked, making her way over to him.

"You haven't been sleeping lately and I didn't want to add another thing onto your plate," Edward said.

"I haven't been sleeping because of all of this," Bella said, gesturing between them, "She hates me and she's getting in my head about everything. I have nightmares that she kills me before I make it to the altar," Bella said.

"She wouldn't do that," Edward stated.

"I think you're seriously underestimating her, Edward," Bella said, shaking her head.

"Y/N has a problem with me, not you. I haven't been entirely honest with her lately and that's on me," Edward stated.

"Why are you keeping things from her? If she's really your friend, you should be able to tell her everything," Bella said.

"Y/N and I have a complicated relationship, Bella. I can't just abandon her and I need you to respect that," He said.

Bella huffed, "What if I said 'it's her or me'?" She questioned.

Edward faltered, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again. He didn't know what to say, he assumed that the answer would be easy but he hesitated.

Edward had never allowed himself to think about fully giving up on Y/N. He didn't love her, but she was his best friend. He felt like he was missing something when she wasn't around.

Having Y/N disappear from his life had proved to him that he would never be ready to close the door on her.

"Wow... I don't even know what to say," She muttered, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"I don't love her, Bella, but she's my best friend and I won't abandon her," Edward said.

"She's a big girl, Edward. I'm sure she can handle it," Bella stated.

"No, she can't," Edward snapped.

Bella looked shocked before she let out a shaky exhale, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I just- This is something I am not willing to compromise on. Y/N has been through a lot and I owe it to her," Edward said.

"Fine, but I need to know that nothing is going to happen before or during the wedding," Bella said.

"I promise," Edward nodded.

Bella hoped that she could trust him, but the nightmares continued to plague her. She wanted to tell him that he needed to choose her, but his mind was made up.

His hesitation when she asked him to pick between her and Y/N only served to solidify her doubts. When she put him on the spot, he picked Y/N and in high pressure situations he was likely to do the same thing.

The wedding was only days away and a pit was beginning to form in her stomach. Marriage was one thing, but becoming a vampire was not something that she could opt out of easily. Edward put a lot of weight into the idea of marriage and once she became like him, she would be stuck.

Bella couldn't walk away from him after he gave her immortality. She also struggled to cope with the idea of having her entire life be stuck in such a toxic loop.

Y/N was reactive and manipulative, pushing them apart whenever they got closer to one another. She was possessive of Edward and had some serious issues that would interfere with their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Bella hoped that things would fall into place, but she was beginning to feel like they never would.

...

Edward and Bella were getting married tomorrow. Alice had planned absolutely everything for the wedding. She took care of the guest list, the invitations, the flowers, the dress and everything in between.

The property of the Cullen house had been fully transformed for the wedding. Intricate flowers were hanging from overhead and a beautiful arch had been created for them to get married under.

Bella was still having nightmares, but refused to acknowledge them as the wedding day approached. Bella hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she meddled in their relationship after her conversation with Edward.

Y/N had moved back into the Cullen house, but had been keeping to herself for the most part. Bella was almost beginning to wonder if Edward was keeping her in check or if she was quiet for a more malicious reason.

Edward visited Bella in her bedroom before his bachelor party and they talked about his past. The conversation threw her off, it almost seemed like he was trying to give her a reason to call off their engagement.

Their relationship was still tense, but it was starting to go back to the way it had been. Despite Y/N trying to get under Bella's skin about Edward reaching out to her, the conversation had actually helped.

They were able to lay their cards on the table and be honest. Edward's connection to Y/N was complex and problematic but it was always going to exist. Their conversation lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, but hadn't relieved it entirely.

Bella sent him off to his brothers for his bachelor party before settling in for a night of restless sleep. Edward's bachelor party involved a rather entertaining hunt and some juvenile behavior with his brothers until the sun began to rise.

Edward walked through the forest on his way back to the Cullen house with Jasper and Emmett. Morning dew glistened on the greenery and birds began to chirp in the trees.

"I wonder what Y/N is going to get up to today. That's one hell of a wild card to have at your wedding," Emmett said with a smirk.

"She's not going to try anything," Edward stated.

"You sure about that?" Jasper questioned.

Edward huffed, "I don't know what she's up to lately," He said.

"Might be best to put Carlisle on Y/N duty. He can keep an eye on her for you," Emmett said.

"If I do that she'll think I don't trust her," Edward said.

"But you don't," Emmett stated, climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

"I don't want her to know that," Edward shrugged.

"I'm glad she's moving back in. I missed having her around," Emmett said.

"Me too," Jasper nodded, "She's fun and she makes you loosen up a bit," He said, looking over at Edward.

"She hates Bella," Edward stated.

"Nah, I don't think so. Just seems like she's trying to keep you from doing something stupid," Emmett said, Edward shot him a glare.

"Hey, I don't think it's stupid, but she definitely does," Emmett said, holding his hands up.

Edward huffed, "I'll talk to her. She has to know how important the wedding is to us," He said.

"Good luck with that," Jasper smirked.

The trio fell silent as they approached the Cullen house, splitting off into their respective rooms while Edward made his way to Y/N's bedroom.

He knew that Emmett was right and he needed to talk to Y/N. She had been far too quiet for it to mean anything good. He knocked on her door gently, lowering his hand and waiting for her to reply from inside.

Edward knew she was in her room and the silence frustrated him. Edward opened the door after a moment had passed, Y/N was sitting in her armchair with a book in her lap.

"No response means no one's home," Y/N muttered, flipping the page in her book.

Edward stepped into her room, closing the door behind himself, "I need to talk to you," He said.

"Well, if I wanted to talk to you I would've opened the door," Y/N replied.

"I'm getting married today and I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid," Edward said.

"I'm not willing to make that promise, Edward," Y/N stated.

"I can't have you there if you're going to pose a risk to the humans we've invited," He said.

"Uninvite me then," She said, closing her book and looking up at him.

Edward huffed, "You're my friend and I want you to be there. I don't think it's an outlandish request to ask you to behave," Edward said.

"Clearly you haven't met me," Y/N stated.

"I thought we were starting over after our last conversation," He said.

"Are you talking about the conversation where you invited me to be a third wheel in your marriage? Because I don't consider that to be a promising jumping off point for us," Y/N stated.

Edward shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that? I have been bending over backwards trying to make things work between us and you don't care," He said.

"You brought me here under false pretenses, Edward. You have dragged me along like a fish on a hook for half a century. Forgive me for making you grovel a little bit," Y/N snapped.

"You're a hypocrite... You talk about the things that I've done, but what about you? You haven't always had good intentions with me either," Edward stated.

"We're both awful people, but at least I'm willing to admit it," She shrugged.

Edward sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Y/N. I just want us to be civil and I would like to have you at the wedding," He said.

"I'll go, but I can't promise to be happy about it," Y/N replied.

"That's all I ask," Edward said.

[mariclerc]

Hi, I wanted to ask if you could write something with Charles Leclerc based on the song Sports Car by tate mcrae

thank you for this request darling!! I did my best trying to recreate the exact meaning and the essence of the song into the blurb, I hope you like it!!

Let's go ride | cl16

Warning: fluff, suggestive language, insecure reader, somewhat unprotected smut don't try this at home (+18). Based on "Sports car" by Tate McRae.

It's late at night in Monte Carlo, the streets are so quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights and the twinkling lights of the harbor. You and Charles are in his Ferrari, the cool night air rushing through your hair. You’ve been dating for a while now, feeling comfortable in each other’s presence, but still with a spark of excitement that keeps things fresh.

The Ferrari cruises slowly along the waterfront, the music is low, some chilled-out electronic beats. You lean back in your seat, watching the lights dance on the water.

You sighed contentedly. “It’s so beautiful here baby, thank you for bringing me out.”

He glanced at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “My pleasure, amour. Sometimes it’s nice to escape the chaos of the fast paced world and just… breathe... Especially with you.” (love)

He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently and you squeezed it back.

You look around. “It's crazy, though, seeing all this wealth, all this luxury… it almost feels unreal.”

He chuckled softly. “Welcome to Monaco! It's a different world, yeah, it is. But you get used to it.”

“I don't think I ever will, to be honest. It's like something out of a movie.” you say softly and he smiled.

“Maybe it is... Our very own movie, starring you and me.” he wink at you.

He drives in silence for a few minutes, navigating the winding streets with practiced ease. You watch him, admiring the way his hands move on the wheel, the way his jawline catches the light.

“You make it look so easy.” you think aloud.

“What, driving?” he asked, confused.

“Everything... Racing, dealing with the pressure, living this crazy life… you handle it all with such grace.”

He scoffed playfully. “Grace? You should see me after a bad race. I'm not always so… composed.”

“I know, but even then, you’re still… you. That’s what I admire.” you smiled.

His voice soft. “Thank you, babe. It’s not always easy, living in the spotlight. But having you by my side… it makes it a little bit easier... A lot easier.”

He turns down a quiet side alley, away from the main traffic. He pulls over to the side of the road, killing the engine, the silence is broken only by the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to face you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I thought we could use a little… privacy, don't you think?”

He leans in and kisses you, a slow, tender kiss that lingers. You melt into him, your hands reaching up to cup his face.

You pulled away slightly, breathless. “Privacy, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and maybe a little bit of… this.”

He kisses you again, this time more passionately, his hands sliding down to your waist. You moan softly, your body tingling with anticipation.

He pulled you closer. “You are so beautiful, stellina. Do you know that?” (little star)

You blushed. “Yeah, I know... You tell me that all the time.” you giggled.

He nods. “Good, because I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it.”

He pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. You gasp slightly, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Charles! What are you doing?” you laughed nervously.

He kisses your neck. “Making sure my baby is comfortable. Are you comfortable, darling?” you nodded.

He continues to kiss you, his hands exploring your body. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close.

After a few moments of passionate kissing, you pull back slightly, a daring and wild idea forming in your mind.

You look at him, your voice is a little husky. “Charles…?”

His voice low, filled with desire. “Yes, tesoro?” (darling)

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should say what you're thinking. But the heat of the moment, the thrill of being with him, overpowers your shyness. He has always made you feel confident, both physically and mentally, and when it comes to being intimate, well, you're a little bit shy... But you have a feeling that might change tonight.

You speak with a newfound boldness. “I want to ride you.” you say softly, but sure.

Charles freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. The air crackles with a sudden electricity. “Ri… ride me? Here? Now?” he says, stammering.

You nodded, your eyes locking with his. “Yes... Here... Now.”

He swallowed hard. “But… amore.” (love)

“Is that a no?” you asked teasingly.

He shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No, is not a no... Just… unexpected. But definitely… intriguing.”

“Good, because I've been thinking about it all night.” you smile.

His voice dropping to a whisper. “And what exactly have you been thinking about, stellina?”

You leaned closer, whispering softly. “About how good it would feel… to be on top, to be in control.”

Charles shivers, his eyes darkening with desire. “My god, baby... You are going to be the death of me.” his voice hoarse.

“Maybe, but it will be a good death.” you smiled mischievously.

You lean in and kiss him again, a kiss that promises a night of passion and exploration... This time, the kiss is more demanding, more urgent. You want him, and you want him now.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. “Alright, amore, you want to be in control, huh? Then show me.”

He leans back in his seat, giving you the space to move and you straddle him more fully, your bodies pressing together and you can feel his arousal against you, a confirmation of his desire.

The small confines of the Ferrari feel suddenly intimate, charged with a palpable energy. The city lights outside seem to fade into a soft blur as your focus narrows to Charles, to the heat radiating from his body, to the promise in his eyes.

He watches you, a mixture of awe and anticipation on his face, as you reach down and begin to unbutton your jacket. Your movements are slow, deliberate, each button undone a small act of defiance against the night, against the quiet alley, against the expectations of the world outside.

“Piano, amore. There's no rush.” his voice's husky, almost a whisper. (slow, love)

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I know... But I want you.”

You shrug off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor of the car. You're now wearing a simple dress that clings to your curves, Charles' gaze intensifies, tracing the lines of your body with an almost tangible heat.

His voice thick with desire. “You are breathtaking.”

You blush, your confidence is growing, fueled by his admiration. You reach behind you, fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

“Can you help me with this, please?” you struggle slightly.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he carefully lowers the zipper and a shiver runs down your spine.

His voice soft against your ear. “Of course, it's always a pleasure.”

As the zipper reaches the bottom, the dress slips off your shoulders, pooling around your waist. You're now straddling him in your lingerie - a set you chose specifically for this occasion, something that makes you feel both sensual and empowered.

Charles' breath hitches in his throat. He reaches out, gently tracing the lace of your bra with his fingertips.

His voice reverent. “Exquisite, just like you.” he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “May I…?” he whispered.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart pounding in your chest.

He gently unhooks the clasp of your bra, releasing your breasts. He gazes at them, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Perfect.” his voice husky and low.

He leans in and kisses one breast, then the other, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. You arch your back, moaning softly.

Now it's your turn and you reach out to him, your hands trembling slightly, and begin to unbutton his shirt. The fabric feels warm beneath your fingertips, infused with his scent. Charles closes his eyes, surrendering to your touch.

As you unbutton each button, you catch glimpses of his chest - the strong muscles, the faint scars that tell a story of a life lived on the edge. You trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, then lean in and kiss his neck and he groans softly, his hands gripping your waist.

You finish unbuttoning his shirt and gently push it off his shoulders, his chest is now bare, exposed to your loving gaze. You run your hands across his skin, feeling the warmth, the strength, the life that pulses beneath.

“You are beautiful, Charles, so incredibly beautiful.” you whispered.

He opens his eyes, his gaze filled with love and gratitude. “And so are you, amore mio. So are you.” his voice soft, filled with emotion. (my love)

You reach down and unbuckle his belt, then slowly lower the zipper of his trousers. He sucks in a breath, his body tense with anticipation. You slide his trousers down his legs, revealing his boxer briefs, you pause, looking up at him, seeking his permission and he nodded, his eyes filled with desire.

You lower his boxer briefs, revealing his arousal. He is magnificent, powerful, and utterly vulnerable.

You reach out, gently cupping him in your hand. He groans, his body arching towards you.

His voice hoarse. “Oh, holy… fuck...”

You begin to caress him, your touch both gentle and firm, exploring every curve, every contour. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, his body trembling with need.

After a few moments, you stop, looking up at him, your eyes filled with a challenge.

“What now, amore?” you asked him in a whisper.

He opens his eyes, his gaze burning with desire. “Now… you ride me.” his voice barely audible.

The moonlight catches the planes of his face, highlighting the desire that burns in his eyes. He's surrendered control, placing his pleasure, his trust, completely in your hands.

You straddle him fully, your thighs pressing against his, igniting a firestorm of sensations. The leather of the seat is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Charles' body. You lean down, your breasts brushing against his chest, and whisper in his ear.

Your voice husky, filled with a newfound confidence. “Are you ready, baby?”

He groans softly, his hands gripping your waist. “More than ready.”

You lean back slightly, giving yourself a moment to take him in. His eyes are closed, his face contorted in a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscles, the rapid pulse of his heart.

“Open your eyes, Charles. I want you to see me.” you whispered.

He obeys, his eyes meeting yours. They're dark, dilated with desire.

You begin to move, slowly at first, rocking your hips back and forth. The sensation is electrifying, the friction igniting a firestorm within you.

His voice strained. “Oh god… fuck...”

You increase the pace, your movements becoming more rhythmic, more demanding. You can feel him straining beneath you, his muscles tense, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Does that feel good, babe?” you whispered exhilarated.

He nods, unable to speak, his body arching towards you.

You continue to ride him, your movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.. You can feel yourself spiraling out of control, your body consumed by a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Oh, Charles…” you moaned.

He reaches up, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements, intensifying the pleasure. “Faster, amore. Faster…” his voice's ragged with pleasure.

You obey, your body moving in perfect sync with his. You can feel the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

“I’m close, Charlie… so close…” you gasped.

He pulls you closer, his mouth finding yours in a desperate and heated kiss. His tongue plunges into your mouth, mirroring the rhythm of your bodies, intensifying the sensation.

And then, it hits you; a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over you, your body convulsing in a series of intense, shuddering orgasms. You cry out his name, your body trembling, your mind blank.

He groans, his body arching beneath you, his muscles tense and rigid. He reaches the same peak, his orgasm erupting within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

You both collapse against each other, breathless and exhausted, your bodies slick with sweat. The small confines of the car feel suddenly too small to contain the intensity of your shared experience.

You lie there for a long moment, catching your breath, listening to the sound of your own racing heart. The silence is broken only by the soft moans and groans of satisfaction.

Finally, you pull back slightly, looking down at Charles. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed, a small smile playing on his plumped lips.

“Are you alright?” you whispered softly.

He opens his eyes, his gaze filled with love and admiration. “More than alright, chérie. More than alright.” his voice soft, filled with emotion. He reaches up, gently stroking your hair. “Thank you… for that.” he whispered. (honey)

You smile, your heart swelling with joy. “You liked it?” you asked teasingly.

He laughs softly.

“I loved it baby, you were… incredible.” his voice serious. Then he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “You know, I never thought I would enjoy being on the receiving end of that so much.” he whispered.

You laugh, pushing him playfully.

“Oh, really?” you say teasing.

His voice earnest. “Really, it was… liberating. To let go of control, to surrender to you.” he pulled you closer, holding you tight. “You have a power over me, amore. A power that I’ve never felt before.” he whispered.

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

“And you have a power over me, Charles. A power that makes me want to be… daring, to be brave and get out of my comfort zone from time to time.” you whispered softly.

Suddenly you pause, considering your next words carefully.

“So... What now?” you whispered.

He smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Now… we clean up. And then… we find somewhere a little more comfortable.” he whispered. “Perhaps, our bed, huh?” he says and you giggled.

“Now you speak my language!” you smiled and smuggled closer to him.

He made a heart on the fogged up car window and you just smiled at the sight, a late night escape route ended up being something completely different and all thanks to your restlessness and need to be more daring in the intimacy and, of course, thanks to him who gives you that impulse to do it.

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymically, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs: see you in a few, sweetie. :)

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER VII: DELECTABLE.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretches between you.

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

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

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

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

“Do it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get away from her.”

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

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

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

Minho scrambles to respond. “Of course, sir”

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

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Together?”

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

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

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

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

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

Minho frowns in confusion, “What?”

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho remains silent, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seojun stiffens at that.

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

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

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

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

Minho shakes his head. “No.”

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

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

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

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

Silence lingers—until you raise your hand.

Minho nods at you. “Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, why are you standing there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. "Nothing."

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

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

Minho doesn’t even hesitate. "No."

You blink. "What—why?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho grabs it. Starts calling out the order when—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Chef—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flatly, he rejects you. “No.”

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

Silence.

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

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

And then, nothing. The line goes dead.

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

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

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

-

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

Is this really the right thing to do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment he steps inside, his eyes find Sara.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reporter blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

Minho shifts his gaze back to the reporter, his voice sharp. “What upsets me is that because of this, an excellent chef might not be able to cook again.” He meets the reporter’s eyes.

The reporter hesitates but then straightens in his seat. “That’s beside the point,” he says. “Chef Sara’s misconduct is evident—”

“I have forgiven her.” Minho cuts him off, his voice firm. “And I stand by what I said. She was an excellent chef then, and she’s an excellent chef now.”

The reporter remains silent but Minho pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. He looks at the man one last time. “That’s my confession.” His voice is quieter now, but no less resolute. “What more do you need?”

The reporter doesn’t answer so Minho turns to Sara. “Are we done here?”

Sara blinks rapidly, as if snapping herself out of a daze. She nods.

Minho extends a hand. “Let’s go.”

For a moment, Sara just stares at it. Then, she smiles—a real one this time—and takes his hand.

-

You pace near the entrance of the restaurant, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Every few steps, you glance toward the street, expecting—hoping—to see Minho approaching with the kitchen keys in his hand. But no. He’s been keeping you on edge for nearly three hours now, feeding you nothing but false hope.

Behind you, Seojun sighs loudly, his impatience mirrored by Hyunwoo and Seungwan, who have been shifting their weight from one foot to the other for the past hour.

Seojun exhales sharply. “Are you sure Chef said he’d bring the keys?”

You hesitate. Truthfully, you’re not sure. Minho never actually promised, but you want to believe he’ll come through. You want him to prove you wrong, just this once.

“Can you wait a little longer, Sous-chef?” you plead, looking at Seojun desperately.

But Hyunwoo finally snaps. “A little longer?” he scoffs. “What time is it now? Chef could’ve gone to his house and come back twelve times already!”

That’s it. They’re done waiting. Without another word, Seojun turns on his heel, leading the other two toward the parking lot. Hyunwoo mutters under his breath as he picks up the bag of ingredients they brought, grumbling, “I swear, Lee Minho must’ve been my sworn enemy in a past life.”

Panic surges through you. You step forward, ready to stop them, to say something—

But Seungwan spins around, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “This is all because of you.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You told Chef about the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

“No! I told you so many times,” You shake your head quickly, your voice rising with frustration. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

Seungwan doesn’t look convinced, but before you can argue further, Seojun turns to face you. There’s no anger in his expression—just quiet disappointment.

“Do we look that pathetic to you too?” he asks, his eyes sad and defeated.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Seojun shakes his head and gets into the car. You watch as they drive away, their frustration, their disappointment, all of it sinking into your chest like dead weight.

-

Instead of going home, you take a detour to the bar, sinking onto a stool with a weary sigh. The dim lighting and quiet hum of conversation offer a moment of escape, and you find yourself nursing a glass of alcohol, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Minho.

Where are you?

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you stare at the screen. You don’t bother replying, choosing instead to grumble at your phone, “None of your business.”

Another buzz. Another text.

I’m sorry.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh and mutter, “Whatever,” before taking another sip of your drink.

Then, another message pops up.

Look at the moon.

You huff at the absurdity of it—you're inside a bar. But curiosity wins, and you turn your head toward the window, eyes landing on the bright, glowing moon outside.

Before you can react, a warm presence settles beside you, and then—soft lips press against your cheek.

Your breath catches as you turn to find Minho grinning at you, his expression smug. You purse your lips, looking away with a pout, pretending his sudden appearance doesn’t affect you.

Minho slides onto the stool next to yours, resting his arm on the counter. “I can see the tower of complaints from a mile away,” he teases.

You take another sip of your drink, the warmth of alcohol making your words bolder. “What did they do that was so terrible, Chef?” you blurt out, the frustration you’ve been holding back spilling over.

Minho raises an eyebrow.

“The sous-chef, the cooks—they’re working hard every day to get better, isn’t that a good thing?” You lean in slightly. “Why do you think they had to hide it from you? Why couldn’t they just ask you to be their manager chef?”

Minho exhales sharply, reaching for your glass. He takes it from you and lifts it to his lips. “Are you their spokeswoman now?” he scoffs before taking a sip, his face twisting at the bitter aftertaste.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “But if you weren’t the Chef, I’d be standing right beside them, feeling the same frustration.”

You meet his gaze, voice softening. “They’ve never been to Italy, never studied at a prestigious culinary school. And maybe you think that doesn’t matter, but it does—to them.” You pause, searching his face. “They don’t have the privileges you and I do, Chef. It’s discouraging.”

Minho stays quiet, his fingers resting against the glass. You take a breath and try again. “Chef...”

He looks at you, eyes guarded. “What?”

You hold his gaze. “Don’t lock up your feelings like you locked up the kitchen doors.” You lean in just a little closer, your voice gentle yet firm. “Can you open up your heart to them like you did to me?”

Minho studies you for a long moment, then exhales through his nose. “Fine,” he mutters, nudging your glass toward the bartender for a refill. “You can stop with the nagging now.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. You lean in further, eyes gleaming. “Do you really mean it?”

Minho sighs, but there’s a suppressed smile at the corners of his lips. “Yes.”

You watch as he gestures to the bartender before muttering, almost menacingly, “The entrée line is dead meat now that I’m going to be their manager chef.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Thank you, Chef.”

He turns to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why are you thanking me?”

You don’t answer—just smile. But then, out of nowhere, Minho frowns slightly. “But what if... What if they don’t want me to be their manager chef?”

You wave off his concern. “There’s no way.”

Still, he continues, almost pouting now. “It would’ve been better if they asked me first.” His voice lowers. “What if I offer, and they turn me down? I’ll die of humiliation.”

You blink, momentarily surprised. Even Minho has his insecurities and the thought endears you. You chuckle. “That will never happen.”

Minho leans in, tilting his head. “How can you be so sure?”

You smirk. “Because you’re Chef Lee Minho.”

Minho scoffs, mumbling, “You never know.”

“But you’re the best chef in the world,” you say simply.

He bursts out laughing, a delighted, almost bashful laugh that makes your heart swell. You notice the tips of his ears turning red, and it only makes your smile grow.

Propping your chin on your hand, you let out a dramatic sigh. “This isn’t good.”

Minho raises a brow. “What now?”

“I wanted you all to myself,” you pout.

Minho nearly chokes on his drink but manages to swallow before laughing again, shaking his head in disbelief.

You keep your eyes on him, the warmth in your chest turning into something softer.

Then, Minho leans in close, his voice low, teasing yet sincere. “Take me then,” he murmurs. “Take all of me. I’m yours anyway.”

There’s something different about him tonight—not just in the way he’s humoring you, but in the way he’s actually listening. You’ve seen it happening, little by little.

At first, Minho was nothing but sharp edges and closed doors. He ruled the kitchen like an untouchable king, and anyone who didn’t meet his impossible standards was cast aside without a second thought. But lately—lately, he’s been changing.

And now, here he is, actually considering what you’ve said instead of brushing it off with another snide remark. Your chest swells with something warm. Pride.

Without thinking, you grab the front of his jacket, pulling him in. Minho barely has time to react before you press your lips to his, the kiss stealing the last of the space between you.

For a second, he’s stunned—but then he melts into it, kissing you back. When you pull away, you look into his eyes and whisper with all of your heart, “Thank you.”

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something deeper, something unspoken. He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you as if trying to decipher whether you really mean it. And then, he smiles.

-

Minho feels lighter than he has in a long time as he steps out of the elevator, your hand still warm in his. He glances at you, and that same sweet smile lingers on your lips. It makes his fingers tighten around yours instinctively, an urge blooming in his chest—he wants to kiss that smile, claim it, keep it for himself forever. But then, you stop.

Minho halts beside you, following your gaze, and that light feeling instantly dissipates the moment he sees him. Chris.

Your hand slips from his grasp so quickly it almost stings. You step forward, greeting Chris with the same warmth you always have, and Minho clenches his jaw when Chris smiles back at you, his voice gentle as he notes, "You're home quite late."

Minho rolls his eyes. Why does he care what time you get home?

He doesn’t let the moment stretch, stepping into the interaction with a sneer. “You’re obviously not here to see me.”

To Minho’s surprise, Chris doesn’t immediately brush him off. Instead, he looks at him directly and says, “Actually, I am here to see you.”

Minho glances at you, confused, but you only nod, taking this as your cue to leave. You excuse yourself, voice softer now, telling them both goodnight before retreating into your apartment.

Minho watches the door close behind you before unlocking his own and pushing it open. “Well?” he says, keeping it ajar for Chris.

Chris steps inside, following Minho into the dining room. Minho gestures for him to sit before heading to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses. When he returns, Chris is already watching him, his expression unreadable.

“I heard everything from Sara,” Chris begins, voice steady. “Thank you.”

Minho sets a glass in front of him, pouring the wine smoothly. He doesn’t sit down just yet. “I don’t think that’s something for you to be thankful for.”

Chris swirls his glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “Whether you and Sara were in love or not, she’s someone important to me and is a good friend.”

Minho finally takes his seat, pouring himself a drink. “I didn’t do it to get thanks from you,” he mutters. “But how did you and Sara even become friends?”

Chris smiles faintly. “Thanks to you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris leans back, fingers resting on his glass. “She told me that if you ever came back, she wouldn’t be able to love anyone else. That she still had feelings for you.”

Minho exhales sharply, gripping the stem of his glass.

Chris doesn’t give him time to dwell on it. “Now that she’s hit rock bottom, will you help her get back up?”

Minho’s eyes narrow. “How about you? I thought you were her friend.”

Chris shrugs, a hint of coyness in his expression. “You’d probably be more of a help to her than I would.”

Minho scoffs. “She should get back up on her own from now on.”

For a moment, silence lingers between them, only the faint sound of Chris tapping his fingers against his glass filling the air. But Minho has his own questions—one he’s been meaning to ask for a while.

He takes a sip of his wine before speaking. “I don’t get it.” His voice is casual, but his gaze is sharp. “Why didn’t you tell your feelings for her before I came? Why did you keep it a secret for three years?”

Chris looks caught off guard for a split second, probably not expecting that Minho would ask about you.

Minho smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a step behind me,” he taunts. “It’s too late.”

Chris only grins, and something about his calmness is inexplicably annoying. “I’m not a step behind you,” he says smoothly. “No one knows until the goal gets in.”

Minho tilts his head, lifting his glass in the air as he muses, “If Sara is your friend, then what does that make her?” His eyes narrow slightly. “What is she to you?”

Chris doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t waver. “She’s my chef,” he says, voice steady. “A chef that I love.”

Minho bursts into laughter, the sheer audacity of it catching him off guard. He’s not sure if he should admire Chris for his boldness or pity him for his foolishness.

But as his laughter dies down, Chris’s expression doesn’t change. He remains calm, unwavering, as if he’s already decided—no matter what Minho says, no matter what happens, he’s not backing down. And that’s when it hits Minho.

Chris isn't just saying this to provoke him. He means it.

Minho grips his glass a little tighter. The realization settles uncomfortably in his chest—Chris isn’t planning to stop.

For the first time tonight, Minho feels something unexpected creep in. He should be worried.

-

You're about to step into your room when Sara’s door creaks open. She stands in the hallway, looking at you with an unreadable expression before casually asking how you’ve been—when it should be you asking her that question.

The two of you end up sitting in the living room, cups of tea in hand. Sara lets out a small, content sigh before she speaks. “It’s only been a couple of days, but this place feels so unfamiliar.”

You smile and tell her that everything is the same.

Sara returns the smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The place is the same,” she murmurs, “but maybe it’s because I came back a different person.”

She sets her cup down on the table, then looks at you directly. “Are you disappointed in me?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you tell her the truth. “I was worried about you.”

Something in Sara’s expression shifts, as if she wasn’t expecting that response.

“I admire you,” you continue earnestly. “I knew who you were and looked up to you long before you moved in. That’s why it felt like we’d been friends for years.”

Sara blinks in surprise, and then, to your relief, she looks happy—elated, even.

You go on. “All the female chefs dream of becoming like you. Even back in culinary school, we all did.” You lean in slightly, studying her face. “You’re going to shake this off and get back on your feet again, right? Like you always do?”

Sara hesitates. “I don’t know…” she admits. “Would I be able to do that?”

You shake your head immediately, refusing to accept that. “What do you mean you don't know. You’re Chef Choi Sara.”

Sara lets out a small laugh at that, but there’s something thoughtful in her gaze. Then, her expression turns serious. “I should’ve come forward and admitted my mistakes first. But I think… I changed the order around for my own convenience.” She sighs. “I guess I thought people would forgive me and understand my wrongdoing if I made a fresh start.”

She looks at you again, hesitation flickering across her face before she says, “Minho couldn’t come to you or the cooks because he was helping me.”

Your lips part slightly, surprised.

“He came to speak to the reporter I was with,” Sara explains. Then, as if recalling the moment in her mind, she smiles to herself. “I knew right then that Minho wasn’t the same Minho I used to know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

Sara looks at you, then smiles. “Minho is an even more wonderful man now. Because of you.”

Your face warms at her words. You don’t know how to respond, but before you can even try, Sara sighs and leans back. “You’re too strong of an opponent for me,” she says lightly. “So I’m going to drop out of the competition now.”

Flustered, an awkward laugh escapes you.

Sara watches you with amusement before her gaze softens. “I’m going to start over from the beginning.” Then, turning to you, she asks, “Will you help me?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, Chef.”

Sara frowns at that. “Don’t call me ‘Chef.’ I’m not qualified for that title anymore.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “That’s not true, Chef.”

Sara chuckles, a real, warm laugh this time. The weight of the past days lingers, but for the first time in a while, the night doesn’t feel cold.

-

Minho is startled to see you already waiting outside his apartment door. You’re grinning, your eyes bright as you greet him with a sweet, “Good morning, Chef.”

He suppresses a smile and hoists the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder before walking past you toward the elevator. You follow closely behind, your steps light and eager.

As the two of you wait for the elevator, you turn to him. “What did you and Chris talk about last night?”

Minho doesn’t answer. Instead, he glances at you and asks, “How’s Sara?”

“She’s sleeping,” you reply, then add, “She must be really tired.”

Minho nods. “Good.”

The elevator chimes, and both of you step inside. As it descends, you turn to him again, curiosity evident in your voice. “So? What did you two talk about?”

Minho feigns innocence. “Who?”

You roll your eyes. “The two men who growl at each other every time they meet. What could you possibly have to say to each other?”

Minho glances at you, tilting his head. “What did you girls talk about?”

With a teasing smile, you answer, “We talked about you.”

Minho smirks. “We talked about you.”

You narrow your eyes and search his face, trying to get him to look at you. “What exactly did you talk about?”

Minho shrugs. “I don’t know.”

The elevator doors slide open, and before you can press further, he steps out, leaving you to follow.

On the car ride to work, Minho’s phone rings. He glances at the screen and sees Sous-chef Seojun calling. You see it too.

He picks up, skipping the formalities as usual. “What is it?”

There’s a pause on the other end before Seojun hesitantly mutters, “Chef…”

Minho cuts in before he can finish. “Yes, I’m your manager chef for the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

You swat his arm and mutter under your breath, “Be gentle.”

Minho side-eyes you but keeps listening as Seojun stammers, “Are you… serious?”

“Yes.”

“But why—”

Minho’s tone turns teasing. “What? You don’t want me?”

“N-No! That’s not what I meant!” Seojun quickly corrects himself.

“Then?” Minho presses. “You do want me to be your manager chef?”

There’s a brief pause before Seojun confirms, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho smirks. “We’re going to start right away.”

This time, he hears the entrée line shouting in unison through the phone, their enthusiasm palpable. Minho leans back in his seat, enjoying the moment before casually warning, “Brace yourselves.”

“Yes, Chef!” they chorus back.

And then, just because he can, he adds menacingly, “You’re all dead meat now.” He hangs up, satisfied—only to yelp in pain when you hit his arm.

“Do you really have to say that?” you scold, glaring at him.

Minho rubs his arm dramatically. “It’s called motivation.”

You shake your head, but a second later, both of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the car as the morning sun casts golden light over the city streets.

-

The moment Minho steps into the restaurant, he heads straight for the kitchen. He expects chaos, hesitation—maybe even defiance. But to his surprise, the entrée line is already working on the meat exactly as he instructed.

He watches them in silence, moving through their stations one by one. His sharp eyes scan each movement, each technique.

When he reaches Hyunwoo’s station, he stops. “You’re not wrapping it properly,” Minho points out, his voice calm but firm. “The juice will seep inward.”

“Yes, Chef.” Hyunwoo doesn’t argue like he usually does. Instead, he immediately corrects his mistake, adjusting the wrap with careful precision.

Minho observes him for a moment, realizing something. The way he approaches the problem changes everything. He’s spent years pushing, demanding, forcing results—but he didn’t know there was an easier, better way until now. A small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

Turning away, he strides back to the chef’s table and leans against it. “Taesoo,” he calls out.

Taesoo looks up from his station. “Yes, Chef?”

“Gather everyone in my office before lunch service.”

“Yes, Chef,” Taesoo enthusiastically answers.

Minho watches them for a moment longer before heading toward his office, feeling something settle in his chest—something that feels a lot like pride.

Once everyone is crammed into his office, Minho wastes no time. He leans against his desk, arms crossed, and gets straight to the point.

"Farfalle has been invited to participate in the New Chef Culinary Challenge," he announces. "If we win first place, we'll be given the title of Best Italian Restaurant—and the winning chefs will get the opportunity to study in Italy."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the room, excitement mixing with uncertainty. Minho lets it settle for a beat before he continues.

He turns his gaze to the entrée line, calling their names one by one. “Sous-chef, Park Hyunwoo and Choi Seungwan have been chosen to represent Farfalle in the competition.”

Felix, standing next to you, looks utterly bewildered. He blinks rapidly, his confusion clear. But Minho isn’t done.

“In addition to that, I’ll be their manager chef.”

Felix’s head snaps toward him, mouth slightly open. Minho ignores him.

“We’ll be represented in the contest by our locally trained chefs, but all of us will be preparing for this together,” he states. His tone leaves no room for argument. “I want everyone to stay after hours every day to prepare and practice.”

Felix points at himself, then at you. “Wait—does that include us?”

“Yes,” Minho confirms without looking at him. “Which also means everyone will have to partner up.”

Felix looks even more surprised. “Partner up as in—”

Minho hisses through his teeth, cutting him off. Felix immediately quiets down, mumbling an apology.

Minho exhales sharply. “You two already have three years of experience in Italy. You’ll share your skills with your partners, step by step, course by course. Got it?”

A chorus of groans rises from the entrée line, but only Seojun has the nerve to voice his complaints. “Chef, we don’t have time for this, and we don’t even get along. Are you doing this to us on purpose?”

Minho’s expression remains blank. “Yes.”

Seojun gapes at him then turns to Hyunwoo and Seungwan but they're just as bewildered.

“And to make it worse, I’m pairing you with the person you hate the most,” Minho adds casually.

The room erupts in protests. Minho tunes them out. Taesoo raises his hand and Minho gestures for him to speak.

“What about me, Chef?” Taesoo asks.

“You just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Minho answers. “You don’t need to worry about the contest.”

“Yes, Chef,” Taesoo replies immediately.

Minho gives them all a sharp look before concluding, “That’s it. Get back to work.”

A collective, reluctant “Yes, Chef” murmurs through the room as everyone drags themselves toward the door.

Minho notices Felix hesitating, clearly about to protest, but before he can open his mouth, you grab his arm and pull him along, laughing. “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

Felix groans dramatically, but Minho catches the small, amused smile he’s trying to hide.

-

After dinner service ends, everyone takes a one-hour break, but once the clock runs out, they gather back in the kitchen, ready for after-hours practice. Minho walks in, eyes sweeping over the group, noting their varying levels of exhaustion and determination. Good. They’ll need both.

He steps up to his chef’s table, resting his hands on the edge as he speaks. “There’s only one ingredient we can predict with some certainty,” he begins. “Beef. But we don’t know which cut it’ll be.” His eyes scan the room. “Could be tenderloin, could be sirloin—but one thing’s for sure: the main dish is beef.”

A few nods. No one dares to interrupt as Minho continues. “The hors d’oeuvre, soup, pasta—every course has to complement the main. Got it?”

“Yes, Chef,” they all respond in unison.

“For tonight’s practice, we’re working with tenderloin you guys have prepared. Each of you will come up with a full-course meal to go with it.”

Another unified, firmer, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho wastes no time assigning partners. “Felix, you’re with Seungwan. Hyunwoo, you’re with her.” He jerks his chin in your direction before turning to his own station. “I’ll partner with Sous-chef.”

With that, practice begins. Minho heads to Seojun’s station first. “Cook the meat rare, medium rare, medium, medium-well, and well-done. I want you to cook all five.”

“Yes, Chef,” Seojun answers without hesitation.

Minho lingers, watching as Seojun methodically seasons each cut with salt and pepper. There’s a rhythm to his movements, precise but almost too careful.

Minho studies him for a moment before casually asking, “Sous-chef, have you always been this brusque?”

Seojun glances at him and—unexpectedly—smiles. He doesn’t answer.

Minho slyly smiles and moves on. At Felix and Seungwan’s station, Felix is deep in conversation with himself. “We could do a tomato-based starter. Or maybe something lighter—citrus?”

Seungwan nods. “Sounds good.”

Felix hums. “Or we could go with mushrooms. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.”

Minho sighs. He strides up behind Seungwan and gives him a light smack on the back of the head. “Stop saying sounds good to everything,” he scolds. “Think before you answer.”

Seungwan swallows and nods quickly. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho turns to Felix. “And you—stop giving him multiple-choice. Make him answer your question.”

Felix straightens, nodding. “Yes, Chef.”

Satisfied, Minho moves on to your station, just as you return from the pantry with tagliatelle. He barely makes it two steps before you whip around and snap at Hyunwoo.

“Why did you put in the spaghetti?” you ask with your eyes widened.

Hyunwoo doesn’t even look up as he nonchalantly says, “Why does it matter?”

You exhale sharply, incredulous. “Because it’s a cream sauce pasta.”

Minho steps in before you bore a hole on Hyunwoo’s head with your laser glare. “Spaghetti is good with olive oil sauces,” he explains, crossing his arms. “For cream sauces or bolognese, use wide pasta—like tagliatelle.”

Hyunwoo nods, but you suddenly point at the pan and scolds, “At least, shake the pan. The pasta’s getting mushy.”

Hyunwoo startles and hurriedly shakes the frying pan to salvage it.

Minho exhales through his nose and walks back to his chef’s table, observing the kitchen as everyone continues working. It’s still rough. Not perfect. But at least it’s a start.

-

Minho lingers in the kitchen, arms crossed as he leans against the chef’s table, watching you and Taesoo clean up after practice. The kitchen is quieter now, save for the sound of running water and the occasional clang of metal against metal. It’s almost peaceful. Almost.

Then, the peace is disrupted as Chris walks into the kitchen.

Minho lifts a brow but doesn’t straighten up. “What brings you here?”

At the sound of Chris’s arrival, you and Taesoo pause mid-task, glancing over in curiosity.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls out a credit card, placing it on the chef’s table with a small but deliberate motion. “This is for the contest preparations,” he announces. “I don’t know how else to help, but I want to do something. And I figured this way, I can actively support both the harmony and quality of this kitchen—especially for the competition.”

Minho picks up the card, turning it between his fingers before giving Chris a flat look. “So, this is your way of pressuring us to take first place?”

Chris only smiles, coy and confident. “Weren’t you going to take first place anyway?”

Next to you, Taesoo grins, clasping his hands together in exaggerated admiration. “Wow, that was so cool. Giving Chef the credit card like that,” he gushes.

You lean forward on the counter, propping your chin on your hand. “Right? That's our manager.”

Minho glares at you. You, of course, are too busy swooning over Chris and his stupid credit card to care. Annoyed, Minho turns back to Chris. “If you were just going to give me this, you could’ve done it privately. Why make a big deal out of it?”

Before Chris can respond, Taesoo cuts in. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You let out a soft sigh. “It is a big deal.”

Minho hisses at both of you, but you and Taesoo only grin in response.

Chris, ever composed, simply adds, “Since I did make a big fuss, I’ll say this too—let's not overwork everyone. I don’t want the contest interfering with regular kitchen duties.”

Minho nods and shifts his gaze to Taesoo. “As a matter of fact, Taesoo, you can go home now. From now on, just focus on your regular duties.”

Taesoo brightens immediately. “Seriously? Thanks, Chef!”

Minho turns back to Chris, exhaling through his nose. “How about you go home too, Mister Manager? Wouldn’t want this interfering with your regular duties.”

Chris slyly smiles, giving everyone a casual, “Goodnight,” before leaving the kitchen with Taesoo in tow.

Now, it’s just you and Minho in the kitchen. He looks down at the credit card, rolling it between his fingers again before glancing at you. “If we don’t win first place, Chris might tell me to reimburse him for all this.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “We’ll win first place.”

Minho raises a brow and leans in slightly. “How do you know?”

You playfully bump your shoulder against his, a small, easy gesture. “Because you’re managing the team.”

Minho hates how easily you can make him smile—but that’s exactly why he loves you. You stay when everyone else can’t stand him for long.

-

It’s early in the morning, and the restaurant is still empty. The silence stretches through the halls, interrupted only by the soft hum of a computer. As expected, Chris is already in his office, his brows slightly furrowed as he reads something on the screen.

You pop your head through the door, a bright smile tugging at your lips. “Good morning.”

The moment he looks up and sees you, his face lights up—like it always does. “Hey,” he greets, his voice warm. “Come in.”

You shake your head. “Actually, I want you come with me?”

Chris blinks, confused, but doesn’t hesitate to push his chair back and stand. As you lead him toward the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, eyeing you curiously. “You’ve been working late nights,” he comments. “Aren’t you tired?”

You glance at him and reply softly, “It’s not like I’m the only one tired. Everyone, including the chef, is working hard.”

When you arrive in the kitchen, you turn to him with a small grin before stepping aside to reveal a plate of mini spinach lasagna—the dish you know is his favorite.

Chris stares at it, momentarily stunned, before his lips stretch into an elated smile. “Wait—is this what I think it is?”

You nod, confirming, “Your favorite spinach lasagna.”

Grabbing a fork and a napkin, you place them beside the plate and gesture toward it. “Go ahead, have some.”

Chris narrows his eyes at you playfully. “What’s the occasion?”

You shrug, keeping your voice light. “No occasion. Just felt like making it.” You don’t tell him the real reason—that you made it as a quiet thank-you for everything he’s done.

Chris eyes you again like he doesn’t quite believe you, as if he’s about to tease you for it, but instead, he mutters a quiet, “Thank you,” before digging in.

You watch as he eats, a contented smile plastered on his face. The sight of him enjoying the food makes something warm settle in your chest. But as he nears the last few bites, curiosity tugs at you, and you finally break the silence.

“What did you and Minho talk about last time?”

Chris glances at you mid-chew so you continue. “At his place, the other night,” you clarify. “Chef said you guys talked about me. Is that true?”

Chris spears the last piece of lasagna with his fork, shoving it into his mouth as a sly smile curves his lips. He chews slowly, deliberately dragging out the suspense. Then, finally, he answers. “It’s true. We talked about you.”

You tilt your head. “What did you say?”

Chris dabs his mouth with the napkin, casual as ever. Then, in that same effortless way, he says, “I told him that I love you.”

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “Yeah, okay,” you chuckle, shaking your head, assuming he’s joking.

But then Chris meets your gaze—steady, unwavering. “I’m serious,” he says.

The smile slips from your face but he holds your stare, his voice gentle yet firm as he repeats, “I love you.” A beat passes before he continues, “I’ve always been in love with you. Since the moment I met you.”

Your breath catches as Chris exhales, almost like he’s relieved to finally say it aloud. “That’s why I offered you the job—because I wanted you close to me.”

You knew he liked you. But this—to say that he loves you—it’s something you never even dared to consider. And now, your heart aches in your chest because you know the answer he wants from you isn’t one you can give.

Chris watches you, his expression unreadable. When you fail to find the right words, he simply smiles again, softer this time. “Thanks for the food,” he says before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

You stand frozen, your mind spinning as a lump forms in your throat. The sadness settling inside you isn’t just sadness—it feels more like guilt. Guilt that you can’t return his feelings.

Before you can think twice, your feet move on their own, and you break into a run. “Chris!”

He stops in the hallway, his back still to you. Slowly, he turns, his eyes meeting yours. You search his face, desperate to say something, anything that will make this feel less heavy.

But in the end, all that comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

Chris smiles. Not in disappointment, not in pain—just a simple, understanding smile. He nods.

Your own lips curve into a faint, wobbly smile, even as tears prick at your eyes. This time, you say what you can say. “Thank you.”

Chris holds your gaze a moment longer before murmuring, “Just stay close to me. That’s enough for me.”

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat, and as you stare into his eyes, you let them say all the things you don’t have the words for.

-

Minho steps into the restaurant, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. His eyes scan the room instinctively, pausing when he spots Chris sitting alone at the coffee station. With a quiet sigh, Minho makes his way over, grabbing the stool beside him without a word. He reaches for the pot, pouring himself a cup, the rich aroma curling in the air between them. Neither of them speaks at first. The silence lingers, comfortable in a way that only comes with familiarity.

Then, Chris calls him. “Chef.”

Minho barely glances at him. “What?” His tone is indifferent, automatic.

Chris sets his cup down, fingers loosely curled around it. “She told me that I’m not for her.”

Minho expected this. He knew it was coming. And yet, hearing it out loud still catches him off guard. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue before he says, “Let’s have a drink later.”

It’s not a suggestion, more of a casual invitation, the kind that doesn’t need much thought.

But to his surprise, Chris shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

Chris doesn’t elaborate. He just sits there, sipping his coffee like he hasn’t just turned Minho down flat.

Minho scoffs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. Chris is annoying but now that he’s used to it, Minho thinks he is not that bad.

-

The clock creeps past midnight, but the kitchen is still alive, filled with the rhythmic clatter of knives against cutting boards, the sizzle of pans, and the quiet murmur of focused conversation. Minho moves through the space, eyes sharp, hands tucked into the pockets of his apron as he surveys the progress of the night’s practice. He stops first at Seojun’s station, dipping a spoon into the sauce meant to accompany the steak. The rich aroma fills his senses as he tastes it. The balance is almost there, but—

“Add more brandy,” Minho says, licking the remnants off his lips. “The meat’s already tender, so I’m not sure about all this sweetness.”

Seojun hums in thought, nodding. “I agree. I’ll fix it, Chef.”

Minho moves on, his steps light but deliberate as he approaches Seungwan’s station. Felix is there, nodding approvingly as he tastes the cauliflower soup. “The sweetness is perfect,” Felix comments. “And the aroma’s nice.”

Minho watches for a moment, the satisfaction settling in his chest before he continues his rounds. At your station, he stops in front of the stove, lifting the pan of pasta he’s been working on and holding it out to you. “Here. Try it.”

You grab a fork, testing the pasta first before twirling a portion coated in sauce and popping it into your mouth. Minho watches as Hyunwoo waits, anticipation written all over his face. Then, your lips curve into a grin. “It’s a success.”

Hyunwoo grins back, holding up a fist. You bump it without hesitation.

Minho exhales through his nose, amusement flickering in his chest, before turning back to his chef’s table. He surveys the kitchen one last time, then announces, “Let’s finish up here. Clean up and get some rest. We have an important day tomorrow.”

The kitchen shifts—knives are set down, stations wiped clean. But before anyone disperses, there’s a quiet moment of camaraderie. Pats on the back, murmurs of “Good luck,” and tired but proud smiles exchanged between teammates.

Minho watches all of it. No matter what happens tomorrow, this—his kitchen—has done well. And he’s proud.

-

Minho doesn’t have to look to know that you’re asleep in the passenger seat. Your soft, steady breathing fills the quiet space, the faint rise and fall of your shoulders confirming just how exhausted you are. You don’t even stir when he shifts the gear into park.

He exhales, leaning back against his seat for a moment before deciding not to wake you. Instead, he unclips his own seatbelt, steps out into the night air, and rounds the car to your side. When he opens the door, the dim streetlights cast gentle shadows over your sleeping face.

Minho watches you for a beat longer than he should. There’s something about seeing you like this—unguarded, peaceful—that makes his chest feel tight in a way he can’t explain. The corner of his lips tugs upward as he reaches out, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face with careful fingers.

Then, he leans in, unbuckling your seatbelt with the same tenderness. He takes your bag first, slinging it over his shoulder, before positioning himself to carry you on his back. With practiced ease, he lifts you, adjusting his grip as he straightens up. The car door swings shut with a quiet thud behind him.

You stir, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you slowly wake. Your voice is groggy when you mumble, “You can put me down now. I can walk.”

Minho scoffs and tightens his hold on your legs. “Just stay still.”

You obey, resting your head against the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. He starts walking, the cool night air contrasting the warmth of your body pressed against his back.

After a moment, he asks, “Do you know why it’s tough for women to become chefs?”

You hum in question, still half-asleep. “Why?”

Minho shifts your weight slightly before answering, “Because women aren’t stupid.”

There’s a pause before he continues, his voice softer now. “Only stupid people would dig for a well in a dry desert. And as a chef, it feels like you’re endlessly digging, never knowing if you’ll find water.” He slows his steps, turning his head slightly toward you. “You’re beautiful to me because you’re stupidly stubborn.”

You blink sleepily at him, but he doesn’t stop. “You turned down a rich guy. You take whatever impossible task I throw at you just so I can hold my head up as a chef. You helped me be a good chef.” Minho smiles to himself before adding, “I’m so grateful for you… because you’re stupidly stubborn.”

You look at him then, a quiet smile forming on your lips. Your eyes hold something deep—something that makes Minho’s pulse stutter for a second. He holds the gaze, but then you move first, leaning in just slightly—just enough for him to meet you halfway.

His lips capture yours in a slow, tender kiss. It lingers, warm and unspoken in its meaning, a silent gratitude that words could never quite hold.

When he pulls away, he finds you smiling at him. You place another soft peck on his lips before resting your head against his neck again, sighing in contentment.

Minho exhales, warmth overflowing in his chest. Without another word, he tightens his grip on you and keeps walking, the weight of you on his back feeling a little lighter than before.

-

The night is quiet, save for the faint rustling of the sheets and the soft cadence of your breaths. The world outside feels distant, insignificant, as if nothing exists beyond this room, beyond the warmth of Minho’s skin against yours.

He takes a moment to worship you, how your body is a vision against the white sheets, so perfect, so divine but at the same time, he feels the temptation to ruin you.

Minho aligns his cock with your entrance, he pushes just enough before withdraw it and then pushes it back inside, this time not stopping until he fully sheathed inside you.

His face hovers only a few inches above you as he murmurs, “How do you always feels so good?”

He thrusts slowly, deliberately, as though memorizing the way your body responds to him—the way your breath hitches when his fingers trace the curve of your spine, the way your lips part when he leans down to kiss you, deep and unhurried. His hands explore you with reverence, as if he’s searching for something he never realized he was missing until you.

Minho has never been like this before. Never taken his time like this, never felt the urge to savor each moment as if it’s something fleeting. But with you, it’s different. You make him want to stay in this moment, to drown in it, to lose himself in the warmth of your body and the way you whisper his name like it means something more.

“Minho...”

His forehead presses against yours as he moves, his breath warm against your lips. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he’s trying to etch this feeling into his bones.

He’s had lovers before, but this—this is something else. This is intimacy in its purest form, a connection that seeps into him, filling the hollow spaces he didn’t even know existed.

When he looks into your eyes, half-lidded and full of something he’s almost afraid to name, Minho knows.

He’s never been this into someone before. And he doesn’t think he ever will be again.

The night wraps around you both, quiet and intimate, the world beyond these walls forgotten. The only thing that exists is the warmth of Minho’s body against yours, the slow rhythm of your breaths mingling in the still air. His movements are unhurried, each touch deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him.

Then you look at him, eyes hazy, searching.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

Minho stills. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. He could say it—could tell you that you make him feel things he never thought he would, that this is different from anything he’s ever known. But the words don’t come, not yet. He isn’t ready.

Instead, he answers with a kiss. Slow, deep, reverent. His lips move against yours as if trying to tell you everything he can’t say. His hands trace over your skin with purpose, lingering, savoring. He holds you close, pressing his forehead to yours as he stills completely, just staying like that, connected, feeling every bit of you against him.

Time stretches, the moment suspended in something weightless, something sacred.

Then, with a breathless murmur, he finally thrusts into you again, pouring every unspoken word into the way he touches you, into the way he loves you.

-

The competition hall buzzes with tension, the air thick with the quiet hum of anticipation. Minho surveys the crowded space, noting the presence of teams from some of the city’s most renowned restaurants.

The competition is stiff, but he isn’t here to lose. He glances at the trio seated next to him. Seojun, as always, maintains a calm exterior, but Minho knows him well enough to see the flicker of nerves behind his eyes. Hyunwoo and Seungwan, on the other hand, don’t bother masking their anxiety—it’s written all over their faces.

Beyond them, Minho catches sight of the small group of supporters from Farfalle. You’re nestled between Felix and Taesoo, talking quietly. Minji and Yura sit nearby, also here to cheer the team on.

The announcement comes: it’s time to unveil the secret ingredients.

Minho steps forward, his pulse steady as he rounds the table. His hands are sure as he lifts the lid off the box, revealing the ingredients inside. He hears the sharp intake of breath beside him as Seojun spots the meat—tenderloin. Good.

Minho digs further and pulls out a pack of fresh squid. The second Hyunwoo sees it, he sighs in frustration. "Squid! But this is the cheap kind," he mutters under his breath.

Minho doesn’t even look up as he replies, “It’s a contest. They want us to prove we can turn cheap ingredients into something worth serving.” His gaze flickers to the panel of judges, landing briefly on Chef Rossi. He has a feeling the challenge stems from him.

Turning back to his team, Minho straightens. “The judges are testing us,” he says, voice firm. “But this is where we show them our skills.”

He grabs the board and pen, holding them up for emphasis. “Listen, once we submit our course menu, we can’t change it. So think carefully. Look at the ingredients. What dishes work?”

He gives them a moment to think before turning to Seojun first. “Main course?”

“Tenderloin steak,” Seojun answers without hesitation.

Minho nods, writing it down before shifting his attention to Seungwan. “Hors d’oeuvre?”

Seungwan hesitates, rifling through the ingredients, his expression frustrated as he picks up the squid. “What am I supposed to make with this?” he sighs.

Minho clicks his tongue. “Don’t start that.” He levels Seungwan with a look. “You’re the most optimistic person in this damn kitchen. You always find the best in any dish. Do the same here. What’s the positive in these ingredients?”

Seungwan’s brows furrow. He looks back at the squid, fingers tapping against the packaging. A few seconds later, his expression shifts—realization dawning. “Squid carpaccio,” he says. “There’s a unique taste to squid when it’s fresh. I can work with that.”

Minho smirks. “Are you confident with it?”

Seungwan meets his eyes. “Yes, Chef.”

The four of them continue finalizing the menu, the tension in the air shifting into focus and determination. Once everything is set, Minho hands their submission to the panel, his mind already calculating the next steps.

They have little time before heading into the kitchen. He turns back to his team, gaze sharp as he looks at each of them.

“This is it,” he says. “Soon, there won’t be any chef to answer to. No one yelling at you to do it over. You’re on your own.” His voice lowers slightly, just enough to make them listen. “I hope this is the last time I’ll have to curse you out. Go out there and take first place. Got it?”

The three of them answer immediately. “Yes, Chef!”

Minho exhales. “From here on, it’s all up to you guys. I’ve done what I can to help.”

Another firm, unwavering reply: “Yes, Chef!”

Minho glances at each of them before nodding. “Come on, let’s do this properly.”

He extends his hand, and they all gather in, hands stacked together in a show of unity. He looks at them one last time before murmuring, “Good luck.”

With that, he watches them leave for the competition kitchen, a rare smile tugging at his lips. No matter what happens next, he’s proud.

-

The tension in the competition hall is almost suffocating. Minho watches as the chefs return with their finished dishes, the air thick with anticipation. From the sidelines, he sits with you beside him, your warmth grounding him amidst the pressure.

“The final round of the New Chef Culinary Challenge is about to begin.”

The words echo across the hall, and Minho exhales sharply. It’s time. He feels your fingers tighten around his hand, a reassuring squeeze before you lean in, your breath warm against his ear. "Posso farcela."

Minho glances at you, smirking at your whispered encouragement. Without another word, he stands and strides toward the table marked with Farfalle’s name.

Seojun, Seungwan, and Hyunwoo are already there, standing stiffly in a line. Minho claps each of them on the shoulder, his touch firm, steady. “Good work.” It’s all he says, but the weight behind it is clear.

The judges begin making their rounds, moving from table to table with slow, deliberate steps. Each contestant watches with bated breath as they meticulously sample every dish, jotting down scores with unreadable expressions.

Minho stands still, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on one judge in particular—Chef Rossi. The old man tastes each dish in front of him with careful consideration, his gaze revealing nothing. Minho has always respected his palate; in a room full of critics, his opinion is the only one that truly matters.

But when Chef Rossi finally sets down his fork, his expression remains cryptic—an almost imperceptible flicker of something in his eyes before he turns away, leaving Minho grasping at straws.

A slow, simmering frustration builds in Minho’s chest. What the hell was that? Approval? Disappointment? Amusement?

As soon as the judges move to the next table, Minho wastes no time. He grabs a fork, slicing into the tenderloin and lifting it to his mouth. The moment the flavor bursts onto his tongue, his mind is made up.

The judges would have to be idiots not to give them first place.

Minutes stretch into eternity as the judges tally their scores. The murmuring in the hall grows restless. Beside him, his team is standing stiff, their confidence wavering in the face of the unknown.

Finally, the host steps forward, microphone in hand. The murmurs die instantly. “It is now time to announce the winners of the New Chef Culinary Challenge.”

Minho’s fingers curl slightly against the table. He’s not the only one holding his breath. A pause. A beat too long.

“We will now announce the first place winner.”

Minho doesn’t blink. He already knows. But then—

A flicker of something in the host’s expression. A hesitation. A subtle shift in the air.

Minho’s heart kicks up—just slightly.

“The winner of the 8th New Chef Culinary Challenge is...”

-

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[khaire-traveler]

The silliest and most terrifying thing happened to me while I was doing my final ritual for Anthesteria (the one where you ask The Dead to leave and give thanks to Hermes Psychopompos). It was as follows:

It was snowing outside. When you step out there, you can hear nothing but the sound of the wind blowing. It was an ominous sound, but there was some unnerving peace to it.

I stepped outside and walked to my ritual spot just a few feet from my house. As I gave my first offering, I realized I forgot the second offering inside. I stopped for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth it to run inside and grab it, and although some part of me said I could continue without it, I decided to get it. I found a good place to pause in my speaking and ran inside without looking behind me (key thing here is to not look behind you, as to not invite any spirits to follow).

I snatched a mug from my cupboard and filled it with fresh water then headed back outside, accidentally spilling some on myself, naturally. Right as I'm about to begin again, I hear a man's voice calling out to me from a short distance away. I didn't recognize the voice and debated whether or not I should look where it was coming from, considering I was in the process of trying to ask the spirits of Anthesteria to leave. I pause in silence for a moment, then hear the voice again, actually able to make out the words this time.

"Look over here."

Freezing in place, I looked just ahead of me and saw no one. I scanned the area where I heard the voice (it was a very open area, so I would've easily seen someone), even looking in my neighbor's yard, but not a soul seemed to be around. In a split second decision, my brain felt that the wisest course of action was to turn around, yelling quite literally "AAAAHHHHHH!!!!", and not look behind me out of respect for the ritual. I slammed my door behind me and calmed down before deciding to have someone watch the door (for my safety), grab some more water, and head back outside.

I was goddamn determined to finish this ritual.

I go out there, do what I need to do, and don't hear the man again. As I throw some pomegranate seeds over my shoulder and command the spirits to leave, a nearby bush started shaking out snow suddenly, but I continued speaking and went inside, closing the door behind me and not looking back.

So yeah, it was probably just my neighbor, and the bush was probably a squirrel or bird hopping around (there are lots of those near here), but that shit scared the fuck out of me, especially since I had listened to a ton of horror stories last night (with Hermes, mind you, so I have my suspicions that I was low-key being pranked). The fact that my actual scream of fear was "AH" is also insanely hilarious to me; I hope the spirits and Hermes got a kick out of that lmfao. XD

[jsooly]

death in the family (4) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, with a lot of time on your hands, you look into the RDA hoping to find spider.

a meatier chapter to make up for the break i took <3

(1) / . . . / (7) / (8*) / (9* - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

living at the human base was an adjustment. a week in and you still hadn't completely come to terms with it. for one, you had a lot more time on your hands without not-so-little ones to supervise.

you tried to busy yourself with menial tasks. calibrating balances, watching the old logs, getting upset over the old logs, reading and correcting norm's scientific studies... the base was nothing like hometree, and even the rocky expanses of high camp was homier than the metal box you found yourself in. the incessant buzz of the research equipment made it hard to not be antsy, and the fluorescent lighting above your designated bunk was a poor excuse for the gentle light of the sun.

thankfully you did get a room to yourself with all the basics. a desk, bed, mirror, and bathroom. despite being human, you had little experience with human surroundings and things, and you had no possessions to occupy the furniture they provided you. you found it bitterly funny that you had a physical reminder of everything you lost.

norm knocked on your door. "hey." he pressed his lips together in an awkward smile. "your mother left this for you."

you sat up on your bed, your brows furrowing in confusion. "when?"

"about a day before they left." norm dropped a beaded necklace into your cupped hands. "i'm sorry i didn't remember sooner, i was..."

"busy?" you finished for him, not meeting his eye as you turned the jewelry over in your palms.

"yeah."

that was also a theme you were recognizing. norm had a family of his own—mated with an olangi woman and had two kids. between that and his studies, he was often away from the base.

you held up the necklace, letting it dangle in front of you. it was very... neytiri. the garment was layered 3 times, with a multitude of beads colored blue and brown along the woven string.

"she said it was hers a while back. one she grew out of." norm explained.

"why didn't she give it to me when she was here?"

"i..." norm's head tilted, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling as he searched for an answer. "this held a weight of finality for her. she wants to hear how you like it when you see each other again."

you quirked a faint smile, removing your current piece and hooking neytiri's around your neck. even though it was designed for a 8ft tall woman, it fit perfectly against your chest. it even smelled like her.

you sighed deeply, your moment cut short when norm cleared his throat. your focus snapped to him expectantly.

"i've got to go out again. i'll probably be a few days, at most." he informed you. "you remember the rules, right?"

you nodded, smiling politely as he left you to your thoughts. you weren't exactly sure of the details of the instructions norm received from jake. for the most part, you were free to do what you wanted as long as you didn't wander too close to the RDA base.

but you made a promise to kiri, and you were never one for following orders anyway. now, more than ever.

—

"the location of jake sully." general ardmore enunciated her words.

spider was fastened against the interrogation machine, mechanical panels of green light whirring around him in a blur. behind the RDA general, a map of his brain was blown up, scientists buzzing around it like flies searching for their last meal.

"a single thought, and we'll see it." she continued monotonously, "we know you know where he is."

"i don't know! i swear!" spider screamed, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he fought a battle against his very own mind. his eyes squeezed shut, gritting his teeth to zero in on the pain.

quaritch observed the boy, letting the interrogation continue for a few seconds longer before pulling the plug. the general whipped to face him, disgruntled, but he held out a giant blue hand to calm her.

"let me try the personal approach."

"you're not his father." ardmore reminded him, her eyes cold and calculating. "i meant to discuss something i saw on your fallen soldier's body cam, by the way."

quaritch's eyes momentarily drifted to a shuddering spider, blood trailing out of his nose.

"what?" quaritch answered the general.

"you encountered another savage human, did you not?"

"yeah." quartich replied, wanting to speed up the conversation so he could make his play at spider. "do we have to do this now—"

"did you notice she didn't have a gas mask?"

the general's words made him freeze. huh. he, in fact, did not notice that.

"and she was breathing just fine." ardmore scoffed, stepping off the interrogation platform and rubbing her temples. "wonder what freak of nature cooked her up. regardless, she could be a step further in solving the problem of sustaining human life on pandora. she's a person of interest."

"i assume jake sully took her when he ran and hid." quaritch mentally rifled through his memories for any indication of your continued stay in the forest. by his understanding, you were a sully as well.

"that's your first mistake." ardmore's voice was clipped as she stormed off. "just keep an eye out. and if she did flee with the family, don't kill her."

quaritch tossed an unimpressed look at ardmore. he didn't care about the girl, but duty was duty.

"i'm gonna talk to the kid," quartich circled back to his original task. ardmore waved him off.

as if talking would work on spider—and it didn't. quaritch sat on the table next to spider, trying to appeal to his need to escape from here, the tantalizing chance of being out with the recom group. he knew the boy would scheme against them, but he figured he could handle anything the runt tried.

if anything, he was glad spider was the only connection to jake sully he had to tame in order to pursue the enemy.

"i'm not going to ask you to betray jake sully. i know you're not going to do that. you're loyal, and... i admire loyalty." quaritch's lips twitched up in a smile. "just... ride along."

spider refused to look at his pseudo-father, but he wasn't going to pass up that deal. anything to get out of there.

soon enough he was on the squad's airship. quaritch's heavy hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him down into a seat.

"you listen up," he towered over him. "there's a tracker built in that mask. we hit the ground and you take off, i'll have you back in two minutes and i'll give you an old school ass whippin'. understood?"

spider rolled his eyes at him, writhing in the mutant's iron grip.

"understood?" quaritch repeated, his glare sharp and unforgiving.

spider narrowed his eyes, "yes sir." he responded derisively.

when the recoms found a clearing in the forest, they stationed their ship and huddled up among the lush greenery.

"wherever jake sully is, we'll find him." quaritch promised, determination set in his features. "and his batshit crazy wife, too."

he earned a round of murmured chuckles from his squad.

"matter fact, every one in the sully lineage is a pain in the ass." quaritch rested his hands on his belt as he continued. "the oldest son took out zhang. the little ones bit y'all, and their human adoptee put more holes in this squad than i can count on one hand." he clicked his tongue in disappointment. "that's not good. we can't have that. which reminds me of our second objective: bring the girl in for testing."

spider frowned, his mind racing to decipher their intentions. but you should be long gone by now, so his worries subsided.

"if that girl can be just as savage as the rest of 'em, we should have no problem going full na'vi. we're already blue."

spider thought it laughable when he listened to them planning to go 'full na'vi.' he couldn't help but think that it would be easy as pie to mislead them, since they were stupid enough to entrust their learning to him.

oh yeah, there was no way these guys were catching jake sully anytime soon. not if he had any say in the matter.

—

you felt much more comfortable in the forest. sounds of your footsteps didn't echo behind you and for once, you breathed in fresh air instead of the musk of scientists parked in front of their microscope for three days straight.

well, you were mostly soundless. the beads of neytiri's necklace click clicked together every time you took a big leap. but you figured you blended in well enough to the soundboard of pandora.

crouching atop the thick branches a ways away from the RDA base, you caught sight of quaritch hanging out the side of an airship that was taking off.

you followed from a distance, remaining perched and hidden among the leaves. you craned your neck out, eyes peering down at them. you could make out the bandages over the wounds you inflicted. and—

"spider." you whispered before you could stop yourself. he was okay.

though you could hardly call being right in the palms of your enemy 'okay.' your first instinct was to leap out but you silenced the urge and pondered your next move. you knew firsthand you couldn't take them all, so you trailing behind them was all you could do until you found the right opportunity.

—

meanwhile, after a treacherous flight over a raging sea, the rest of the sullys found uturu with the na'vi of awa'atlu, a metkayina clan. no one was happy to begin with, and the rocky start with their hosts didn't help with their moods.

"don't cause trouble." jake warned them in their family huddle. "learn fast, pull your weight."

the soft cries of their youngest caught everyone's attention, all heads turning in her direction.

"i wanna go home," tuk sobbed, her usually bright eyes blurry with tears. "i miss y/n."

"aw, tuk," neytiri cooed with sympathy, her head tilting in concern.

"this is our home now." jake pulled her into his side, squeezing her comfortingly when her head knocked against his chest in defeat. "and soon enough, y/n will be able to live with us."

"what does your father always say?" neytiri supported her husband, giving her children expectant looks.

"sullys stick together." they droned unenthusiastically in unison.

"that's right," jake nodded, a sad yet hopeful smile on his face. "sullys stick together."

tsireya beckoned them outside, and they rushed into the water. that was one thing they were excited about. tuk waddled behind her older brothers', their flashy diving throwing her off guard. she whimpered softly as she glimpsed at the deep water, but after remembering she leaped off a waterfall with you, she figured she could handle a couple feet's worth of water.

she took a few steps back before catapulting herself off the walkway with an excited whoop.

she surfaced with a gasp followed by a bright laugh. "i wish y/n was here, she'd love this!"

"y/n?" aonung treaded water, approaching the group as they surfaced and breathed in deeply. "who is this y/n?"

"just our sister back—"

"shhh, tuk!" lo'ak snapped, lightly shoving her shoulder.

"what?" she whined, her face disappearing underwater momentarily. she returned above water with a glare.

"you have left behind a sister?" aonung scoffed in disbelief. "what, is she more ugly than you?"

lo'ak bared his teeth but before he could bite back, neteyam stepped in. "she's older than us, old enough to live by herself."

"she's staying with our human friends—"

"tuk!" lo'ak hissed, rearing on his youngest sister with an incredulous look. "take a hint!"

"what?" she whined again, more aggressively. "it's true!"

"they don't need to know everything!"

"ahhh," a stupid smirk wormed its way onto aonung's face, looking at tsireya and roxto for support in his interrogation. "is this sister a demon?"

"aonung." tsireya cut in sharply, her brows knitted. he ignored her, enjoying how visible lo'ak's rage was.

"i am not surprised. after all, you all are contaminated with demon's blood."

"let it go." neteyam bit out in lo'ak's ear, pushing him as best he could in the water. lo'ak, a million retorts dormant on his tongue, took his older brother's advice and tore himself out of the water, storming along the walkway back to their marui.

"wait!" tsireya called behind them helplessly. she swam closer to the walkway as neteyam helped pull tuk out of the water. "i apologize for my brother. he has no manners. please, come back out with us."

neteyam flashed her a brief, appreciative smile. "we'll be back in a few minutes. i promise."

the minute he turned his back to walk off, his smile immediately dropped and he let out a deep sigh. his work was definitely cut out for him.

—

you watched as spider taught the recoms how to tell if a fruit was poisonous or not. eventually they broke their huddle to go harvest what would be lunch, dinner, and probably breakfast.

strangely enough, a seed of eywa floated out of nowhere and found its resting place on your new necklace. wildly confused but preoccupied with spider, you shooed it away.

now or never. you told yourself, skillfully descending the tree. landing without a sound, you stalked through the bushes, hanging low to the ground.

you snuck up behind them, crouching just behind spider as he looked on with crossed arms, like a schoolteacher supervising kindergarteners during recess.

you grabbed his wrist. "spider. come on, let's go." you whispered urgently.

he tensed up, startled, resisting your grip. "y/n? why are you—"

"we can chat later. come on, they're all distracted."

"i can't."

"why?"

"tracker." he tapped his mask.

your stomach flipped. shit. how are you going to work around that? you sunk back down out of sight.

"okay. face them, act normal. don't react, and don't talk." you whispered your instructions. "i'm gonna ask you questions. show one finger for yes, two for no."

he folded his arms behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"are you okay?" you asked.

he held up a finger. yes.

"okay. do they know jake left?"

yes. his single finger remained extended.

"do they know where they are?"

he flashed two fingers. no.

"but they're still pursuing them." you asked for clarification.

yes.

"can they track them?"

yes.

"they can. with what? radio chatter?"

yes, he indicated, but made a keep going motion with his hands.

"airships?"

yes.

okay. you thought. at least you knew jake and the rest weren't about to contact the human base anytime soon, if ever.

you clutched your head. spider's tracker put a dent in your plans, but you weren't totally surprised. and idea popped into your head. your fingers curled around your own comm choker, snapping it off your neck.

checking to see if the coast was clear, you tied it around spider's wrist. thankfully, it looked like any other omaticayan bracelet.

"i just tied my comm to you." you explained. "i'll reconnect to the system with a spare back at the base. use it whenever you feel the need to or get a chance."

he raised one finger to show he understood.

"round up!" quaritch's booming voice echoed even in the open space. "let's check out the loot."

"i'll see you." you whispered, patting his arm in farewell before sneaking off to a safe distance once more. you caught spider's faint nod before leaving.

tracker in the gas mask. you pursed your lips, racing against the sunset back to base. what could you possibly do about that?

—

"lo'ak, go back out there with your siblings. your hosts are waiting." jake ordered his son firmly, watching the boy pace anxiously.

"they can insult us all they want just cuz they decide to be decent people and house us?" lo'ak sneered.

"hey." jake snapped, eyes narrowing. "none of that. go outside."

lo'ak rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he begrudgingly obeyed his father's orders.

as soon as he left, jake sunk into a seat, dropping his face into his hands. "this was the right thing to do." he whispered, but it teetered between a statement and question of confidence.

"no use second guessing yourself now." neytiri advised, stoking the fire.

a beat of silence passed between them. gentle ocean breeze whistled past their marui, filling the atmosphere with a cool touch.

"what do you think she's doing?" jake mumbled.

"sleeping, hopefully." neytiri hummed with a far-off smile.

"knowing her?" jake chuckled, shaking his head. "definitely not."

they shared soft laughter, competing for who's prediction was the most accurate.

if only they knew you were single-handedly trying to undermine the RDA's operations.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky @aureolinb @whosbibi2000

© jsooly ‘25

[woozinhos]

office sex with seungkwan.. pretty pleasee?

Notes: guys I don’t know what came over me when writing this hope you enjoy tho…

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You and Seungkwan were sitting in his office, going over some documents for your work. You were feeling particularly frisky that day and couldn't keep your eyes off him. As he read through a report, you noticed how his eyes scanned the page and how his fingers drummed against the desk. You shifted in your seat, trying to get closer to him without being too obvious.

Seungkwan looked up from the report and caught you staring at him. He smirked, knowing exactly what you were thinking. "Something on your mind, Y/N?" he asked innocently. You bit your lip and blushed, caught red-handed. "Just admiring the view," you replied, your voice slightly shaky.

Seungkwan chuckled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes raking over your body. "Is that so?" he said, his tone playful. "You know we're at work, right?" You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I can't help it," you said, standing up and walking over to him. "You look so good in that suit." Seungkwan watched you approach him, his gaze darkening with desire. He pushed his chair back and patted his lap, silently inviting you to sit on it.

You straddled his lap, your legs on either side of him. Seungkwan wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. You smirked and ran your fingers through his hair. "Maybe I like living on the edge," you whispered, grinding against him slightly.

Seungkwan let out a low growl, his grip on you tightening. "You're driving me crazy," he said, his voice rough with need. He started to kiss your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, and moaned softly.

"Seungkwan," you gasped teasing him playing along, "We can't do this here. Someone might hear us." Seungkwan pulled back and looked at you, his eyes dark with lust. "I don't care," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I need you, right now." He stood up abruptly, lifting you up with him and setting you down on his desk. He pushed the papers and other items out of the way and positioned himself between your legs.

"You're so naughty," he said, his hands roaming over your body. "But I love it." You leaned back against the desk, your chest heaving with excitement. "I can't help it," you repeated, your eyes locked on his. "I want you so badly." Seungkwan captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and exploring every inch of it. His hands roamed lower, finding the hem of your skirt and sliding underneath it.

Your breath hitched as his fingers traced the lace of your underwear. "You're wearing laced panties," he said, his voice huskier than before. "You really were planning on this, weren't you?" You blushed and nodded, biting your lip. "Maybe," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seungkwan smirked and slipped his hand inside your underwear, his fingers finding your slick folds. "You're already so wet for me," he said, his thumb circling your clit. "Such a good girl." You moaned at his touch, your hips bucking against his hand. "Seungkwan, please," you begged, needing more. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Shh, baby. You have to be quiet. We don't want anyone to hear us."

You nodded again, biting down on your lip harder to keep from making any more noise. Seungkwan continued to work his magic, his fingers expertly playing with your clit while his other hand held you in place. He started to kiss and nibble on your neck, leaving small marks on your skin. "You taste so good," he murmured against your skin. "I could eat you up right here on this desk."

"Then do it," you whispered, your voice filled with desire. "Eat me up, Daddy." Seungkwan's eyes widened in surprise at your choice of words. He wasn't expecting you to call him that, but it sent a thrill down his spine.

"You're playing with fire, Y/N," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You know what happens when you call me that." You smirked, enjoying the effect you were having on him. "I know exactly what happens," you said, arching your back. "You get all possessive and rough with me."

Seungkwan growled again, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "You're mine," he said, his voice a low rumble. "No one else can have you." You gasped as he flipped you over, your stomach pressed against the cold surface of the desk. You could feel his hard length pressing against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan again. Seungkwan wasted no time in pulling his trousers down, his cock springing free. He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. "You're going to be punished for being such a naughty girl," he said, his voice dripping with dominance.

"Yes, Daddy," you breathed out, bracing yourself for what was to come. Seungkwan wasted no time in thrusting into you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that made you cry out. He was rough and relentless, pounding into you with a fierce intensity.

"You're so tight," he grunted, his fingers digging into your flesh. "I'm going to ruin you." You couldn't respond, too lost in the pleasure and pain of being fucked by him. Your fingers scrambled for purchase on the desk, trying to hold on as he continued to pound into you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his low growls. You could feel your orgasm building up inside you, but you knew you weren't allowed to come until he said so. Seungkwan could sense that you were close, and he slowed his pace, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into you. "Not yet," he said, his voice strained. "You don't get to come until I tell you to." He reached around and started to rub your clit, the added stimulation driving you even crazier. You whimpered and whined, desperate for release.

"Please, Daddy," you begged, your voice shaking. "I can't hold it in anymore. I need to come." Seungkwan chuckled darkly, enjoying your desperation. "Begging won't help you, baby girl," he said. "You'll come when I say you can, and not a second before."

He continued to tease you, his fingers working your clit in slow, deliberate circles while he thrust into you at an agonizingly slow pace. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you tried to hold back your orgasm. You were shaking with need, your body begging for release. "Please, please, please," you repeated over and over again, your voice a broken sob. Seungkwan leaned down and whispered in your ear, "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're taking me so well. But I want you to hold on just a little longer. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, biting your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. You were trying so hard to be good for him, to follow his orders and obey. Seungkwan smiled at your obedience, pleased with your submission. "Good girl," he praised, his hand moving away from your clit. "You're being such a good little pet for me." He picked up the pace again, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. "I think you've earned a reward," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Come for me, Y/N. Come for Daddy."

Your body obeyed his command immediately, and you cried out as you came, your walls clenching tightly around him. The orgasm was intense and all-consuming, your vision going white for a moment as pleasure coursed through your veins. Seungkwan groaned as he felt you tighten around him, his own release following closely behind. He spilled inside you, his hips jerking as he rode out his orgasm.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. "You did so good, baby," he murmured, pressing kisses to your shoulder. "You're my perfect little toy." You were still trembling, your body still recovering from the intense orgasm. Seungkwan carefully pulled out of you and helped you up, turning you around to face him. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had fallen. "You're a mess," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice. "But you're my mess."

[arrowsperpetualcringe]

Okay so.

Let's talk about Amane.

Cause the discussion around her is so black and white, it kinda infuriates me???

There's the people who think she's the fucking devil himself, and there's people who think she's an angel who's done absolutely no wrong ever.

And.

Please

I beg of you

Both of you

Shut the fuck up

I'm going to die.

So let's get one thing out of the way before I continue

AMANE WAS, IS, AND FOREVER WILL BE A VICTIM.

Ok?

Everyone understand that?

Ok, good.

Now.

With that in mind.

I REALLY don't think Amane should have been voted "innocent" the second time around.

Listen.

I tried so hard to be on the inno side. And I held out hope, right?

Surely it's the right thing to do, she IS a kid afterall.

And she is!

And in all other circumstances, I think voting her innocent would be the right thing to do.

But here's the thing.

I think we fumbled the whole "What is the prisoner gonna take from this?" Aspect of Amane's trail.

I think we were so blinded by the abuse she's shown to suffer that we didn't really... THINK about what's actually going on in her head.

That sounds whack as fuck BUT LISTEN, RIGHT

HEAR ME THE FUCK OUT.

Since she was voted guilty the first time, the result was that cracks formed in her world view, and it began to shatter her mental health.

When she next spoke to us...

Amane was not presenting herself as just herself.

But rather as herself AND her religion.

SHE TELLS US THIS, EXPLICITLY

Even if it wasn't a case of "this is Amane and her alter" like Es said. Even if it's not REALLY her religion speaking to us.

She's speaking on BEHALF of the religion.

Do you understand what I'm saying here?

By voting Amane innocent, we didn't just deem HER innocent

We deemed her religion innocent.

And yes, the state she was in at the time was absolutely awful. But, as it stands. It was progress.

This voice drama wasn't a defense of her. It was a defense of her religion.

She was shaken, because who wouldn't be shaken after having their world view challenged?

And instead of being firm. Instead of saying "Your religion is flawed. You were abused."

We backpedaled because we felt bad for her.

And I went along with it because of the pressure on all sides... But now that we're seeing the results, I definitely don't think this was a good decision.

She's not taking her innocent verdict as

"I'm innocent because I'm a victim of abuse and my actions are justified"

She took her innocent verdict as.

"I'm innocent because my religion is correct, therefore my actions are justified"

HELL.

SHE EVEN SAYS THAT SHE'S GOING TO GO ON TO CONTINUE PRACTICING HER RELIGION IN THE START OF HER TRAIL 2 MUSIC VIDEO

She wasn't a depressed husk because we told her "You shouldn't have defended yourself. Your abuse was justified." She ALREADY thought her abuse was justified.

She was like that because we told her "Your world view is wrong. This religion isn't what you think it is. It's not sunshine and rainbows. This is abuse."

She was like that because we put cracks in her world view

Don't believe me?

Compare and contrast her music videos themselves.

Notice how the first is cutesy, sunshine, rainbows, the works?

Now look at the second one.

She's on the defense. And the cracks are starting to form.

Compared to the first video, where her "punishments" are shown in cute little montages, in the second video, we get raw, unfiltered glimpses into what she endured.

She was starting to see what her religion truly was.

And here's where I think we failed as voters.

We were so caught up in "She's a child! She's a victim! She didn't do anything wrong!"

That we COMPLETELY overlooked what was being judged in Amane's eyes.

We were so shell shocked as viewers, and we felt so sorry for her, the person, the child, we didn't see that in her eyes we were judging her faith.

Essentially.

We were SO blinded by our own morality...

That we ended up telling Amane that the cult that abused her was innocent, and that the abuse she suffered was justified.

We didn't tell her what she needed to be told

WE know she's a child. WE know she suffered abuse.

SHE didn't.

She needed to be told as much through a guilty verdict.

Basically

Our INTENDED message wasn't the RECIEVED message.

We did a complete 180°

I think, if we wanted to go the whole "she's innocent cause she's just a kid" route, we shouldve voted her innocent from the beginning, then kept going with the innocent verdict.

But it was too late for that, she was voted guilty, and our backpedaling did some real damage.

When she was voted guilty, she started to have cracks in her world view. She started to have doubts the religion was wrong. But then we backpedaled and told her it was right.

And instead of sticking with the "your religion is wrong" we turned it around.

While what we were SAYING is "you're not wrong for killing your abuser" what SHE HEARD was "Your religion is not wrong, the rule breakers needed to be punished"

SHE EVEN SAYS AS MUCH HERSELF

"I am thankful for the fact that you have forgiven me. For I was able to follow through with my faith due to such. And at the same time, I have also realized my mistakes."

So by voting her innocent, because in her mind we were judging her cult and not her. We accidentally told her that her abusers were right.

Does that make any sense?

Obviously in a traditional sense Amane is innocent.

But BY NO MEANS is this a traditional case!!!

The suspect on trial wasn't Amane but her religion.

We failed to see that.

And

We.

Fucking.

FUMBLED.

And because we told her that, blinded by her brainwashing, she's a victim, yes, but now she's a victim who's perpetuating the cycle of abuse.

And don't you DARE tell me she's not perpetuating the cycle.

People got hurt.

Shidou is obvious, but let's talk about Fuuta.

Obviously, Fuuta isn't dumb for falling victim to the cult and seeking comfort in religion after all he's been through.

But I think it's a bit stupid to say that he hasn't been brainwashed as well.

And I think it's REALLY stupid to say Amane is just... y'know okay for doing this?

She indicates in her new lines that her religion won't be flawed, because there won't be any who break the rules (or oppose her)

"I was mistaken. The religion I believed in was incomplete. That's why there were people who broke the rules. Those who opposed it. Milgram cannot be depended on either. In that case, I could just make it! My own original! Ahahahaha..! Hahahaha!”

If someone breaks the rules, she is most likely going to punish them like she was punished for breaking the rules. If someone opposes her religion, they'll die.

And thanks to us, she thinks that's okay

So in conclusion.

Y'ALL WE MISSED THE WHOLE ASS POINT OF AMANE'S TRAIL, AND NOW WE'RE PAYING THE FUCKING PRICE.

So yeah

She should've been voted guilty for her own sake.

Idk I feel like I'm gonna get flamed.

BUT FUCK IT

WE BALL.

[daz-zey]

Too Much

"I'm not letting you go, damn it! I lost you once... I am not going to lose you again," you huffed and gritted out. Fists clenched on your sides. "I refuse!" You yelled, tears prickling in your eyes.

Gi-hun's expression softens at your outburst. It was one of the rare times you ever got angry or talk to him that way for that matter. You were always patient. Only with him of course. The rest of the world, well, could fuck off.

Gi-hun understood your reluctance to his plan but it's a decision he made out of some responsibility and grief. He wouldn’t be who he was without you, how he kept hanging on because of your will to stay. He is forever grateful for you and would do whatever you wanted. Except for this one thing. The one thing that altered his mind, life and reality.

He grabs your biceps and pulls you closer. He leans to kiss your forehead, attempting to calm you down. He sighed heavily, the weight on his shoulders continues to weigh him down. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, yeobo,” he says, his hands moves to cup your face. His thumbs caressing your skin. “I have to do this. I have to go. They won’t stop, they won’t because they don’t care. But I do. I care too much. So please… you need to let me go.” He couldn’t help but beg, beg for you to understand. "I promise to come back. I'll come back to you. Just wait for me okay?" He says with a meek smile. "Then we'll continue what we have going."

You wanted to believe him like you always do but somehow this was different. You might not see him again. Hope doesn’t belong in the games, it doesn’t exist. So him going back while you stay in the shabby pink motel… you wouldn’t even know if he made it out alive because you don’t know where the island is. Not even Jun-ho can find it. "Don't say that, Gi-hun. Don't make promises you can't keep," you murmured. You know in your heart that you're right about all of this and you don't have anymore tears left to cry. “Even if-… Even when you come back, how can you still live with what you know? With what you’ve relived again? Huh? You’re only burying yourself deeper into that void, Gi-hun!” You were shaking now, you pushed Gi-hun away. “I can stay with you, be in this relationship, love you but this… this is the last straw, Gi-hun… I’m not sure I’ll still be here when you come back,” you say, your voice hoarse and strained from trying not to break down in front of him. “So if you want to go… then go. Leave. I’m sick of seeing you broken,” you finished, a tear running down your cheek.

Gi-hun stood there stunned. He didn’t think you would end it, here and now. It was abrupt. Lightning flashes in the night sky, thunder booming and rain pours down on both of you. Gi-hun didn’t care because he stared at you, seeing the look in your eyes and face. Flashbacks during the time he came back from the first games two years ago. Rain. Blood. Pain. He reached out to you but you were out of reach. You were gone, your back was facing him. You were walking away from him. Leaving a piece that you had of him with him.

In the end, you let him go. In the end, you left him as he left you. In the end, love wasn’t enough. In the end, the both of you were alone.

[thebluester2020]

Give your thanks to anon!

Summary: Anon does a pretty good job of explaining what's going on here pfft.

Warning(s): Rough Sex, Barely any plot just porn ngl, Squirting, A smidge of degradation (Shane refers to the reader as a slut once), A bit of face-fucking, Shane cums on the reader's face.

Side Note(s): Anon said the magic word twice so I had no choice but to oblige in writing my least fav bachelor 🥹 😭 (I hope you like what I've written though anon!! Thanks for the request! ✨)

In Shane's opinion, there was nothing in this entire valley that could've topped this moment right before him. You were on your knees before him, a pillow sweetly tucked underneath your knees while Shane sat on the edge of the bed, guiding your mouth up and down his cock via tugging on your hair. You had begged for this treatment, asking him to treat you a little more roughly in the bedroom as well as asking him if he would cum on your face.

He could've sworn that he nearly came in his pants when you asked that.

"Shit baby..." He groaned into the air as his head lazily fell back from the feeling of your tight mouth wrapped around him. "Y' sure you're new to this?" The sound of his deep chuckle made your pussy clench around nothing as you felt his grip on your hair get looser and looser, allowing you more room to take control as your hands wrapped around the base of his cock before you began to bob your head up and down even faster.

That act nearly sucked all the breath from Shane's lungs, his hand on your hair tightening but in no way trying to control what you were doing to him right now.

Your tongue flattened against the underside of his dick, licking and tracing along the sensitive prominent vein along the underside before you'd slow to focus on his head, your mouth sucking him even harder as your tongue swirled around the slit of his cockhead. It was as if you were begging him to cum deep inside your throat and make you swallow everything that he had to give you.

With an audible 'pop', you took your lips from his cockhead before you nuzzled your cheek against his spit-covered dick, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes. "Cum on my face...please?" You begged so sweetly. You giggled when you felt Shane's cock twitch against your cheek, and how could he help it? Combined with your voice as well as the way you looked up at him...he was soooo tempted to give you what you wanted, especially when you begged him so cutely.

But...he was feeling a little mean. "So cute," He cooed to you, petting your head as if he were really about to allow you to continue tending to his dick as you were until he slowly parted your lips to slip his thumb into your mouth. A groan left his lips, his tongue running over his teeth at the way you obediently began sucking his thumb without even having to be told to do so. "I'm tempted but I don't know if you really deserve it."

He chuckled at how you whined, suddenly looking as if you were. a whipped puppy. "Perhaps you should beg me harder—" Your cunt clenched around nothing when Shane gripped his cock to gently tap it against your cheek. "—otherwise you'll just have to settle for me cumming into a napkin instead." Without waiting for another word, you quickly got to work tending to your boyfriend's cock. Shane would've laughed at how desperate you were if the feeling of your tongue flattening against the underside of his dick, purposefully tracing the prominent veins as you bobbed your head up and down, didn't make him absolutely lose his mind.

Every attempt to silence himself in favor of wanting to hear how you willingly choked yourself on his cock was in vain, especially when you began to massage his balls, trails of spit trailing down to them as he felt them draw up in anticipation of his approaching orgasm. "F-Fuck..." He hissed. You felt a buzz go throughout your body at the sound of Shane's unashamed moans, his chest heaving up and down quicker and quicker by the second it seemed as one hand continued petting your head while the other ran through his hair. Your cunt was aching so much...you hadn't touched it since you started sucking him off!

Shane was sooooo possessive when it came to your pleasure, even if the pleasure was delivered by your own hands, he cocked his brow and lightly scolded you saying that your pussy was only for him to touch.

He was distracted.

Perhaps—

You went along with the idea the moment it completely formed in your brain, your hand leaving its position of massaging your boyfriend's balls to trail down your body before you began lightly circling your clit, your thighs twitching a little from how sensitive you were. As you pleasured yourself while sucking Shane off however, it only encouraged you to bob your head up and down faster in a sudden eagerness of wanting to cum together with him. "S-Shit baby...!" Shane hissed out. "So fuckin' eager all of a sudden?" His blurry vision didn't allow him to see the slight movement of your arm, too focused on how good your warm mouth felt on his cock.

His hand on your head suddenly gripped your hair, forcing you to still before he begun thrusting up into your mouth, lewd choking sounds being forced from your mouth as your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull, the fact of being used so blatantly along with pleasuring your needy clit almost too much for you to bear as you moaned around Shane's cock.

Your boyfriend only managed a few more strong thrusts before he tugged your head off of him, thick streams of his cum suddenly decorating your face, your tongue gently darted out to taste a trail of cum that had dribbled down close to the edge of your lips. You were disappointed though...you hadn't gotten to cum with him.

No matter, with how tight the knot in the pit of your stomach was getting, you only needed a little bit more before you could— "Hey." Shane suddenly hissed to you as he reached to grab your arm, forcing your ministrations on yourself to a complete still as he glared at you. "Didn't I tell you it's a bit rude to touch things without askin'?" You responded with a pout.

He nearly had a mind to laugh at the way you looked at him. "What? After nearly breaking out into tears over wanting me to cum on your face, suddenly it ain't enough for you?"

"I wanted to cum too!" You huffed with a newfound stubbornness. The attitude you were suddenly giving him was hilarious to him as if he wasn't capable of throwing you on the bed and fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you! He had a mind to see how long the attitude would last until you were opening and closing your mouth like a gasping fish but...he supposed you were right.

You deserve to cum as well, especially after servicing his cock so well.

Shane sighed as he helped you onto your feet before gently shoving you onto the bed, manhandling you until you propped up on your hands and knees. "Alright then babe," Shane smirked, letting out a low whistle at the sight of your glistening pussy and the way your slick dripped down your thighs. His half-hard cock throbbed with a renewed vigor, the mental image of your pussy oozing his cum enough to make him moan under his breath.

"H-Hurry—Ah—!"

"I don't believe you're really in a position to be tellin' me to hurry up slut," He planted one foot on the bed as he lined himself up to your entrance, a hand pressing down in the middle of your back to force your back into a harsh arch. "You'll take what I give you and be grateful for that." Without even allowing you a second to think of a response, you suddenly felt all the wind in your lungs be knocked out of you when Shane plunged himself into your heat, immediately picking up a harsh and brutal pace that made you grip the bedsheets as your eyes rolled to to the back of your head.

"S-Shane...!" You screamed into the sheets, your cunt clenching down on his cock as if it didn't want him to leave for a single second. not that your boyfriend would ever think of doing such a thing, the way your pussy clamped down around him was addictive, the combination of your pussy making lewd squelching sounds while each plap made you gush out some of your juices and onto his thighs. It made his head spin, each pant that left his lips sounding more akin to a dog in heat rather than an actual human.

"Fuck baby...so tight..." You squeaked when you felt Shane lean some of his weight down onto your back, effectively pining you in place before his hand came to tangle itself in your hair. You gasped when your head was suddenly tugged from being buried in the sheets, your blurry eyes barely being able to register your boyfriend's face coming closer to your own until you felt a pair of lips on your own.

The kiss was sloppy, full of unbridled lust and desire, as muffled moans could barely be heard between the two of you amongst the lewd plapping of skin on skin. Shane grunted against your kiss-swollen lips when he felt you begin to tighten up. "You close babe?" He pressed another kiss to your forehead with a smirk, your brain too hazy from pleasure to be able to properly answer him aside from whimpers and pleas to be allowed to cum. "W-Wanna cum..." You begged. "Please—"

Shane silenced you by forcing you to suck on his thumb, drool escaping your mouth along with whining, moaning, and panting, the noises only serving to make your boyfriend twitch inside of your sex as he quickened his pace. "You gonna cum baby?" He moaned against your ear. "You sound like your close..." When he bit the shell of your ear, that was the final straw that broke you as a scream left your lips, the sound of your pussy gushing your juices onto him making Shane smirk as wickedly as the devil himself as he continued fucking you through your orgasm.

"T-Too much...!" You whined.

"Just a little more baby, I'm almost there..." True to his word, Shane fucked you for only a few more thrusts before he stilled against you with a deep groan and whispered curses, his grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly before he slumped against you, the only sound following afterward being the sounds of you both trying to catch your breaths before you eventually slapped Shane's arm gently.

"H-Heavy..." You said tiredly before your boyfriend took himself from your heat. You whined quietly at the lost of being full but...it was hard to mind it much when you were quickly then pulled into your boyfriend's embrace. Now...all you both wanted to do was just sleep until the next day.

[filipowitch]

KNOCK KNOCK

brothersbsf!chris walks in on younger!reader getting changed.

-> based on the bot by @cupiidk1lls (bot link)

not much warnings tbh, just the use of y/n, some swear words and like teasing ig. lmk if i missed anything! MDNI.

READ TEXT SCREENSHOTS FIRST!

7:17PM

7:21PM

Chris didn't waste any time driving up to your house. He made a quick stop at the gas station, picking up yours and his favourite snacks and drinks. He was going to prove to you being single wasn't all that bad.

He paid for the snacks, heading back to his car and continuing the drive to your place. It didn't take that long, considering you both lived pretty close to each other.

7:28PM

He parked up in the driveway, helping himself into the house and locking the door behind him. He took off his shoes, heading up to your room with the bag of snacks in his hand. He figured he'd just enter your room, not thinking much of it. "y/n!! I got the snacks. This movie night is gonna be so fir- Oh."

Yeah, he should've knocked.. but usually, he never has to. You've known each other for years anyway.. privacy wasn't much of a boundary for you two. And to be fair, he wasn't expecting you to be getting changed.

"Chris! Get OUT." You yell, throwing a pillow at his face as he just stands in the doorway, seemingly frozen in place as you stand there, half naked. God, this was embarrassing for the both of you.

"My bad." He mumbles, closing the door as he tries to adjust his sweatpants. Oh, fuck. He needs to get his mind off of this as soon as possible.

He heads down to the kitchen, placing the snacks on the counter as the moment replays in his head over and over again. He knew he felt somewhat drawn to her, but he's never felt this.. flustered before. Well, he's always wished to have seen that sight and now he ha-

God, what was he doing? Get it together, Chris. This is your best friends sister you're thinking about, not some chick.

7:32PM

You finish up getting dressed, still feeling embarrassed as your brain processes what just happened. Your thoughts don't really help, however.

Did that really just happen? I should've locked the door. God, this is all my fault. This is so embarassing! I cant go down there now. He's gonna be all awkward. No, it'll be more awkward if I don't go. He'll think I'm avoiding him or something. Ugh, whatever I'll just go. Who cares, right? I'll just act like nothing happened and if he asks I'll brush it off. It's fine. Mistakes happen.

And so that's exactly what you do. You head downstairs, looking for Chris. Let's just get this night over and done with.

"Hello? Chris! Where are you?" You call out, walking down the hallway.

"In here!" You hear him call out from the living room. You enter the room, and your eyes don't miss the way his gaze shifts up and down your body.

He pats the seat next to him, signalling you to come over. You oblige, walking over and settling down next to him whilst he brings the table of snacks closer to the couch, turning on the television and putting on 'The Notebook', just like he said.

At first, he acted like nothing happened. Well. That was until the intro of the movie began.

"So about before-"

"It never happened." You reply, shutting down his question before he can even say it.

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbles, slouching in his seat, not daring to say another word. An unspoken tension lay between the two of you after that, but none of you dared to speak about it.

This was definitely gonna be a long night.

a/n: hope you enjoyed this! i lowk don't like it, but i've seen like a few people post something similar to this so like yeah.. happy valentines day :))

TAGS: @riggysworld @hjvi @bluetalia @sturnstarsblog @headzgonewest @sturniqloo

dividers from @adornedwithlight !!

© filipowitch

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day twelve: "for you, i would."

�� pairing: din djarin x reader

ᰔ summary: your time had run out, and the bounty hunter has come to collect his target. is he ready to face the music?

ᰔ author's note: this is a continuation of the last din ficlet i wrote. i wish i could be like "omg hehe so cute!" but uh, it turned out so angsty. maybe if i make another part to this, they'll have a happy ending. surely ain't this one though!

ᰔ content warning: angsty angst feelings feelings angst, unspoken feelings, steely!din, alludes to dangerous situations. no beta— we die like men

"Mandalorian," you hummed. "Back so soon?"

"You know why I'm here." Din stood rigid on your doorstep. He had a hand on his phaser, not that it surprised you. How he stood, the tone of his voice. It was telling.

"Back for another round with the handcuffs?" You teased. Even in the most dire of situations, you were one to jest.

There was a tense silence that hung between you, something you couldn't read from the Mandalorian. You sighed and dropped the exterior you held up for him. Without a word, you opened the door and let him inside.

Din watched you carefully as he stepped inside. His hand never left his side, ready for anything you threw at him. It felt a bit ridiculous— this whole thing.

Why did you treat him the way you did in your last encounter? Many had tried to escape their bounties, but with you...

You handled him with kid gloves— No, that wasn't it. You saw past him, saw past the harsh exterior and his mask. Those eyes pierced his mind and soul.

When traversing to his next informant, all Din thought of was you. How did you get him in bed? How did you bring out this tiny piece of him that had been hidden and shoved down? This shriveled, starved nerve in him that craved for someone else to take control. You confused him.

"Let me change first, please. I don't want to go like this." Your tone surprised Din. Everything about the person who stood in front of him was not who greeted him last time.

"Take your time."

It was your turn to be surprised by the bounty hunter. The morning after he left, you were sure he'd return with guns blazing. After all, he had left his bounty without so much as a scratch. Every moment until this one had the back of your mind full of what was to come when he came to collect his bounty.

"Thank you." You bowed your head before you slipped past him. You expected him to follow, and he did.

The last time you two had been in the same room, the circumstances were vastly different. You had hoped to show him more of your prized possessions, and you liked to think that he may have enjoyed it.

Now, you felt this suffocating tension that hung in the air. It choked you, filled your throat and lungs with every breath. Not that the Mandalorian came to do his job, but the target on the back of your head had finally hit the bullseye. The end of your freedom had come in the form of a bounty hunter.

"Why are they asking for you?" Din broke the silence. He couldn't stand it, how distance had wedged itself between the two of you. There were only a few feet, but miles separated you now.

"I wouldn't say putting a price on my head is asking," you huffed out a bitter laugh. "I thought you didn't ask questions like that." You slipped off the lounging robe you had worn. Instead, you traded it for something more sturdy, pants and a simple long tunic. It came with some leather pieces, but you didn't bother. Every part of the outfit wasn't you. No one got to have that part of you now.

"I'd say there are circumstances that change that," Din returned. He watched you carefully. While his hand was on the blaster, there was no need for it. In the short time he had known you, it didn't seem like something you'd do. At least, he gave you the benefit of the doubt.

"Have you found a soft spot for me under all that armor?" You tried to smirk, but it didn't reach your eyes. It was hard to find humor in a moment like this.

Din didn't answer, and you didn't expect him to. You stood in front of the mirror and gathered yourself. After a beat, you turned to the bounty hunter and held your wrists to him. A silent surrender, ready for the real cuffs you knew he had.

Instead, he shook his head. Without a word, he motioned for you to lead the way out. You hated how quiet it was. Even with the music you had left on before Din arrived, there was the loud buzz of nothingness that rang in your ears.

You followed him to the Razor Crest, which he let you on first. Once inside, he finally put a set of cuffs on your wrists. They were heavier, thick and cut into your skin. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, the irony of the situation.

"Find somewhere to sit." Din closed the ship and finally moved his hand from the phaser at his side. He watched you sit on the floor, against one of the walls near where he piloted the ship.

"You can sit in a chair, you know?" It was an attempt to lighten the situation— why he tried, he wasn't sure.

Din bit back a sigh as you shook your head. He felt something acidic in his stomach as he took in your expression. He had seen it on many other bounties, the haunted look in their eyes as they approached their own demise. While he wasn't sure what fate awaited you, he had a feeling he'd figure it out.

"I'll stay here, if you don't mind." You tucked your knees against your chest, your arms wrapped around as you curled up.

That static silence lingered in the air as time passed. You laid your head back against a panel; your eyes drifted to the slivers of glass you saw from where you sat.

"You never answered my question." Din wasn't able to stomach another minute of silence. What he once had been so comfortable in— a blanket he had grown so used to— had been ripped and tossed to the side.

You tore your gaze away from the sights of the galaxy. Silently, you stood behind the pilot's chair. The view was nice, to see what the bounty hunter traversed through.

"Why should I tell you?" Instead of hostility, it was simple curiosity. You leaned into his peripheral, your eyes still on the stars that whizzed past the ship.

Din tried to think of a reason, but he came up short. He didn't have one, truthfully. It was his curiosity that had gotten the better of him. You waited for an answer, but when he gave you more silence, you sighed.

"As much as we'd like to run from what troubles us, that is often not the case. Once the claws have sunk in, they drag you back time and time again." Without his helmet on, you would have seen the way the bounty hunter glanced at you. He noticed the slight grimace on your face.

"Why run? Face it head on, and finish it once and for all." Din set the ship to auto-pilot as he turned the chair towards you.

You tried to hide your expression, but he noticed how you tensed. For things left unspoken, your actions spoke clearly.

"I know nothing of you, Mandalorian, but you know as well as I do that it's easier said than done. To return..." You shook your head and looked down. "How much is the bounty? It'll pay you well?"

Din looked to you. He contemplated whether he wanted to tell the truth or not. What did he gain from it? What did you lose from it? Would it bring you comfort, or push you past a point you couldn't return from.

"Enough that I took it without much thought," Din finally said. He watched your expression even though it was unclear. He turned back to watch the course the Razor Crest was set on.

"I can't blame you, I suppose. If it's who I think it is, they'll make the pay well worth your time." You gave a humorless chuckle. "Well, I hope you'll use your credits well."

The comment was off handed, but it didn't sit well with Din. It was the nature of his job, to turn people in for a price. Those who had fallen victim to the bounty hunter's target made sure to remind him of that.

Why did your comment feel like a swift kick to the throat?

"It's a job," Din said. "It's all business."

"Was what we did just business?" You asked in return. Part of you wished you saw the expression on his face, but when his hand gripped one of the handles on the console, you had a good idea of what it may look like.

"What we did," Din hesitated. "It was one time. It won't happen again."

There it was— that damn silence. You looked away from Din, back out at the expanse of the universe.

"I know. Any pleasures I've grown accustomed to have all vanished in the blink of an eye. I'll miss you, Mandalorian," you admitted. "Perhaps it's selfish, but I had hoped you would return again. Under different circumstances, though."

"You knew I would come back." Din glanced back at you.

"I suppose I always knew it would come to this. With you, with the bounty..." You trailed off, the thought left to hang between you two.

"Did you expect me to abandon myself? My morals and honor?" Din wasn't insulted, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Everything about you felt like that— like every part of you brushed against him and lingered. Searing hot to the touch, only for it to simmer under his skin.

"For you, I would." You said it without hesitation, your eyes pointed right at the T-shaped visor on the bounty hunter's head. "If I knew the price on your head and knew I was sending you back into the jaws of something vile, I would abandon myself."

You didn't wait for the silence to follow. With a shift of your hands, hope of some relief from the pain of the handcuffs for naught, you stalked out of the room.

It would be days before you made it to your destination, which still wasn't enough time to gather all your thoughts and feelings. That, mixed with the dread and torment only left you catatonic in the tiny bunk you found solace in.

Now, you were the one in bed, handcuffs left you to submit to the bounty hunter. Perhaps next time, you'd be more specific.

[mikibwrites]

Fuck it Friday

It's 4:13AM and I just wrote a scene in a wip I haven't touched in over a year, so that's something! Here's a gift for those who continuously tag me every week in wip games, you don't know how much I appreciate you, even when I'm having such horrible writer's block. This is from my TrueBlood AU, in which I am attempting to rewrite each episode of LS, except it takes place in the TB universe. It's slow going bc of the changes I have to make BUT it still lives in my head all the time. So here's something a little sad and angsty, but maybe hopeful? This is from 1x08, so you have context, but obviously things are different ;) It's a long one, too. An entire scene, 1k! So there's more under the cut :)

Hours later, his father had gone home exasperated and TK couldn’t find it in himself to care. The sweet nurse was back. This time, for some reason, he clocked her name badge: Traci. 

Traci didn’t pay him any mind as she grabbed the chart off the end of Carlos’ bed, checked his heart rate, oxygen saturation, all the monitors and lines connected to his body. She pulled out a penlight and carefully, so very gently, raised his eyelids to shine the beam into his pupils. TK knew she’d find no reaction, but he also knew it was another thing to check off a list, just in case. 

Traci went through the entire checklist in silence, not acknowledging TK at all, which was odd. She usually had a kind smile for him, even if it reminded him of his father’s—a little exasperated. But this time she ignored him entirely as she went about her duties. He wondered if he’d annoyed her enough that her kind demeanor—her customer service face, he almost snorted to himself—had fallen by the wayside when he was the only one present in the room. He’d become furniture, which was fitting, since he felt like he’d solidified in place. He hadn’t moved a single muscle in hours, not even needing to breathe to put on a good show for anyone. 

Finally, Traci hooked the chart back on the end of the bed, but instead of leaving the room without a word as TK expected her to do, she turned and looked right at him.

For a moment, her eyes were hard, determined, but it seemed like this sweet woman was incapable of harshness because they softened after only a moment, looking at him with something like pity. It didn’t even raise his hackles like it normally would. He had no strength left to care what she thought of him.

“Listen,” she began softly, still standing a few feet away from. “I don’t know much about vampire health, but I do know about the bleeds. You need to sleep soon, or feed, or you’ll die.”

“I’m already dead,” was TK’s rote answer. She sighed, and he could tell she was slightly annoyed at him but didn’t want to show it. 

“I can bring you a bag from the—”

“No.” He almost winced at his harsh tone, his nature creeping out of him a bit, snarling. 

She didn’t question why he wouldn’t take a blood bag from their supply, just moved on. He was oddly thankful amidst his melancholy. 

“Then let me find you a light-tight room for a couple of hours. Please, you need to rest. Do you think, when he wakes up, he’ll want to see you like this? Not taking care of yourself?” TK could applaud her tactic, appealing to his very obvious care for the man in the hospital bed, but he had an answer for that too. 

“To be honest, he probably won’t want to see me anyway. It’s not like we’re anything serious.”

She raised a very skeptical eyebrow at him. He couldn’t blame her. He was purposefully slowly killing himself holding vigil for a man he’d pushed away at every slight show of something deeper between them. He probably should have taken this as a sign from the universe that he should cut ties with Carlos for good, that being around TK wasn’t safe for him. The worst part was, what happened had nothing to do with the supernatural at all; it was just Carlos’ job and it’s random, merciless dangers that landed them here. But TK couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t a sign from the universe anyway. 

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word on that. Please, let me find you somewhere to rest, and you can come back in a couple of hours.” Her face was all sympathy, almost pleading.

“Why do you care what happens to me, anyway?” I’m a monster from your nightmares, he doesn’t say out loud, a qualifier that isn’t needed but true all the same. 

“I’m a nurse. Caring about people is in the job description,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“I’m not people.” It’s a true statement, full stop.

“See, I don’t believe that. I think everyone, good or bad, living or dead, has a right to health and happiness. And right now, I care about his health and your health and also my own sanity, so I can’t watch this anymore without doing something about it. Also, I’m pretty sure I could take you right now, in the state you’re in, so don’t try me again. I’ll be back in a moment.”

With that, she breezed out of the room and TK was left floundering. She was right, though; she could probably bully him into any position she chose right now, given how much his body had deteriorated without rest or blood. He felt like he’d melt into the floor soon. 

When she returned less than ten minutes later, she practically did just that. She threw a heavy blanket over him and grabbed his wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. “Can you stand?”

“Maybe,” he said honestly. 

He let her help him from the chair, unsteady on his feet and leaning on her more than he would like to admit. 

“There’s no windows between here and where we’re going, but I brought the blanket just in case. Come on, we’re even staying on this floor. But if you sass me one more time, I’m putting you down in the morgue.”

That almost startled a laugh out of him, more an exhalation of air than anything else. 

The room she brought him to had two small cots and a row of five lockers. A break room of sorts. What he really needed was to go to ground, an enclosed space near the surface of the earth would rest him properly, but if this was the best he was getting it was more than he deserved. She didn’t turn the light on when they entered, which he was grateful for. The harsh lights of the hospital were already getting to him, another thing he didn’t want to admit, but she seemed to instinctively know how to handle his needs in the moment. 

She guided him over to a cot and helped him sit. He was nearly instantly horizontal, like a felled tree, but he was grateful when his head hit a pillow and not something hard like the cot’s frame. He lost track of the passage of time while she tucked him in like a sweet mother, taking care with him like he was someone worth caring about. Like he was human. 

“Sleep, and I promise I’ll come wake you myself if there are any changes, okay?”

He looked at her wryly with all the strength he had left, his body already drifting into a state of altered consciousness. “You’d wake a sleeping vampire? You have a death wish?”

She scoffed at him with a smirk. “Did we not just establish that I could totally take you?”

He wanted to laugh at her, wanted to come back with something snarky but also menacing, but he was already out.

Tagging some Tarlos mutuals @herefortarlos @guardian-angle22 @bonheur-cafe @carlos-tk @paperstorm @basilsunrise @rmd-writes @lemonlyman-dotcom @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @firstprince-history-huh and also specifically thanking @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses and @strandnreyes for tagging me in other wip games :)