#i'm always here to see what everybody thinks

[starmatzz]

Hiiiii

I NEED a smut inspired by the song "Let the world burn" and that new trending audio "loveyouloveyouloveyou" on dom yunho

IT SCREAMS CRAZYYYY

and maybe not jump into action right away a lil foreplay would be GREAT 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Let The World Burn

classmate!yunho x fem!reader | smut, 1.8k

nsfw tags dom/sub, vaginal sex, pet names, violence, death, possessive, stalking, ropes, bondage, orgasm, penetration, touching

You woke up on a cold, unforgiving floor. A dull ache pulsed through your body as you tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge—they were tightly bound. Panic rose in your chest as your mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was running.

Running through a dark alley.

Running from someone.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A deep voice emerged from the shadows before the figure stepped forward. It was him.

Jeong Yunho—your classmate. The one you had caught staring at you far too often in class. The one who always seemed to be watching. And every time a guy showed interest in you, they mysteriously stopped coming to school the next day. Or came injured. 

Now you knew why.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on your face, his lips curling into a smile—one that sent a chill down your spine.

“I never wanted things to turn out this way,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you left me no choice.”

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all

And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love

Look what it made me become

His voice softened, almost gentle. “You love me, y/n. We belong together—you just don’t see it yet.”

Then, his smile widened, dark and unhinged. “But that’s okay. You’re here now. You can’t run anymore.” He took a slow step closer. “And I’ll make you understand.”

And I know you think you can run

You're scared to believe I'm the one

But I just can't let you go

“So… beautiful.”

His hands trembled as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t recoil—not with the ropes biting into your skin.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Yunho suddenly pulled away, flashing you a smile before disappearing into the shadows. The moment he left, everything clicked. From the anonymous notes that kept appearing on your doorstep, through the unsettling feeling of being watched, to your underwear disappearing from the changing room after sports class while you were showering. 

It had all been him.

Before you could process it any further, Yunho returned—this time dragging someone with him. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remember Yeosang?” he asked, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. “He asked you to prom.”

Your stomach twisted as you took in the sight before you. Yeosang—bruised, bound, with tape covering his mouth—struggled against Yunho’s grip, his eyes wide with terror.

Yunho only smiled.

Fear in their eyes

Ash raining from the blood orange sky

I let everybody know that you're mine

Now it's just a matter of time

Without warning, Yunho pulled out a knife, the blade glinting under the dim light. Before you could react, he pressed it against Yeosang’s neck, his grip unyielding.

“No one can have you,” he growled, his voice laced with possessive fury. “Only me.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dragged the blade across Yeosang’s throat.

A sickening sound filled the air—a wet, gurgling choke as Yeosang’s body convulsed. His wide, pleading eyes met yours for a fleeting second before the life drained from them. Blood spilled down his chest, soaking his shirt, pooling at his feet.

Yunho let him go, and his body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun.

But Yunho? He simply wiped the blade clean, turning back to you with that same twisted smile.

I'd let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end

If I can't have you then no one can

Yunho let the bloodied knife fall to the floor with a soft clang, his focus shifting entirely to you. Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the distance before kneeling beside you.

His hand reached out, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. The touch was gentle—almost tender—yet it sent a wave of dread coursing through your veins.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.

Yunho’s expression flickered, his brows knitting together as if your words had wounded him. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hurt you?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. “Darling, I would never.”

He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “How could I? You mean everything to me.”

As if to prove his point, he cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. But no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how tender his caress seemed, the blood still stained his hands.

Yunho's palm slid down to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your pink shirt, his touch possessive and sure. Raw desire blazed in his eyes as he watched you, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze.

“You're so beautiful,” he growled, squeezing your breast until you gasped. His hand traveled lower, trailing fire across your stomach before finding the hem of your skirt. His fingers teased along your thigh, making promises his touch would soon fulfill.

“So pretty..my pretty girl, all mine,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. One hand held you firmly, fingers tangled in your hair, while the other remained poised, as if daring you to challenge his claim. 

His hand ventured beneath your skirt, but you reacted swiftly, clamping your legs together and bending your knee to kick him in the stomach.

"Don't you dare touch me," you warned, your voice steady and firm despite the adrenaline coursing through you. Yunho's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in their depths. 

Yunho huffed, clutching his stomach as he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features. But the shock quickly morphed into anger, and his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. The air between you crackled with tension, his fury palpable as he regained his footing, the predator in him reawakened.

“I wanted to make it nice for the both of us,” he growled, rolling up the sleeves of his button up, “but you're not leaving me with any other alternative.”

With that, he took steps forward, pushing up the fabric of your skirt before ripping your panties in one swift motion. 

“Whore..” He mumbled under his breath, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers fumbled in his pocket. You barely had time to react before he pulled out a roll of black tape, his hands shaking slightly—whether from excitement or something more unhinged, you couldn’t tell.

With an eerie sort of patience, he tore off a strip, the sharp rip of adhesive filling the tense silence.

He grinned, pressing the tape firmly over your lips. His touch lingered for a second, as if savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingertips.

Your muffled whimper was the only sound you could make now. Panic surged through you, your body twisting instinctively against the ropes, but it was useless.

He shouted directly at you, his finger jabbing towards Yeosang's motionless form on the ground, exclaiming, “What do the other guys have that I lack?!”

He forced himself between your legs, before grasping your bound arms and securing them above your head, unzipping his jeans.

“Fuck, you're all pink down there,” he exhaled, his eyes focused on your private part, “It's a pity I'm going to ruin this pretty cunt right now.”

He didn't hesitate for a moment; he pushed in immediately. You whimpered over the tape as the pressure and burning sensation overwhelmed you, and you instinctively tried to squirm away.

Yunho groaned. The warmth and wetness of your pussy was driving him insane. He proceeded, his long fingers grabbing your hips in a bruising grip as he set a steady rhythm. 

He pounded into you, his gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every trace of fear.

You couldn’t bear it—the pain was unbearable. Strands of hair clung to your damp skin as your body trembled, shaken by both agony and fear. 

“Love you, love you… I love you so much,” he babbled, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, as if trying to make you understand the depth of his obsession.

Nails dug into your palms as Yunho refused to stop, his hands pressing firmly against your shoulders. He grabbed you tightly, fucking deep into you. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, causing a piercing pain to wash all over your body. 

“Did it hurt?” he cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy because repeating the same movement over and over. 

“You’re mine, y/n. Finally mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possession. “See? We fit perfectly together.”

He looked down, watching his cock disappear in your pussy. The way you stretched around him, how you cried and whimpered, it was all his fuel. Keeping his gaze on your face as he moved his hands from your shoulders, he gently cradled your breasts, squeezing them. 

Yunho continued fucking into you, curses and moans escaping his lips. He leaned closer, sucking and biting the soft skin on your neck, below your ear and over your collarbone. 

“Oh god..I'm close..” he whimpered, his eyebrows pulling in in taunt as his thrusts have become twitchy. Your sweet scent enveloped him, sending a dizzying rush through his body, as if every nerve was awakened at once, leaving him lightheaded and lost in the intoxicating fragrance of you.

His large hand slid up your thigh, his grip tightening as he squeezed. “Fuck, look how deep I am in your pretty cunt...” he breathed out, massaging the bulge in your abdomen. 

You laid there, motionless, waiting for him to finish, the stillness pressing down on you.

“Your eyes are mesmerizing,” he murmured, leaning in, his fingers softly brushing the hair from your face. “I wish I could see you look at me like this every day.”

He slowly withdrew, his cock rubbing against your velvety walls, before forcefully slamming back in. You cried out, the sound muffled by the tape, as your hands shook uncontrollably from the excruciating pain, each tremor making the ache feel even more unbearable.

“Ah..fuck!” Yunho suddenly groaned, staying buried deep inside you. His hips twitches as he came hard, filling you up. 

“So pretty…” he mumbled, his breath shallow as he struggled to regain control, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled out, watching the strings of thick cum connecting his tip and your pulsating slit. 

Suddenly he pushed back in, rolling his hips in circles as he continued fucking you through his orgasm. “Don’t think we’re over, princess,” he smirked, his eyes glinting as he watched the fear spread across your face. Your eyes widened in realization, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ BENEATH THE ICE | 리키

PAIRINGS. grumpy!riki x sunshine!reader

GENRE. fluff, maybe angst (?) grumpy x sunshine trope >u<

WARNINGS. none

SHO'S NOTE. this is one of my favorite tropes so here, this is probably gonna be long so, enjoy (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

HIS COLD STARE was enough to scare everyone away, the sparkless gaze, soulless personality and spine-shivering voice was something all of the student's in decelis academy feared in the boy, none other than, riki nishimura.

lots of old students said that ever since he transferred (which was way back in middle school), he had already kept himself away from people, always eating alone, never having friends, maybe kept one or two but was never seen in big groups or parties. some said it's just him being the biggest introvert and never liking people's presence, or he's some heartless jerk who scared everyone away. no one dared to find out which.

you always found those comments rude, some even too far on the line, sure, he's quiet maybe a lil scary but you were never the type to judge someone. something about him intrigued you, you were always a curious person. and well, you were pretty much the joy of decelis. average, but works hard typa student, friendly to everyone, and willing to help to anyone who asks for one. so you pretty much wanted to get his heart like everybody else. (not in that way, but maybe)

to your luck, in the new semester, nishimura riki was assigned to sit next to you. as usual, no talks. he sat there silently as if he was the only one in the room. you had no problem making the first move in a conversation, but why did this seem so hard?

you gulped, then softly said, “do you think you'll do well this semester?” your head turns to him, waiting for a response. you see him move a bit, then his voice speaks,

“maybe.”

his voice was low, and deep. it didn't send shivers down your spine as they said, but it was surely deeper than expected. but what irked you most was that all he said was a simple maybe. how were you suppose to respond to that?

awkwardness lingered in the air as you stayed silent after him. not knowing what or how to answer to his "maybe".

you just wished time would pass by faster. and that he'd forget how embarrassing that was.

a few weeks had passed, and you've made zero progress on becoming his friend.

you've tried multiple tactics that usually and mostly work 90% of the time with other people! asking for a pencil, asking for the time, peeking through his notebook or even just small talk. but most of them ended up in him just simply giving you what you've asked for with no words leaving his mouth, and some just a singular word. you were starting to think he had bad breath and was afraid of people smelling it!

later on in mathematics, mrs. choi announced a partner project due in a few weeks, unfortunately, even though you were liked by everyone and friends with everyone, no one really was your bestfriend, you're everyone's friend but not the first. which hurts at times, but it's okay, right?

you scanned the room, seeing everyone had picked their partners already. leaving you, alone, and partnerless.

you cleaned out your locker for the day, still frustrated by the fact you have no partner. when an idea pops in your head, surely, riki has no partner!

even when you wanted to be his friend, you kind of hoped he wasn't going to be your partner, right now, he probably considers you a complete stranger! and you thought he wouldn't help at all.

you scurried your way to the classroom to find him doodling in his notebook, you saw his drawings before and you were quite impressed. this wasn't anything unlike it.

you breathed, just finally getting the courage to ask, “riki? hello, uhm. do you have a partner for the math project? I don't really have some close friends and some of the others already have one.. so I'm thinking of maybe pairing up with you?”

he looked up at you, his face wasn't mean, nor was it nice. it just looked.. neutral.

“you don't have anyone else to ask?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing.

that's the most words you've gotten from him, you started to doubt if he could even form sentences. “well, if you don't want to it's okay, I'll just find somebody els—”

“I'm okay with it,”

you blinked. a lot of times. did you hear him correctly? he agreed to be paired with you?

“you're.. serious?”

he turned his head, confused. “why?”

“really? like you're actually serious? you're gonna help me and not bail on me?” your lips were starting to curve into a smile, you never thought he was going to be this easy to convince.

“yeah,”

you smiled, “that's great! thank you, I thought you wouldn't want to be paired with me, but here you are. can I have your number? so I can update you on where and when we're going to start.”

he hesitated, he really didn't like giving his number to anyone. he never did. but it was for school purposes. he had no choice.

he wrote his number on a paper and gave it to you, he saw your smile, grinning ear-to-ear. he wondered why it was such a big deal to you. and why you're that happy. it made him confused. and probably a little happy weirded out.

“alright, I'll text you later, riki!” you said as you left along with your bag, the yellow keychain dangling.

“mhm,” he hummed. his pupils watching your figure leave.

you made it back home with anticipation and excitement, maybe you'll actually succeed in your little mission: making him your friend.

© work of saoirsezz | sho

SHO'S NOTE. Idk when I'll be able to post part 2 because I'm busy this week, but I'll try :')

[biribarabiribbaem]

Glad to kow my "help" was used for another great scene. He really really spoke con il suo cuore in mano and is something non everybody do, especially stubbon and proud people like Minho but he really tried and I am so happy, even thiugh he kinda created a mess in the kitchen and outside the kitchen.

My Lixie and Taesoo so loyal they decided to followe him everywhere you have a special place in my heart I'll you forever. I can not say the same for Seungwan and Hyunwoo that I'll kick with the pans in their head repeatedly.

Minho, my Minho you're acting a bit like a bitch like you're a great chef and everything but you're a bit stupid when it comes to love so let me tell you this go slow like you can't just ask her to leave her work just because you did the same try to think but especially don't you EVEN think about going back to Italy without her. Like no. Did I make myself clear?

And also be a little bit nice to her you're trying so hard to provd the litchen staff that you're impartial that you're doing the opposite by being extra mean with her and felix's right: it's you, not her.

Oh she mastered the ginseng pasta (had to look it up cause it's not a thing here and I was curious!) and now she owned the recipe and she even prepared it for a big chef, you go girl!!!!

Did I expect the father coming up? Absolutely not. And the way he blatantly asked if Chris and Minho were the one she was confused about I would've a dig a hole myself cause embarassment would've reached level 10000000 but now I'm really curious about whats he gonna tell to Minho.

As always you are so good, and we smile because you're sharing your talent with us and we should be grateful everyday. I love you Effie cannot wait to see what's coming up next! Mhuawh!

TASTE.

CHAPTER VI: ZESTY.

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. (20,8k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting a whole week for the new chapter. Hope you enjoy this one too. Don't forget to share what you think about it ♡

Zesty. /ˈzes.ti/ (adj) 1. Full of flavor 2. Full of energy and enthusiasm

In English, they say people wear their hearts on their sleeves. But in Italian, there’s another phrase: avere il cuore in mano—to hold your heart in your hand. It’s a raw, vulnerable act, offering up everything you are for others to see. And that’s exactly what Minho is doing now, standing there in the middle of the kitchen, holding his heart out in his hand for everyone to see.

His eyes don’t leave yours, steady and unwavering, even as tears begin to pool in your own. You stand rooted in place, disbelieving, as his confession echoes in your ears, as if the world has slowed to a crawl.

The silence that follows is deafening. Around you, the team struggles to process what they’ve just heard. Chris is still in the doorway, his expression stricken, as though he’s watching a tragedy unfold in slow motion. Sara bites her lip, trying to keep herself composed, though the heartbreak on her face is clear. Felix looks back and forth between you and Minho, stunned, while Hyunwoo’s hands tighten around the edge of his station.

Then Yura moves. Her heels click sharply against the floor as she strides toward Minho, her fury palpable. Grabbing his chef necktie, she yanks it hard, forcing him to meet her glare.

“What did you say would happen if someone was caught dating in the kitchen?” she demands, her voice laced with venom as she tugs Minho’s chef necktie, “You're fired!”

Minho doesn’t flinch. Calmly, he reaches up, prying her hand from his tie. Straightening his chef coat, Minho turns back to face the kitchen. There’s tension in the set of his shoulders, a heaviness in the air, but his voice remains steady as he speaks.

“I acknowledge that I’ve behaved in a way that could lose your trust in me as a chef,” he says, his words carrying the weight of a man laying himself bare. “But I will not apologize for loving her.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The words seem to echo, sharp and unrelenting, as the silence stretches on.

Minho inhales deeply, his gaze moving over the room, taking in every stunned expression before it lands back on you. “I have no right to continue leading this kitchen,” he continues, softer now, as though the fight has drained from him. “And with that, I will leave this kitchen on my own cognizance.”

Reaching up, Minho unties his chef necktie. The motion is slow, deliberate, and final. He pulls it free and holds it in his hand, his grip firm, as if it carries the weight of everything he’s giving up.

His eyes return to you, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest ache. And then he does it—he smiles. A small, triumphant curve of his lips, like he’s proud, like despite everything, this is the moment he’s chosen to show the world what his heart holds.

You’re trembling now, tears streaming freely down your face. You want to speak, to stop him, to do something—anything—but the weight of what he’s done keeps the words stuck in your throat.

Minho steps back, his movements calm and measured, though his gaze never wavers from yours. He’s still holding his heart in his hand, unashamed, unflinching, even as he turns and walks away.

The door swings shut behind him, the sound echoing through the silent kitchen like the final act of a play. Around you, the others remain frozen, their shock reflected in every wide-eyed stare. Chris exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Sara lets out a quiet sob, muffled by her hand, while Felix looks down at his station, unable to meet your eyes.

And you—your heart feels like it’s breaking into pieces.

But as you stand there, shaking, you realize something: Minho walked out of that kitchen with no regrets. He held his heart in his hand for all to see, daring them to judge him, daring them to understand.

Because for Minho, loving you was worth it all. And that thought makes the ache in your chest cut even deeper.

-

Minho calmly places another stack of papers into the box on his desk, the sound of rustling filling the otherwise silent room. He’s methodical, efficient—just as he’s always been in everything he does. Yet, with every item he packs, there’s an ache that burrows deeper into his chest, one he refuses to acknowledge.

The door slams open. Minho doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. The hurried, uneven steps give Sara away before she even speaks.

Her eyes dart between him and the box. “Are you seriously leaving?” she asks, her voice breathless and disbelieving.

Minho doesn’t pause. “Just like I said.”

Chris follows close behind her, the usual calmness in his demeanor replaced with a frustration that radiates off him in waves. He steps forward, his voice sharp. “Chef, how can you be so irresponsible? What will happen to our kitchen if you leave us with no backup plans?”

Minho places a few books into the box, then calmly closes it. “I wouldn’t have done this if I were the only chef,” he says, his tone even. His eyes flick to Sara. “You have Chef Sara, so you will be fine even if I leave now.”

Sara’s mouth opens to protest, but Minho cuts her off. “It didn't feel right to have two head chefs in the kitchen anyway,” he adds, his gaze steady on hers. “This is a good thing for you, Sara. You can finally have this room all to yourself. Change things the way you want to in the kitchen. Make it yours.”

Sara lets out a long sigh, the fight in her draining as she lowers her gaze. Minho doesn’t miss the slight tremor in her hands, the way her shoulders sag in reluctant acceptance.

Chris, however, isn’t done. He steps closer, his voice pressing. “And what about her?”

Minho picks up the box, holding it securely in his arms. He glances at Chris and smirks faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m curious about that myself.”

With that, he walks out of the office. The silence behind him feels heavier with every step, but Minho doesn’t let himself stop.

The restaurant is eerily quiet as he makes his way through it. He can feel the weight of the stares from his team, but he keeps his head high, his expression calm.

As he approaches the entrance, his gaze falls on Yura standing in the hallway. She doesn’t say a word, but her narrowed eyes and tightly folded arms speak volumes. Minho lets his lips curl into a faint, nonchalant smirk, one that silently says, This is not enough to bring me down.

Pushing open the door, Minho steps outside. He sees Felix and Taesoo are already waiting, their faces a mix of panic and confusion.

Felix rushes toward him the moment Minho emerges. “Chef! How could you leave like this? This is ridiculous!”

“Don't leave, Chef!” Taesoo begs as he steps forward, his voice tight. “I know you said there's to be no romance in this kitchen but that doesn't mean you have to leave. If you leave, what will happen to her?”

Minho exhales deeply, his grip tightening around the box in his arms. “You should be happy,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “There will no longer be hardship and harsh words in the kitchen.”

Felix’s shoulders stiffen as he hisses in frustration, his desperation clear. “Chef...”

Minho looks at both of them, his gaze softening slightly. “Just because I'm not here that doesn't mean you can quit or give Chef Sara a hard time, understood?”

They don’t respond, their silence heavy with unspoken protests. But Minho doesn’t wait for them to find the words to stop him. He adjusts his hold on the box and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Their voices follow him, calling out, pleading, but Minho doesn’t look back.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing at the base of the steps, your hands clasped in front of you, your eyes red and watery. You look like you’re on the verge of falling apart, but you hold yourself together just enough to face him.

Minho stops in front of you, his heart clenching painfully at the sight. You’re both silent for a long moment, locked in each other’s gaze, until tears spill down your cheeks again.

Gently, he reaches out, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he wipes your tears away. His hand cups your cheek, his touch soft, grounding. Your lip trembles, but you don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

Minho offers you a small, bittersweet smile. “For now, finish dinner service, mmh? I’ll see you after work.”

The weight of the moment presses down on both of you as he steps back, letting his hand fall to his side. With one last glance, Minho turns and walks to his car.

He places the box in the backseat before sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine hums to life, but Minho lingers, his hands resting on the wheel as his eyes remain on you through the windshield.

This was the right decision. He tells himself that over and over, forcing himself to believe it. Finally, with a deep breath, Minho shifts the car into gear and drives away, leaving the restaurant—and you—behind.

-

The kitchen hums with activity, the clang of pans and the hiss of burners filling the space, yet there’s a strange stillness in the air. An absence.

Minho’s absence.

The entrée line seems to be in unusually high spirits. Quiet chuckles pass between them, their movements more relaxed than usual. One of them even dares to hum softly, as if a weight has been lifted. But at the corner of your vision, Felix stands stiffly at his station, his jaw tight. His usually warm and cheerful demeanor has dissolved into something cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the others.

For a moment, he just watches them, his sharp gaze cutting through their newfound ease like a knife.

The kitchen door swings open, and Sara steps in, her presence commanding immediate attention. She moves toward the chef’s table, resting her hands on the edge as she surveys the room. Her voice is steady, calm, but firm.

“Just like Chef Lee said,” she begins, her gaze sweeping over everyone, “the guests don’t know what happens in the kitchen. What matters is that we give it our best, as we always do.”

The line goes quiet, their earlier lightheartedness dimming slightly. No one responds, their silence stretching awkwardly.

Sara straightens, her eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”

A few scattered voices answer her with a reluctant, “Yes, Chef.”

Felix doesn’t say a word. Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh, loud enough to make the others glance his way.

Despite the strange atmosphere hanging over the kitchen, the service continues. Plates are passed, dishes plated, and the rhythm of the kitchen gradually settles into a mechanical flow.

At your station, you focus on your work, trying to ignore the tension. You hear Seungwan’s voice next to your station, his tone casual but cutting. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? How one person’s absence can make such a big difference.”

You don’t respond, but the words dig into you like a thorn.

Grabbing the plate you’ve just finished, you carry it to the chef’s table for Sara to inspect. She leans over it, her critical eye scanning the presentation. She picks up a cloth to wipe a smudge on the rim of the plate before looking up at you.

“Bring me the celeriac purée,” she says curtly.

You nod quickly and hurry back to retrieve it. As you place it before her, Sara dips a spoon into the purée and tastes it.

“Who made this?” she asks, her tone sharp but not accusatory.

“I did,” you answer.

Her expression doesn’t change. “And who taught you to boil the milk with the celeriac?”

You hesitate before gesturing toward Seungwan.

Sara turns her attention to him, her voice steady but pointed. “There’s a better way to boil the milk with the celeriac. Please show her how to do it right.”

Seungwan, eager to please, nods enthusiastically. “Of course, Chef!” He grins, then adds, “Honestly, if this is how you tell someone off, I’d happily get corrected like this every day. You’re so different compared to... someone.”

His voice trails off, but the implication hangs in the air, heavy and sharp.

Felix, who has been silent until now, suddenly cuts in. His voice is low but firm, carrying an edge of frustration. “That’s nonsense.”

The kitchen stills.

Felix turns to Seungwan, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t need someone to coddle you. You need to be berated to learn. That’s how you get better.”

He shifts his gaze to Sara, his tone growing sharper. “Can’t anyone tell the difference between someone who’s willing to push you to improve and someone who just sucks up to you?”

The words hang in the air like a bomb about to explode. Felix scoffs, muttering under his breath, “How could anyone ever get better like this?”

Seungwan bristles, his face reddening. He picks up a frying pan, holding it in his hand as if to challenge Felix. “You want to say that to my face again?”

Before things can escalate, Sara raises her voice, sharp and commanding. “Enough! Both of you.”

Seungwan hesitates, his grip tightening on the pan before he slowly sets it back down.

The tension simmers, thick and suffocating.

You glance around, your eyes drifting back to the chef’s table. It’s almost instinctual, but your chest tightens when you realize, again, that Minho isn’t there. His absence feels like a void, a missing heartbeat in the pulse of the kitchen.

The dinner service continues, but nothing feels the same.

-

Minho paces back and forth in the quiet lobby, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. The space feels too sterile, too still, and it does little to ease the restlessness gnawing at him. He glances toward the entrance every few seconds, waiting for you.

The moment he sees you, he stops mid-step. Relief washes over him, but his anticipation falters when he catches the look on your face. You’re not smiling or relieved like he’d hoped. Instead, your expression is sour, your brows furrowed, your mouth set in a hard line.

He tilts his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk despite your mood. “What’s with that face? I’m the one without a job here.”

You don’t even hesitate. “How can you just leave like that?” you snap, your voice sharp and accusing. “Do you only think about yourself?”

Minho blinks, taken aback. “What?”

You press on, your words tumbling out in rapid succession. “How can you run away like that without even thinking about me? You just up and quit, and I’m supposed to—what? Pretend that’s fine?”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Run away? When did I ever run away from you?”

You ignore his question entirely, your voice growing softer, though no less frustrated. “It’s only been one dinner shift, but the kitchen felt so empty without you. Do you know that?”

He stands there, frozen, as you glance away, your eyes distant.

“I want to be with you,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I like it when you’re standing at the chef’s table. You... you look the best when you’re there.”

There’s a weight in your words that hangs between you, thick and heavy. Then your gaze meets his again, sadness pooling in your eyes. “But you had to leave the kitchen. You had to lose your job. All because of me.”

Minho’s jaw tightens as you continue.

“Did you really think I’d congratulate you?” you ask, your voice trembling. “Did you think I’d tell you that you did a good job?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, his tone almost defensive. “I was hoping you’d pat me on the back and tell me I did the right thing.”

Your expression twists in frustration, and your voice rises again. “Why do you always act as you please? Why can’t you just stop and think for a second? You yell, you get angry, and you cause trouble without ever considering the consequences!”

Minho feels his patience snap. “How long did you expect me to stay there?” he retorts, his voice raised. “Sneaking around like that, pretending nothing’s going on?”

“Do you think I like sneaking around?” you fire back, your tone laced with annoyance.

Before he can respond, you spin on your heel and start walking away, heading toward the elevator.

“Hey!” Minho shouts after you, his voice echoing in the empty lobby. “You better stop right there!”

But you don’t. You keep walking, your back to him, leaving him standing there, frustration boiling in his chest. His hands clench into fists at his sides as he watches you disappear into the elevator. He immediately chases after you and manages to slip inside the elevator before it closes.

The elevator ride up is suffocating. Minho leans back against the cold wall of the elevator, the weight of the day pressing down on his chest. He runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling under his skin. As the elevator dings and the doors slide open, you immediately step out, not even sparing him a glance.

He follows after you, his voice sharp and echoing in the empty hallway. “Hey! Stop walking away from me!”

You pause, but your shoulders remain tense. Minho closes the distance between you, his tone low and biting. “What did I do wrong this time? Don’t you know I did this for you?”

You spin on your heel, glaring at him. “For me? How can you say that when you left because everyone knows about us? You think it’s that simple?”

Minho scoffs, crossing his arms. “Then why don’t you just quit too?”

Your eyes widen slightly before narrowing again. “Let's say I quit and then what?”

His patience is wearing thin, and he can feel his irritation rising. “Is Farfalle the only kitchen in the world?” he snaps. “Why do you act like it’s the only place you can work?”

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. “You don’t get it. You have the skills, the experience. You’ll find a new job anywhere. But for me, it’s different. I’m not you.”

Minho sighs, running a hand down his face. “So, what, you’ll stay there until you become their kitchen ghost?” He waves his hand dismissively. “You’ve got the manager wrapped around your finger. Meanwhile, I left on my own terms, and you’re still mad at me. You must be happy. Good for you.”

His words hit a nerve. Your expression tightens, and you take a step back, as if you’re ready to walk away again. Minho quickly grabs your elbow, his grip firm but not harsh.

You whirl back to face him, your voice lower now but no less intense. “Even if I left Farfalle and followed you to some new kitchen, do you really think people would accept us? Anywhere we go, they’ll talk. They’ll judge. How uncomfortable would that be for you? And even if you got another job, you know I wouldn’t be able to follow you there.”

Minho’s grip on your arm slackens slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

“The best kitchen for me,” you continue softly, your voice trembling, “isn’t necessarily Farfalle. It’s wherever I can be with you. But wherever you go, I’ll only be a liability. There’s no other place where we can be together. Not like this.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drops to the floor. “So what?” he mutters.

You meet his eyes, your voice breaking slightly as you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this had to happen. I’m sorry for everything that happened today.”

Minho studies you in silence, his jaw tight. He knows you’re still upset, still trying to process his absence in the kitchen. But he doesn’t know how to handle you when you’re like this—when your emotions is all over the place and leave him feeling exposed.

He exhales deeply, his voice resigned. “So, what now?”

“I’ll stay,” you say quietly. “In the Farfalle kitchen.”

His chest tightens, but he forces himself to ask, “Even without me?”

You nod, the answer cutting through him like a knife.

You take his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as they curl around his. “Please come back,” you say softly, your voice almost pleading.

For a moment, Minho just stares at you, unable to process the request. After everything he did, after walking away from that kitchen, you’re asking him to go back?

He shakes his head, his voice firm. “No.”

You flinch at the finality in his tone, but before you can say anything else, Minho turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing alone in the hallway. His steps echo down the corridor, the weight of his decision settling heavily in the silence.

-

The crisp morning air brushing against your skin as you ring the doorbell to Minho’s apartment. Your stomach churns, but you steady yourself, knowing what you have to say.

A few moments later, the door swings open, revealing Minho. His hair is messy, and his hoodie hangs loosely on his frame. He lingers in the doorway, his expression unreadable, a hint of frustration flickering in his tired eyes.

He doesn’t say anything at first, so you break the silence. “I’m going to work.”

Minho exhales sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Why don’t you just quit?”

You shake your head firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m going to work.”

Minho steps forward, out of the doorway, and stops directly in front of you. His tone hardens. “Do you think I quit for no good reason? Do you have any idea what they’re going to do to you now? They’re going to make your life miserable. They’ll give you a harder time than ever before. They’ll harass you, push you to your limit, and you won’t be able to handle it alone so just quit now.”

His words weigh heavily in the air, and for a moment, you almost falter. But then you lift your gaze to meet his and offer him a faint, determined smile. “I’ll see you later,” you say softly, before stepping around him and heading toward the elevator.

“Hey!” Minho’s voice rises, sharp and urgent. “I’m telling you to quit!”

You don’t stop, your steps steady as you push the elevator button. The doors slide open, and you step inside, feeling his gaze boring into your back. As the elevator doors close, his voice echoes faintly, but you don’t look back.

The weight in your chest grows heavier, but you clench your fists and remind yourself—this is your choice. You have to keep going.

The restaurant is eerily quiet when you arrive. The clattering of pans, the rush of footsteps, and the sharp bark of instructions are absent, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning to fill the void. You head straight to the locker room, your steps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

Your eyes instinctively dart toward Minho’s locker. You hesitate, then reach out to open it, only to find it completely empty. The sight of the bare, lifeless space sends a pang through your chest. For a long moment, you simply sit on the bench across from it, staring at the void inside.

Your thoughts begin to drift, the quiet settling heavily around you, when the creak of the door breaks through the silence.

Chris’s head pops in, his wide grin instantly breaking through the heaviness. “You’re early,” he says cheerfully as he steps into the room and makes his way over to you.

He plops down on the bench beside you, his relaxed presence somehow comforting. “I was worried that you and Chef would both leave the restaurant,” he admits.

You manage a soft smile at that. “I have to be here,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “So Chef can come back.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the air between you filled with unspoken understanding. Then, almost hesitantly, you ask, “Chris... is Chef really fired just because he left?”

Chris furrows his brow in thought before answering, “Not necessarily.”

You gasp softly, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. “So that means Chef isn’t really fired unless you say so?”

Chris nods firmly. “Yes.”

You nod back, turning to face him. “How do you feel about all of this?”

He meets your gaze, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want me to be honest,” he asks, “or should I sugarcoat it?”

“Honest,” you reply immediately.

Chris pouts playfully. “You might be disappointed in me if I’m honest.”

You shake your head, smiling faintly. “I’d hate it more if you weren’t honest.”

Chris sighs, leaning back slightly. “Alright, then. You obviously know that I like you already, so... it’s a little disadvantageous for me if Chef works with you in the kitchen.”

You scoff lightly, folding your arms. “And what about it?”

Chris continues, his voice sincere. “It’s also true that I was afraid you’d leave the restaurant to be with him somewhere else. I wasn’t sure which would be better yesterday... but seeing you here now, I know it’s better to have both of you here. Whether I like it or not.” He smiles warmly, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “That’s the truth.”

You can’t help but feel a flicker of admiration for his maturity and honesty. “You’re a much better person than I thought, Chris.”

He chuckles shyly, his cheeks tinged pink as he scratches the back of his neck.

Grinning, you tease, “Why did I reject you again?”

Chris’s grin grows, his confidence returning. “It’s not too late for you to change your mind.”

You laugh softly, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Sitting there with Chris, you feel a small piece of the emptiness inside you start to fill. His candid honesty and lightheartedness are something you didn’t know you needed, and for that, you’re quietly grateful.

-

Minho is about to grind his coffee beans when the sharp chime of the doorbell interrupts the quiet morning. He sighs, muttering under his breath, and drags himself to the door. As he swings it open, he’s greeted by the sight of Felix and Taesoo grinning at him like a pair of mischievous kids caught red-handed.

“What are you two doing here?” Minho asks, raising an eyebrow.

Felix clears his throat dramatically before stepping forward. “Taesoo and I... left work. Starting today,” he announces, his tone oddly proud.

Minho stares at them, dumbfounded. “What?”

Taesoo nods eagerly, backing up Felix’s claim. “We decided if you’re not working at Farfalle anymore, we’re not either.”

Felix adds with a determined gleam in his eyes, “If you decide to work somewhere else, you’re not going alone. You’re taking us with you, Chef.”

For a moment, Minho is speechless, and a flicker of emotion flashes through him—maybe it’s gratitude or surprise—but whatever it is, it’s quickly buried under exasperation.

“Are you both out of your minds?” he snaps, his voice cutting through their grins like a knife.

Felix and Taesoo exchange nervous glances as Minho takes a threatening step forward. “Who’s going to cook in the kitchen today? There’s a double order at the restaurant, and lunch is going to be a madhouse without you two.”

Taesoo stutters, his confidence crumbling. “Uh... should we... go back now?”

Before he can finish, Felix slaps a hand against Taesoo’s chest, trying to maintain their resolve. But Minho is faster, swatting the back of their heads in one swift motion.

“Go back to work. Now,” Minho orders, his voice low but filled with authority.

Felix and Taesoo flinch, scrambling to respond. “Y-Yes, Chef!” they stammer in unison, clearly regretting their bold decision.

Minho doesn’t waste a second, stepping out into the hallway to start pushing them toward the exit. “Hurry up. The restaurant is going to burn down without you idiots.”

Felix, panicking, reaches for the elevator button, but Minho barks, “Take the stairs!”

They freeze for a split second before sprinting toward the emergency stairwell, their footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway.

Minho stands there, arms crossed, watching them scramble out of sight. A sigh escapes him as he rubs the back of his neck. He can’t tell if he should be touched by their loyalty or worried about their recklessness.

Shaking his head, he mutters, “those little brats,” and heads back inside.

-

The kitchen feels unnervingly empty, the usual hum of voices replaced by an uneasy quiet. Only half the stations are occupied, with Felix and Taesoo noticeably absent. You take a deep breath, trying to focus, but the atmosphere is heavy with tension.

The silence breaks as Seungwan’s voice cuts through the stillness like a knife. “You really are something,” he sneers, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You glance at him briefly but say nothing.

“How can you just stand there like nothing happened when Chef gave up his job for you?” he presses, the jab clearly meant to provoke you.

You keep your focus on your station, ignoring him, but Seungwan doesn’t stop. “This is why women are scarier than men,” he says with a mocking chuckle. “You can’t tell what’s really going on with them just by looking. They’ll smile at you while stabbing you in the back.”

His eyes drift to the empty stations, and he sneers. “And loyalty is a man’s quality. Look at Felix and Taesoo—quitting out of loyalty. But you?” He shakes his head dramatically, as if to say you’re the opposite.

You clench your jaw, trying to stay calm, but the irritation boils over. “Shut it!” you snap, your voice sharp but controlled.

He smirks, unbothered by your tone. “Ooh, how scary,” he mutters mockingly, as if your reaction proves his point.

Before the tension can escalate further, the door to the kitchen swings open, and Sara strides in. Her sharp gaze takes in the scene—the half-empty kitchen and the tense air, then she lets out a heavy sigh.

Her voice snaps everyone to attention as she scans the room. “We’re short-staffed, but we don’t have time to waste. We’ll make do.”

Two service staff step hesitantly into the kitchen behind her, offering their help. Sara immediately takes charge, pointing at them. “You, assist in the kitchen. And you,” she gestures to the other, “stand at the chef’s table and read every order loud and clear. No mistakes.”

The service staff nod quickly, stepping into their new roles.

Sara starts delegating tasks with brisk efficiency. “I’ll take the tomato sauce and triple-flavored pasta orders,” she announces, already rolling up her sleeves. “Hyunwoo, you’re on cream sauce and risotto.”

Hyunwoo nods, moving toward his station.

Sara’s gaze lands on you. “Back to the pasta line. You’ll handle the rest of the pasta orders.”

“Yes, Chef,” you reply without hesitation, stepping toward the pasta station and tying your apron tighter around your waist.

Sara pivots to the sous chef. “Sous chef, you handle all the main dishes.”

“Understood, Chef,” he responds firmly, already prepping his station.

Finally, Sara steps back, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she raises her voice to address everyone. “Listen up! We’re running with half the usual staff but double the orders. No one has time to slack off today. Stay on your toes, work fast, and don’t forget what’s at stake. For the sake of the restaurant, we push through. Clear?”

The team collectively straightens, determination flashing in everyone’s eyes as they shout back in unison, “Yes, Chef!”

The tension in the room shifts, transforming into a focused energy. You grip the edge of your station, steeling yourself for the chaos to come. It’s going to be a grueling day, but as you glance around at the team, you know one thing for sure—no matter what, you’ll endure this. For the restaurant. For Minho. For the chance to see him come back.

-

The kitchen is quiet now, the chaos of the day finally giving way to the rhythmic sound of mops swiping across the floor. You and the others are scattered across the space, each of you focused on the last task of the night—cleaning up. Sara is busy wiping down the chef's table with meticulous care, her usual sharpness softened after a long day.

The silence is interrupted when one of the service staff walks in, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Does anyone know how to make a ginseng pasta?”

The question catches everyone off guard. Hyunwoo pauses mid-swipe, frowning. “Ginseng pasta? That’s not even on the menu.”

The service staff shrugs. “I know, but some old guy came in and ordered it.”

At the mention of the dish, Sara’s head snaps up. Her eyes widen slightly, and before anyone can react, she bolts out of the kitchen.

Hyunwoo snorts and mutters, “What’s with her? It’s not like we’re about to whip up some off-menu dish now.” He shakes his head and resumes mopping, clearly not interested in whatever just happened.

You stay silent, but your thoughts begin to stir. Ginseng pasta... Something about it feels familiar, like a whisper from the back of your mind.

A few minutes later, Sara returns, her expression unreadable but her steps hurried. “Did the old man leave already?” she asks the service staff.

“Yeah, he left after placing the order,” the staff replies, slightly confused by her urgency.

Sara presses on. “Did he say anything else?”

The service staff nods slowly. “He made a reservation and that he’d be coming back in two days.”

Sara’s reaction is subtle, but you catch it—a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a twitch of her lips like she knows exactly who this man is.

But while Sara’s behavior is curious, your attention is elsewhere. Ginseng pasta. The name keeps tugging at you, teasing the edge of your memory. It’s not just familiar—it’s significant.

Once the cleaning is done, you waste no time. The moment you’re free, you dash to the locker room, your heart pounding with anticipation. You make a beeline for your locker, flipping open the recipe book he gave to you. Your fingers skim through the pages until you find it.

Ginseng Pasta.

There it is, written in Minho’s precise handwriting, the recipe detailed with care. The sight of it sends a jolt through you, as if the missing puzzle piece has just fallen into place.

You stare at the recipe, your mind racing. Who is this old man, and why does he know about this dish? And more importantly, why does this feel like a thread that could lead you back to Minho?

You don’t have the answers yet, but one thing is clear—you have to try this recipe.

-

As you're enjoying your cup of morning coffee, you sit at your kitchen counter with Minho's recipe book sprawled open in front of you, its pages filled with his neat handwriting and meticulous notes. You've spent hours studying the ginseng pasta recipe, committing every detail to memory, but his words from before linger in your mind: "All the recipes in that notebook are failures."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, staring at the list of ingredients. Was he telling the truth, or was that just Minho being his usual, enigmatic self? The doubt gnaws at you until you can’t resist anymore.

Grabbing your phone, you scroll to his number and hit call. The line rings once. Twice.

“What do you want?” Minho’s annoyed voice greets you as soon as he picks up, skipping any pleasantries.

Straight to the point, you ask, “Are you good at making ginseng pasta? And if I follow the recipe in your notebook, will I really fail?”

There’s a pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. “If you don’t believe me, just try it out and see for yourself,” he snaps.

You can’t help but smirk a little. “You have so much free time now. Can’t you just tell me instead?”

Silence follows, but you hear faint background noise—the hum of traffic. Your brows furrow, and you ask, “Are you driving? Where are you going?”

Minho doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he takes a jab at you. “You’re awfully curious for someone still working at the place where your boyfriend quit his job for you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore his sharp words. “So... are there any successful recipes in the notebook or not?”

His tone sharpens. “Why should I tell you that?”

“Chef—” you start, but before you can finish, he cuts you off.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says curtly, and the line goes dead before you can argue.

You stare at your phone, frustrated, before looking back at the recipe in the book. The question remains: Is this really a failure?

And if it is, you wonder to yourself, Can I make it a success?

-

Minho steps into the luxurious suite, unsurprised to find Sara already sitting on the couch, her posture unnervingly calm as always. However, his attention shifts to the older man standing by the window, sipping espresso from a delicate porcelain cup. Chef Rossi—the man Minho once idolized during culinary school—is a name that carries weight in the culinary world. His presence here, however, is a mystery.

Minho shrugs off his coat, folding it in a quick, habitual motion before tossing it onto the armrest of the sofa. He takes a seat across from Rossi and, without preamble, asks, "So, what brings you here? Finally missed your students?"

Rossi snorts, setting his cup down with an audible clink. "Missed you? Hardly. I was asked to be the head judge for the New Chef Culinary Challenge."

Minho smirks. "Judging new chefs? Shouldn’t they have called someone young and fresh, not an old fart like you? This competition is doomed from the start."

Rossi’s expression hardens, his sharp glare cutting through Minho’s teasing. “And yet, it’s not you sitting in that chair as a judge, is it? Because you're not competent, someone else have already taken your spot.”

Minho opens his mouth to retort, but Rossi turns sharply toward Sara, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. “I saw your name on the list of judges,” he says. His voice carries an edge that immediately shifts the atmosphere in the room. “Let me ask you one thing. Do you think you have the right to judge others?”

Sara meets his gaze with wide, innocent eyes. Her voice is soft but steady. “I know the mistake I made was a huge one, Chef Rossi. It’s the biggest mistake a chef could ever make. I’ve spent the last few years living with regret and trying to atone—for you and for Minho.”

Rossi sneers. “And you expect me to believe that? That you’ve changed?”

Sara doesn’t flinch. “I don’t expect you to believe it. But I’ll continue proving it until you do.”

Rossi’s attention flickers back to Minho, his tone cutting as he says, “I heard you two were working together again. I thought that meant you’d patched things up. But I come here only to find out she’s kicked you out of your own kitchen.”

Minho bristles, leaning forward defensively. “That’s not what happened! I dug my own grave this time.”

Rossi shakes his head, his disappointment palpable. “I don’t understand what the two of you are doing, but at least show me you’re capable of cooking better than before.” His voice sharpens. “Two days from now, I expect to try your ginseng pasta. Both of you.”

Minho groans, leaning back into the couch. “You came all the way here just to check on my pasta? Forget it. I’m not making it.”

Rossi raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

Minho shrugs, his tone laced with defiance. “It’s not like you’re still my teacher. And it’s not like you’d give me a good grade even if I did.”

Rossi hisses in frustration, his disbelief evident in his narrowed eyes.

Before the tension can escalate, Sara stands, smoothing her skirt with careful precision. “It would be an honor to cook for you, Chef Rossi,” she says politely. “But I need to get back to the restaurant.” She glances briefly at Minho before adding, “Excuse me.”

Minho watches her leave, the door clicking shut behind her. Rossi turns back to him, crossing his arms. “And what about you? Anything else to do?”

Minho chuckles darkly. “Not really. I’m out of a job, remember?”

Rossi glares at him but says nothing.

After a beat of silence, Minho leans forward, smirking. “Did you at least bring some good wine with you?”

Rossi scoffs, his annoyance spilling over. “What wine? There's nothing for you.”

Minho shrugs, feigning indifference, but the weight of Rossi’s presence lingers, heavier than ever.

-

The bottle of red wine sits between them, its deep crimson liquid catching the soft afternoon light. Chef Rossi fills Minho’s glass with the precision of a man who’s done this countless times before, his face betraying no emotion. Beside the wine, a freshly delivered charcuterie board waits on the table, its array of cured meats, cheeses, and olives a casual yet decadent offering.

Rossi snorts, pouring himself a glass. “Now, tell me the truth—Sara didn’t kick you out?”

Minho shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “She didn’t kick me out.”

Rossi narrows his eyes, skeptical. “Then what? Is it because your temper? You only pick up my bad habits.”

Minho’s smirk falters, and he takes a long sip of his wine to buy himself time. The truth sits heavy in his chest, a confession he’s not eager to make. But Rossi’s piercing gaze leaves no room for escape.

With a sigh, Minho sets his glass down and straightens in his seat. “It wasn’t my temper.” He hesitates, his fingers drumming against the table. “It’s because... I told everyone in the kitchen—no romance. Fired someone for it, too. Then I went and broke my own rule. I fell in love.”

Rossi clicks his tongue, the sound sharp and disapproving. “Come here!” He gestures for Minho to lean closer.

Minho groans, sinking back in his chair. “Come on. I’m older now. Do you really have to—”

Rossi cuts him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Closer.”

With a resigned sigh, Minho leans forward, his head tilted slightly. Rossi wastes no time grabbing a handful of his hair, tugging hard.

“How could you be so foolish?” Rossi scolds, his voice low and biting. “You sure are a person of principle. How can you fall in love again after all you went through?”

“Alright, alright!” Minho winces, his hands darting up to shield his head as Rossi lands a firm slap on the back of it.

Rossi isn’t done. “You were burned so badly before that you’ve clearly lost all sense of judgment. Falling in love again? In the kitchen, no less?” Another slap follows, and Minho jerks back with a glare.

“Will you stop hitting me?” Minho protests, rubbing the sore spot. “And for your information, this time it’s different. She’s... she’s a good one.”

Rossi scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “You say that now. Let’s see how long it lasts.”

The tension eases as Rossi picks up his glass again, taking a measured sip. After a moment of silence, he speaks. “Paolo called me when he heard I was coming here.”

Minho perks up, his brows knitting together in curiosity. “Paolo?”

Rossi nods. “He wants you in his restaurant. Said he’d take you in a heartbeat.”

Minho blinks, the words taking a moment to sink in. “Wait... me? Paolo actually wants me?”

Rossi rolls his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. People know what happened between you and Sara, but they also know you’re one of the best. Paolo included.”

Minho leans back, a slow smile spreading across his face. The idea of working in Paolo’s restaurant—the dream he’d chased for so long—fills him with a surge of excitement. But just as quickly, doubt creeps in.

“Should I go, though?” Minho murmurs, his voice quieter now. “I mean, I really want to work there, but...”

Rossi sets his glass down, his expression turning serious. “This is why I came here. To bring you back. If all you’re doing here is fooling around, wasting your time, then come home. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone anymore.”

Minho rubs the sore spot on his head, muttering under his breath. “Still hurts, you know. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you haven’t grown any wiser,” Rossi retorts, though his tone is lighter now.

Minho chuckles, but his thoughts are far from carefree. The offer is everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s worked for. Yet, as much as he wants to say yes, there’s something—or someone—keeping him from making the decision.

-

The plate of ginseng pasta feels heavier in your hands as you stand outside Minho’s door. The soft glow of the hallway lights casts a gentle sheen on the sauce, the deep red of the Barolo wine clinging to the strands of pasta. You shift your weight, anticipation curling in your chest as you ring the doorbell.

A moment later, the door swings open. Minho stands there, his sharp eyes scanning you before flickering down to the plate in your hands. His expression is unreadable.

“Can you taste this for me, Chef?” you ask, offering him a small, hopeful smile.

He exhales through his nose—half sigh, half amusement—before stepping aside and opening the door wider. Without a word, he lets you in.

You set the plate down on his dining table and take the seat next to him, watching as he picks up a fork. He glances at you before digging in, as if gauging your reaction. You nod encouragingly, the corners of your lips lifting in anticipation.

Minho lets out a low sigh and twirls the pasta around his fork, taking a bite. You study his face intently, searching for any sign of approval. Instead, his hand reaches for your head. He gives it a gentle pat, just for a second—before flicking you on the forehead.

“Ow!” You wince, rubbing the sore spot.

“It’s bitter,” he states flatly, setting his fork down. His sharp gaze lands on you, unimpressed. “I told you already—every recipe in that book was a failure, yet you still went ahead and made it the same way.”

You pout, still massaging your forehead. “You said one or two of them might’ve been good. I thought this could be the one.”

Minho scoffs. “Not a single recipe in that book was a success.”

You purse your lips, feigning innocence. “Then… can you tell me how to fix the bitterness, Chef?”

Minho doesn’t answer. Instead, he gestures for you to come closer. You hesitate, wary, but obey—only for him to flick your forehead again.

“Ow!” you yelp, jerking back.

“Figure it out yourself,” he scolds, turning his chair toward you. His gaze sharpens as he leans in slightly. “And while we’re at it—you made me jobless. The least you could do is spend time with me, but all you ever do is work.”

You blink at him. “How long are you planning to stay out of work?”

Minho scoffs. “It’s only been a day. One single day. You can't even stand to see me play for one day?”

Before you can respond, he takes your hands and pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him. Your breath catches as he cups your jaw, bringing your face close. His lips brush yours—just barely—before he presses in, slow but firm, sending a shiver down your spine. The weight of the day melts away, replaced by the warmth of his kiss.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, matching his eagerness, letting the kiss linger longer than intended. You don’t want to pull away—you’ve missed him too much—but a thought flickers through your mind, forcing you to break the kiss.

You pull back slightly, looking down at him. “Where did you go today?”

Minho hums, trying to close the distance again. “Met a friend.”

You place a hand against his chest, stopping him. “What friend?” There’s a slight edge of jealousy in your tone.

Minho shrugs. “Just an old friend.”

He leans in again, but this time, he doesn’t let you stop him. His lips crash onto yours, deeper, harder, stealing your breath. His teeth graze your lower lip before his hands start to wander—one slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming the skin of your back, the other gently squeezing your thigh. The sensation sends a rush through you, a heat blooming beneath your skin.

Just as you think you might get lost in him, he finally pulls away, leaving you gasping for air. But he’s not done—his lips trail down your jaw, then your neck, pressing hot, lingering kisses against your skin. A giggle escapes you, breathy and unintentional.

Minho smirks against your skin before moving to your ear. He nips at the shell lightly, making you yelp in surprise. You push at his chest, but he leans back in his chair, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, he softens just slightly. “How was your day?”

Your smile falters. The weight of the kitchen, the tension in the air, the way everyone whispered behind your back—it all rushes back in.

Minho notices immediately. His brows pull together. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

You exhale, finally admitting, “It felt like walking on glass.” You tell him about Felix and Taesoo leaving, how the remaining staff scrambled to keep the kitchen afloat.

Minho scoffs. “They deserved it.”

You grumble, “And on top of everything, the staff won’t stop gossiping about me.”

Minho’s expression darkens. “And you still want to stay there?”

You shoot him a look. “Why don’t you come back?”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You need to quit.”

Your eyes widen. “If I leave, will you come back?”

Minho’s gaze is steady as he cups your face. “It’s either both of us, or nothing. I don’t want us to be separated.”

You groan, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. His hand comes up to gently cradle the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I’ll teach you how to make all my recipes the right way… if you leave the restaurant.”

Your head snaps up. You pout. “What kind of teacher makes their student quit?”

Minho glares. “It’s an order. Leave the restaurant.”

You stare at him, stunned. You thought—maybe—just maybe, he’d understand. That he’d come back. But no. Instead of giving you what you wanted, he’s making you walk away from everything you’ve worked for.

Frustration bubbles up inside you. Without another word, you slide off his lap and take a step back.

Minho watches you, expression unreadable. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You keep glaring at him in silence, turning toward the door.

“Hey.” His voice sharpens. “Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” he snaps.

But you keep walking. Out the door. Away from him.

-

To avoid the eyes and the whisperings from everyone in the restaurant, you spend most of your time in the locker room. You sit on the small couch, your phone balanced on your knee as you scroll through Minho’s notebook, your other hand flipping between tabs on your screen.

The bitterness of ginseng. The right technique to mellow it out. Your head is buried deep in research, cross-referencing techniques from chefs who have tackled the same problem, when something catches your eye—an article about Sara.

Your finger hovers over the link, but before you can tap it, the door swings open, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

The entrée line.

You stay quiet, instinctively keeping your head low as Hyunwoo’s voice cuts through the air. “Have you heard? About the New Chef Culinary Challenge?”

Seungwan lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Of course! And guess what? Sara’s going to be one of the judges. Can you believe how lucky we are?”

You glance up from your phone, eyes narrowing slightly. New Chef Culinary Challenge? You quickly type the name into the search bar, skimming the details as they continue talking.

A competition for rising chefs. The winning team gets a sponsorship to study at a culinary school in Italy.

The door swings open again. This time, it’s Seojun, the sous-chef. His face looks strained, his usual confidence missing. Hyunwoo notices immediately. “What’s going on sous-chef? You look like you've just heard bad news.”

Seojun exhales heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if it’s true, but there’s a rumor going around about Chef Sara.”

That gets everyone’s attention. Even you, though you keep your expression neutral as you listen.

“She cheated.” Seojun leans against the lockers, lowering his voice slightly. “Apparently, back when she was competing in a contest, she tricked her rival so she could win the grand prize in Italy.”

Hyunwoo and Seungwan gasp dramatically. “What? That can't be!”

Seojun presses his lips into a thin line before adding, “And the rival was Lee Minho.”

Silence.

For a second, no one speaks. The weight of his words hangs thick in the air. Even Hyunwoo and Seungwan, always quick with a reaction, seem stunned.

Seungwan groans. “You’re kidding me. That means we have no one to be our managing chef for the challenge.”

From your corner, you barely breathe.

So, this is how it finally comes to light.

The whispers, the rumors, the betrayal Minho never talks about—all of it, spilling out right here in this locker room. You wonder if it stings for him, knowing that the truth is only coming out now, years too late. If it would even matter to him.

But for you, it does.

-

The café is warm, the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries lingering in the air, but Minho barely registers it. His gaze sweeps across the room, and it doesn't take long to spot Chris. Even in a place filled with businessmen and professionals, Chris stands out—his sharp suit pristine, his posture straight, his pale skin contrasting starkly against the dim lighting.

Minho clicks his tongue. If it weren’t for work, I wouldn’t be here, looking at his annoying face.

Still, he strides over, pulling out the chair opposite Chris before dropping into it with a lazy slouch. Chris doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“What happened with you and Sara in Italy?”

Minho stills for a split second. So, everyone knows now. It was only a matter of time before the past caught up with him.

He leans back, playing it coy. “And here I thought you were just here to persuade your runaway chef to come back.”

Chris doesn’t rise to the bait. His expression remains unreadable as he calmly asks, “Then why don’t you come back, Chef?”

Minho quirks a brow, tilting his head. “What if I do?”

Chris’s lips press into a firm line, unimpressed. “Come back to work, Chef.”

A scoff leaves Minho’s lips. He crosses his arms, legs stretching out under the table. “And if I do, does that mean I can date all I want in the kitchen?”

Chris’s jaw tightens ever so slightly, and Minho smirks. Got him.

But Chris recovers quickly, exhaling through his nose before speaking in a calm, steady tone. “Whether you start a war or a fight in the kitchen, that’s up to you. But come back.” His voice is unwavering now. “Help Sara.”

Minho’s smirk fades and for the first time, he sees it—Chris isn't demanding, isn't ordering. He’s genuinely asking.

“I’m not a chef,” Chris continues, his voice quieter but firm. “I can only do so much in the kitchen and I can’t stand by and watch the quality of food drop every day.”

Minho doesn’t respond. He watches as Chris straightens his shoulders, his expression turning serious.

“You know if you quit like this, you’re breaking our contract.”

Silence stretches between them.

Their eyes lock, neither willing to back down. The air between them is thick with unspoken words, an unyielding battle of wills.

Minho exhales slowly, fingers tapping against the table, debating if this is really the time to not be selfish.

-

The kitchen is empty, save for the faint hum of the ventilation system and the soft bubbling of milk in your pots. Everyone else has gone home, but you're still here, determined to perfect the celeriac purée Sara requested.

Not that you had much choice—Seungwan conveniently "forgot" his promise to teach you, leaving you to figure it out on your own.

You're stirring two pots at once, carefully keeping the milk from burning, when footsteps echo through the quiet space. You glance up to see Chris entering the kitchen, his sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on you.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “Yeah, can you stir this one for me.”

Chris shrugs off his suit jacket, folding it neatly before placing it on the chef’s table and then he rolls the sleeves of his dark shirt to his elbows, exposing the evident veins on his arms.

The sight makes you raise an eyebrow. “Is it really okay to make the manager work?” you ask.

Chris waves off your concern, taking the spatula from your hand and beginning to stir. “If it means you won’t burn down the kitchen, then yes.”

You roll your eyes but focus on your task. The rhythm of stirring is almost calming, but then—

“The milk’s all gone,” Chris announces, peering into his pot. “Should I turn off the stove now?”

Your head snaps up. “No—wait—” You rush to grab the spatula from him, stirring both pots in a frantic attempt to salvage them. “Get more milk from the fridge, now!”

Chris blinks at the urgency but moves quickly, returning with a carton of cold milk. You nod at his efficiency. “Pour it in, slowly.”

As he does, the pot hisses upon contact, steam curling into the air. Chris watches as he continues stirring, then asks, “Why not just add more milk from the start?”

You shoot him a look while your hand stirring the pot non-stop. “You trying to make soup?”

Chris huffs but follows your instructions. The two of you stir in silence for a while until you sigh, voicing your frustration. “I don’t get it. Seungwan’s celeriac purée tasted sweeter, but mine always comes out bitter. And he won’t tell me why.”

Chris stops stirring to look at you, his expression incredulous. “He won’t share, even though you work together?”

You nod and pout as he mutters, “That’s mean.”

His deadpan comment makes you smile, the tension in your shoulders easing. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You hand him a wooden spatula. “Mash the celeriac up,” you instruct.

Chris follows without protest, pressing down with ease until the softened celeriac turns into a smooth paste, blending with the milk. You do the same, then take a taste.

Your shoulders slump. Still bitter.

Chris tastes his and frowns. “Mine’s sweet.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure. Like I trust your taste buds.”

Chris gestures to his pot, offering his spatula. “I swear, it's good. Try it.”

Skeptical, you dip your pinky finger into his purée and bring it to your tongue. Your eyes widen. It really is sweet.

You gasp, looking between both pots, baffled. “How—?”

Chris frowns, echoing your thoughts. “We used the same ingredients and method. How come one’s sweeter than the other?”

Your mind races, retracing every step. And then—it clicks.

“The milk,” you blurt out.

Chris tilts his head. “What about it?”

Excitement surges through you like you've discovered a divinie revelation. “Mine used room-temperature milk. Yours was cold from the fridge.”

Understanding dawns in his expression, but before he can say anything, you jump on your feet, triumphant. “I finally found the secret formula!”

Chris laughs, watching your excitement with amusement. “I’d like to remind you that I played a big role in this discovery.”

Still grinning, you turn to him and, in a rush of happiness, throw your arms around him in a quick hug. Chris stiffens for a second before relaxing.

Pulling back, you look him in the eyes and say, “Thank you.”

And you have so many things you're thankful for—Chris’s presence, his unwavering support and how he genuinely cares for you despite knowing that you only can reciprocate his feelings with a sincere gratitude, so you say it again, “Thank you, Chris.”

For once, Chris doesn’t have a witty comeback. He just nods, a small smile tugging at his lips.

-

The moment the doorbell rings, Minho knows it’s you.

There’s something about the way you knock or ring, like you’re trying to suppress excitement but failing miserably. With a sigh and a faint smirk, he opens the door. And there you are—standing with another plate of ginseng pasta, eyes bright with anticipation.

“Can you taste it for me, chef?” you ask sweetly, holding the plate out like an offering.

Minho studies you for a second before stepping aside. “Come in.”

You set the plate on the table in the living room, settling onto the sofa. Minho joins you, stretching out comfortably before casting you a sideways glance. “Just so you know, I’m going to be busy starting tomorrow,” he says. “No more time to play with you.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Did you get a new job, Chef? Where?”

Minho leans back, feigning nonchalance. “That’s a secret.” He picks up the fork, twirling it between his fingers before adding, “I might go back to Italy.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he looks at you and asks, “Do you want to come with me?”

Without missing a beat, you reply, “I can’t.”

Minho’s hand stills. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet, but suddenly, he’s lost his appetite. He glares at you. “Why not?”

You pout and meekly answer, “I have my job... my dad.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “But you have me,” he counters, his tone sharp. “You really don’t want to come?”

You hesitate, then quietly say, “I’d rather learn from you in the kitchen.”

Minho scoffs and persists. “I'm going and you can go ahead and bury your bones in Farfalle.”

You huff in frustration, crossing your arms. Silence stretches between you both, heavy and unyielding. After a moment, you break it with a question.

“…Does that mean we’re breaking up?”

Minho’s grip on the fork tightens. “You said you don’t want to come,” he snaps, exhaling sharply. He shakes his head. “You’re not willing to give up anything for me.”

You bristle at that. “How can you leave in the middle of a relationship?”

Something in Minho cracks. He lets out a humorless laugh. “Do you even have a right to say that?”

You flinch. Minho’s voice drops lower, rough with frustration. “You don’t want to quit with me. You don’t want to come with me. Then what do you want to do with me?”

Your silence only fuels his irritation. He lets out another sigh, running a hand through his hair. Maybe he’s approaching this wrong. He scoots closer, voice softer now.

“Convince me not to go then,” he says, watching you carefully.

Still, nothing.

Minho isn’t good at being gentle. He doesn’t have the patience for quiet battles. With a small sigh, he reaches out, patting your head endearingly. “I’m scared to go anywhere because of you,” he mutters, then nudges your knee playfully. “Come on, say it. Don’t go, chef.”

But you don’t say anything.

Instead, you stand. Minho watches as you move toward the door, something unreadable in your expression. His stomach twists.

“Why are you leaving?” he calls after you, scoffing when you don’t answer. You just keep walking, the door clicking shut behind you.

Minho leans back, exhaling sharply. He just doesn’t get you sometimes. It’s like everything he does is wrong to you.

Frustrated, he stabs his fork into the pasta, twirling it aggressively before shoving a bite into his mouth.

And then—he stops.

The bitterness is gone. The ginseng pasta actually tastes good.

Minho blinks, chewing slowly. He takes another bite, testing it. A huff of laughter escapes him. You did it. You figured it out.

Without realizing it, he’s smiling. Pride flickers in his chest as he takes another forkful. Maybe he still doesn’t understand you. But at least one thing is clear—you’re a damn good chef.

-

The kitchen hums with energy, the usual pre-dinner service rush thick in the air. Pots clang, knives chop, and the scent of simmering sauces lingers in the air. But tonight, something feels different.

Two hours before service, Chef Sara is at her station, preparing a special pasta dish. You’ve noticed the extra care she’s putting into it—more than usual. The curiosity gnaws at you, especially when you hear whispers from the service staff about the customer who requested it. He asked for Chef Sara, and only Chef Sara.

You slip out of the kitchen, making your way up the stairs to the second-floor balcony, where you can get a good look at the dining room below. Peering over the railing, your breath catches in your throat.

Chef Rossi.

The shock almost makes you gasp. What is he doing here?

Even from a distance, you recognize him immediately—the sharp, assessing eyes, the air of authority he carries like a second skin. He was one of the most respected instructors at your culinary school, a man whose approval was both feared and revered. More than that, he was Minho and Sara’s mentor, taking them under his wing like prized protégés. Seeing him now, it’s impossible not to notice just how much Minho has taken after him.

Your back straightens as Sara herself enters the dining room, carrying a plate of pasta. The service staff stand nearby, watching just as intently as you are. Even Chris is among them, his usual casual demeanor replaced with quiet observation.

Sara sets the plate in front of Chef Rossi. He looks at the dish. Then at her. Silence stretches between them.

And then—his voice explodes through the restaurant. “I ordered two plates of pasta, not one.”

The words lash through the room, sharp and unforgiving.

“Are you incapable of delivering an order placed not one, but two days ago? Is this the best you can do?”

Chef Rossi lifts the plate. For a second, you think—no, he wouldn’t—But he does.

He drops it. The ceramic shatters against the floor, the carefully plated pasta scattering in a mess of sauce and noodles. A sharp breath hisses through the room.

“I will only taste it when you bring me two plates,” Chef Rossi declares.

Sara stands still, her face unreadable. Then, she nods—just slightly—before turning and walking away. The moment she’s out of sight, she breaks into a run and heads towards the chef’s office.

You don’t wait to see what happens next. If you linger any longer, Chef Rossi might spot you, and the last thing you need is a scolding from him. You hurry back to the kitchen, gripping your knife and focusing on your station.

But then—

Sara bursts in, slightly out of breath. “Can you please make Chef Lee’s ginseng pasta?”

The kitchen falls silent. Every pair of eyes turns toward you while you freeze in place.

You blink at her, as if making sure you heard correctly. “You… want me to make Chef Lee’s ginseng pasta?”

Sara nods and your first thought is Minho. It has to be him. He must have told her to prepare it in his place.

You exhale. Well, if this is the only way to deal with Chef Rossi, so be it. Also, you'd feel bad for Sara if you refused. You reach for a pan, your fingers tightening around the handle. Beside you, Sara moves back to her station, already preparing the second dish.

Still— You can’t help but wonder. Why did Minho ask for me to cook it instead of him?

-

Chef Sara strides ahead, her presence composed as ever, while you follow closely behind, carefully balancing your plate of ginseng pasta in both hands. The nerves settle low in your stomach, a quiet anxiety growing with each step. It’s not just about presenting the dish—it’s about who is sitting at the table.

Chef Rossi.

Even back in culinary school, his name carried weight. He was a man whose approval was both terrifying and rewarding, and now, here you are, about to serve him your dish. You’ve seen how he treats failures. You remember how Minho looked up to him. And now you’re about to face him, carrying a plate of Minho’s recipe—except, it isn’t quite Minho’s anymore.

Sara reaches the table first, setting down her dish with practiced ease. You follow suit, carefully placing your plate beside hers before taking a hurried step back, as if distance might shield you from whatever sharp words Chef Rossi has in store.

It doesn’t work. His eyes flick to you, narrowing slightly. “Do I know you?”

You freeze. Slowly, you lift your head, forcing a polite, practiced smile onto your face. “It’s nice to meet you again, Chef Rossi.”

His gaze sharpens. Then— He hisses.

“You,” he says, unimpressed. “Are you still slacking off like you did back in culinary school?”

Your smile stiffens. Right. You expected this. Before you can answer, Chef Rossi hisses again, his eyes narrowing even further. “And you—are you the one dating Minho?”

You swallow hard. There’s no good way to answer that, so you just nod meekly.

Thankfully, he moves on. Chef Rossi picks up his fork and digs into Sara’s pasta first. The moment the bite touches his tongue, you see his expression shift, just slightly—a small nod of acknowledgment.

“I see you’ve done more tests,” he comments.

Sara lifts her chin. “Back in Italy, I used to blanch the ginseng in water to remove the bitterness,” she eloquently explains the process. “But I found that baking it in the oven with a potato keeps the nutrients while reducing the bitter taste.”

Chef Rossi nods, clearly pleased. “That’s just what I expected from you.” He places the fork down, voice firm. “Your pasta is the best as usual.”

Sara remains composed, accepting the praise with grace. Then, Chef Rossi turns to your plate.

You suck in a breath as he picks up his fork again. Watches as he twirls the pasta. As he takes a bite.

There’s a pause. Then—surprise flashes across his face.

“Whose recipe is this?” he asks.

Your fingers twitch. “It’s Chef Lee’s recipe.”

Chef Rossi’s eyes narrow. “All of it?”

You hesitate—then quickly shake your head. “I changed something.”

Chef Rossi leans forward slightly. “What is it?”

Your voice feels small under his scrutiny, but you force yourself to answer. “When I followed Chef Lee’s recipe, the bitter taste of the ginseng threw off the balance. So I tried blanching the ginseng in milk instead.” You glance at Sara. “It softened the bitterness and turned it into sweetness.”

Sara’s brows shoot up. “You used the good wine and the bitterness was still there?”

You nod. “I thought the Barolo wine would do the trick, but it didn’t fully remove the bitterness.”

Sara’s face drops. A muttered, quiet realization: “So it wasn’t the wine…”

You hesitate and clasp your hands together in front of you. “Chef Lee told me it was a failed recipe, so I changed it a little.”

For the first time, Sara’s expression cracks. She turns to Chef Rossi, her eyes wide. “You always knew, didn’t you?”

Chef Rossi doesn’t look surprised by the question. He meets her gaze evenly. “You didn’t need to ruin Minho’s wine to win,” he states, matter-of-fact. “Because his recipe was never complete to begin with.”

The weight of his words settles over the table. Chef Rossi continues, voice firm. “Even if Minho had used the best wine, his method back then was incomplete.” He pauses. Then, the final blow: “You didn’t ruin Minho. You ruined yourself.”

Sara visibly stiffens. Her fingers curl into her apron, gripping so tightly her knuckles turn white. A long silence follows. Then—softly, almost brokenly—she mutters, “I’m so sorry, Chef.”

She turns and walks away. Chris makes a move to stop her, but she doesn’t look back. She keeps walking—out of the dining hall, out of sight.

You exhale, the tension in your shoulders lingering. This should feel like a victory, but the weight of the truth—the way it broke Sara—leaves a strange bitterness in your chest.

Before you can dwell on it, Chef Rossi’s voice pulls you back. He calls your name. Almost the same way Minho does. Then, he lifts a hand and points a finger straight at you.

“How dare you change your chef’s recipe?”

“I—I’m sorry, Chef,” you mutter, looking down.

Chef Rossi clicks his tongue. “If you want to be great, keep changing recipes.” His eyes glint, voice sharp. “And keep changing them again. And again.”

Your head snaps up and for a second, you almost—almost—laugh. But you manage to hold it back, straightening instead.

“Yes, Chef.”

Chef Rossi huffs. “And stop slacking off.”

You snap a quick, “Yes, Chef.”

As he leans back in his chair, you finally allow yourself a small breath. This feels like a triumph. But remembering what the truth did to Sara— You can’t help but feel bittersweet.

-

Minho has been waiting for this.

He’s been expecting the sound of the doorbell, anticipating it for a while now. And when it finally rings, a slow smile tugs at his lips.

There you are.

He takes his time walking toward the door, savoring the moment, letting the anticipation settle just a little longer before he finally opens it.

And there you stand, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, Chef,” you greet, eyes shining, excitement practically radiating off of you.

Minho’s heart does a little leap—annoyingly so—but he keeps his expression coy, lingering in the doorway. “I’m guessing you met the old man today,” he says, tilting his head.

Your enthusiasm is instant—you nod eagerly. “You denied it, but you were exactly like Chef Rossi.”

Minho scoffs, face contorting in denial. “How am I like him?” He crosses his arms, lips twitching. “I’m way better than Chef Rossi. At least by a bit.”

Your grin grows wider at that, amused. You take a step closer. “Chef Rossi was waiting for you to come. But why did you make me cook your ginseng pasta instead?” you ask, tilting your head at him.

This time, Minho moves aside, letting the door close behind him. He stands in front of you, his gaze steady, before he simply states—

“The ginseng pasta doesn’t belong to Chef Lee Minho anymore. It belongs to you.”

He watches as realization dawns on your face. Before you can speak, he continues, voice even, certain.

“My recipe was a failure. Yours came out a success.” He leans in just slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “So now, it’s yours.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, as if processing his words. Then— Your smile grows impossibly wide, beaming with pure joy. And Minho’s heart tightens in the best way.

He exhales, playing it off with a smirk. “You’re a little bit better than me at making ginseng pasta.”

You raise a brow. “Just a little?”

Minho grins, shrugging. “Yeah. Just a little.”

You laugh, the sound bursting out of you—bright, unfiltered, happiness etched across your face. It’s contagious, and Minho finds himself laughing along with you, warmth settling deep in his chest.

Then, he asks, “Are you happy?”

You nod eagerly. Then, without warning, you surge forward, throwing your arms around him and kissing him.

Minho barely has time to register the softness of your lips before you pull away again, giggling against him. But he’s not done with you yet.

His hands find your waist, pulling you back in, and this time, he leans in—slowly, deliberately—capturing your lips in a kiss that lingers, deep and unspoken, conveying everything he feels for you.

Pride. Happiness. You.

-

Stepping into Minho’s apartment, the door barely clicks shut before his hands are on you, pulling you in for a kiss. It starts slow—teasing, exploring—but quickly deepens, growing hot and desperate as his fingers tighten on your waist. You press into him, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans softly against your lips, his body already thrumming with heat.

Without breaking the kiss, Minho’s hands slide down to your thighs, gripping firmly before hoisting you up against him. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the strength in his hold as he carries you toward the bedroom. His lips never leave yours, only pausing for a second to murmur, “I’ve got you,” before reclaiming your mouth with a hunger that sends a shiver through you.

The world blurs until your back meets the bed, and Minho looms over you, his dark eyes searching yours as his hands begin their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. His mouth follows, tracing heated kisses down your neck, along your collarbone, leaving you breathless beneath him.

Your warmth envelopes him as he holds you close, planting kisses on every inch of skin he can land his lips on. He drags his mouth lower, going to the warmest part of you and you lowly gasp the second he makes contact with your heating core. Using his thumb, he teases your clit, rubbing it in circular motions, he’s doing it gently but it's enough to make you squirm under him.

As if that isn't enough, he replaces his thumb with his tongue next, slick and hot against your sensitive spot, making you arching your back, asking for more. He gives it to you by taking all of you in his mouth, sucking, licking, drinking in your essence that slowly intoxicating him.

Minho lets go and with his hands on your hips, he's maneuvering you to turn over on the bed, lying on your stomach. You slightly jutting your rear up in the air, allowing him to reach between your legs and touches you there, making you drenched.

One cheek pressed against the pillow while your hands gripping the sheet as you moan, enjoying the way his fingers pumping in and out of you, searching for that spot that makes you—

“Oh!” You loudly moan and it's echoing in the dark room.

As you stay laying on the bed on your stomach, you hear Minho shifting on the bed and soon, you feel the heat his body radiates as he hovers above you. His hand grips the nape of your neck before gliding it down your spine and then shifts to the side, gripping you by the waist as he positioning himself.

His cock, stiff and hot, poking the back of your thigh before he aligns it towards your entrance. As he enters you, you arch your back and jutting your ass higher in the air for him. You're moaning into the pillow as you're taking more and more of him until he's fully buried inside you.

Minho drops his head into the crook of your neck, spilling out a raw groan and he stays like that, giving each other a moment to adjust. He presses his mouth close to your ear and murmurs, “How are you always this good, mmh?”

You look over your shoulder at him and smile, but he captures your lips in a haste kiss that takes all of your breath away. You gasp for air when he lets go but it's not enough, it will never be enough.

You pull him by the neck and bring his head close, this time you kiss him, letting all of your feelings pouring out of you and into the kiss, as if committing this moment to memory.

-

When Minho finally starts thrusting you from behind, his hands mapping every curve of your body, he brushes your hair aside, exposing the bare skin of your shoulder. His lips find the spot just below your ear, pressing soft, lingering kisses before trailing lower. One of his hands slides upward, wrapping gently around your throat—not to restrain, but to guide. He tilts your head back, angling it just enough so he can claim your lips again, this time deep and consuming.

When he finally pulls away, his dark eyes meet yours, clouded with heat. His thumb brushes over your pulse point as he murmurs, “Harder?” His voice is low, full of restrained intensity.

You swallow, breath uneven, before shaking your head slightly. Instead, you place your hand over his, squeezing gently. Your gaze meets his, steady and sure. “This is good,” you whisper, voice laced with warmth. “This is perfect.”

Minho’s lips curl into a small, knowing smirk before he leans in again, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin as he maintains the slow, steady pace. He takes your hand and lacing it together against the mattress and you're right, this is perfect.

Minho pauses just as you’re on the brink of climax, he slowly pulls away and you sigh at the sudden emptiness. He shifts, his hands firm yet careful as he turns you onto your back. His touch lingers, warm and steady, as he settles between your legs and enters you once again. His eyes focusing on the way his cock slipping in and out of you for a while before locking onto yours

There’s something different in his eyes now—softer, deeper—like he’s seeing all of you, not just your body, but everything that makes you you.

He leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips before moving lower, his touch reverent, as if memorizing every inch of your skin. His pace remains unhurried, every movement deliberate, drawing out every sensation until you feel like you’re unraveling beneath him. He murmurs soft words against your skin, praises mixed with quiet sighs, his hands never stopping their slow, loving exploration.

By the time you both reach your highs, your body is trembling, overwhelmed not just by pleasure, but by the sheer intimacy of it all. Minho watches you carefully, his breathing still heavy, and it’s only when he leans in to press another kiss to your lips that he notices the tears trailing down your cheek.

His expression softens, and he brings his knuckles up, gently wiping the tear away. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?” There’s no teasing in his tone—only warmth, only care.

You blink up at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. Before you can answer, he leans in, capturing your lips in a long, lingering kiss, one that holds everything words can’t express.

When he pulls away, the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his eyes dart toward the mess he made on your thigh, the pearly white of his seed glistening under the dim of light.

“So,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek one last time. “Still perfect?”

You let out a breathy laugh, your chest still rising and falling with the remnants of your release. Meeting his gaze, you smile and nod.

“Perfect,” you whisper, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.

Minho exhales, a satisfied hum escaping him as he shifts to pull you into his arms, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

-

Minho lies beside you, the warmth of your bare skin pressed against his, his fingers idly combing through your hair as he gazes into your eyes. The world outside feels distant, insignificant—because in this moment, with you lying so close, nothing else matters.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb grazing over your cheek as he murmurs, “I’m glad you’re doing well in the kitchen without me.”

Your eyes widen slightly, filled with something soft and unguarded. “I don’t want to be doing well all by myself,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “I want to do a good job when you’re there with me.”

Minho’s brows pull together slightly. “Why not?”

You take his wrist, cradling his hand against your cheek, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Do you know how many times I thought of you today?”

His smirk appears without hesitation, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “How many?”

“Twelve times,” you answer without missing a beat.

Minho scoffs. “That’s it?” he teases, tilting his head slightly. “I expected more.”

You hold his gaze, and for a moment, the air shifts between you. “Twelve times,” you repeat, voice quieter this time, “that I thought… it should have been me, not you, that left the restaurant.”

His teasing smirk fades, his expression unreadable as he listens.

“I never imagined you would give up your job for me,” you continue, not in disbelief, but with something closer to awe, like the reality of it is finally settling in. Your voice takes on a wistful tone, laced with a quiet regret. “I never realized how special it was—just being together—until now. We wasted so much time worrying about getting caught, about what everyone else thought.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around his wrist, your eyes flickering with something raw and vulnerable as you plead, “If you come back, I’ll be really good to you.” Your voice drops lower, almost desperate. “So please… come back.”

Minho watches you carefully, heart tightening in his chest. He doesn’t react immediately, doesn’t let you see the way your words settle deep inside him. Instead, he exhales softly and tilts his head.

“You done talking?” he asks, his tone light, teasing, masking the weight of his thoughts.

You nod, and he shifts, opening his arm to you. Without hesitation, you move into his embrace, nuzzling into his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips, slow and deep, something that aches in the best way.

“Let’s just sleep,” he mutters, pulling the duvet higher over both of you.

Minho holds you close, his fingers resting at the small of your back, and as your breathing evens out, he stares at the ceiling, lost in thought. You make it sound so simple, as if all he has to do is walk back through the restaurant doors and everything will fall into place.

He wants to give you everything. But as he lies there, feeling your warmth against him, he wonders—can he?

-

Minho is wiping down the counter when his phone buzzes with a new message. A smirk tugs at his lips, knowing it’s from you. You were just here, eating breakfast together in the kitchen, lingering longer than necessary in his arms.

But his smirk fades as he reads your text. Sara didn’t come home until now, and I’m worried about her.

Minho’s first instinct is to let someone else handle it—Chris, perhaps, or Felix—but the knot tightening in his chest convinces him otherwise. After what happened yesterday, he knows he should check on her himself.

Just as he’s about to call, another message pops up. This time, it’s from Sara.

Come meet me here. She’s attached the address to a small café.

It takes him fifteen minutes to get there, the ride filled with thoughts of what he should say or not say. When he arrives, he spots Sara instantly, tucked away in a corner, her chin resting in her hand as she stares vacantly out the window.

He doesn’t announce his arrival, just slides into the seat across from her. When she notices him, a faint, melancholic smile graces her lips. She cradles her cup of coffee, but makes no move to drink from it.

Silence lingers between them, heavy and suffocating.

“Minho, I don’t think I can ever cook again,” Sara begins, her voice thin and worn. “I’m too ashamed to even face you.”

Minho remains quiet, his eyes fixed on her, giving her the space to unravel her thoughts.

“I'm so disappointed in myself,” she admits, the words tumbling out like a confession. “First, I'm disappointed for not believing in myself. I could have taken first place on my own merit.”

Her grip tightens on the cup, knuckles paling as she presses on. “And then…I'm disappointed for hurting you, betraying you, just to get ahead. If only I had believed in myself from the start…”

The quiver in her voice gives Minho pause, and he takes this opportunity to respond. “Chef Rossi always favored you,” he says softly, choosing his words with care. “He had higher expectations for you than for anyone else. That’s why he was so disappointed.”

He leans back, folding his arms as he continues, “Don’t worry about it too much. I wasn’t all that gracious either.”

Sara offers a fragile smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wanted to show you how good I was,” she confesses, the honesty of it striking something deep within him. “I was the one who recommended you to Farfalle, you know. I wanted to work with you again.”

Minho’s expression remains unreadable, absorbing the weight of her words. Another stretch of silence settles between them, only broken by the muted clinks of cups and chatter from other tables.

Finally, Sara looks at him directly, her eyes glassy but determined. “Minho,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

He meets her gaze, giving her his full attention.

“For the sake of Farfalle’s kitchen…for my sake,” she pleads, her vulnerability laid bare. “Can you come back and be the chef again?”

Minho’s breath catches, and he watches her as she forces a trembling smile. “It’s the last request I’ll make of you.”

Minho’s gaze softens, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. He’s torn between the bitterness of the past and the hope for something different—a chance to rebuild, not just for the kitchen, but for the people in it.

A decision hangs in the balance, the echoes of past betrayals and lingering affections coloring the silence between them.

-

The kitchen is eerily quiet, and it shouldn’t be—not when lunch service is only ten minutes away. Instead of the usual buzz of last-minute preparations, there’s a heavy sense of unease. Everyone looks more discouraged than nervous. At least yesterday, the kitchen still had its head chef. But today…

Hyunwoo shifts uncomfortably before breaking the silence. “Sous-chef, do you think we can handle the service on our own?”

Seojun exhales slowly. His usual confident demeanor is absent, and his shoulders slump slightly. He doesn’t even need to answer—the doubt is clear in his expression. Three cooks against a full lunch service? It’s impossible.

Unless—

The kitchen door swings open.

Minho strides in, tying his apron around his waist, the weight of his presence settling over the kitchen like a breath of fresh air. Behind him, Felix and Taesoo follow, both dressed and ready for service. Felix catches your eye and flirtatiously winks.

You immediately pinch your forearm, just in case you’re dreaming. It hurts. So that means—

Minho takes his place at the chef’s table and surveys the room. “Chef Sara will not be returning to the kitchen for a while,” he announces. His voice is steady, authoritative. “And as head chef, I owe you all an apology for putting you through all this confusion. It wasn’t my intention, but our personal circumstances got in the way.”

A beat of silence passes before he continues, his tone softer but firm. “I felt awful being away, and I know Chef Sara feels the same. But I also strongly believe she will come back soon.”

Minho’s gaze moves across the room, lingering on you for just a second longer than the others. You can’t help the way your lips tug into a bright smile, and you hope he knows how hard you’re resisting the urge to run up and hug him.

Minho smirks—his signature smirk, the one that sends warmth pooling in your chest. “I’m glad to be back in the kitchen with all of you.”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Chris quietly stepping into the kitchen, observing. But before anyone can react, Seojun raises his hand. “I have something to say.”

Minho nods, giving him permission to speak.

Seojun straightens. “I’ve never seen a kitchen run smoothly when the head chef is romantically involved with a cook,” he says evenly. “So tell me, how can you prove that this will be any different?”

Silence falls over the kitchen like a thick cloud. All eyes flick between you and Minho.

Seojun folds his arms, his voice calm but pointed. “This isn’t personal. But a kitchen operates on a strict hierarchy. If the head chef is involved with someone lower in rank, it will cause problems. The kitchen needs a leader who can make fair decisions without personal bias.”

His gaze sharpens as he looks at Minho directly. “Can you promise that your relationship won’t interfere with how you run this kitchen?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling exposed. You hadn’t considered how difficult this would be—not just for you and Minho, but for the entire team.

Seojun presses on, his voice unwavering. “If you can’t, then I want your word that if you ever lose your impartiality as a chef, you will fire her yourself.”

Your stomach twists.

Minho is quiet for a moment. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks.

“You have my word,” Minho says, his tone firm. “The minute I lose my impartiality, I will fire her myself.”

The words sting, but you nod in understanding. This is what it means to be in Minho’s kitchen. His integrity as a chef comes first, and if you’re going to stand beside him, you have to accept that too.

The tension lingers for a few seconds before Minho claps his hands. “Alright, let’s get to work. Lunch service is about to start.”

Just like that, the kitchen comes alive again. The energy shifts as Felix and Taesoo return to their stations, and Minho’s familiar yells fill the space, pulling everyone back into their rhythm.

Amidst the chaos, you slip into the walk-in freezer, pulling out your phone. Your fingers hover over the screen before typing out a text.

Welcome back from your wandering, my favorite chef in the world, and then hit send.

Through the circular window of the freezer door, you watch as Minho pulls out his phone. He reads the message, then lifts his head, scanning the room until his eyes find yours through the glass. He suppresses a smile—just barely—before making a throat slicing gesture at you.

You bite back a laugh as he tucks his phone away and continues walking through the kitchen like usual, as if nothing had changed.

But something had. Minho was back.

-

The knock on the door comes just as Minho expected.

“Come in.”

Felix and Hyunwoo step inside, standing side by side in front of him as he leans against Sara’s vacant desk. Felix is the first to speak.

“You called for us, Chef?”

Minho nods but turns his attention to Hyunwoo first. “Thank you for your hardwork for filling in for everyone on the pasta line.”

Hyunwoo scoffs, crossing his arms. “This is not the first time he ran off.” He throws a pointed look at Felix before muttering under his breath, “Not like he cares what happens to the rest of us anyway.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Am I overhearing you, or are you talking to me?”

Hyunwoo shifts his weight, not meeting Minho’s gaze. “That’s up to the listener’s interpretation.”

Minho exhales sharply. “Felix left out of loyalty to me. If you have a complaint, say it to me directly.” His tone sharpens. “Go ahead.”

Hyunwoo hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. But then, with a flash of defiance, he speaks. “Now that you mentioned it. Aren’t you ashamed of going back on your word, Chef?”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change, he crosses his arms together and asks, “Do you hold a grudge against me, Hyunwoo?”

Hyunwoo tenses. “I’m just saying it because you told me to.”

Minho scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah. You hold a grudge.” He lets the words linger for a second before shifting his attention to Felix. “Did you apologize to the sous-chef and the other cooks?”

Felix glances at Hyunwoo before quickly straightening. “No, Chef.”

Minho exhales. “Then fix it. Do it sincerely. Be nice to each other.”

“Yes, Chef.” Felix doesn’t hesitate, his usual loyalty evident.

Minho moves on. “Spring’s here. That means we need a new menu—something original and different from our existing pasta dishes.”

Before he can continue, another knock sounds at the door. The moment his eyes meet yours through the opening, he gives a small nod. You step inside and take a spot next to Hyunwoo.

Minho looks back at the group. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll introduce ginseng pasta as the new recommended dish.”

Felix blinks. “But only you and Chef Sara know how to make it.”

Hyunwoo immediately corrects him. “No, she made it yesterday.” He tilts his head toward you.

Felix’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really? You really know how to make it?”

Hyunwoo’s expression darkens again. “Just because you approved her recipe, does that mean she’s getting special treatment? You’re not pushing me out of the pasta line, are you, Chef?”

Minho scoffs, barely holding back his irritation. “You’re staying on pasta, and she’s staying in antipasto.” His gaze flickers to you. “Hand your recipe to the pasta line.”

Your answer comes out weak. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho studies your face for a second before turning to Felix. “Since ginseng pasta isn’t easy to make, you’ll make it. Take the recipe and start preparing.”

Felix, ever obedient, nods. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho straightens. “That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

Felix gestures between himself and Hyunwoo. “Just us?”

Minho glares. “Get out.”

Felix and Hyunwoo leave, Felix throwing a quick glance back as he shuts the door behind them.

Now that it’s just the two of you, Minho lets out a slow breath, relaxing slightly. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Sorry for taking your recipe.”

You shake your head. “I understand, Chef. A big restaurant like this—you can’t keep everything to yourself.”

Minho watches you for a moment before taking a slow step forward. “Do you think I’m a thief?”

You chuckle. “Yes, Chef.” Then, quickly, “It wasn’t entirely my recipe anyway. It was ninety percent yours. I just added garnish.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “It wasn’t just garnish.” His voice lowers, more thoughtful now. “Garnish is for decoration. It doesn’t add to the taste. Your ideas are more than that.” He pauses. “Your ideas are like salt.”

He can see that you soften around him as you smile at that. He tilts his head as he asks, “Do you know how important salt is in a kitchen?”

You nod. “Yes, Chef.”

He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. His touch is firm, but there’s something reassuring about it. “Then be the salt in our kitchen.”

Your chuckle is soft, a little shy. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho can’t help but laugh, just a little. And in this moment, amidst all the stress and the weight of responsibility, everything feels a little lighter.

-

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before stepping out of Minho’s office. If you walk out looking too pleased, it’ll only spark unnecessary suspicions, and the last thing you need is people whispering about you. Composed, you turn toward the kitchen, but before you can take more than a few steps, Felix suddenly appears in front of you, blocking your path.

His expression is serious, tone firm as he demands, “How did you know how to make ginseng pasta?”

For a split second, you think he’s about to accuse you of something terrible, but then you realize how ridiculous that is. You chuckle, shaking your head. “How else could I made such dish? From the recipe book Chef gave me.”

Felix’s eyes widen. “Really? Minho gave you his recipe book?”

You nod innocently.

Felix’s mouth drops open. He stares at you, stunned into silence, and for a moment, you wonder if you broke him. When he finally manages to speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “No one has ever seen that book.”

Before you can respond, he suddenly steps closer, hand outstretched. “Hand it over.”

You blink. “What?”

“The book,” Felix insists, still holding his hand out. “Hand it over.”

You stare at him, baffled. He’s acting like you’re carrying some sort of holy relic.

Just as you open your mouth to protest, you catch movement behind him. Minho. Your eyes dart toward him, trying to warn Felix, but he’s too focused on demanding the recipe book to notice. Minho closes in behind him, raising his hand— Smack.

Felix yelps in pain as Minho’s palm collides with the back of his head. Before Felix can recover, Minho lands a sharp finger flick on his forehead.

“Ah—! Chef!” Felix grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

Minho steps around him, moving to your side like a silent shield. “Are you a thug now?” he asks dryly. “Why are you extorting a recipe book from her?”

Felix is too busy nursing his wounds to respond immediately.

Minho turns his attention to you. “I told you to give him your ginseng pasta recipe, not my book.” He emphasizes the distinction.

You nod. “Yes, chef.”

Felix finally regains his composure, shooting Minho an incredulous look. “Wait—why would you give her your recipe book and not me?” His voice drops into a mutter. “You can’t do this to me over a girl.”

Minho doesn’t even hesitate. “It’s my book. I can do whatever I want with it.”

Felix pouts, clearly displeased. “I’m honestly disappointed, Chef.”

Minho raises a brow. “And what’s so wrong about me giving my book to who I want?”

Felix doesn’t have an answer for that, but his pout deepens in silent protest.

Instead of softening, Minho levels him with a warning. “If you try to take it from her again, you’re dead meat.”

Felix groans in defeat. “Yes, chef.”

Satisfied, Minho grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

You barely have time to register the warmth of his grip before he starts leading you away. As you walk, he says, “Don’t worry about Felix. He’s just jealous.” A beat later, he corrects himself. “Loyal, but jealous.”

You glance at Minho. “I mean… I get it. He’s been by your side longer than I have. It makes sense that he’d feel disappointed.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but you can tell he hears you.

After a moment, you add, “I can share the recipes with him if that’ll make it better.”

Minho rejects the idea without hesitation. “No.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Minho stops in his tracks, and you halt beside him. His voice lowers as he mutters, “Felix thinks those recipes are all successful. Don’t share them.”

That makes you pause. Something clicks in your mind, and your stomach sinks slightly. “Wait… are you saying you gave me the book because all the recipes in it were failures?” You meet his gaze. “If they were successful, you would’ve given it to Felix instead.”

Minho glares at you. “Stand against the wall.”

You blink. “What—?”

“Against the wall.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

Not entirely sure why, you step back, pressing your shoulders against the wall. Minho eyes your head for a moment, then lifts his hand— Flick. His finger snaps against your temple, and you yelp, wincing at the sharp sting.

Minho grumbles, “First, it was Hyunwoo, then Felix and now, you. Why did everyone decide to talk back and rebel against me today?”

You rub your temple. “I’m not rebelling.”

He scoffs. “Then what is it? I’m trying to be considerate.”

You let out a short laugh. “Considerate?”

Minho crosses his arms and daringly stares into your eyes. “Yes.”

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, sure.” Without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away.

Behind you, you hear Minho call your name, his voice edging into a scolding tone, but you quicken your pace, slipping into the kitchen before he can stop you.

-

Minho leans against the counter at the coffee station, enjoying a brief moment of peace in his chaotic day. He doesn’t even have to ask for a cup—Taesoo slides one across the table with a smug grin.

“Specially made for you, chef.”

Minho smirks as he pulls the cup closer. “You’ve got more charm than my girlfriend, you know that?” He takes a lazy sip before adding, “She never makes coffee for me. All she does is work all day.”

Taesoo chuckles, pouring himself a cup and setting the pot back down. “Must be hard, being a chef’s girlfriend.”

The words hit Minho hard enough that he stills, cup hovering just before his lips. His gaze flicks to Taesoo. “What did you just say?”

Taesoo doesn’t waver. “I mean… don’t you see it? She’s always walking on thin ice, trying so hard to make sure you don’t look bad because of her.”

Minho clenches his jaw. He doesn’t like how easily Taesoo sees through it—but the truth is, he sees it too. You’ve always been cautious around him, but lately, it’s different. More controlled. More careful. And yet, you never complain. Not once.

Letting out a slow exhale, Minho leans back slightly. “You think she’s anxious?”

Taesoo tilts his head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Minho snorts. “Then I’ve got news for you—I’m anxious too.”

That catches Taesoo off guard. “You?”

Minho nods. “And you’d better be anxious too.”

Taesoo hesitates, looking thrown off. “Uh—yes, chef?”

The moment lingers, uncomfortably quiet—until Minho’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out, relieved at the distraction. A new message from Felix.

We're all done. Can you do a taste test, Chef?

Minho finally takes a sip of his coffee before pushing off the counter. “Let’s go.”

As he heads for the kitchen, Taesoo scrambles to clean up the coffee cups before trailing behind him.

-

You and Felix set the two pans down on the chef’s table. You grab a few forks for Minho and glance at Felix, lowering your voice. “You think he’ll notice?”

Felix waves you off with a smirk. “We’ll see.”

A moment later, Minho walks into the kitchen, Taesoo trailing behind him like a shadow. He stops at his usual spot, eyes flicking between you and Felix. “Are you sure you taught him properly?”

You straighten up and nod. “Yes, chef.”

Felix hands Minho a fork, and without hesitation, Minho digs in. First, he tries the pasta in front of you, chewing thoughtfully. Then he moves to the other pan, tasting Felix’s version. As he chews, his gaze shifts between the two of you. A second later, you and Felix exchange a knowing look.

After a moment, Minho sets the fork down and nods. “Not bad. You learned the recipe well.”

Felix’s face lights up as Minho gives him the approval. “Get ready to cook this,” Minho announces. “I’m going to put it up as today's recommended dish.”

Felix beams. “Yes, chef!”

Minho turns on his heel, about to leave, when Felix suddenly blurts out, “Wait, Chef!”

Minho stops mid-step, his glare sharp. “What?”

Felix, knowing he’s pushing his luck, hurriedly asks, “Which one do you think is hers?”

Minho scoffs, tilting his head. “Come here,” he orders, his fingers making the gesture.

Felix, clueless, leans in—only to get a sharp flick to the forehead. He yelps, rubbing the spot. “Ow!”

“Who do you think you’re testing, huh?” Minho deadpans but his gaze is intense.

Then, with full confidence, he says, “She didn’t make either of these.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise and blurt out, “No way.”

Minho crosses his arms. “You’ve got over seven years of experience. He has half of that. The technique is different.” He gestures at the pans. “The wrist motion alone tells me it wasn’t yours. Someone at your level wouldn’t make pasta like this.”

You smile, impressed. “So you’re saying mine tasted better?”

“That’s correct!” Minho replies without missing a beat.

While still rubbing his forehead, Felix pouts and mumbles, “You didn’t have to say it that fast…”

Minho ignores him. Instead, he looks directly at you. “Hey, the ginseng pasta isn’t yours anymore. It belongs to the kitchen now.”

You nod. “Yes, chef.”

Satisfied, Minho orders, “Clean this up and get ready for dinner service. Got it?” Then he walks out of the kitchen.

Taesoo, curious, picks up a fork and tastes both pastas. He hums in thought before nodding. “Chef’s tongue is accurate. No way to fool him.”

Then, he turns to you and Felix. “That means Chef won’t lose his fair judgment over this.”

Felix turns to you, raising a brow. “Weren’t you worried about that comment sous-chef made earlier, right?”

Now that everyone knows about your relationship with Minho, it feels like you’re under a microscope, always under their scrutiny. You would be lying if it doesn’t make you the slightest bit nervous so you nod at Felix’s question.

Felix grins, puffing out his chest. He folds his arms and deepens his voice in a poor imitation of Minho. “You should be thankful to me that you found out how accurate Chef’s tongue is!”

You chuckle at his awful impression, shaking your head. But deep down, you really hope this proves that Minho’s judgment in the kitchen will always be fair.

-

Dinner service is in full swing, the kitchen buzzing with the clatter of pans, the sizzle of meats, and Minho’s sharp commands cutting through the noise. He’s been calling out orders non-stop, his voice steady and authoritative as he directs the team. His gaze flicks toward you.

“You make two grilled scallops. Make one extra for a taste test.”

“Yes, chef,” you respond immediately, grabbing what you need and moving with precision. You work fast, using two pans to finish the order on time. The scallops sear beautifully, their golden crust forming just as you’d intended. Once they’re plated, you bring them to the chef’s table, along with the extra one for Minho to taste.

You stand there, waiting, hands clasped behind your back. Minho doesn’t rush—he never does. He takes his time tasting, chewing carefully, analyzing every detail before nodding in approval.

“Okay, pass,” he says simply. Then he adds, “You don’t need to make testers from now on.”

A rush of relief floods through you, and for a brief second, a bright smile tugs at your lips. But you suppress it before anyone can see. “Yes, chef,” you reply, turning on your heel to head back to your station.

“We’re almost done for the night,” Minho announces. “So hurry, let's finish it up.”

“Yes, chef!” the kitchen responds in unison.

But just as the night is winding down, things take a sharp turn.

A dish gets sent back. The service staff informs Minho of the complaint—a customer says the scallops have an odor.

A heavy silence falls over the kitchen. Minho says nothing, but Felix steps in, grabbing a fork and tasting the dish himself. He frowns. “This kind of odor from the pan is common in all Italian restaurants.”

Felix turns to Sous-chef Seojun. “Please try this out, Sous-chef.”

Seojun sniffs the dish first, then takes a bite. He chews slowly before exhaling. “They’re not wrong about the smell.”

Before you can say anything, Hyunwoo interjects. “Seungwan never had complaints like this.” He folds his arms. “He always used the same pan but knew how to control the temperature.”

Minho finally moves. He takes the plate and tries it himself. A second later, his expression darkens.

He marches up to you. “What is this?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Why is this different from the one you gave me to test?”

Your stomach twists in confusion. “I made them the same way, Chef,” you answer honestly with your voice slightly trembling.

You quickly run through what could have gone wrong. Then, it clicks. Your heart sinks.

“I... I used two different pans,” you say, voice small but steady.

Minho’s glare sharpens. “You cooked the one for me in a new frying pan and the one for the customers in an old one?”

You nod, already feeling the mistake weigh on you. “I’m sorry, chef.”

But your apology only fuels his anger. “Is that an excuse?” he demands. “You think that makes it okay?”

“No, I—” You swallow thickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Chef.”

From the side, Seungwan mutters just loud enough to be heard, “Ooh, I guess she needs her own exclusive frying pan so customers won’t complain.”

Minho hears it, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. His attention is solely on you.

“A true chef,” he says coldly, “should be able to serve a perfect scallop dish even with a hundred-year-old frying pan.”

A lump forms in your throat, but you force yourself to swallow it down. You feel like crying. The entire kitchen is watching as Minho—the chef, but also your boyfriend—publicly tears you down.

You lower your gaze. “I’m sorry, chef.”

But Minho doesn’t let up. “Do it again,” he orders, his tone unwavering.

You clench your fists, push back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you, and nod. “Yes, chef.” Then you turn back to your station, forcing yourself to focus.

As you start over, you remind yourself that Minho is right. His judgment is fair. This is your fault. Not his.

-

Minho knows you must be at least a little upset about the way he scolded you earlier. He saw the way you clenched your fists, the way you swallowed down whatever you wanted to say. He saw the way your shoulders tensed as the entire kitchen watched.

But he also knows you understand why he did it. So he waits.

The locker room is quiet when he steps in, and as expected, you're there, putting on your jacket. At the sound of his footsteps, you turn swiftly to face him.

Minho watches you for a moment, then exhales. "You should know," he says, voice even, "that your one mistake is equivalent to another cook’s ten mistakes."

You nod, your expression neutral, but Minho knows you're listening carefully.

He folds his arms. "Let's not create a situation where everyone has their eyes on us. Again."

Again, you nod. "I understand. I’m sorry, chef."

The words make something twist uncomfortably in Minho’s chest. He should feel satisfied, should let it go now that you've acknowledged your mistake. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls you with him.

Minho takes you back to the kitchen. It’s empty now, quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerators. He lets go of your wrist. "Get some scallops."

You quickly retrieve a container of scallops marinated in olive oil and set them on the counter.

Minho looks at you, then gestures to the stove. "Watch closely."

He turns the burner on, lets the flames rise high before grabbing a frying pan. Pouring a small amount of olive oil in, he waits until it shimmers.

"Fire isn’t the only thing that cooks food," he says, then lowers the flame slightly. "There’s also heated oil."

Carefully, he places a scallop into the pan. The instant sizzle fills the room. "Use the heated oil to lightly cook the surface of the scallop."

You're watching him with full focus now, your eyes darting between his hands and the scallop. After a moment, you ask, "Will the temperature of the oil eventually go down?"

Minho smirks slightly, impressed by your attention to detail. "You have to keep the temperature of the oil the same while reducing the flame."

He finishes cooking and takes the scallop from the pan. You hand him a plate before he even asks. He places it down, then, instead of plating it properly, he picks it up and hands it directly to you. "Here. Try it."

You cut a small piece with a fork, bringing it to your lips. The moment you taste it, your eyes widen slightly in delight. "I can only taste the olive oil," you say. "No odor at all."

Minho smirks. "Enough with the compliments. Now, it’s your turn."

You grab a fresh pan, mimicking his actions. He watches from your side, his gaze sharp, taking in every detail.

"Stop battling with the frying pans," he murmurs. "Focus on controlling the fire."

You nod but then pause, turning to look at him. "Are you upset and frustrated because of me, Chef? Are you perhaps... anxious?"

Minho meets your gaze. He can’t lie to you—not when you’re the only other person who knows what it feels like. The weight of expectations. The pressure of perfection. On top of all that, his relationship with you is affecting everything. After a second of hesitation, he finally admits, "Yeah."

You don’t look surprised, but you don’t look offended either. You just hold his gaze, waiting for more.

Minho exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know why I’m being so hard on you," he finally says, his voice quieter now.

But he does know. And he’s sure you do too.

-

Dinner service is chaos. The heat, the noise, the endless string of orders—it’s all a blur, but you do your best to keep up. More than anything, you keep one thing in mind: no mistakes. Not today.

You move quickly but carefully, ensuring every movement is precise. Next to you, Seungwan shifts nervously, glancing at you as he works.

“How much longer on your scallop?” he asks, his voice tight.

You wipe your hands on a cloth before answering, “Two minutes.”

Seungwan groans. He can't start plating his dish until you’re done. “You’re taking too long,” he mutters.

You ignore him. You don't need the extra pressure. You just need to get this right.

A moment later, you're placing the garnish on your plate when Seungwan sighs again. “Done now?”

Without answering, you lift the plate and carefully walk it over to the chef’s table. Minho stands there, arms crossed. He doesn’t taste it. He simply picks up the plate, examines it with that unreadable gaze of his, and then—

“Do it again!”

Your shoulders sag. You did exactly what he taught you. You made sure everything was right. But maybe it’s your fault for expecting anything different. “…Yes, chef.”

Seungwan lets out an exasperated groan as you take the plate back. “Chef, seriously?” he protests.

Minho barely glances at him. “Then you do it again too.”

Before Seungwan can argue, Minho’s voice rings out across the kitchen. “Everyone, stop the course and wait six minutes until she’s done.”

Felix protests from the other side of the kitchen. “Chef, my pasta’s gonna bloat!”

“Then make it again.” Minho’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Seungwan grabs the rejected plate and takes a bite, his eyes widening in surprise. “Chef, this should be pass. It’s pretty good.” He turns to Sous-chef Seojun. “Try it, Sous-chef.”

Seojun takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before looking at Minho. “She cooked it properly. All the dishes are being delayed because of this. Aren’t you being too strict, Chef?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. Minho’s eyes flick to Seojun, sharp and dangerous. “Too strict? Do I look like the kind of chef who picks and chooses which dish to be strict on?” Minho challenges. His voice is calm, but there’s an underlying edge.

He then exhales sharply. “Hors d’oeuvre is the first thing the customer tastes. We’re not serving whatever just because we’re in a rush.”

Seojun still looks unconvinced. “Then put her at the end of the line. Not the front.”

Seungwan nods. “Yeah, just have her do desserts. Doesn’t have to be on time.”

The conversation turns into background noise as you force yourself to focus. It doesn’t matter what they say. You just need to finish this dish while Minho’s words echoing in the back of your mind: Let's not create a situation where everyone has their eyes on us. Again.

You push through, ignoring the pressure, ignoring the way your hands shake slightly as you plate the dish.

“Hurry up!” Minho barks from across the kitchen.

When you bring it back to the chef’s table, Minho picks it up—only to let out a small sigh as he sets it back down. “Stop making scallops. Start making desserts.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then, meekly, you nod. “Yes, chef.”

You move to the dessert station, tucked in the corner of the kitchen. At least here, no one can see how upset you are

Felix, instinctively, takes the rejected dish and tastes it. A moment later, his voice cuts through the tension. “I don’t think the orders are backed up because of her,” Felix says, looking straight at Minho. “I don’t think it’s her fault at all. I think it’s... you.”

Silence.

Minho moves before anyone can react. He grabs Felix by the sleeve of his chef’s coat and pulls him toward the chef’s table. “Then why don’t you stand here and be the head chef then?” he challenges.

Felix looks down, guilt flashing across his face. “…I’m sorry, chef.” He then walks back to his station in defeat.

You keep your head down and focus on desserts, but doubt creeps in. You remember what Felix once said about Minho’s judgment always being fair. But now, you’re not so sure.

-

The restaurant is empty. Everyone has gone home, but you’re still here, still in your chef’s coat. Instead of heading to the locker room, you drag yourself to the coffee station and slump onto one of the stools.

You stack your hands together and rest your head on them, exhaling a long sigh, as if you could release all the weight of the day in one breath.

Minutes pass. You don’t bother looking at the clock. Then, the stool beside you creaks. You turn your head and find Chris sitting next to you, his warm smile greeting you before his voice does.

“So… how many scallop dishes got rejected today?”

His calm demeanor only makes you curious so you meekly ask, “As the owner, aren’t you upset about all the wasted ingredients?”

“Yeah,” Chris tilts his head slightly and adds, “But it’s not you I don’t like. It’s the chef.”

His words are meant to be comforting, but they don’t make you feel any better. Another sigh escapes your lips as you rub your temples. Chris places a hand on your shoulder, patting it gently. “You worked hard today.”

Before you can respond, a loud, exaggerated ahem sounds from behind. The suddenness of it makes you jolt upright, nearly falling off the stool.

You spin around. Minho. Immediately, you straighten your posture. “Thank you for your hard work today, Chef,” you say, keeping your tone formal.

Minho doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply takes the stool on your other side, leaving you sandwiched between him and Chris.

Chris, without even looking at Minho, asks, “So, when do you think she’ll finally get her scallops approved?”

Minho barely pauses before replying dryly, “Why don't you increase the budget for ingredients? I think she might deplete the entire country’s scallop supply.”

You groan, burying your head in your hands. Silence settles for a brief moment. Then—

“Is that you?”

You freeze. The voice is too familiar. Your head snaps up so fast your neck almost cramps.

“Dad?!” You gasp, scrambling to stand. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me and tell me you were coming?”

Your dad doesn’t hesitate. “I came because you told me you were having a hard time choosing between two guys.”

Oh my god. Your dad says it so loud that you know Minho and Chris definitely heard it. Heat rushes to your face. “D-Dad, that’s not—”

Desperate to change the subject, you turn to Chris in a panic. “This is Chris! He’s the manager.”

Chris, ever polite, nods in acknowledgment. But your dad isn’t interested in introductions. He looks at you, then at Minho and Chris, before calmly saying, “Sit.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Your dad gestures at the stools. “Sit down.”

Chris and Minho immediately obey. You, however, rush to your dad’s side, hoping to end this nightmare before it gets worse. “The restaurant’s closed, Dad. Let’s just go somewhere else, yeah?”

“No,” he replies. “Sit and stay quiet.”

You groan in pure humiliation but obey, sinking back onto your stool.

Your dad studies the two men beside you. Then, with an almost too casual tone, he asks, “These two… are they the ones you’re confused about?”

“Dad!” You shriek then slap a hand over your face. Please stop talking. You continue the sentence inside your head. But, of course, he doesn’t.

He continues, “So which one is the rich, reasonable one? The one with the good personality who tells you everything you cook is nice?”

Silence. Then, without missing a beat, Minho says flatly, “I don’t think that's me, Sir.”

Of course, it isn’t. Your dad’s eyes immediately dart to Chris.

Chris stiffens, suddenly looking much more formal. He straightens his posture, clasps his hands together, and greets your dad politely.

“Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Satisfied, your dad then turns to Minho. “So you must be the other guy.”

Minho, somehow equally as polite, inclines his head slightly. “Yes, that would be me, sir.”

You groan again, this time covering your entire face with your hands. This is already mortifying. You try one more time to escape. “Dad, let’s just go somewhere and have dinner—”

“Sure,” your dad says easily. “Then we can go and eat together.”

You stare at him, horrified. “All of us?”

He scoffs. “No. One at a time.”

And then, without hesitation, he turns to Chris and points at him. Chris sits up straighter, his polite smile unwavering.

To everyone's surprise, your dad says, “You can go home.”

Chris blinks. “Huh?”

Before you can even process what’s happening, your dad points at Minho next and says, “You. Come with me.”

Minho doesn’t even question it. He just follows your dad as if this is a normal thing. You stare at their retreating figures, still frozen in disbelief. Your dad and Minho. Walking side by side.

Chris lets out a low whistle beside you. “Well… that was unexpected.”

You’re too stunned to react. You shift your gaze back to the where they're going, a strange sense of unease settling in your stomach.

Your dad has always been stubborn. He’s firm in his beliefs, never backing down once he’s made up his mind. He’s blunt, unrelenting, and terrifying when he wants to be.

And Minho? Minho is the exact same way.

They’re both headstrong. Both unforgiving. Both demanding perfection. You don’t know what’s worse—the idea of them getting along too well or the thought of them completely clashing.

Either way… You don’t want to be there when it happens.

-

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[notmorbid]

idlewild.

dialogue prompts from idlewild: a novel by james frankie thomas.

funny, that's what your mom said to me last night.

i've never gone to a reunion.

sorry. i should have asked if i should touch you.

so, you were an outsider?

it's okay. i've reclaimed the word 'cunt'.

all i can think of now is what we didn't talk about.

____ is my favorite movie of all time.

everybody's got a thing, or so stevie wonder has led me to believe.

have you ever stood on a random street and felt, for no reason in particular, like you were home?

this is where i live, by the way.

what an incurious coward you are.

is anyone else seeing this?

promise you won't sing anything from rent.

have you ever kissed anyone?

what does ____ mean to you?

who died and put you in charge?

you know how dads are.

are we actual friends now?

what's eating you these days?

i don't 'have' to do anything. i don't even have to be here.

i'm not gonna ask you what's wrong, because i don't give a shit.

i dislike you, like, 20% less than i dislike most people.

friends don't treat each other the way you've treated me.

'good' and 'evil' are heterosexual concepts.

i didn't think you'd actually do it.

what a maddening mystery you are.

i'm on your side no matter what.

none of this matters. none of this is real.

i like this side of you.

bribery will get you nowhere.

i'll be so good, you won't even know i'm here.

i'm a prickly pear. real soft on the inside.

that's just my scorpio nature.

how does it feel to be a star?

you're gonna be a great ______.

i don't know why i get like this. i don't want to be this way.

i wanted one thing that was just mine.

you need me. tell me you need me.

i'm sick of constantly guessing what you want from me.

you look as bad as i feel.

i know you're doing some stalker shit.

i hate to think of ____ alone.

you know that's not grammatically correct.

you can't come within 15 feet.

maybe you'll never see me again.

everyone has a weakness. everyone except me.

i always thought it was just me.

we're the same.

you wrote fanfic about me?

i want to give you a hug.

did anything unusual happen last night?

maybe i want them to see.

can i tell you something i've never told anyone?

i don't need to know. i just need you to be alive.

you're brave. you don't care what people think of you. it's cool.

i wish i could be like you sometimes.

can't we just pretend it's real?

you don't have to pretend with me.

what the hell happened to you?

why weren't we friends? why did it take us so long to do this?

i was obsessed with you, you know.

do you ever miss ____?

[waughymommy]

COLLEGE STUDENT IN DIAPER 🧷

Chapter 5

That evening at the dinner table. every time I looked up, Evelyn was staring at me. She would give me a smile when our eyes met. I would smile back.

The time came, time to get our diapers on.

I have and have not been dreading this all night.

Aunt Kathy took Evelyn and I and she cleaned us, powdered us up, then diapered us. Evelyn was  first. I stared up at the ceiling while Evelyn was diapered. When it was my turn, I looked and Evelyn had lifted her upper body up on an elbow. She was watching Aunt Kathy diaper me!

Aunt Kathy and Uncle John left the livingroom and Evelyn cam and put a hand on my diapered front. Being a guy and not knowing if she was going to squeeze me there or not, I grabbed her wrist and removed her hand.

"I can feel your man thing through your diaper!" Evelyn stated.

"Evelyn please don't touch me there,I, I am over 18 and what you want will get me thrown in prison. You are only 17 years old!" I said.

"I will be 18 in three months from today though!" She pleaded!

I started thinking, yep three more months.

"You can watch when mom diapers me, John Jr. used to."

"No I can't, Aunt Kathy would cut my testicles off and poke my eyes out"

Evelyn smiled and said "Yeah she would, wouldn't she! Willy just so you know I have always had a crush on you. I looked foreward to your visits here or ours to your place, they were always the best!"

"Don't tell anyone but I have always had a huge crush on you, you were always the most beautiful girl I knew by far!" I told her!

"You noticed me! With John Jr. being so sick, everybody seen him, I was an afterthought! You took me and I got to see you play football and play tag and other games John Jr. couldnt! The worst day of my life and the best was the day he died, does that make sense?"

"Evelyn believe it or not it does, I understand it. On one hand you lost your brother the only one you had, on the other people started seeing you, mainly Aunt Kathy and Uncle John!"

"That's it, that is exactly it! Thank You!"

Aunt Kathy came back, "What are you two up to, as if I didnt know! Did he kiss you Evelyn?" She asked?

I was shocked!

"No mom, he is 18 and scared of repercussions with the law, and you." Evelyn said.

"Me? Willy your mom and I we always thought you two would be perfect for each other!"

"You did?" We both said.

Neither one of had heard this theory before.

"Go ahead kiss her!" Aunt Kathy said.

At first I looked at Aunt Kathy like she had three heads.

I took Evelyn and I kissed her. I kissed her for another 10 seconds. Aunt Kathy had said "That's enough, that's enough" about 3 times.

We broke Evelyn had a huge smile on her face, "Wow, that was better than I imagined it would be!"

Aunt Kathy said "I guess I will have to keep an eye on you two!"

Evelyn went to her room and I went to mine.

Evelyn now knows how I feel about her! I though.

Aunt Kathy brought me a glass of warm milk.

She waited for the glass I drank it down.

20 minutes later the milk did it's job I fell asleep.

My dreams were of Evelyn and I getting married, it was heaven.

I awoke needing to pee like crazy!

I went to go to the toilet, dammit I was wearing a diaper, a cloth diaper. Even if I could get it off I could never get it back on again.

I looked at the clock 5:43, breakfast was almost an two hours and half away at 8:30am. No way I can last that that long! 

I remembered how disappointed Aunt Kathy was that I was dry yesterday. I started trying to wet the diaper, my toilet training was strong, my bladder wouldn't let a drop out. I wasn't peeing in a toilet. I got an Idea I went and stood in front of the toilet, I was good until I felt the warmness of my urine spreading inside my diaper. My brain said "Hey wait a minute it's not supposed to feel like this!" My bladder shut down again!

"I began to say it's okay I'm wetting my bed!"

My brain said "Is that all?" My flow started again. I was done and my brain said., "Hey wait a minute, were not a bedwetter!" If I hadn't of been done, I knew that a single drop wouldnt get out now! 

I went back to bed my penis was encased in a nice warm, but damp cocoon. That was my last thought before when my alarm went off and I got up to eat breakfast.

Aunt Kathy checked me and found me wet, I had to pee about 5:45am. She looked pleased and disappointed at the same time. 

After breakfast Evelyn and I were released from our diapers. With it being Saturday we cleaned the house top to bottom.

Evelyn and I had a few more opportunities to steal a few kisses.

[aeide-thea]

wot show is so obsessed with architecture and tbh i'm not mad about it???

[unproduciblesmackdown]

already thinking "and by 'religious' really i mean 'christian'" re: how the term "religion" is not really useful when it's largely like, from a christian perspective, what is considered "equivalent" of christianity, see: perhaps a "rival"/obstacle to some person or group being considered christian....and even if not thinking about converting anyone, resulting in some at best misinterpretation / misrepresentation based on framing it through/as [element of christianity] and limiting of any more accurate language

like how tumblr recommends me a post about someone thinking about "religion" in general and concluding that it's Weird and perhaps Wrong for anyone who is a "true believer" in their religion(tm) to Not be proselytizing / trying to Convert everyone. like yeah why isn't everyone being an evangelical christian, they ought to be, benevolently informing all those around them that they're going to hell, otherwise. don't see any problem with this conclusion, or that someone's getting antisemitic in the notes already in agreement, or that That's Not How This Works and you don't just know how All "Religion" works based on considering it to be an alternate version of christianity (which in itself doesn't All work like that either)

[leebrontide]

Here's a funny little story about disability accommodation.

So I'm a bit deaf. Like...I have a prescription for a hearing aide but don't own one kind of a bit deaf. And I used to work at this noisy ass addiction treatment clinic. So even in my office I relied a lot on lipreading.

So one day I'm working with this client, and she's getting more and more upset and shut down, no matter how I try to steer us onto a calm, relaxed subject of conversation. And I can't figure out why the conversation has gone so far south.

And then I realize I am sitting at a buckwild angle in my chair, leaning waaaay over to the side. I'm almost falling off this chair. I look like a total goober.

And then I realize I'm doing that because I'm trying to lipread this client, who keeps turning further and further down and away from me. I probably would have noticed sooner but lipreading is actually kind of hard and I was focusing on noticing her upset rather than my body language.

And then it clicks.

She thinks I'm leaning like this because I am being a passive-aggressive asshole who is trying to force/shame her into making eye contact with me. I'd known this client enough to know she hates eye contact- possibly autism, possibly anxiety. Always possible it's both or something else.

I sit up straight and say. "Oh! Hey, I don't give a shit about eye contact, I'm trying to read your lips so I can understand what you're saying to me."

Instant vibe change. She relaxes, and sits upright comfortably in her chair, looking about a foot to the left of my head, so I can see her face clearly but she doesn't have to either fake or evade unwanted eye contact.

From then on things go a lot smoother, and we can get some good work done.

One side benefit from normalizing accommodations and reducing barriers to them is that it allows for low-stress conversations about what everybody needs in order to fully participate in an interaction. If I hadn't named the need I was trying to meet, she wouldn't have realized she could have her need met as well.

[comicaurora]

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?

[tonycries]

FIRST masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 06/02/24 up until 01/10/24 — for my recent works click on my SECOND MASTERLIST <3

Men In Uniform Do It Best!

Dirty Lil' Secrets

A Picture Lasts Long (But Not As Long As That D*ck)

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Give Me Tough Love

Never Ever Seen This Before!

We Don't Have No Babies!

Like A Fever

Bad Things (To You)

Prettier When Messy!

Care For You!

Green-eyed Monster

So Lonely In My Mansion!

Kiss Me More!

Girl, I Do This Often

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Sl*t Me Out!

Match My Freak!

WAP!

R U Mine?

Hot To Go!

Girl, You Earned It!

I'm A BIG Stepper!

BODY-ODY!

SOOO ANXIOUS

Long Overdue!

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

The Family Matter?!

I-T G-I-R-L!

I Lasted Ten Rounds!

BRAT!

She's My Vitals!

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) — “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 1] [Part 2] — There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Dream A Little Dream — For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

One More? Please? — A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Hope They Catch Us — When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Unmistakably Yours — In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Madam Gojo — Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

The Heir — No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

The Call — After an explosive fight with your boyfriend, you really should feel sorry about being swept up by the blue-eyed stranger at the club - but it’s so hard when he kisses you like that.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy — He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 1] [Part 2] — You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid…is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.

Unhoneymooners!? — The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! — When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Bad Boys Bring Roses — You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

The Way You Kiss Me — The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) — Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Haunting You — A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

You'll Taste Me Too! — How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

We Neva Play! — Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Something Stupid — Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Like An Animal — Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You — When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

F*ck You! (Literally) — Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Government Hooker — With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Madam Zenin — There’s nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take what’s most important to him. You.

Brooklyn Baby — Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Golden Boy — Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Welcome To The Itadori's! — Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does. 

FIVE! — Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) — When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Freak On The Cam! — Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

A Million Dollar Baby! — Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Exes who...

Love Is Blind

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

I Wanna Get Freaky On Camera

Lemme Ride, Baby!

Can I Fill You Up, Baby?

"Pull On It. Harder."

Little Heaven

©2025 tonycries. All work belongs to @tonycries. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes, headers, and pinned.

[wis-art]

I think it's crazy how Trans misogyny is not exclusive to trans women, this is not a post downplaying how we are the biggest victims of this by a vast overwhelming majority, it's a post talking about how people of color are often masculanized and their features are often seen as less feminine and how that REALLY affects everybody. I'm speaking as a white trans woman, repeating what my black Trans boyfriend has told me about his experience. Back in the day when he still identified as a woman he, has been targeted and harassed by people who hate Trans women; calling him a "dumb ugly tranny", refusing to recognize him as a woman, which obviously at the time really fucking sucked. He is AFAB and my point here is this. Trans women like me, white trans women will never have to deal with having my racial features hypermasculanized, but a black Trans girl? She is the biggest victim in all of this, and it is heart breaking and something I never see talked about on this website. The level of oppression, "gender denial" Trans black women face is scary and it is something always overlooked and dismissed. Trans black women are virtually invisible in our society, art and face the worst oppression. Black lives are beautiful. And worth caring for and protecting, and talking about like any other life. I obviously can never understand or face the same kind of oppression, but you know what I can do. I can say that I love you and care about you and I want you to live and go out there and be yourself. Without you we would not be where we are today, and our queer rights in large part are brought to us by the black women who fought for us. I can support black people and listen to black people and try to understand the biases I picked up over the years of being raised in white supremacist society. Please if you are black it is so important that you exist and it is so important that you create. Put yourself out there, make things, make yourself visible, even if people pretend you don't exist. Please make it all about you.

[coquelicoq]

i've decided to archive this on ao3. if anyone who speaks chinese would be willing to read this post (& a few other spoilery and explanatory tidbits that are not in the tumblr post) and point out any typos or places where i've misinterpreted something, i would be very grateful! according to my draft on ao3, it is 4.6k words. the majority of it is in the post above, and i would dm you the parts that are not. familiarity with the double is not necessary, though if you want to watch it and haven't yet, be warned that there will be spoilers. please reply to this post if you're interested and i will dm you <3

Jiang Li's family tree and familial terms of address in The Double

I'm making this guide for my own reference because there were several family relationships in The Double that I misinterpreted at first based on how they were translated in the English subs, so I've gone back and compared to the Chinese subs. I'm also hoping it will be helpful to people wanting to write fic in English! What little I know about Chinese terms of address has largely been gleaned from other tumblr users' posts predating this show, and I'll link to my sources.

The only significant potential spoiler is some basic biographical information about Jiang Li’s older sibling, who is not directly mentioned until episode 26 but whose existence can be inferred from the fact that Jiang Li is referred to as Second Lady Jiang.

I am basing all of this solely on the drama, not the novel it was adapted from.

Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies in the pinyin punctuation (hyphen vs. apostrophe vs. space vs. smooshed together); it varies widely across sources and I don't think I have a clear enough understanding of the nuances to be confident I'm being consistent in applying the conventions, but I'm including the hanzi as well as an English translation (if the translation is in quotation marks it’s from the subs, usually Viki but not always). Also apologies if I messed up any of the hanzi. I welcome corrections and insights from those with more knowledge!!

I'm referring to Jiang Li in the present tense here for convenience, but since she's dead for the majority of the show, when I say "Jiang Li calls so-and-so xyz," of course it's almost always actually Xue Fangfei acting as Jiang Li who's doing that.

Each image is of that character's first appearance, when the hanzi for their name is given. The hanzi and any other caption are transcribed in alt text.

Jiang Li

Jiang Li (姜梨), aka Jiang Ruoyu (姜若雨), is the second child and second daughter of Jiang Yuanbai. She’s his only child with his first wife, Ye Zhenzhen.

According to this title card, her given name is Ruoyu and her courtesy name is A'Li (阿梨). This means that in this universe, people are given courtesy names in childhood rather than upon maturity. No one ever calls her or refers to her as Ruoyu that I noticed.

She is 18 or thereabouts (she was sent away from the family 10 years ago at age 8) when she dies at the beginning of the series.

She was accused of fratricide and attempted matricide at age 8 when she was blamed for her stepmother's miscarriage.

Sometimes in the subs she's referred to as the eldest daughter or the firstborn. For instance, when Ji Shuran says in episode 7 梨儿终究是我家嫡女, the Viki subs give "Li'er is the firstborn." Another example is in episode 5; someone in the crowd at Jiang Ruoyao's coming-of-age ceremony refers to Jiang Li as Jiang Yuanbai's 嫡长之女, which Viki translates as "eldest daughter". I think this might be a mistranslation. The character 嫡, di, means "legal wife" or "child of legal wife" and also is one of the characters in the title of the novel The Double was based on, 嫡嫁千金 (Marriage of the Di Daughter). (The other relevant character in the above examples is 女, nü, meaning daughter.) She's not the eldest daughter, but she is the eldest legitimate daughter (born to a legal wife rather than a concubine). In episode 6, Jiang Li refers to herself as 嫡女, and that time it's translated as "legitimate daughter" (Jiang Ruoyao also refers to herself as the same thing in episode 26, and it's "legitimate daughter" there as well). In episodes 26 and 32, Jiang Li is referred to as 姜家的嫡娘子, translated as "legitimate daughter of the Jiang family".

As the second daughter of a noble family, she is referred to outside the family as Jiang-er'niangzi (姜二娘子, “Second Lady Jiang”, or sometimes translated as "Miss Jiang"). Family servants call her niangzi or er’niangzi (translated in direct address as "My Lady" or "Miss Jiang"). (Note that Tong'er calls Jiang Li niangzi but tends to call Xue Fangfei jiejie (姐姐, older sister) when they're alone.)

Her younger sister Jiang Ruoyao and younger cousin Jiang Yu'e call her er'jie (二姐, older sister, second in the birth order; subs translate this as "Second Sister" or, more often, “Li” even though they’re not actually using her name at all) or er'jiejie. Her younger brother Jiang Bingji calls her jiejie; Jiang Ruoyao also sometimes calls her jiejie.

People in her family who are older than her call her A'Li (阿梨]) or Li'er (梨儿). A'Li, according to her title card, is her courtesy name, but "A" and "er" are also affectionate/familiar prefixes often used in families. Most people who call her one of these things (including Xue Fangfei, her paternal family, her mother, and her mom’s friend Liu-furen) call her Li’er, while her maternal family (other than her mother) tends to call her A’Li.

Her paternal grandmother calls her Li'er, haizi (孩子, child), and er’yatou (二丫头, literally second girl). The latter two are generally given in the subs as Li or Li’er.

Her aunt (her father’s younger brother’s wife) calls her wo de hao zhinü (我的好侄女, “my dear niece”) at one point when she's feeling particularly appreciative.

Her older maternal cousin Ye Shijie calls her/refers to her as Jiang Li initially, then as they become closer starts calling her both Li’er and A’Li, though I noticed him using Li’er more often. He also calls her biaomei (表妹, younger female maternal cousin, maternal meaning you're related through your mother and/or her mother; in this case, Jiang Li's mother is his father's sister), as does her other maternal cousin, Ye Jia'er.

Her older paternal cousin Jiang Jingrui calls her Jiang Li. As they become closer, he starts calling her A’Li or Li’er.

Her school friend Liu Xu calls her Jiang Li in the earlier episodes and A'Li as they become closer.

She refers to herself (that is, Xue Fangfei refers to Jiang Li and/or herself-as-Jiang-Li) as Li’er or A'Li.

Note that while some people close to Jiang Li call her A'Li (阿梨), when Su-guogong calls (Xue Fangfei as) Jiang Li A'Li, the Chinese subs use 阿狸 (different "li" character). They are pronounced identically, but the latter is the way that Xue Fangfei’s given name, Xue Li, is written (薛狸).

Paternal family (Jiang jia 姜家)

Parents

Jiang Yuanbai (姜元柏) is the current head of the noble Jiang family and a high-ranking minister in the imperial court.

His title is Jiang-xiangguo 姜相国, translated as "Grand Chancellor" or "Secretariat Director", depending on the subs.

Xiangguo is a more general honorific that is used for some other ministers as well. His position more specifically seems to be zhongshuling (中书令, “Secretariat Director” or “Chief Secretary”) and taishi (太师, “Grand Preceptor”).

The emperor calls him (and other officials) qing (卿, noble, minister). He also refers to him at least once as laoshi (老师, teacher).

Servants call him zhujun (主君, translated as “my lord” in direct address and "master" in reference).

Jiang Li calls him fuqin (父亲, formal term for "father"). I don't think Xue-Fangfei-as-Jiang-Li ever calls him die (爹, less formal term for "father") at any point, but he refers to himself as diedie a couple times.

His brothers call him da’ge (大哥, older brother, first in the birth order). His sister-in-law (Jiang Yuanping's wife) also calls him da'ge.

Jiang Jingrui and Jiang Yu'e call him da’bofu (大伯父, father’s older brother, first in the birth order, "Uncle") or just bofu.

Hi wife Ji Shuran calls him fujun (夫君, husband).

Ye Shijie calls him Jiang-bofu (“Uncle Jiang”) a couple times in the late episodes.

He and his brothers share a generation name (one shared character in the given name of each descendant of the same generation), 元, yuan. However, they don’t appear to have continued the tradition in the next generation, because Jiang Jingrui's and Jiang Bingji's names don't share a character. At first I thought at least the girls' names shared a character, because Jiang Li (whose given name is Ruoyu) and her sister Ruoyao both have 若, Ruo, but their older sister and their uncle’s daughter don’t have that character in their names.

Ye Zhenzhen (叶珍珍) was Jiang Li's mother.

She died when Jiang Li was a baby, at least six months after giving birth.

She was Jiang Yuanbai's furen (夫人), his official wife (as opposed to a concubine).

When Jiang Li talks about her, she refers to her as a'niang (阿娘, mother) or shengmu (生母, birth mother).

Xue Fangfei addresses her as Ye-furen in her head/when praying to her.

Her younger brother Ye Mingyu calls her Zhenzhen-jie (珍珍姐).

Ji Shuran (季淑然) is Jiang Li's stepmother.

She is Jiang Yuanbai's current furen. Jiang Yuanbai married her after Ye Zhenzhen died.

She's over 30 and probably under 40.

She's the mother of Jiang Ruoyao and Jiang Bingji, who call her niang. Jiang Ruoyao sometimes calls her or refers to her as muqin (母亲, formal term for "mother").

She's referred to as Jiang-furen (姜夫人, “Madam Jiang”) by those outside the family (women keep their own surname when they get married, but when honorifics are used, they're attached to the husband's surname). At one point she refers to herself as Jiang jia de zhumu (姜家的主母, "madam of the Jiang family").

Her husband and the family servants call her furen.

Jiang Li calls her muqin. In flashbacks, young Jiang Li calls her niang. She’s sometimes referred to as Jiang Li’s houmu (后母, stepmother).

Consort Li, her younger sister, calls her jiejie.

The Marquis of Ningyuan calls her xiangguo-furen (xiangguo being her husband’s court honorific).

Jiang Jingrui calls her da’bomu (大伯母, wife of da’bofu) and sometimes refers to her as Ji Shuran when talking about her to Jiang Li. Jiang Yu'e calls her bomu ("Auntie Shuran").

Jiang Yuanping, her husband's younger brother, calls her saozi (嫂子, sister-in-law). Jiang Yuanxing, her husband's other younger brother, refers to her as da’sao (大嫂, “Eldest Sister-in-law”).

Before her marriage, as the eldest child/daughter of the Ji family, she was called Ji-da’niangzi.

Paternal grandparents

Jiang Yuanbai's mother is referred to as Jiang-lao'furen (姜老夫人, "old Madam Jiang").

She was Jiang Yuanbai’s father's furen. Her husband also had at least one concubine.

Jiang Li and her siblings and paternal cousins call her zumu (祖母, father's mother, "Grandmother").

Her two biological sons and Jiang Yuanxing, her husband's son from a concubine, call her muqin. Jiang Yuanxing’s wife also calls her muqin.

Members of her household, including servants and her daughters-in-law, refer to her as lao’furen (“Old Madam”). Her daughter-in-law Ji Shuran also addresses her as lao’furen (translated as “Madam Jiang”).

[Not pictured because he never appears onscreen] Jiang Yuanbai's father, who's deceased, is referred to a few times.

Tong’er refers to him as Jiang-lao’taigong (姜老太公, “Old Master Jiang”).

Jiang Li refers to him as zufu (祖父, “Grandfather”).

His widow refers to him as taigong (太公, grandfather, “Old Master Jiang”). She addresses him as lao’Jiang at one point.

Paternal aunts and uncles

Jiang Yuanping (姜元平) is Jiang Yuanbai's younger brother from the same mother and father.

Jiang Li calls him er'shu (二叔, father’s younger brother, second in the birth order; “ Second Uncle Jiang”).

His son Jiang Jingrui calls him die (爹, "Father").

Jiang Yuanping’s wife's surname is Lu (卢).

Jiang Li calls her er'shumu (二叔母, wife of er'shu; “Second Auntie Lu”). Interestingly, all the tumblr guides I’ve seen say the wife of your father’s younger brother would be shenmu, not shumu, but she is clearly saying shu according to the subs, and shumu is in the dictionary.

Her husband Jiang Yuanping calls her furen (translated as "My Lady" or "my dear").

Her son JIang Jingrui calls her niang ("Mother").

Jiang Yuanxing (姜元兴) is Jiang Yuanbai's younger half-brother; they have the same dad, but his mom was their dad's concubine.

Jiang Li calls him san'shu (三叔, father’s younger brother, third in the birth order; “Third Uncle Jiang”).

His daughter Jiang Yu’e calls him die and fuqin.

His eldest brother Jiang Yuanbai calls him Yuanxing and refers to him as Yuanxing and san’di (third younger brother).

He calls himself (and other people call him) shuzi (庶子, bastard, translated as "concubine's son").

A servant calls him 主家 (zhu jia, “Master”).

There’s at least one instance in which he’s referred to outside the family as Jiang jia lao'san (姜家老三, “Third Master Jiang”).

Jiang Yuanxing’s wife's surname is Yang (杨).

Jiang Lu calls her san'shumu (三叔母, wife of san'shu; “Third Auntie Yang”).

Her husband Jiang Yuanxing calls her gunainai (姑奶奶, aunt, translated as “my dear”).

Her daughter Jiang Yu’e calls her niang and muqin.

Her husband’s older brother refers to her as san’mei (三妹, third younger sister; in context, he’s talking about both her and her husband and says “san’di san’mei”, translated as “Yuanxing and his wife”).

Siblings

Jiang Yue (姜月) is Jiang Yuanbai’s oldest child and Jiang Li’s older sister. She was born to a maid (so, not the furen). This means that while she is the oldest child, she's not the oldest "legitimate" child.

She’s not directly mentioned until episode 26, so I won’t say anything else about her, to avoid spoilers.

Jiang Ruoyao (姜若瑶) is Ji Shuran's oldest child, Jiang Li's younger sister, and the third child and third daughter of Jiang Yuanbai.

She can't be much younger than Jiang Li, possibly two years younger at most would be my guess? I can't remember if they ever say her age. She has a coming of age ceremony in one of the early episodes.

Her parents call her Yao’er.

Her older sister Jiang Li calls her san'mei (三妹, literally "third younger sister", which refers to her position in the birth order as the third daughter of the Jiang family, rather than meaning that she's the third youngest of Jiang Li's younger sisters (Jiang Li only has one younger sister), translated as "Third Sister").

Her younger paternal cousin Jiang Yu’e calls her san’jie (三姐, older sister, third in the birth order, translated as “Third Sister”).

Her paternal grandmother calls her Ruoyao and san’yatou (三丫头, literally "third girl").

Those outside the family call her Jiang-san'niangzi (姜三娘子, “Third Lady Jiang”). Family servants call her niangzi or san’niangzi.

Jiang Bingji (姜丙吉) is Ji Shuran's second child, Jiang Li's younger brother, and the fourth child and only son of Jiang Yuanbai.

He was born after Ji Shuran’s miscarriage (source: he refers to the fetus as gege (哥哥, older brother), meaning it would have been born before him). This means he’s less than 10 years old, since the miscarriage/Jiang Li’s exile was 10 years ago.

Jiang Li doesn't have a lot of interaction with him, but in his intro she calls him didi (弟弟, little brother).

His parents call him Bingji and his paternal grandmother calls him Bingji or xiao’Bingji (小, xiao, is a diminutive meaning "young" or "small").

Family servants call him xiao'gongzi (小公子, "Young Master").

Paternal cousins

Jiang Jingrui (姜景睿) is Jiang Yuanping's son.

Xue Fangfei calls him tangxiong (堂兄, older paternal male cousin, i.e., son of father’s brother, older than her) the first time they meet, which causes him to accuse her of not being Jiang Li because it's too formal. Jiang Yu’e also calls him tangxiong.

Jiang Li's childhood nickname for him was xiao'Ruirui (小睿睿). In the present she mostly calls him Jiang Jingrui.

His parents call him Rui’er.

Liu Xu refers to him as Jiang Li’s gege (哥哥, older brother). He refers to himself as gege when telling Jiang Li to listen to him.

Those outside the family call him Jiang-gongzi (姜公子, “Mr. Jiang”). Tong’er calls him da’langjun (大郎君, “Young Master”).

Jiang Yu'e (姜玉娥) is Jiang Yuanxing's daughter.

She has a lower position in the family because her dad's mom was not the furen but a concubine.

Her parents call her nü’er (女儿, daughter) and Yu’e.

Her paternal grandmother refers to her as si’yatou (四丫头, literally "fourth girl") and Yu’e.

She and Jiang Li refer to each other (and others refer to them) as sisters (Jiang Li calls her si'mei (四妹, younger sister, fourth in the birth order, "Fourth Sister") and she calls Jiang Li er'jie), but they're actually cousins; their dads are brothers.

Jiang Jingrui also calls her si’mei.

As the fourth daughter of the Jiang family (though again, not the fourth daughter of Jiang Yuanbei; she's the fourth girl born to the previous generation of Jiang sons), I think prior to her marriage she would be addressed by those outside the family as Jiang-si’niangzi (姜四娘子, “Fourth Lady Jiang”), but I can't remember if we see any examples of this.

After she gets married, servants call her furen or niangzi.

Jiang family servants

Tong’er (桐儿) is Jiang Li’s maid.

Sun-mama (孙妈妈, “senior maidservant Sun” or "Madam Sun") is Ji Shuran’s maid.

Ji Shuran calls her Jindai (锦黛) at least once. Perhaps this is her given name?

[Not pictured because I never saw a title card for her] Zhang-popo (张婆婆, “maidservant Zhang”) is Jiang-lao’furen’s maid.

[Not pictured because I never saw a title card for her] Jinhua (金花) is Jiang Ruoyao’s maid.

Maternal family (Ye jia 叶家)

Maternal grandmother

Ye Zhenzhen’s mother is referred to as Ye-lao’furen (叶老夫人, “Old Madam Ye” or “Old Mrs. Ye”).

Jiang Li calls her wai’zumu (外祖母, mother’s mother, “Grandmother”).

Ye Jia’er calls her zumu (祖母, father's mother, "Grandmother").

Her son Ye Mingxuan refers to her as lao’furen and calls her muqin.

Her son Ye Mingyu calls her and refers to her as niang.

Her daughter-in-law, Ye Mingxuan's wife, refers to her as lao’taitai (老太太, literally “old lady”, translated as “Old Madam”).

Maternal aunts and uncles

[Not pictured because he never appears onscreen] Ye Zhenzhen's oldest brother, who is deceased, is mentioned, though not by name. He is Ye Shijie's father.

Since his brothers share the first character in their names (明, ming), it seems like they might have a generation name, so it’s likely his name also began with that character.

His younger brother Ye Mingyu refers to him and his wife as da’ge da’sao (大哥大嫂, oldest brother and wife of oldest brother, translated as “my brother and his wife”).

Ye Mingxuan (叶明轩) is Ye Zhenzhen's brother, the second oldest son in the family.

Ye Mingxuan’s older brother and father are dead, making him the current head of the family.

Jiang Li calls him er'jiu (二舅, mother’s brother, second in the birth order, translated as "Second Uncle").

It’s unclear if he’s Ye Zhenzhen’s older or younger brother. It's impossible to tell from what Jiang Li calls him, because the term for a mother’s brother is the same whether the brother is older or younger than the mother (舅, jiu). I don’t think there are any flashbacks in which Ye Zhenzhen talks to or about him. And we can infer that the birth order terms used for the men in this family do not include the women, because we know Ye Mingyu, who is referred to as third uncle and so must be the third son, actually must be the fourth child overall (assuming there aren't any other Ye daughters), because Ye Zhenzhen calls him younger brother, which means he has three older siblings (the two sons who are older than him, plus Ye Zhenzhen). So we know that Ye Mingxuan is second in the birth order of sons specifically, but he could have one or more older sisters as well.

His wife calls him er’lang (二郎; er is “two” or “second” and lang is “young man” or “husband” (the “second” refers to his birth order, not to him being her second husband; presumably he’s her only husband); translated as “Mingxuan”).

His daughter Ye Jia'er calls him die.

His younger brother Ye Mingyu calls him er’ge (二哥, second older brother, translated as "Mingxuan").

Ye Shijie refers to him as er'shu (二叔, father's younger brother, second in the birth order).

Family servants and the clerk in the family shop refer to him as zhuren (主人, “Master Ye”).

Ye Mingxuan's wife’s surname is Zhuo (卓).

Jiang Li calls her er’jiumu (二舅母, wife of er’jiu).

Her husband calls her furen (夫人, translated as “my dear” or “darling”).

Family servants call her furen or er’furen (夫人, "Madam").

Governor Tong calls her furen (夫人, "Madam").

Her husband’s younger brother Ye Mingyu refers to her as er’sao (二嫂, wife of er'ge).

Her daughter Ye Jia’er calls her niang.

Ye Mingyu (叶明煜) is Ye Zhenzhen's younger brother, the third oldest son in the family.

Jiang Li calls him san'jiu (三舅, mother’s brother, third in the birth order, translated as "Third Uncle").

In his flashback of Ye Zhenzhen getting married, she calls him san’di (三弟, third younger brother, meaning younger brother who’s the third son; it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s the third of her younger brothers. She does have three brothers, but it’s possible one or both of the other two are older than her; see above).

His older brother Ye Mingxuan calls him san’di (三弟, third younger brother, translated as “Mingyu”) and Ye-lao’san (叶老三, lao as in old, san as in three; translated as “Mingyu”) when he’s being annoying.

His older brother’s wife calls him san’di.

His mother calls him erzi (儿子, son).

Ye Jia’er calls him san’shu (三叔, father’s younger brother, third in the birth order).

Jiang Jingrui calls him san’jiu. Jiang Jingrui is not actually related to him, but san’jiu is what Jiang Jingrui’s paternal cousin Jiang Li calls him.

The clerk in his family’s store calls him san’lang (三郎, “Third Master”).

Official Zhu calls him Ye-lao’ban (叶老板).

Maternal cousins

Ye Shengxuan (叶圣宣), courtesy name Shijie (世杰), is the son of the oldest (now deceased) son of the previous generation of the Ye family.

Jiang Li calls him biaoge (表哥, older male maternal cousin) and refers to him as Ye-biaoge. At one point after they know each other very well, he refers to himself as Jiang Li’s gege (older brother), and she calls him ge. Jiang Jingrui refers to him as Jiang Li’s biaoxiong (表兄, another term for an older male maternal cousin) at least once.

Jiang Yuanbai says that Jiang Li and Ye Shijie are around the same age and refers to them as xiongmei (兄妹, brother and sister), which Viki translates as “cousins”.

Jiang Jingrui calls him Shijie, or (similar to how he calls Ye Mingyu san'jiu because that's what Jiang Li calls him) Ye-biaoge or just biaoge (表哥).

Ye Jia’er calls him tangge (堂哥, older male paternal cousin, translated as “Shijie”).

His aunt, Ye Mingxuan’s wife, refers to him as Shijie. So does his uncle Jiang Yuanbai (his father’s sister’s husband).

A family servant calls him da’langjun (大郎君), translated by Viki as “Young Master”.

Social inferiors or people who are being polite call him Ye-gongzi (叶公子) or Ye-langjun (叶郎君), both translated as “Mr. Ye”.

His classmate Liu Xu calls him Ye-langjun. Some other students call him Ye-xiong (叶兄, brother Ye).

After he’s appointed a position in court, a palace servant calls him Ye-yuanwai (叶员外), translated by Viki as "Mr. Ye". Ji Shuran also calls him Ye-yuanwai, translated as “Official Ye”.

Ye Jia’er (叶嘉儿) is Ye Mingxuan's daughter.

Jiang Li calls her/refers to her as biaojie (表姐, term for an older female cousin when you’re related through one or both of your mothers), Jia’er-biaojie (嘉儿表姐), or Jia'er-jie (嘉儿姐; the “er” is part of her given name, rather than the “er” meaning “second”).

Her parents and her uncle Ye Mingyu call her Jia'er.

The clerk in the family store calls her Jia’er-niangzi (嘉儿娘子). This is also what Tong'er calls her.

Family servant A'Fu calls her Jia'er-jie. Other family servants call her niangzi.

Ye family servants and employees

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for her] Li-mama (李妈妈, “Madam Li”) is Ye-furen's maid.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] A'Fu (阿福) is a servant in Ye Mingxuan's household.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] A'Shun (阿顺) is Ye Mingyu's servant.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] The clerk at the family shop is called Qian-zhanggui (钱掌柜, shopkeeper Qian, “Mr. Qian”).

[iid-smile]

sunrise and sunset , nanami kento

x fem!clingy!reader ! nanami calls the reader "love" and "darling". the reader cuddles with nanami!!! the reader also loses sleep because of his love because thats cute.

author's note: nanami is so yellow but there's no option for it so he has to be orange </3 tell me why i was actually swooning while i was thinking about these scenarios in my head? especially the second one???? i think everybody agrees that nanami is a listener 100%

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

sunrise.

nanami always wakes up before you. he used to get up as soon as his eyes opened, but nowadays, he has a little something holding him down.

it seems like you never fall asleep on your side. that's partly his fault, since he's always beckoning you to come closer to him. but even then, in the morning, he feels himself teetering off the edge of the bed, with two arms wrapped around his neck, and his now asleep arm still wrapped around your waist. slightly dangerous for him, but as long as you feel comfortable, then nothing else matters. seeing your pretty face first thing every day was a blessing.

"kento..." there it is. your tiny mumbles of you waking up.

nanami's lips immediately curl upwards at the sound of your voice. as gently as he can, he sits up more against the headboard, keeping your head laid on his chest. "i hear you." he responds.

the bedroom is quiet and tranquil. he specifically bought black out curtains for your sake, but considering the price, they really weren't doing the best job. mornings in summer were relentless, taking into the account how early the sun rises, and it would wake you up in the middle of your sleep with how bright it was outside. no worries though, since he has plans to replace them very soon.

you mumble again, lips grazing against his shirt. "why aren't you up yet?"

"i don't have work today." obviously a lie. you may be a bit dumb, but you're well aware it's a weekday today, and nanami isn't the best liar.

you lift your head, gaze shooting up to meet with his. "yes, you do! it's a wednesday." you whisper-yell. "you should be up 'nd getting ready..."

"my day doesn't start until yours does." you feel his hand on top of your head, coaxing you to lay it back down. "if i'm late for work, that's fine. you're more important to me." his touch moves up to your upper arm, and his thumb rubs in lazy circles. "go back to sleep, love. you're tired."

"you're too sappy 'n sweet... gonna make me swoon every time you open your mouth, i swear." you grumble.

"then i'll catch you every time."

"stop!"

sunset.

nanami always reads a book before bed. it's usually historical genres, he's not a big fan of sci-fi or comedy. but sometimes, he'll let himself indulge in the odd romance book here and there. why? they're your favourite genre, the books you read. he memorises each different author that he spots you reading, often gifting you another one of their works if he knows you're not having a good day.

finally, you emerge from the bathroom door, a few folded clothes ready to be put away in the laundry hamper. when you turn to him, you watch his eyes intently as they follow the words on the pages. "that's..?"

"i saw you enjoying it this afternoon." he flips a page. you move closer to the bed, crawling on top of the mattress and inviting yourself into the blankets. "you looked particularly thrilled during it. what do you like about this story?"

you pause, thinking over the entire plot. "it reminds me of us."

nanami can only smile, and he doesn't miss the one on your face. closing the book, he places it on the bedside table, and scoops his other arm underneath you. naturally, you rest your head on his shoulder, and hook one of your legs over his. the small distance between the two of you felt that much more intimate that you felt the need to lower your voice. "are you going to sleep?"

"no." the hand wrapped around your waist moves up to your head, just placing it on top of your scalp. "i want you to talk. you seem eager to talk about it."

you giggle inwardly, snuggling impossibly closer to him. "i'm so in love with you." you whisper.

"i love you too, darling. more than words can express." he whispers back.

no wonder you always wake up so late. it's because nanami always has your heart beating too fast before you go to sleep.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[yjhzies]

“Exclusive to you.” — Choi Seungcheol

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff · est. relationship · comfort

⋆ pairings : seungcheol x gn!reader ⋆ warning : pouty and sad cheol :( ⋆ wc : 0.6k [✉️] · when your boyfriend arrives home, but not in his usual mood.

⋆ - note : everybody loves to see a pouty cheol, but not when he is in a bad mood :(

Just as you were about to call Seungcheol to ask when he would return, you heard the front door open.

You leaned back on the couch to peek at the front door, and smiled at the sight of your boyfriend-Seungcheol.

"How was practice?" You ask, and he remains quiet. You frowned as you noticed his shoulders slightly slumped, head lowered, and a pout on his face. Something is wrong-you thought.

"Cheol?"

Without a word, he takes off his shoes and silently approaches you. He stands in front of you with the biggest pout on his face, and you look up at him.

Before you can say or do anything, he throws himself on you and tightly wraps his arms around you. "Baby..." He mumbles, pressing his face deep into your neck.

You instinctively wrap your arms around him, patting his back. "What's wrong, cheol?" Your eyes widen with concern as you ask.

He tilts his head back to rest it on your shoulder and shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, taking your hand and resting it on his head. "Nothing's wrong."

"I just missed you," he says, shifting slightly and clutching your shirt with one hand. "And I'm tired."

You sigh, gently caressing his hair. Right now, he looks like a little baby in his mother's arms. "You got me worried."

"I'm sorry."

"Was the practice too much?" You ask, and a sigh escapes Seungcheol. He nodded.

He looked so small against you right now, as if he wanted you to protect him from the world. As if the only thing he could depend on was you. However, most of the time it was the other way around. He was the one who always wants to protect you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world.

"Take some rest, I'm right here." You smiled and rubbed his back gently to calm him down, and it worked. He finally fell asleep, curled up against you, and closed his eyes.

You were grateful. So grateful, that you were the one Seungcheol always trusted in to take care of him in his vulnerable state. He wouldn't even think once before throwing himself in your arms and let you protect him. And you would forever love to take care of him, cherish him in your arms, cherish his sensitive side. Which, by the way, is only exclusive to you.

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember Day 12: NTR (Netorase)

Alrighty everybody, today we get some NTR, not the usual kind though, this one is different; here's the definition of this one: A genre of sharing or cuckoldry pornography where a protagonist's love interest has sex with others, which the protagonist enjoys, actively encourages or even causes. I'm just following the request.

Length 1.9K

Mina

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to try out, just once,” Mina explains, tapping her fingertips together. She keeps her head down, feeling embarrassed to admit it to you. You consider Mina’s request, but you don’t want to go along with it. Something about it bothers you; it didn’t matter that you were one of the participants; seeing Mina with another man would be too much for you.

You agree, though, for her sake. “All right, Mina. I’ll set things up. You just relax,” you tell her with a halfhearted smile. Mina smiles at you and wraps her arms around you, bouncing from foot to foot. A small giggle escapes her lips, “thank you!” She holds your hands, swinging them from side to side. “Tell me when it’s all set up.”

You spend time thinking about how you’re going to get Mina her threesome. You didn’t want to watch her be fucked by another man, but in your mind, if you didn’t see it, it wouldn’t bother you. You wanted to please Mina and knew how this would make her happy. As stupid as it sounded, this was your solution.

The next day, you put your plan into action. The first step was to find some people for it. You hung out around cafes, people-watching. You listened in on conversations, and eventually, you found the right people. Sitting behind you were two guys who seemed to be like good people, good enough that you could trust them with Mina. You stood up and walked over to them, pulling up a picture of Mina on your phone. The conversation didn’t take long; Mina’s beauty was enough to get them interested, and after hearing you out, they agreed.

You make plans with both parties, deciding you would do it that Saturday. The day came quickly, too. You knew Mina wouldn’t want to do it if you were involved, but you planned for that too, the entire day you were getting Mina ready. You gave her a couple of things to get her in the mood beforehand. From early morning to just before getting to the hotel, Mina was taking aphrodisiacs, and they were getting to her. If that wasn’t enough to make Mina horny, she had a vibrator stirring her guts while the aphrodisiacs made her body sensitive. You had put it on an hour before you were set to leave for the hotel. The vibrator was being held in place by her panties; any movement she made changed the way it moved inside her. She was struggling and wanted to have sex when you left home; her legs were already weak as the outside prong rubbed against her clit.

The drive to the hotel was hard; Mina was clinging to your arm, mewing as she felt the vibrator go deeper into her cunt with every small bump in the road. Getting inside wasn’t easier; walking through the lobby caused the vibrator to move around inside Mina, making it hit new spots. You got your key and moved to your room.

Inside waiting was one of the men, Leo. He, along with the other, Eli, had gotten a key for the room earlier and were waiting inside. You had told them to have one hide out sight before coming out when you left. You introduce Leo to Mina before telling them you forgot something in the car. “I’ll be right back; you guys get started without me.” You tell them, leaving the room before they begin. You leave the hotel entirely, stepping out into a restaurant while they begin their fun. To many, simply the knowledge of what was going on would bother them, but it didn’t bother you for some odd reason.

As soon as you left, Leo turned Mina’s head and kissed her. The young woman moaned into it, the vibrator still messing with her, even more when Leo tugged at them, pulling them higher. Mina’s muffled moans grew higher because of it. Her mind, already foggy from the aphrodisiacs and pleasure, grew foggier as Eli came into the room and moved his hands to her chest. Mina looked over your shoulder and saw it was someone else, but as much as she wanted to resist, she couldn’t. She could feel his hands move over her covered breasts, squeezing them. Leo reached under Mina’s dress, pulling her panties off of her. The vibrator fell to the floor; it was covered in her juices and continued to turn.

The men brought Mina onto the bed and raised her dress, spreading her legs open. Leo moved his hand over Mina’s slit, making her whine as his fingers brushed against her clit. She was already so sensitive that it sent a shock through her system. Eli, meanwhile, continued to focus on her modest breasts, pulling the straps of her dress and pulling it down to reveal them. Her nipples were already hard; Eli took to attaching himself to them, running her tongue over the hard nub. Mina placed her hand on the back of his head, holding it in place as she pushed out her chest. Mina’s whines grew louder. Leo pushed two fingers into her cunt.

Leo grabbed Mina’s hand, putting it on his cock. She immediately gripped it, moving her hand along the shaft as they continued to pleasure her. Her body was taking precedence over her mind, and the last of her resistance faded soon after.

The men lifted Mina’s dress off her body, tossing it to the side. Leo took position between Mina’s legs, rubbing his cock against her wet and needy cunt. Mina could feel it poke her entrance before slipping away and moving between her folds. She bit her lip, struggling as he teased her cunt. At the same time, Eli moved up and slapped Mina’s lips with his cock. In the back of her mind, she thought about how she shouldn’t do it, but her body was in control. Mina opened her mouth for him, allowing Eli to slide in and stretch her lips. Her tongue began to work without question, swirling around the tip as Leo finally made his move. He pushed his cock against Mina’s cunt, moving inside her.

Mina glanced down, watching as he pushed further inside her. Mina’s toes curled, and her eyes went into the back of her head. She had two cocks all to herself; she squeezed her walls around Leo’s cock, reveling in the feeling of him reaching deep inside. Mina began bobbing her, too. She loved the way that his cock stretched her mouth. The young woman reached out, cupping his balls and giving them a loving squeeze as she bobbed her head. Mina’s muffled moans came with every thrust as Leo’s cock filled her up.  For a second, she stopped bobbing her head, muttering, “Harder.” There were no complaints made as they both began to thrust Leo into her pussy and Eli into her mouth. Mina moved a hand to her clit, rubbing it as they pounded away at her body. She was in heaven and pushing herself to an early climax.

Mina's muffled moans become louder and feed into Eli’s pleasure as her tight throat vibrates around his cock. Eli groans and buries himself inside her throat, the pleasure becoming too much for him. His cum fills Mina’s throat, giving her a hefty drink. The warm cum flows straight to Mina’s stomach as she drinks every drop. On the other side of things Leo wasn’t faring better. Mina’s cunt tightened around his cock as she came; his thrusts came all at once before coming to a sudden stop as he came inside Mina. The hot cum moved deep into Mina, warming her body.

They pulled out of Mina slowly, staring at her body. Cum oozed from her cunt, and as she turned her head, they watched a few drop run down from the corners of her mouth. They couldn’t just end things there. They changed positions, rolling Mina onto Eli’s lap while Leo got behind the young woman. Mina could barely support herself, becoming a moaning mess as she felt them rub their cock against her body. Leo reached over, took a bottle of lube, and coated the young woman with it. The two men massaged it into her body. Leo moved his hands down, squeezing her ass. He moved closer to her center and pressed his finger against her asshole.

Mina groaned at the intrusion. She was about to say something when Eli began thrusting into her pussy. A moan was all that came out of her as he thrust deep into her cum. Leo kept playing with her ass, pushing his fingers inside and lubing Mina’s walls until he felt like she was ready. Then he pressed himself against her asshole and began pushing in, stretching Mina’s ass. She cried out, and her breathing became ragged as she felt his searing cock push deeper into her. Leo held onto Mina’s shoulder, holding her as he pushed the remaining few inches inside the young woman. He loved being inside her; her walls were crushing his cock, providing Leo with the best feeling. Mina placed a hand on her stomach; with both cocks inside her, she felt so full.

Mina’s mind began to melt as they thrust into her. Leo held her arms back while Eli suckled on her tits. The pleasure that coursed through Mina was unlike anything else. Her walls clamped down on their cocks, as she came again. The men continued to thrust into her as Mina went through her climax; the pleasure became even greater; her body was being overstimulated. She tingled all over as Leo and Eli sped up. “I’m cumming!” Mina yelled as she felt another orgasm immediately following the last one. The men continued thrusting; they were reaching their peak. They buried themselves inside Mina, filling her body with their cum. Mina’s body shook as she felt their warm cum pour into her. Her walls milked them, draining both of their cum. Mina collapsed after, her body completely giving out.

In the morning, Mina woke up alone to see a note on her nightstand. “I hope you enjoyed your time last night. I couldn’t bear to watch you with someone else even if I was there with you, so I got the two guys from last night to do the job for you. I’m sorry for lying to you, but I wanted you to get the experience you always wanted.” Mina smiles softly.

“You idiot,” She says softly be, trying to stand. Her legs were wobbly, but she managed to make it to the bathroom, where she set herself down. When she came out of the shower, she saw you enter the room. Mina threw herself at you, wrapping her hands around you. “You idiot! You didn’t have to do that!” She shouts, slapping your back. “If you didn’t want to do it, why didn’t you tell me.”

“Because I wanted you to have the experience you always wanted.”

Mina puffs her cheeks, an annoyed look on her face. “I would’ve been fine if you didn’t want to do it.” Mina stares at you for a second before her expression softens. “Still, I’m happy you care enough to set it up for me. C-can I make up for you having to do that?” Her hand gingerly moves down to your crotch. “I really want to make it up to you.”

You smirk, “Okay,”

[shaisuki]

❝ LOOSE ENDS. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS. college au + heavy bullying + gaslighting + noncon + dubcon + implied sexual assault + allusions to depression/suicide + alcohol consumption + drinking + implied drugging + fatphobia + overdosing + naoya zen'in is an asshole + humiliation + threats + minor oc character + DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

NOTES. this might come as disappointing since some of you wanting revenge what this two idiots had done to reader. there are some matters that i think is too complicated and impossible so i came with this way as the breaking point where reader starts to retaliate/plan her revenge. will get to it later and to that anon, who asked for the revenge, i will get once i start to finish this one up. please read the warnings, i don't want someone bitching in the comments telling me that the contents above is uncool. it truly is not cool. that's why it have warnings. it is on a fictional context. do read the warnings before continuing. also do let me know of what you think of this chapter.

SYNOPSIS . you let them take and take what they can from you. you were a nobody after all but everybody have their breaking point.

the world is a blur to you. colors of red and blue dances in your vision while voices whispers to you. what's happening? you can't move. it's like your body were made of lead. you can't understand what they were saying. multiple faces stares at you, are you dead? is this what you see when people surround you while they lower your casket. is it? you hope it was, cause you didn't plan on living anymore. there's nothing worth moving forward and the world around you turns black.

there's a beep and then silence. you hear before you see and when you opened your eyes, all you can see is a bright light above you. it took you minutes to adjust your vision and realize where you are. you're in a hospital. laying on a bed and you started to get irritated at your oxygen mask. you tug at it. getting frustrated why it keeps coming back at you before someone put their hand on it. completely removing it and there you breath. your sight darted to the hand who helped you until your sight travels to his arms and then to his face. a brief recognition flashes through you.

“nanami?” you call his name unsure but you know it was definitely him. it was hard to mistake him for someone. there's his blonde hair, neatly parted. his pristine beige sweater paired a dark colored trouser, not a crinkle in sight and his signature silver watch in his wrist. you met him once at the literature club and decided you were going to be there too not until it changed due to some circumstances. his lips parted but before he can speak, a cheery voice interrupted him.

“she's awake!?” said haibara, you also knew him since he and nanami were always together. seeing your confused state, his voice died down. “what happened?” you asked them and they exchanged looks before haibara answers you.

“we found you passed out in the lawn. thought you were drunk but you weren't breathing.” haibara's voice was soft while he slowly breaks down the reason why you ended up here.

a doctor comes inside to your room before haibara can finish. you took note of her pristine white coat with her surname embroidered on it. clicking her pen and whipping out her clipboard she pulled out of nowhere. you were distracted by it. the doctor's eyes is on you now and you began to frown.

the doctor coughs clearing her throat before speaking. “hello, ms. (y/n). i'm glad you're awake now.” noticing your confused expression she pauses began answering the question. “to answer your question you were unconscious for two days and is brought for possible assault. we need your con—”

“no!”

“ms. it would help for you t—”

“you heard me!? i said no!” you scream at the doctor and your tears appeared in your eyes. you didn't realize you were screaming. nanami and haibara stand there in silence but the looks on their face said otherwise. concern painted in their faces and the doctor bows before leaving. looking at the men inside in your room to call her if you need anything.

cause if they would test you, they would find the remains of their sperm inside you and then report? who will believe you? it would be buried like the case of another girls like you who were too afraid nor fight their abusers. you don't find the point of that. they would twist the words out of you. it was easy to believe than you.

you curled up in bed and did the next thing you can. cry. now, you're in here and the events before this plays in your head in repeat.

“f-fuck”

satoru curses out while suguru bites your ear. your body like jello as they spilled their load for the nth that day. both of them lowered your body after fucking your brains out. warm up, they say. you shiver as you feel their cum running down your thighs. feeling disgusted as it began to stick after being exposed to the air. you grab the wipes but suguru stopped you, grabbing it from your hands and cleaning you up. fixing your skirt in the meantime.

“worth every penny.” suguru mutters. staring at the new clothes they bought for you. a baby blue corseted puff-sleeved, square neck top matched with a black skirt that rests on your mid thigh is what they forced you to wear. it feels tight. intentionally buying it one size smaller than you usually wore and it more feel you like a stuffed sausage rather a comfortable piece of clothing. you can't say no to what they wanted. you're a bit of grateful that they allowed you to wear your white sneakers rather than those kitten heels that would put your feet in blisters.

satoru's fingers brushes through the expanse of your exposed flesh. playing with the small bow in your top. sighing, “suguru, can we have more with (y/n)-chan?” his best friend chuckles at him. “idiot, we're already running late, after that we can.” satoru pouts. “tch, party pooper.” he ignores gojo and moves his attention to you.

“smile, this is your first real party. you're going to enjoy this.” suguru lifts your chin up with his finger and you obediently nodded. “ditch and you know what will happen.” he warns.

it was a bad idea. the moment you stood in the front door. the party was already in motion. you can hear the people inside shouting profanities and booming music mixed with already drunk frat members and student bodies. this was never really your crowd and when you were shoved inside with gojo and geto you were done and you already felt like crying. you look at the duo in front of you. they were already engaged in conversation with the other people here.

“gojo, you son of a bitch. you fucking came.” a guy hollered in the side and you see more of his features as he gets nearer. a snarl in his face with multiple piercings in his ear. a hair dyed blonde with green accents.

“ah, zen’in. wouldn't missed this just i could wipe that smirk off your face.” gojo mocks him and before the guy whom gojo called zen’in darts his sight to you. he raises a brow. “you two in fat bitches now?” pointing at you with hand cupping a plastic cup. gojo scoffs. “none of your business, zen'in.” glaring at him but he can't see that gojo's looking at him with dark glasses in the way. “then you two wouldn't mind me using her.” he suggested and suguru gaze darkens at him. “fuck off, naoya.” almost growling at naoya and the latter raises his hand in mock defeat before finding shit he could entertain himself with.

suguru scowls after naoya left, he looks at you like you just turned his mood sour. “you're an embarrassment.” he says and you bit your lip. keeping the tears at bay and you don't really want to embarrass yourself more at this party. “hey, hey suguru.” gojo taps his shoulder. “let loose, don't naoya get to you.” satoru glances at you. his blue eyes peering in his glasses. “you're right.” his stare cold at you. “find a seat, (y/n). you're embarrassing us now with you around.” you nod and you find yourself in a vacant corner. near to those already wasted or just plain chilling in the couch in front of you.

what did you expect? that were all sex talk or when they're in good mood. all those praise and compliments are just enough to feel you good about yourself for a bit and then they'll come destroying it. you stare at the view through the window. the night's particularly beautiful and peaceful except the place you're in and you're already missing the comfort of your bed.

you take a sip from your cup. a girl gave it you earlier saying that it's a special concoction that's only made at this parties. unsure you took it. not wanting to show ungratefulness to someone whose only been polite to you and she seems nice. you cringe slightly at the taste and the burning of the liquid as it flows down your throat. coughing you bring down the cup, not used to drinking.

your first time being a party, your eyes wander how your peers lost their selves in the influence of alcohol. some where dancing and mingling. talking like they were friends and you caught of others taking their business upstairs. you were kind of jealous how everyone are the life of the party and you sit here in your misery. you continue to observe everyone and you caught gojo. it's impossible to miss his tall stature and his white hair standing in the crowd. a petite woman is linked to him. her thin arms are wrapped around his neck and it was clear what they were doing. there they stood in the crowd. kissing.

“satoru.” gojo was taking a swig of his drink when a girl approached him. calling his name like they were lovers but it was more like an ex-fling. never had a relationship with her. she was only a temporary fun. “ah, sar—ah, sayuri.” he almost curses at himself. sayuri playfully pouts at him and there it is, the batting of eyelashes. “that's mean, satoru. you already forgot me.” her lips puckers before placing a hand in his chest. if this was a another party of gojo and he really liked this girl. he would have taken her upstairs. he caught you in the corner. you were like a child in awe at the people in this house. gojo almost chuckles at your cute antics but suppressed it and then a cruel idea pops in his mind. “missed me?” he asks sayuri and there was no answer needed as he crashes his lips to sayuri. his sight never leaving yours and when you caught him. he watch as your eyes widens, you lower your head in embarrassment before chugging that drink in your cup in one swig. he smirks in the kiss as he watches you wiped your tears away. he always liked making you cry.

you should have ditched this stupid party, even it means getting punished by those again. you were hurt. they always like to torture you. listen as they tell you how worthless and unlovable you are while they keep girls who are clearly not you by their side. those girls were perfectly fit for them to be seen in public and you were there for them to humiliate you. with your head lowered, you stifled a sob. wiping your tears with your hands shaking. they kept flowing and you kept messily wiping them and with that you slowly made your way outside. discreetly making your way through the door and you almost laugh. you were a nobody. you're not made for pretty things and this goddamn outfit you wore only added to your misery. you never felt beautiful and it looks ugly on you. wrapped a sausage with a different and it will still look the same.

no one noticed you leaving except for suguru's watchful gaze.

suguru finds his friend making out with a girl he definitely doesn't remember. suguru slaps his back and satoru broke the kiss. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignores the girl he was just making out seconds ago. suguru points the door where you left earlier. you're really looking for trouble and with that they left following you.

sayuri was stunned being shoved aside again. she was angry. how the fuck did you get those two's attention especially gojo's? she's beautiful. she's thin. academically excelling and you, a fat nobody bitch easily made those two fall for you. she knows they were just playing at you and sayuri could take it but being shoved again by satoru isn't what she expected tonight. she's going to be satoru's bride. it was decided from the start and satoru knows it. their fathers friends since their college days had made a decision to marry their son and daughter before they were even born and she did everything she can just to have satoru's attention but why can't she even get to look at her without her trying. it's your fault. it's your fucking fault! you deserve to die. you're fucking stupid for accepting that drink like you're a fucking saint and now, maybe you'll rethink your choices of making those your own and satoru will only have his eyes for her and only her.

weird. why are your hands sweating? it's cold. freezing cold. you know this temperature at night is normal but why are you freezing cold. hah, your vision's starting to get funny too. where there always stars in the sky? ahh, i want to go home. i wonder if akira's still awake. i didn't told her that i was going away tonight. my eyes hurt. you were crying. this was your thoughts as you walked away.

it was to easy to catch you with their long strides. satoru grabs your flabby arm angrily. “we told you, you don't leave without us. do you really want to get punished, (y/n)-chan?” his voice snarky as he digs his nails in your arms. it hurts. it really must really hurt but you're suddenly numb to feel anything. you just stare at him in confusion and then you hear voices. they were calling them to get back.

gojo scowls at them. your knees buckled and you sat in the ground. geto tsked. “we're going back to you later.” he says and they left you there and there were loud cheers. you lay there in the ground. numb and your vision fades away.

you blinked as you stare in the nothingness. that's what you last remembered. they left you there and you hoped you died. you can't take another bullshit of what they put you through. the tears continuously flows from your eyes and your blanket is wet with tears. haibara puts a comforting hand in your shoulder and you bursted crying again. this was the real kindness you felt since the accident. they didn't blame you. they only stayed and made sure you were resting enough. stranger they maybe or an acquaintance. you would never forget this kindness from them.

days. nights. you stayed in the hospital until you were cleared. you made nothing of what happened to you. putting it in the records as an allergic reaction in which the hospital agreed. just like that even when you're in the brink of death of what happened to you. if you took the procedure for assault. they would be guilty but it was days old now and bruises are left in your skin as nothing but reminders of the humiliation of what they did to you.

for now, you're going to cry. cry until there's nothing left to cry for.