#if this were a food it would be a spicy dish

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER I

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (15,3k words)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Lee Minho.

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

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

Only time would tell.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone’s taken his seat.

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho follows, his interest piqued more than ever.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'll be working,” you simply answer.

“What time you get off work?”

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

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

“Around midnight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Who is he?”

“Is that the new head chef?”

“He looks... intense.”

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

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

“This is Chef Lee Minho.”

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

One by one, the staff steps forward.

“Seo Jun, Sous Chef, Meat Station.”

“Ha Yura, Sous Chef, Pasta Line.”

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

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

“I'm in the pasta Line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, chef!” Everyone responds in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungwan swallows hard. “It was a mistake—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

But Minho notices.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Morning,” she mutters, her voice hoarse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” Minji murmurs, finally looking up.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vongole!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Chef Choi Sara.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Recognize this?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sara looks away, her silence speaking volumes.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stay silent for a moment before nodding.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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[echantedtoon]

A Lovers' Circle (Poly Haishira x Reader) Ch25 As Days Go By In January

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(This chapter night be a little cluttered but that's because it's a big filler chapter for the next chapter when things really take off. For better or for worse?...Well what fun would it be if I spoiled anything?)

The new year was an odd feeling to the body. 

It felt like everything was new but the same as always all the time. And thus you decided to make yourself a new year revolution bucket list. Spend more time doing the things you loved with the people you loved! You had so many more friends than you ever did at any point in your life, and you were going to start spending more time with them. Starting with your oldest and most dearest friend!

The clinking of a plate and teacup being sat upon the table as the spices from the noodles and broth they say in. The smell accompanied by the scent of Earl grey tea placed right next to the bowl by a smiling face.

"Here you go. One of these days I'm going to learn how to make my own noodles then it'll truly be made from scratch."

Murata breathed in the delicious fragrance before sighing and picking up the chopsticks you leant him. His stomach growling. "Thanks, Y/n. Can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal."

"It's ok. If you want I'll pack you up what I had to make for baking class. It's just taking up space in my fridge and we both know that I don't really enjoy spicy foods all too much anyways."

He looked at you. "Hey. You really don't have to do that. Sabito an' I get by fine on our own-"

"It's not a trouble. At this point it's just taking up space in my fridge and I'd hate to waste food." Your only other option was to give it to Giyuu and Shinobu..or call up Mitsuri as a quick food disposal but everyone was very busy with classes as the finals for the year were approaching and every chance to study counted. Plus Murata needed it more. "All I ask is for my containers back when you're finished."

"Alright. I'll get it. You'll be making me take them home anyways." The smile on his face was a rare one for him and how stressed he usually was. "Thanks."

You smiled brightly at him already on your way to go empty out your fridge. Honestly most of the dishes stuck in there was just foods you had to bake for health class to pass and then just got stuck left in your fridge as most of it was spicy foods you didn't like all too much. But Murata and his boyfriend liked these so they'd go to them.

So into the tupperware containers they went as you dug them out from cabinets and sorted out the fridge situation. Busing yourself by speaking to the happy man slurping down the udon like he hadn't had a good tasting meal in the last year. He'd stopped by just an hour ago for old times sake and you were happy to catch up with your old friend.

"How's college been?"

"Mood," he answered muffled by his full mouth giving a sigh as the delicious taste waved down his throat. "If I pass this year then maybe I can graduate early! That way I don't have to work that stressful pizza job anymore."

"Oh. Well don't strain yourself studying. Get some sleep before you start staying up all night."

"Right. Right." He paused a moment to watch as you poured spicy miso soup into a small container for him, eyeing your form before taking a sigh to brace himself. "So .um. How's your boyfriend been treating you?"

"Gyomei?" You took a second to look back over your shoulder at him. "He's been nothing but the perfect gentleman. I'm very happy with him."

Murata slowly nodded looking concerned. "I see. And he.. hasn't done anything that's bothered you or hurt you in anyway?" He rolled his wrist. "Especially with the whole I'm seeing nearly half the college thing. Sounds like cheating to me."

"Murata!!" You scowled hard at him making him hold up his hands. "Why on earth would you say that?!"

"I'm sorry! It just sounds really suspicious to me! And you can't blame me with your dating streak...N-No offense."

"Gyomei is not dating around with every person he sees!," you growled pointing a spoon at him threateningly, "He's polyamorous. NOT a cheater! I know exactly every one of his partners and all of them are lovely people who see no one but each other! There's a big misidentification between being poly and being a cheater!"

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!," he repeated trying to calm you down. "I just wanted to be sure you were ok."

"I'm perfectly secure in my relationship with Gyomei. He's been completely upfront with everything and doesn't seem anyone outside me or his partners which I have stated before that I'm perfectly fine with him doing." You jabbed the spoon towards him firmly. "And I'm not seeing them, he is. So you can not make such rude accusations towards my BOYFRIEND, Murata."

"Ok, ok! I apologize!" You huffed still scowling at him before turning back to the task at hand. "I just wanted to be sure you were ok. You're like a sister to me and seeing you go through do much well..."

You sighed. "I appreciate your concern but you know me. If Mei was just like the other guys I dated, then I wouldn't even have gone on a second date with him let alone be his girlfriend. Look. I promise you IF anything bad happens, which it won't, then I'll be outta there faster than a cheetah. Ok?"

He sighed again too. "Alright. But if you ever need any help-"

"You and my aunt are the first ones I'll call. Now hush up and eat your udon before it goes cold."

He deflated but busied himself by eating the food and trying to lessen the tension in the air caused by his sudden disturbance. About ten minutes passed between him emptying his bowl and sipping his tea in silence before he spoke up again. 

"So..where is he now?"

"He's helping a friend study for a history exam he has next week. He won't be around today if that's what you're worried about."

"No, no. Just curious is all."

"You'd like him if you ever got to meet him. Even my aunt likes him."

"Your aunt is crazy no offense."

"Auntie is crazy in a 'lets go to a restaurant with my pet tarantula' kinda way. She's not crazy in a 'seeing things that aren't there' kinda way."

"Hm. Touche."

He took another sip of his drink as you sighed before there was a loud knock at the door causing both of you to turn to said door as loud knocking cascaded from the other side. 

"Oh! That's probably Auntie! I told her to come visit me this week!" Excited by the thought of your aunt coming by to visit you too, you placed down what you had been packing up, sped walked to the door, threw it open, blinked at wbo was on the other side, and then smiled. "Hi, Guys. I wasn't expecting you three to show up."

"HI, Y/N!!," Mitsuri instantly shouted with a full arm wave at you. Behind you keeping away from her furiously waving arm was Sanemi and Obanai whom looked more bored. 

"What are you guys doing here? I thought you were studying for final exams?"

"Those aren't until May which is months away," Sanemi grunted softly pushing Mitsuri's arm away from him before she accidentally sent him flying into the snow. "We're going to a concert tonight and wanted to know if you wanted to come along."

"Oh..Well I've never been to a concert before so I wouldn't know what to do there."

"It's not like a famous singer or anything, it's just a show party thrown together by a bunch of locals."

"Oh. Sure then! Sounds fun! Just let me finish up in the kitchen first. You guys wanna come in?" Stepping aside to allow them in immediately of course Mitsuri's attention turned to the kitchen.

"Do I smell udon?!"

"Yep! Do you want some?" She nodded eagerly making you smile and gestured to three of them to follow you. "Come on into the kitchen then. I'll fix you guys some."

Murata had been confused holding his cup as you returned only to be followed by a woman and two men he didn't know. Mitsuri didn't seem to have any problems with there being a literal stranger in your kitchen however both Sanemi and Obanai stopped in their tracks to stare at the confused man sipping away at his teacup. And equally as confused look graced Sanemi's face however Obanai's eyes widened... Before they narrowed suspiciously looking him up and down before pointing an accusing hand to him.

"WHO is HE?," He spat out rudely.

The tone made you look up from putting a lid on a container before blinking. "Oh, right. Guys, that's Murata. He's my best friend from highschool."

"Um.."Murata glanced the three individuals with confusion. "Sup?"

"HI!! OH MY GOSH!! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT Y/N HAD OTHER FRIENDS!! THAT'S SO SWEET!!," Mitsuri gushed in enthusiasm as usual.

He winced at her loud tone but nodded. "Uh..Yeah. Hey. You're the girl who was in the play right? My cousin was the Nutcracker." Obanai glared harder at him. 

"No way! I never would've guessed!!"

"So who are you guys?"

"That's Mitsuri." You continued to finish packaging his food since you were almost done anyways. "And Sanemi and Obanai."

"PFT?!" Instantly Murata nearly spat out his tea but he didn't. Instead it puffed up in his cheeks making him comically look like a chipmunk in horror before he eventually managed to swallow it down and proceeded to get into a minor coughing fit making you look at him. "*COUGH COUGH HACK!!* S-Sanemi Shina- *cough* -gawa?!"

"Yeah." Much like Obanai he gave a suspicious look crossing his arms. "What if it?"

"N-Nothing! Nothing!" Murata squeaked out looking a million shades suddenly paled now with a gulp. "I-It's just...Y/n spoke about you a lot is all."

"Yeah. These are the friends I told you about!" You turned with three tupperware containers stacked up in your hands before you proceeded to plant the three in front of your terrified friend. "They're all studying to become teachers! Isn't that neat?"

"Great!," he squeaked out high pitched, "We can always use more teachers!"

"What are you studying?," Obanai bluntly asked almost challenging him with his gaze.

"...Murata's studying computer science and programming! He wants to be a game developer. Isn't that great?", you answered for him when it was obvious that your terrified friend couldn't.

"Huh...I suppose." You have Obanai a frown making him sigh. "Snake On A Train is a good game though."

"Hey, Murata. Maybe you should get these home to Sabito before it goes cold."

"OKYEAH!!"

Helping your terrified friend find an excuse out, you politely showed him out the door sighing before returning to the kitchen finding Mitsuri helping herself to the entire large pot of udon and Sanemi still staring at everyone completely confused.

"What the hell was his problem?"

"Sorry. He's just-..Shy around some people."

"Uh huh."

He didn't seem to believe you but didn't push the issue figuring his reputation had just been what scared off your friend not taking offense to it. Thank goodness. Obanai however was suspiciously still eyeing where Murata was sitting like he personally offended him.

"Who was he?"

"My friend from highschool? I told you that." You eyed Mitsuri still slurping down broth, noodles, and veggies like it was nothing. Well...at least you wouldn't have any leftovers cluttering your fridge between Murata needing food and her appetite. "He just stopped by to visit me since we hadn't seen each other since Christmas."

"He wasn't trying to put the moves on you?" ...You, Mitsuri, and Sanemi both turned to give him looks. Yours confused and surprised and Sanemi a 'what the hell are you doing ' meanwhile Mitsuri's looked shocked before changing to beaming in happiness at her Boyfriend as if just confirming something. "Uh.." He quickly took notice of the situation before backtracking. "He..told me about the pub incident." He explained pointing a quick finger at Sanemi.

Did he assume Murata was hitting on you because he was eating in your kitchen? That was weird. "No. Nothing like that. Besides Murata already has a boyfriend so I don't think he's interested in me like that at all."

Obanai's eyes widened. "So...he wouldn't like-.."

"Not unless I suddenly turn into a man and changed my personality to be his type overnight. Which he's already in a long term relationship anyways so there's like zero chance there, Obi. You shouldn't jump to conclusions like that."

His eyes looked so cartoony widd as he stared at you before he looked away. "Right...Sorry."

"It's ok, but next time just ask me nicely before jumping the gun." You explained to him reminding you of the kids in the daycare.

"Anyways," Sanemi started looking at you, "-are we going or not?"

Well that was very awkward and confusing but luckily nothing bad had happened like Sanemi getting angry with Murata over a misunderstanding and it was only the second week into January. At least the 'concert' was fun even if you could call it that. It was just a small gathering of about thirty or so people and some mediocre bands played off tune or too loudly. But you had fun spending time with the three of them for a couple hours.

More days passed by and it was the same thing as usual mostly. Get up. Go to work. Do classes. Get the notes you couldn't get from Shinobu or Giyuu. Shopping. Bills. Chores. And the like. The third Monday of January you spent some time with the Kocho sisters and Giyuu. He'd asked you to come play shogi with him like you had promised him on Christmas and you agreed because a promise was a promise after all. The sisters were there. Shinobu was helping Kanae study for an upcoming exam using flashcards and a fake test to which Shinobu would 'grade' her on after to help. But they took time out to come over and talk to you about their current obsession.

"Have you read this book?"

You took a moment to glance at the book Shinobu held up to you. Of Butterflies and Devils. Before shaking your head no and turning back to the board game at hand. The entire game was confusing to you and the last two games you'd already lost quickly to the blue eyed man sitting across from you.

"Can't say that I have. What is it about?" You glanced around the pieces trying to calculate the best move. Didn't help that Giyuu had most of your pieces while you only had one of his.. eventually you settled og moving your third to last one to the left.

"It's about two sisters fighting against this unfeeling evil presence of their world." She spoke almost as if it was a personal journey she had gone through. "The entire story is their journey leading up to their first climax against the devil. Unfortunately the older sister passed away-"

"Shinobu, don't spoil the entire story for her." You glanced at Kanae on your other side as she held up a second much thicker book than the one Shinobu held. Poisoned Stained Glass was displayed on the cover. "That one is just a prequel story to the actual novel here. I think it's quite a lovely story even though her journey is quite tragic. You should read them sometime. Then you can join our book club."

"Oh. Sure! But I don't have them." You blinked as Giyuu held up your piece in his hand having made a move while you weren't looking. 

"I win again," he said simply.

You sighed at the fact he managed to beat you again. You really weren't very good at shogi. "Sorry, Giyuu. I'm not really much of a player."

"Why are you apologizing?," he asked simply placing down your piece again. "I find playing against you enjoyable. The entire purpose of the game is to find enjoyment not win isn't it?"

Huh. Spoken like a true team player or a really good coach. He was definitely going to make a great gym teacher. The entire statement had you smiling and nodding your head. "Yeah. I guess you're right. Practice makes perfect as they say so do you want to go another round?"

"Yes. Very much. This time I'll help teach you how to play." Already he was moving to reset the little wooden pieces. "That way you can make better moves."

Sounds good to you. You blinked as Kanae sat her book in front of you with a smile on her face. "Here. You can borrow my copy to read then we'll show you the third installment in the series about their youngest sister."

You opened your mouth to answer her but before you could say anything Shinobu suddenly put her book on top of her sister's making even Giyuu blink. "Read this one first! It's the prequel so it'll help make the second one make more sense."

"Oh. Ok. I'll be sure to give them a read when I can."

Seemed interesting enough anyways. You'd be nice and give them both a read in-between work and other obligations as you went along. You didn't see why you couldn't indulge in some of your friends' interests too especially when they've been nothing but kind to you after all. Speaking of friends you also ran into another friend of yours while going on an outing with Gyomei. 

Nothing fancy. Just a dinner together and a little walk around a new party of town you hadn't been to but Gyomei had, so you allowed him to lead you around the still snow covered ground and looking at a few new establishments you'd never seen. A mechanic shop, a book store, what looked like an antique store- 

You blinked as Gyomei slowly stopped also stopping you as your arms were linked before he gestured to the antique looking store. "Kyojuro works there as the assistant manager. Should we stop by and say Hello?"

Kyo? You smiled. "Sure. I haven't seen him in like three weeks. It'll be a nice surprise."

Gyomei agreed and lead you across the cold street and towards the small shop. It wasn't anything fancy. Just your average small shop that looked like it sold antiques and donated items like clothes, toys, and other random things. Yep. Just your average hand me down store. Though you did spy a few foreign cook books you were interested in. The one from France made you completely stop and skip from Gyomei's arm to go rummaging through the shelf of books and magazines. Picking up some cheap cookbooks you were very eager to look through.

"Did you folks find anything you like?"

Both of you turned and you lit up at the sight of a brightly smiling flame haired man holding up a decently sized cardboard box in his arms. "Kyo! There you are! Mei said you worked here!"

"INDEED!!" He shouted loudly with a bright smile on his face. "Welcome to Greatwill!! A percentage of every purchase goes to the local woman's shelter! How can I help you today?"

He must've still been acting professional cuz he was still on the clock. No matter. You were still happy to see him so you held up the old pre owned books. "Can I buy these really quick?"

"Of course! Just let me finish putting up this china set and I'll get right to you!," he said holding up the box.

Definitely caught him in the middle of working. Only watching as returned to a shelf to finish unloading the breakable china onto the shelves before making his way over to the counter and smiling brightly at you holding your books. 

"Did you find everything ok?"

You nodded. "Definitely. I can't wait to look through these recipes. Aren't you working a bit late though?"

"I was about to close up the shop actually. You both caught me right when closing."

"Oh. Hey. Do you wanna come have dinner with us?"

Kyojuro and Gyomei blinked at you surprised by your offer. "You're...inviting me to dinner?"

You nodded. "Only if you'd want to though it's been a while since I last saw you and I'd like to spend time with you too. As long as Mei doesn't mind." You turned to him in question.

Gyomei hummed raising a brow as he stared in your direction. "I..do not see why not as long as he is comfortable with it."

"But of course!" The flame haired man beamed at you both in happiness. "I'd love nothing more than to join you both for dinner! But first thing's first. That'll be ten forty five for the books."

The night was pretty casual. You three had a few burgers at some small hole in the hall restaurant just catching up with him asking his his exam went and how his dad was doing at his new job. You were happy to hear Mr. Rengoku was doing a lot better now than you last saw him. And you were happy to see Kyojuro also doing so well seemingly much happier now that he didn't have to worry about his father struggling with a job. Speaking of which you've learnt through the grapevine that the Shinazugawas were doing much better as well. Most of Sanemi's friends had helped to chip in with helping Mrs. Shinazugawa pay off the massive debt her deceased husband left behind. So now Sanemi's siblings wouldn't be forced to take on part time jobs after all which was a relief. That poor woman didn't need to go through that. Before parting on good terms for the evening and heading on home.

You supposed the Uzui's heard of you hanging out with practically everyone else so not to be outdone, Makio sent you a text inviting you to come over next week and see where they put up the painting of you. You agreed and the last Wednesday of that month drove over to the Uzuis' home. Greeted at the door by Makio whom invited you in and found the other two ladies preparing lunch in the kitchen but made sure to greet and talk to you for a little bit before Tengan danced his way down the stairs to greet you.

"Well if it ain't my lovely nude!~," he greeted you brightly upon seeing you there.

"Hey, Tengen. How's your next painting coming along?"

You noticed that he was wearing that paint stained apron and he had his hair tied up in the same messy bun he always wore when you posed for him, so you assumed that meant he must've been painting again.

He lit up giving a wink and finger guns. "Sharp eye. My neighbor commissioned me to paint her this cherry blossom landscape but that's not what you're here for." You blinked when he all of sudden threw an arm around your shoulders and squished you against his side. "How about I show you where I put that portrait at?"

"Sure!"

With a smile he brought you upstairs and over down the hall a bit before he showed you the wall right next to the guest room proudly. On it was the absolutely beautiful painting Tengen had painted you last month. It's a surreal feeling seeing yourself somehow so beautiful and painted. Made you happy seeing Tengen's face so proudly smiling at it.

"I think you picked a nice spot for it," you complimented making him smile. "I'd love to see your other painting when you're finished."

"Will do! You'll love it! Cherry blossoms are one of my favorite things to paint!" He motioned with his hands lighting up like a kid in a candy shop. "After all, they're absolutely beautifully breath taking and the romantic undertones are perfect for that special someone."

"I didn't take you for a romantic, but then again you work at a host club so that checks out."

That actually had him blinking before looking amused and loudly laughing. "Hahaha! I'd like to think I'm quite romantic with all my partners, but I was actually referring to the painting itself as romantic considering the guy whom commissioned me plans to gift it to his crush next month."

You rose a brow a bit confused. "Next month?"

Now Tengen's brow rose. "Did you forget?" He motioned at nothing with his hand when you didn't catch on. "Valentine's Day!"

"Oh." Realization dawned on you. "I must've forgotten with how busy I've been this month." Although you did notice the fliers advertising for the upcoming Sweethearts Dance the university was hosting but soon after forgotten about them. 

"Yeah. Y'know it's tradition to confess under cherry blossoms? Well it's still going to be too cold for them to bloom next month so the guy figured that he'd confess by giving his own cherry blossoms. Courtesy of yours truly of course!~"

"Aw! That's honestly kinda sweet."

"Yeah! I'm treating all three of my wives to an expensive dinner and treating them like the queens they are!~ And of course Kyojuro's not going to escape my flamboyant love either! What about you guys?" He looked interested tilting his head at you. "What are you and the big guy doing for V Day? Wait! Don't tell me. The big lug's taking you to that cute dance right?"

"Oh...um." You looked away suddenly shuffling embarrassed. "I uh-...Never celebrated Valentine's Day romantically."

Slowly magenta eyes blinked at you. "Huh?"

You shrugged. "Well...I do celebrate it just not like everyone else."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I just-..Well Valentine's Day is about celebrating all kinds of love not just romantic. So I just sorta celebrated self love. Every year."

"Uh huh." He hummed looking you up and down. "Haven't you ever been to a dance before?"

"Once. At prom...But it didn't go so well."

"What happened?" 

You frowned deadpanned. "Well my 'date' ghosted me and didn't pick me up, and when I decided to just go myself I found out he just decided to dump me and go with one of the cheerleaders instead. I spent the entire time just drinking punch standing around like an idiot because no one asked me to dance." That and you only got home because Murata was there and like a good friend had offered to drive you back home.

His eyes widened at that. "Wow. That's despicable."

"I know. Before Mei I've had really bad luck with dates."

"I see.." It was then that his eyes lit up with a bright idea that made him. "Well I'm sure you'll have a good dance one of these days."

"I doubt that but thank you, Tengen. I appreciate it."

"But of course.~ Now why don't you join us for lunch? Hinatsuru makes some delicious gyudon."

You hadn't really expected anything to happen after that encounter with the Uzuis. You simply had lunch and then left soon after not giving Tengen a second thought to anything he had said as he saw you off digging a phone from his pocket. Just choosing to focus on work and school through the rest of the month and into the first few days of February. 

When it happened.

You were in the nursery when it happened. You had just changed the diaper of one of the babies and put them down for their nap when your coworker poked her head in with a mixture of shock and 'i just saw a ghost' on her face. 

"Hey, Lacey. Are you ok?" You looked concerned by the thousand yard stars she was giving you. "You look like you saw a ghost."

She just stiffly looked at you before pointing behind her towards the front lobby. "Th-Th-There's-..For you?"

You were further confused furrowing your brows. "For me?..Is there someone in the lobby?"

She stiffly nodded making you him. Who could be in the lobby at this hour? Classes weren't over yet so nobody could've been here to pick up anyone yet. By the look on her face, it could've been Sanemi scaring the living daylights out of her again but that wouldn't make sense if he was still in class. Curiosity got the better of you as you bypassed the frozen, pale woman and left the infant wing towards the lobby. Up the hallway you noticed something up ahead. A much taller figure was already standing there and you recognized him immediately.

"Gyomei?" The man in the apron turned to you with a blink as your footsteps approached from up the hallway. "What's going on?"

"That is what I was just trying to figure out." He turned back forward across the lobby and you did too.

What you saw had you stopping in your tracks. 

"Guys?" 

"HI, Y/N!!," Mitsuri was the first one to answer giving you a full armed wave and smile.

Everyone was there. Hinatsuru, Giyuu, Obanai- 

"What are you all doing here?," Gyomei asked confused as if reading your mind too. His brows rising. Did that mean Lacey told him to come to the lobby too? "Shouldn't you be at work or have classes?" His head tilted as his brows furrowed. "And how come I smell so much floral?"

"Why are you guys holding flowers?"

Each and every one of them held some kind of flowers. A full on bouquet for most even if Sanemi and Obanai looked entirely flustered and red faced about it refusing to make eye contact.

"Kanae donated them from the florist shop but enough of that?" Tengen smiled brightly at you as if proud of his little mischief plan. "We came all the way here to ask you both something!"

Ask you both something? You glanced at Gyomei but he just seemed as lost and confused as you were continuing to just stare ahead in sheer dumbfoundedness at the group of people in front of you both until you looked back up when Tengen got down on one knee.

"Gyomei. Y/n." With the most mischievous grin on his face he dared to hold up the roses to you both. "Will you do us the honor of going to the dance with us?~"

[galaxyg1204]

OKAY ARTIST I SEE YOU

hero?

[canisalbus]

Whenever someone says "This would kill a Victorian child." Or "This would kill a medieval peasant." I have to think about Machete. Would he... would he survive eating a Dorito?

.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Having salivated over European food yesterday, here’s the head children’s takes on gastronomy:

[m1ckeyb3rry]

what it’s like to bring the jjk boys to…have dinner with your family!

ft. fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, geto suguru, ijichi kyotaka, inumaki toge, itadori yuji, kamo choso, kamo noritoshi, mahito, muta kokichi, nanami kento, okkotsu yuta, panda, ryomen sukuna, todo aoi, yaga masamichi, yoshino junpei, zenin naoya

warnings: not all of these are romantic! reader is lowkey desi coded in some of them. reader is mentioned to have a brother, dogs, aunts/uncles, and cousins in some of them. reader slanders like 75% of the characters. honestly the characters might be ooc too i wrote this two years ago for fun and giggles and just found it again and wanted to post. also tw naoya!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

Literally perfect

Your parents love him

Your dogs love him

You love him

Was kind of quiet at first but settled in eventually and opened up a bit

Was still kind of reserved but that’s to be expected from him

Your mother found it sweet that he tried to hide behind you when your uncles started interrogating getting to know him 

He let your younger cousins play with his shikigami so that your dogs could get a break from being bothered

Really liked the salad your mother made and asked for the recipe

1000/10 

FUSHIGURO TOJI

Actually not too bad

Was polite enough and liked the food

Showed your parents pictures of Megumi as a baby

They were suitably impressed

Your cousin asked him where he goes to the gym

He told him he doesn’t believe in gyms (thinks they’re oppressive institutions designed to disadvantage the poor?)

Did give him a discount code for some random protein powder that he’s sponsored by though

Asked your parents to donate to his charity

They were happy to do so and thought it was amazing that he has a charity

You decided not to tell them that his “charity” is literally just his bank account

4/10 for scamming your family

GOJO SATORU

Solid 7/10

Goofs around a lot but he did come so he gets points for that

Your parents hated him at first but then he showed them the album of cute Megumi pictures he has saved on his phone and they switched up

“He’s so responsible for raising a kid so young! And it’s not even his!”

Bullshit

He does NOT raise Megumi and you were the one who sent him half of those pictures 

Demoted to a 6/10 just for that but at least your parents like him

Also the fact that he had an album was cute

Somehow managed to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum

Your brother kept making fun of his eyes being so blue so halfway through he had to switch the glasses out for the blindfold

Surprisingly high spice tolerance

GETO SUGURU

Honestly really a fun guy!

Actually brought his own dish to the dinner??

AND IT WAS GOOD????

Your mother wants you two to get married now

Asked if he could take some leftovers back for Mimiko and Nanako

Which was very considerate of him actually

Your mother told him he didn’t have to return the dishes she packed the food in

Let your brother win at Scrabble

Listened to your mother talk about the auntie drama

Apparently he’s going to start putting coconut oil in his hair now

Your parents are going to adopt him and kick you out

9/10 would’ve been higher but he didn’t beat your brother’s ass at Scrabble (he wanted to “make a good impression”)

IJICHI KYOTAKA

Similar to Nanami in that he and your father got along really well

Your brother called him “goofy”

He had to go to the bathroom and cry after that

He did compose himself and came back to eat

Can handle spicy food quite well

Complimented your mother’s cooking

Brought flowers as a thank you for the dinner

Was super sweet and grateful to be invited at all

11/10 would definitely invite him again

INUMAKI TOGE

Everyone was really excited to meet him

Let your cousins play with his hair and do his make up and paint his nails

Was your partner for Charades and you two won by a LOT

Kept sneaking treats to your dogs

Your mother ordered seafood for him because he could only speak in rice ball ingredients and she thought he really wanted salmon

He did eat it though

He would be a 10/10 but he accidentally used his Cursed Speech on your aunt so 8/10

ITADORI YUJI

Somehow lit the grill on fire

Managed to put it out but he did lose his eyebrows in the process unfortunately

Looked stupid without eyebrows

Spent most of his time hanging out with the little kids

Your family actually really liked him though

He’s too sweet to dislike

Helped wash the dishes and did not break any

7/10 because you almost had to call the fire department

KAMO CHOSO

Showed up an hour late

Was friendly but kinda nervous and awkward at first

Loved the food

He and your brother are best friends now

Genuinely he gets along better with your brother than with you

Impressed your father with his history knowledge

3/10 was too perfect and now your parents keep asking why you’re not more like him

KAMO NORITOSHI

He hates kids

Spent the entire first half running away from your cousins

Once he finally escaped he got along great with the adults

They really liked how responsible and mature he is

Thought it was impressive that he’s going to be the clan head

Your aunt told you that he was a keeper and you should “marry for money, hope for love”

Started crying when your mother asked him if she could hang up his jacket for him

It reminded him of his own mother who he was forced to leave as a kid 

All of your aunts have unofficially adopted him now due to his tragic backstory

Deserves 10/10 just for being relatively normal 

MAHITO

-892378/10 your parents couldn’t see him because he’s a curse

He was very happy to hear that and nearly destroyed your house

You had to call Geto halfway through to chase him off

Your family was thrilled to see Geto again though so at least there’s that??

MUTA KOKICHI

Sent a robot in his place obviously

Everyone wanted to know why you brought a robot to dinner

They thought you had hit a new low

You had to explain that Mechamaru was basically his body because of how weak his actual body was

Nobody believed you

-3/10 he was nice but it was overall a humiliating experience

NANAMI KENTO

Cannot eat anything spicy

Started tearing up at the appetizers alone

Had a massive stomach ache afterwards and his face was red for like twenty minutes 

Your father liked talking to him about business and the economy and shit

Did not get scared when asked about his plans for the future

Actually has plans for the future

Your brother is kind of gay for him tbh (??) and threatened to marry him if you don’t 

10/10 because he still finished everything on his plate so he didn’t seem rude even though he was lowkey dying 

OKKOTSU YUTA

Tried his best

Your dogs tried to leave with him because they liked him so much

He brought gifts from Africa for your entire family

Did stop a toddler from getting kidnapped

Is physically really good at grilling but emotionally cannot handle the stress

Had a mental breakdown when you asked for a vegetable burger

Made the discovery that he really likes corn and proceeded to eat all of the corn you had bought for the night so nobody else got any 

Summoned Rika and allowed your cousins to use her as their dress up doll

Rika was very nice and enjoyed the experience

She wants to be a fashion model now

2/10 he burnt your vegetable burger and you were really looking forward to having some corn

PANDA

Is a panda

Your younger cousins thought he was adorable

You got asked multiple times if he was a furry

5/10 he was only invited because he had nothing else to do and you had to chase him with a hose beforehand because he refused to bathe

RYOMEN SUKUNA

-1244129/10

An asshole but what’s new 

Told your family to “go back to where you came from”

Degraded your parents

Degraded you

Degraded everyone really

You got into a fight with him and Gojo had to intervene

Did ask for one of your mother’s recipes so he could get Uraume to cook it for him

She did not give it to him

TODO AOI

See you thought this would be hell on earth

But it wasn’t???

Played with your dogs

Carried your cousins around on his shoulders

Your uncles were impressed by his muscles

He saved a kitten that was stuck in a tree

Did not ask a single person about their type in women

Annihilated everyone in Wii Sports Resort

Absolutely sucked at Just Dance though

He thought he was too manly for the wrist strap but then he threw the remote into the TV while playing Wii bowling and it broke

6/10 he said he’d pay for a new one

YAGA MASAMICHI

Literally your boss

Only invited him because you wanted a raise

He liked the food

Exchanged sewing tips with your mother

200/10 you got the raise

YOSHINO JUNPEI

Really cool!

Gave everyone good movie recommendations

Someone gave him a baby to hold and he nearly dropped it

Burnt his hand on the grill

Found your uncles’ shitty jokes funny so they all liked him

He was decent at debating with everyone and having intellectual conversations even though he cried whenever someone disagreed with him too harshly

Your parents were very dismayed to see the cigarette burn scars on his face

Your mother told him he could always come to your house if he needed to

4/10 because he almost gave a baby brain damage 

ZENIN NAOYA

Told your parents about your sex life

Called your mother “woman”

Your cousins have a crush on him solely based on his looks

He thinks he has a harem now

0/10 they are all like 13 years old

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Such a Picky Eater

Lads men dealing with a picky eater A/N: Shout out to all the picky eaters you enjoy your comfort foods and don't let anyone make you feel bad about it [Requested by: leighsartworks216]

Zayne

You pushed your food around your plate removing the stuff you didn't like.

Zayne: What are you doing?

MC: I didn't realize this dish came with mushrooms

Zayne: You don't like mushrooms?

MC: No the flavor makes my skin crawl

Zayne pulls out his phone quickly typing something and then slipping it back in his pocket.

MC: What was that about?

Zayne: I was adding mushrooms to the list of foods you don't like

MC: You have a list?

Zayne: Yes you're quite the picky eater

MC: No I'm not! how long is this list?

Zayne: There's 46 foods on the list

MC: You numbered it?.....

Zayne: Yes. It's quite helpful

Rafayel

MC: What's that?

Rafayel: You won't like it

MC: How do you know?

Rafayel: Because you're picky

MC: No im not!

Rafayel: Lying to yourself won't make you any less of a picky eater

You snatch the food from Rafayel's hand and take a bite. He smirked as he watched you chew.

Rafayel: So?

Your chewing slowed down as you tried to keep a straight face.

Rafayel: See you hate it

MC: No I don't

Your words were muffled by your mouth full of food.

Rafayel: Then swallow it

You run to the nearest trash can and spit it out

Rafayel: *Pokes you in the forehead* I told you so

MC: Shut it

Xavier

MC: Are you hungry?

Xavier: Yes what do you want to eat?

MC: I was hoping you would pick

Xavier: Is this the part where I list twenty different foods until I get to what you always choose?

MC: What are you saying?

Xavier: Nothing I just don't want to pick something you don't like

MC: Maybe I want to try something new

Xavier: Are you sure?

MC: Yes

Yet again Xavier ended up eating two different dishes while you stuck to your normal comfort foods.

MC: Sorry

Xavier: I don't mind finishing the food you don't want

Sylus

MC: What should we eat today?

Sylus: Oh are we doing your guessing game again?

MC: What?

Sylus: I enjoy playing this guessing game with you since you're always picky

MC: Im not picky

Sylus: We spent thirty minutes yesterday figuring out what you wanted as a snack

MC: ....new foods scare me

Sylus: I'm not judging you Princess it's very cute ... now how about spicy shrimp

MC: hmm no

Sylus: Foie Gras

MC: Ew no I don't know how you eat that

Sylus: Chicken pot pie

MC: No too much crust ... why are you smiling?

Sylus: You're just cute

[albedov]

i hate myself for making myself sad- /lh - spoilers for 2.5

jiaoqiu stared down at the dish in discontent, disgust even. for the first time ever he started poking at the meal with his chopsticks, he never played with his food but you both were well aware he was simply trying to stall, to build up the idea that it wasn't any different to his usual meals and fool himself to a painful change.

ever since his discharge from the healers, they paid you a personal visit with a list of "Doctor's Post-Charge Advice" and a "Treatment Plan". you had taken on the responsibility of helping jiaoqiu take care of himself out of the pure fact that he was your lover and you wanted to help if even a little.

although the one you think he would have the hardest time adjusting to was the simple advice to "avoid spicy foods at all costs".

he had been put on strict diets restrictions to avoid having his wounds inflamed, so it was temporary change but quite the major one. jiaoqiu ate spicy foods because that was all he could taste, all he could feel. now, in spite of everything, he didn't even have that anymore.

"jiao-ge please, you have to eat something" you watched as his face scrunched in disgust at the idea - you knew a part of him was childish or even defiant and so you had taken the liberty of making his meals but he refused to let you do so alone, resigning you to the role of a chaperone. so you both knew the meal wasn't as spicy as usual.

jiaoqiu knew he was being silly. that it was only temporary but he couldn't help it. but he also knew you were sat right beside him, his tail was yet again curled around your leg, a habit he picked up recently. and you wouldn't let him go without eating. so with some difficulty, he had his first bite.

a part of him became even more deflated by the lack of taste. his face visibly dropped and it pained you to know that there was nothing you could do.

"say, if you eat your meals until the dietary restrictions are lifted, when they are we can go buy the spiciest ingredients known and have a proper meal ok?"

it was a difficult change but he'd do it for you.

tbh i love spicy food so i probably would suffer the same-

[pseudowho]

How well do you think Nanami Kento would handle eating spicy food? What would his reaction be towards his girlfriend/wife who LOVES spicy food?

Domestic Bliss: Nanami Kento #6, Spicy

"Hey, Kento," you whispered conspiratorially into his shoulder, nuzzling him from behind, "that new ramen place just opened round the corner. I hear they have the biggest range of hot sauces going. Big. Huge. International."

Your bad impression earned you a scowl.

"And you want to try them," Kento intoned, flat as he flipped through his newspaper, "I assume."

You draped yourself over the armchair, pushing his newspaper away with your feet. Kento grumbled, trying to avoid their push, until his newspaper crumpled, and he rolled it up, hitting you with it while you laughed.

"I'd love to go," you sighed, dramatic, "but I know you can't handle spicy food." Kento's eyes narrowed.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I never see you eat it."

"Because most extra spicy food relies on it being hot as its main point of attraction. I prefer my flavour palate to be a bit more sophisticated." Kento's eyes narrowed again, swiping over you. "Like my women."

"Ouch, Kento."

Kento reached into his pocket, the ghost of a smile on his mouth. "Silly games win silly prizes." He tapped on his phone. He was silent for a moment.

"Table's booked for 7pm. So you can eat spicy food, to your heart's desire...my love."

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Pushing through the chest-level curtain, you and Kento were greeted by a bustling restaurant, vibrant, and enjoying its early success. Your mouth watered as a hot, umami rush of air hit your nose. You smiled, excited, not noticing how Kento read your every move, fizzing with your joy.

Perusing the menu in your intimate corner booth, you noticed the dishes were arranged in order of spice. You leaned over, pointing to Kento's menu.

"This is your side of the menu, darling..." You gestured to one side of the booklet, "...and this is mine." Kento pinched the sides of your knee under the table, smiling lightly, ungoadable.

When the waiter arrived, you requested a bowl of the spiciest ramen listed.

"We have extra hot sauces, too," offered the waiter, "if you like a challenge."

"Perhaps your top five hottest?" You requested, handing the menu back to the waiter, teasing Kento. "And a big glass of milk for my boyfriend."

"That won't be necessary." Kento replied, clipped. "I'll have the same as her, thank you." Your nose flared; a competitive edge.

"You don't have to buy it just because I do, Kento."

"I know that." He hummed, leaning back into his chair, his hands clasped over crossed legs. "But it seems we have some...misunderstandings to address."

Your ramen arrived. Its colour cried Danger. Tree frogs of its exact hue were known to cause certain death, and the hot sauces arrived in a rainbow most often seen in government-approved public warning announcements. Kento gave you a warm smile, chuckling as you snapped and rolled your chopsticks with gusto.

You took a noisy slurp of your noodles, Kento following suit. The heat was slow to build, but by your third slurp of noodles, your mouth thrummed with fire, climbing up your nose and filling your sinuses. You sniffled, laughing and dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Wow, they really weren't joking," you laughed, burning from the inside, in a way that was almost too much, "that really is spicy." Kento raised his eyebrows, seemingly unaffected. He reached for the first hot sauce.

"Is it?" He asked, mildly. "I think it could use a little something, actually." Kento splashed his ramen with hot sauce, enthusiastic, and offered you some. With a smile, and a nod, he did the same to your ramen.

"I don't see much difference, to be honest," you lied, the ramen now significantly spicier. You blinked the tears from your eyes as Kento patted your hand sympathetically. With a wan little smile, Kento reached immediately for the third hottest sauce, splashing it onto his ramen.

"Let's cut out the middle man, shall we?" Kento joked, squeezing your thigh affectionately under the table. You were starting to consider that you may have fucked up your last upfuck. You didn't stop Kento as he offered you the hot sauce, splashing a thin, acrid red glaze into your ramen.

The fumes hit you as you leaned over your bowl, and you coughed involuntarily. Kento shook more hot sauce onto his egg, slurping it up with a delighted hum.

"Eat up." He pressed. "It'll get cold." You took a hesitant bite of pork that didn't seem to have too much hot sauce on it. You were wrong. You must have swallowed lava, you thought, your eyes flickering over the restaurant as you chewed, as if someone could help you. Spluttering and praying for escape, you knew you would never live this down with your new lover if you threw in the towel.

"In fact, mine does seem to have cooled down a bit." Kento reached for the hottest of the hot sauces, in an unassuming little bottle with a skull and crossbones on the front. You were on fire, and nodded with tears flowing down your face, sweating, red, and coughing, when Kento offered you some. He was ever the gentleman, never pouring the sauce on your food until you accepted.

Kento was exceptionally uncrumpled, his navy dress shirt still just as pressed as it had been in the morning, his hair still neatly parted. Strands of yours stuck to the sweat in your forehead, and in a delirious haze, you lifted your bowl to slurp the broth, desperate to end this hellish ordeal.

You briefly saw God, before plummeting to the deepest circle of hell. There was no heaven. Life was a lie. Existence was meaningless. You felt the flesh melt off your bones, knowing death was nigh. Your hands shook, your smouldering lips puffy, mascara on your cheeks. You sat with your head in your hands, having just drunk acid. You dared one look up towards Kento.

...who seemed delighted by his meal, paying the waiter, and rubbing your thigh with those warm, gentle hands.

"There are people waiting for our table, darling. We'll go, hmm? My place, or yours?"

Your mouth numb, slurring, you babbled; "Me at, er-- mine...you at-- at-- yours--" You would surely be spending the evening in a bath of milk, retching into the sink. Kento pressed a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

"You're right. I'm always tired after a good meal, too."

After being driven home, you spent the night in an oven, wondering if you would ever get over challenging Nanami Kento to such a stupid, unwinnable fight.

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"How's that new girl of yours, huh, Nanamin? Managed to impress her yet?" Gojo called from outside the toilet stall, tapping away in his phone with that everfixed smile. A low, nauseated groan rumbled out from the stall.

"--I...think she might dump me actually." More groans of agony sounded from the toilet stall, with Kento within, trapped in Satan's grasp.

Gojo had your number, of course. You and he had been chatting for weeks. Gojo held down the Record button outside Kento's toilet stall, ready to send you Kento's anguished moans.

Nanami Kento couldn't stand spicy food. He'd never let you know that. Thankfully, he had a friend who would sell him out at any given opportunity.

[crystallinestars]

NSFW Alphabet - Jiaoqiu

The 2.5 story quest destroyed me, so I wrote this to cope. This is probably the most detailed and longest alphabet I have written so far. Jiaoqiu ended up being kinkier than intended, but I hope you guys enjoy. These HCs take place some time before 2.5.

Jiaoqiu x fem!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

As a doctor, Jiaoqiu is good at spotting any signs of discomfort in your body and knowing what to do to help you feel better. He usually runs a warm bath with herbs for both of you to soak in to alleviate any soreness or fatigue and clean yourselves up. If a bath is not an option, he’ll wipe you down with a damp cloth at the very least.

Jiaoqiu carefully massages any parts of your body that have been restrained or forced into one position for too long to stimulate blood flow. He's gentle with you, carefully caressing your face and kissing any mark he left on your skin as if saying sorry for being too rough on you. He also makes you drink water to keep yourself hydrated.

He’s very caring toward you but can underestimate or ignore his aches and pains, so he appreciates it when you return the favor and take care of him, too.

If he’s not too tired, Jiaoqiu also whips up a simple but delicious meal for you to enjoy and regain your stamina if either of you has business to attend to afterward.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jiaoqiu likes to joke that he’s perfect all over—from his looks, down to his abilities— but if he were to be serious, the foxian would choose his hands as his favorite body part. Despite the war making him doubt his worth as a healer, the fact remains that his hands saved the lives of many soldiers. Moreover, his hands allow him to cook delicious and nutritious dishes for others to enjoy and seeing their happiness at eating his food brings Jiaoqiu a sense of satisfaction. Being able to touch and caress your body is also a huge plus, so how could he not favor his hands?

On you, he adores your face. More specifically, your facial expressions. Don’t get him wrong, he finds you very pretty from head to toe, but Jiaoqiu simply loves the various expressions you make. Whether it’s the way your face lights up in delight when eating his cooking, or how your brows scrunch and lips purse into a thin line while glaring at him for teasing you, or the way you wince in pain when sampling his super spicy dishes, or the soft way you look at him when saying you love him—Jiaoqiu adores them all. Even if you’re not very expressive, Jiaoqiu will try his best to get a reaction out of you because he likes seeing the different sides of you. Plus, the expressions you make when orgasming or when he pleasures you also fill him with pride. He likes knowing he makes you feel good, and that these cute faces of yours are reserved for his viewing pleasure only.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jiaoqiu’s semen is an off-white color and has a jelly-like consistency. His cum tastes a bit salty.

Jiaoqiu enjoys filling you with his cum or painting your skin with it (especially your lower belly or back), though he does have a slight preference for ejaculating inside you, be it your pussy or mouth. He also enjoys pouring his cum onto bits of good and feeding them to you (more on that in the kinks section).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jiaoqiu won’t tell you outright, but he has a keen nose and can smell where you are in your menstrual cycle. Your needy scent during your most fertile period increases his horniness, so he tends to get more handsy with you during that time.

He can also smell when you are about to get your period, and preps for it by cooking dishes infused with herbs meant to alleviate cramping and pain.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before joining the war as a medic, Jiaoqiu did have one partner he was intimate with, though the relationship did not last long. As such, he has a bit of experience. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Jiaoqiu to know what to do.

Even so, he pays careful attention to your guidance and reactions when having sex. He may have experience, but he knows each person has different preferences, and he wants to learn all the ways you like being touched so he can cater to your needs.

As a doctor, he’s very knowledgeable about the body, so he knows which areas can bring great pleasure when stimulated just right. There’s a good chance he will find an erogenous zone on your body that you didn’t even know you had.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jiaoqiu really likes positions where you’re on top. Cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, lotus, etc… are all ones he likes because he can sit back and let you do most of the strenuous work. He keeps his hands securely on your hips and helps guide you up and down his cock, admiring the view of your body bouncing on his lap.

Additionally, he is fond of spooning. Laying on your sides with his elbow under one of your knees, hiking your leg up in the air while he leisurely thrusts into you is both comfy and hot for him. It also allows him easy access to kiss and mark your neck or shoulders, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

Jiaoqiu also enjoys upright doggystyle and pronebone. Regular doggystyle is fine, but he likes to press your back flush against his chest, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder so he can watch how your jaw goes slack and eyes glaze over while he fucks you nice and deep. After all, he loves to watch your expressions of pleasure.

The foxian is a bit possessive, particularly when he’s feeling jealous or horny from smelling you during your fertile window. Pronebone is a great position for him because it makes him feel like you’re his and his alone. Trapping you under his weight, fucking you deeply while marking your neck, shoulders, and back in bite marks gives him a primal sense of satisfaction.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jiaoqiu can be a little goofy or serious depending on your needs, but he’s typically a nice blend of both. He tries to keep the mood lighthearted with an occasional harmless taunt or tease to get a reaction out of you, but he doesn’t overdo it. He approaches sex responsibly, and does his best to relax you and take your feelings seriously. It’s important to him that you enjoy the experience, after all. If a little joke or a whispered reassurance helps you feel more at ease, then he’ll do whatever is necessary to make you comfortable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a bush of curly pink hair down there that he keeps neatly trimmed, but it lacks the ombré of the rest of his hair. It’s one solid, dark pink hue.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jiaoqiu isn’t one to wax poetic during sex, but he does bring his version of romance into it. You can feel his love for you mainly through his actions. His touches are always gentle, never rough or bruising. His lips leave kisses all over your skin, covering your face, neck, shoulders, and back in a branding of love.

Jiaoqiu always holds you close to him, desiring the feeling of your bodies pressed flush together as you make love. Whether you’re on top or he is, his hands gravitate toward your body and trace the contours of your figure, admiring how he can call someone as beautiful as you his lover. He didn’t think he would fall in love again after the war left him so numb and afraid of attachment, but you and Feixiao helped to heal his wounded heart, for which he is forever grateful. He holds you in high regard for you made him feel alive with your mere presence and touched his heart deeply where he thought nothing but ashes remained.

Jiaoqiu likes to cup your face when you have sex and trace his thumb along your cheek in a tender gesture. Even if you look like a drooling mess from what he’s doing to you, he gently cradles your face and murmurs how cute you look before leaning in for a sweet kiss. The healer is always loving toward you, even while engaging in kinkier play.

On the occasions where you two have romantic sex, Jiaoqiu lets his guard down and exposes his vulnerable side. He seeks comfort in your closeness, treating your body with gentleness and reverence, and feels overwhelmed in a good way when you treat him just as tenderly in return. Times like these result in slow lovemaking and whispered “I love you”s where he holds your hand and touches his forehead to yours, your gazes meeting. During such moments, Jiaoqiu is more vocal about his feelings, murmuring quiet compliments and praises about how happy he is to be with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jiaoqiu has a healthy sexual appetite, and masturbates about three times a week, mainly as a way to relieve stress. That number went down once he entered a relationship with you since he finds sex more fun than jacking off by his lonesome.

When he wants to masturbate, Jiaoqiu chooses moments when he’s completely alone, though he still muffles his voice just in case. He likes to start slow, leisurely pumping his cock to stoke the flames of desire in his abdomen, before speeding up and gripping his dick tighter. He sometimes uses toys to help him reach release faster, like vibrators or warming lube for the added sensation.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jiaoqiu is a switch. He’s comfortable being dominant and taking the lead in the bedroom, enjoying having you at his mercy. Likewise, he can be submissive and find relief in relinquishing control and being taken care of, but can be a bit bratty as a sub due to his sharp tongue.

As a foodie, it’s no surprise that he enjoys food play. Garnishing your body in tasty morsels and drizzling sauces (not spicy) over your skin makes you look like a delicious treat. Like a hungry cat, he licks his lips before diving in to consume the food off your body, licking up every crumb. He loves your body, and he loves good food, so having both at the same time is like heaven.

Aside from decorating your body with food, he also enjoys the idea of covering food in your or his cum. He likes gathering up some of your slick onto a bite of food, like a strawberry, before consuming it. Similarly, he likes smearing some of his ejaculate onto food and feeding it to you with his cum acting as garnish.

Along with food play, Jiaoqiu is into temperature and sensation play. He likes blindfolding you and watching your reactions to him running feathers, ice cubes, warm towels, his tail, and many other textured items along your skin and erogenous zones. He’s also a fan of receiving this treatment since his other senses become heightened with the loss of his sight, and the stimulation feels novel and exciting. If you stimulate his erogenous zones using this method, he’ll become aroused quite quickly.

Additionally, Jiaoqiu enjoys mirror sex. As much as he loves reverse cowgirl and doggystyle, these positions obscure your pretty face from him, and it’s a pity because he loves your facial expressions. The perfect solution to his dilemma is to have sex in front of a full-length mirror. It allows Jiaoqiu to see how your face slackens with pleasure, how you bite your lip to muffle a moan, or how your eyes roll back when he hits a good spot. He doesn’t want you to miss out on how ravishing you look, so he cups your chin and gently guides your head to make you look in the mirror and see the debauched state you’re in, murmuring for you to watch how well you take his cock.

Another one of his kinks is hair-pulling. He enjoys it when you lightly tug on his hair, whether when he’s got his face buried between your legs or during sex. He sometimes lets out a soft growl when you do that.

Jiaoqiu enjoys a bit of pain. He mainly prefers things like biting, hair pulling, or electric shocks to get that high, but can handle whipping and spanking if you’re gentle with him. Despite his attraction to pain, he doesn’t enjoy rough treatment. He can also enjoy light choking (receiving) provided you can do it safely and build up trust with him.

To add to the long list, Jiaoqiu also likes light bondage with scarves or handcuff (giving and receiving), and if you’re willing, he’s interested in trying shibari on you. Some of his other kinks are biting and marking, edging, blindfolds, and dirty talk.

However, not every session with Jiaoqiu is this kinky. He does enjoy vanilla sex where you can both just relish in the intimacy and romance of the connection, sharing sweet kisses and tender touches.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jiaoqiu prefers having sex at home where things can be kept private and he has access to all kinds of equipment to spice up your sessions. He wouldn’t risk doing it in other places and potentially getting caught since he has an image to maintain as Feixiao’s retainer.

At home though, almost every room is fair game except the kitchen. Jiaoqiu considers the kitchen his workspace and doesn’t like the idea of having sex where he works to make medicine. Otherwise, places like the couch, office desk, and bathtub are all potential lovemaking spots, though he does prefer the bed since it makes it easy to cuddle and fall asleep afterward.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Usually, when you stroke Jiaoqiu’s ears, he feels a sense of peaceful relaxation, but if you rub the sensitive spot at the base of his ear or run your fingers along the rim of his ears just right, the pleasurable tingles can become arousing for him.

He also gets turned on by your obvious desire for him. Give him a few sensual caresses, whisper a tasteful innuendo in his ear, a lustful look, and his interest is piqued. He finds excitement in a sexually charged game of cat and mouse, regardless of which one of you is chasing or being chased.

Jiaoqiu can smell when you're ovulating. The scent is weak, but his sharp nose can pick up on when you're feeling horny, and it influences his libido. As mentioned previously, he can get more handsy with you during that time.

Another thing that arouses Jiaoqiu are your reactions to his teasing. If his teasing manages to fluster or arouse you, he’ll keep pushing your buttons to make you even more flustered. Something about your flushed cheeks, shallow breaths, and wavering voice makes him want to tease you more and get a greater reaction out of you. You look so cute when flustered, positively adorable, even. Just how much cuter would you look and sound if he touched your chest? Kissed your neck? Made you moan? Why don’t you show him, darling~?

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Absolutely no sharing. Jiaoqiu gets jealous easily, so threesomes get a hard no from him. He is also prideful, and dislikes being humiliated or degraded. It’s an instant turn-off for him.

Although he's okay with being hurt, he won’t do things that might harm you, such as asphyxiation, impact play, or knife play. He’s a healer—he could never bring himself to hurt you that way, even if you begged him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jiaoqiu loves eating not only hotpot but also pussy. He could spend hours between your legs, burying his tongue into your cunt and lapping at your slick. He wants to see you fall apart under his mouth, so he snakes one arm around your hips and pins them down, taking your clit between his lips. He softly sucks on it while deftly flicking his tongue over the bud, ears twitching when he hears you moan.

To truly bring you over the edge, Jiaoqiu slips two fingers into your dripping cunt and curls them to find that roughly textured spot he knows will make you keen for him. The dual assault of his mouth and fingers never fails to make you see stars as you orgasm, and Jiaoqiu opens his eyes to soak in the sight of you unraveling under his touch. It turns him on to see you feel this good because of him, and he can’t get enough of the experience, so he ends up eating you out for a while longer, making you come undone over and over until you’re tugging at his hair to spare you from the overstimulation.

He’s always breathless by the end, face glistening and dripping with your juices, but the look of desire in his golden eyes promises he’s not through with you. Not when you’ve got him so hard and aroused from watching you fall apart on his tongue.

If you want to return the favor, the foxian healer will be more than happy to watch you go down on him. When you blow him, Jiaoqiu tends to be more vocal, unable to fully hold back his soft sighs and strained moans. If you rub the base of his tail while sucking him off, he’ll buck into your mouth with a soft hiss of your name.

Jiaoqiu has a tendency to keep at least one hand on your head while you work your mouth along his cock, guiding your pace or gripping your hair when he feels his orgasm approaching. The closer he is to orgasm, the more he will squirm, running his hands through your hair, gently urging you to take him deeper or bucking his hips into your mouth. Jiaoqiu's usually sly smile gets replaced by a flushed, slack-jawed expression of pure pleasure, tail lashing in excitement behind him. However, he still tries to maintain his composure and murmurs gentle encouragements and praises so you'll keep going, before his words get cut off by a choked moan as he spills down your throat. He also goes weak in the knees when you suck his testicles.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jiaoqiu likes to take his time with foreplay, prolonging it for as long as possible, but for the actual act, he enjoys a more moderate pace. On a rare occasion, he might play around with the speed of his thrusts, going from moderate, to slow, to fast just to tease you, but overall, he likes to maintain a moderate and steady space. Not too slow to the point it feels teasing, yet not too fast so you won't wear yourselves out too quickly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As mentioned above, Jiaoqiu likes to take his time with foreplay and draw out the session, but he can be convinced to go for a quickie if you show your strong desire for him. Though if either of you are horny enough to want a quick fuck, Jiaoqiu would prefer to settle it with oral sex.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jiaoqiu is willing to take risks in the bedroom to an extent. He’s eager to try new things to see if there’s something either or both of you can discover you like, but he isn’t willing to have sex in public places or get rough with you. He would much rather be the one treated roughly than hurt you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This foxian healer doesn’t exercise much, so his stamina isn’t high. He lasts an average amount in bed and goes for only one round, but his foreplay is usually drawn out for quite a while, making the session lengthy. Sex is more than just the act of copulation, he says. Foreplay is just as important, if not more so.

If he’s under the effect of an aphrodisiac, then Jiaoqiu lasts another 1-2 rounds, but he becomes dead tired afterward and is likely to pass out quickly once it's over.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jiaoqiu owns a few toys for himself, mainly a bullet vibrator. The vibrating sensations against his cock and other erogenous zones provide a powerful stimulation that gets him going.

For you, he has a whole box of toys he want to try. Blindfolds, handcuffs, vibrators, dildos, anal plugs, electric wands, etc… He’s eager to test them out on you to see how you’ll react. Will introduce toys he thinks you might like into your sessions, though you don’t have to accept them if you don’t want them.

He’s not opposed to you using toys on him, particularly the electric wand, wax candles, and handcuffs. He might put up a fuss, but he does enjoy it when you play with and stimulate his body. Just make sure to properly care for him afterwards.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jiaoqiu loves teasing others, and you are no exception. He enjoys messing with you in your daily life to see your reactions, but he loves teasing you during sex even more. He teases you by tying you up and stimulating your sensitive spots with sex toys or feathers, giving you just enough pleasure to feel good but not enough to make you orgasm, until you’re writhing and begging for more stimulation. While fucking you, Jiaoqiu can also switch up the pace of his thrusts from moderate to slow or completely still just so he can hear your frustrated whines and watch you desperately push your hips back against his, before suddenly pounding into you at a quick pace.

Jiaoqiu is even better at verbal teasing, particularly while edging or fucking you silly. He might say “Oh my, there’s drool running down your chin. Does it feel that good?” Or “You’re dripping wet, dear. Can you feel how easily my fingers slide inside your pretty pussy? Aeons, you’re squeezing them so tightly, do you want me inside you that badly?” and the like.

If you decide to tease him back, it’s best that you’re nice about it. Jiaoqiu might kick up a fuss at first since he’s more used to teasing than being teased, but he can enjoy having you tie him up and run your hands along his body or stimulate him with sex toys. However, he doesn't take kindly to being edged for a long time because he gets impatient and frustrated easily for being denied. The next day, he'll cook a super spicy dish full of foods you dislike and makes you eat it as revenge, or he'll edge you to oblivion the next time you have sex.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jiaoqiu has two modes depending on who is in control. If he’s dominating, he’ll have better control of his voice and will let out grunts and soft moans. He also talks a lot, making teasing comments or talking dirty to rile you up.

If you’re dominating, he’ll be whinier. He lets out choked gasps, quiet hisses, and louder moans. Will also try to shake your control by responding with witty retorts to your teasing, but if you successfully maintain your authority, he’ll reluctantly submit and whine.

In either scenario, when he gets close to orgasm, his voice turns breathless and obtains a raspy quality, and he tends to call out your name.

Jiaoqiu is a huge fan of hearing your voice. Even if you're the quiet type, he does his best to make you moan louder because he loves hearing you feel good. If you moan his name, it riles him up so much that he has to resist the urge to cum on the spot. He really loves hearing you call his name in that wanton voice.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jiaoqiu knows how to make aphrodisiacs. If anyone’s watched The Apothecary Diaries where Maomao made aphrodisiacs, it’s similar to that. Jiaoqiu makes chocolate or chocolate-covered fruit (or another kind of dessert if you’re not a chocolate fan) with aphrodisiac properties. He likes the idea of using aphrodisiacs to occasionally spice up your sex life, but he only gives them to you with your explicit awareness and consent. He would never sneakily give it to you.

Jiaoqiu can adjust the dosage and potency to make the aphrodisiac quick or slow acting, stronger or weaker, etc… depending on the kind of sex you’re looking to have. It’s so much fun to watch how your gaze clouds over and your behavior changes once the aphrodisiac kicks in. He loves seeing you needy for him, it’s a massive turn-on. Whether you pin him down and have your way with him or become a needy, pliant mess for him to do with as he pleases—either outcome is fun. He just loves feeling desired by you and making you crave his touch. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Has a slender cock with a slight upward curve and a couple of prominent veins along the underside. 11.5 cm (4.5 inches) in length and 10 cm (3.9 inches) in girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jiaoqiu has a healthy sexual appetite and craves sex a few times a week. However, due to his busy life as Feixiao’s retainer and personal healer, he’s sometimes too drained to engage in lovemaking as often as he’d like. Still, he tries to squeeze in some intimate time with you 1-2 times a week. Even if they're not frequent, the sessions last a long time due to his love for foreplay, so it is usually enough to satisfy his needs.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he has nothing to attend to afterward, Jiaoqiu will help you clean up and then cuddle under the sheets. Even when he feels the pull of sleep, he resists it so he can enjoy the afterglow with you. During moments like these, he likes to chat about anything and everything, like how your day went, which dishes he plans to cook for you tomorrow, what hotpot place you should visit during a future date, the silly shenanigans he got up to with Feixiao and Moze that day, etc… it’s just a sweet time to catch up before you both succumb to sleep.

When settling in to sleep, Jiaoqiu likes to spoon. He’s fine with being the big or little spoon, though has a slight preference for big spoon because he likes burying his nose in your hair and smelling your scent. It’s comforting to him. If he senses you're about to fall asleep, he kisses your forehead and wishes you goodnight before hugging you closer and covering you with his tail.

He also lets you gently pet his ears or tail, finding the caresses soothing after a strenuous round of sex. If you’re gentle enough, your touch can relax and lull Jiaoqiu to sleep. Though it might be hard to tell he’s asleep at first glance due to the natural state of his closed eyes, his lack of verbal responses and slow, even breathing will give him away.

[crystalflygeo]

How to Warm Up your Dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: ngl this is MOSTLY VERY FLUFFY but it has a veeeery spicy part ehehehehe, praise kink, biting, bit of rough sex, creampie, dirty talk. Reader is technically Fontainian but you can ignore that tbh

notes: Y'ALL THIS HAS BEEN ON MY WIPS SINCE BEFORE FONTAINE IT'S BEEN SOSOSOSOSO LONG I started writing at the start of winter here, now it's summer lmao but hey at least it's winter in the northern hemisphere so... enjoy the snow and dragon man!! Also also... no one guessed what the gift was but Rin was the closest!

Your mother always used to say the way to a man's heart was with food.

you wonder if that applied to archons... er, dragons? adepti?

In any case...

Zhongli has always been a... particular eater. A very refined palate. It's not that he was hard to please, to tell the truth. But he always seemed to have an extra comment, something to add or change to a dish to make it ‘a little more special’.

But you'd quickly find out he had a soft spot for broths and soups, bamboo shoot soup being his particular favorite. Even when it took a lot of hard work and time to prepare, the way he did so was worth it, simply spectacular.

That's why you could almost cry with joy when he happily praised one of your favorite dishes. A fantastic soup d'oignon passed down on your family. Nothing to add, no extras or corrections, he'd enjoy it to its fullest talking about the creamy texture and unique flavor of the cheese so different from those found in Liyue.

So, today you decided to prepare it. Nothing better to warm up on this chilly season, and besides you'd just received a shipment of ingredients from your family.

The rhythm of a knife on a cutting board fills the air, along with a delicious smell. You finish slicing the onions into thin strips and add them to the pot at the stove, humming lightly while stirring. You really hope nothing would keep your dear Zhongli too busy today, so he could be just in time to enjoy this while still fresh and warm.

You turn off the other burner as the beef stock had already warmed up, and start washing some dishes while keeping an eye on the food. It is… rather amusing just how domestic this all feels. Not too long ago you were adventuring over Teyvat, facing off all sorts of crazy dangers, exploring, and never stopping in one place and now… now this feels like home.

And that is without taking into account who your fiancé even is. The former Geo Archon. You shake your head with a light chuckle. It’s still so weird to think of such an imposing figure from legends to be so… him.

You dry your hands and start to pour the broth on the now-golden onions, stirring.

Zhongli is sweet, caring, attentive, wise, with just the right words at the right time. Admittedly a bit airheaded at times, funny when he wants to be. A refined gentleman through and through unlike anyone you’d ever met.

And he loves you.

And you’re engaged.

Warmth rises up to your cheeks along with a small smile as you lower the heat and start grating the cheese.

You heard sounds at the front door and then steps. Oh, early today. Zhongli walks up to you with a smile, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek, his hands resting at your waist as he leans in from over your shoulder. “Welcome home, Li.”

“Thank you” He replies in that deep suave voice. “That smells good my love, would you like some help finishing?”

You shake your head a little. “Please, there’s no need, you just got home. Go take a bath and unwind a little, I’ll finish here and we’ll eat.”

Zhongli looks as if he’s about to say something but simply nods. “Hmm, alright then.” He pulls you a little closer in his embrace, as if he’d missed your contact, your scent. Zhongli inhales deeply, tension seeping off of his body and he gives a soft kiss at your shoulder before almost regretfully pulling away. You chuckle a little and stir the pan.

How domestic and loving indeed.

…

Later when the food is ready and served, he returns to the small kitchen dressed in much more casual and comfier robes. Your eyes linger a little on the small expanse of exposed skin at his neck and chest and then stop at the way his long hair is tied up in a bun.

“Not washing your hair today?” You ask casually, taking your seat.

 “I… Perhaps I have gotten rather used you doing it. I simply didn’t feel like it.”

You can’t help the short laugh that escapes you, even as you try to cover it a little. “Is this your way of saying you wanted me to bathe with you?”

His golden eyes twinkle. “I would certainly enjoy indulging in that more often.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your eyes.

He takes a spoonful of soup and hums, closing his eyes to appreciate the flavors. “The finest ingredients cooked with true expertise. Simply divine, my love, thank you.”

“Flatterer.” You say, a little embarrassed but he can see right thought it, your little grin, the little shift in your posture.

“I am simply stating the truth.” He replies and continues eating. You can see his shoulders relax and the small satisfied smile at the warm food, it makes you a little giddy as you start eating as well.

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

bundling up during winter was obvious, right?

Putting on layers and layers of clothes. And true, perhaps Liyue didn't get as cold as other nations such as Fontaine, Mondstadt or of course Snezhnaya, but maybe it was exactly for that reason the temperature drop seemed to affect everyone all the more. Besides, the people would take any excuse to show off their fancy coats, scarves and other cold-climate outfits.

Zhongli naturally wore many layers, and he did mention once or twice he wasn't as affected by the cold. Yet, his business partner had gifted him a thick snezhnayan cloak.

The thing was entirely ridiculous, too bulky with a fluffy overtop, the colors dark and cool not matching Zhongli at all.

And yet he'd used it! (Only twice... but still)

You were not jealous, not at all.

You just wanted to... give him something he'd also enjoy and wear around, yes. Something personal, something he’d like and look at and remember you.

But what?

Ugh, it’s not like you were really well versed in sewing. Back at home you’d even had some machinery for that, but here in Liyue… you wracked your brain thinking what could you give him. He had quite a few elegant outfits, fitting him perfectly and enhancing all his attributes, all personally tailored by one of his late Yaksha so they held immense sentimental value as well… how could you compete with that?!

Right, right, it was not a competition. You sigh. Zhongli will probably be happy with anything you give him, but still…

An idea pops into your head and you can’t help but chuckle. Oh, it’s so silly… but maybe…

Simple enough, personal, something he’d use during the cold season only around you. Could work, you decided as you pick up your things to go visit the textile shop.

If nothing else, it could at least get a good chuckle out of Zhongli, right?

And so, for a few days you work on your little project. Turns out sewing was indeed a little harder than expected but you were trying your best. The kind lady who’d sold you some excellent wool had also given you some tips and they proved to be most useful indeed!

Regrettably you didn’t exactly have the right measurements so you more or less eyeballed them. Eh. It’ll be fine…

Zhongli almost came close to finding out too, though you were inconspicuous enough. You’re sure he suspects something.

“It will all be worth it, it will all be worth it…” You mumble to yourself with a frown as you finish trimming one of the stitches. Your fingers hurt.

…

“Li! I have something for you!” You exclaim happily, hands behind your back holding the wrapped-up item you had worked so hard on. An excited glow on your smile and bright eyes.

“Oh? Am I going to finally see what you’ve been guarding to secrecy this past week?” He replies coolly with a knowing smile, amusement dancing on his tone as he places his teacup down.

Nothing escapes him.

“Yes” You present him the gift, your hands then fidget nervously, having nothing else to do now. “I hope you like it! It’s… my first time doing something like this… i-it may not be that good, it’s kind of silly but-”

“Darling please do not fret, I would love anything you give me.”

Your shoulders relax.

Zhongli unwraps the paper and finds a rich dark brown fabric staring back at him, he picks the item and opens it, trying to gauge its shape, thick wool, a little rough around the edges but you did mention it was your first try and he is honored enough you’d make such effort for him.

However…

What is it exactly?

He turns the item around trying not to show too much confusion on his face as to insult you or make you feel bad, it looks like… a severely oversized legwarmer?

“It’s…” You start, feeling a little shy and silly once more. “…for your tail.”

Recognition shines in his eyes and he blinks at the item. 

“You- I know you like to let loose a little around the house and let your illuminated beast features show, I love you tail too but I know… the scales get cold easily a-and usually we just bundle up with a blanket but I thought-”

“I love it.”

You stop running your mouth as soon as he utters those words, Zhongli looks at you with a gentle calm and your heart could melt at the sincerity in his expression. “No one had ever made something like this for me.”

He stands and unfurls the item, then, in a flash of gold his dragon tail manifests, majestic as ever and swaying lazily, the tuft of fur at the end flickering with each move. He maneuvers a little to slip the ‘tailwarmer’ on and though it sags a little, much to your relief it at least fits nicely. There is a yellow diamond pattern near the base that you’d started working on but deemed too difficult for a first try. It was a cute little detail though, maybe next time.

“Warm and cozy.” He chuckles and you beam at him, before letting out a squeak as said dragon tail curls around you, pressing your forward against his chest.

“Thank you, my love.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead.

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

The air is hot and heavy as soft moans and grunts fill the room.

Well, this was certainly a way to warm up… and get some good cardio.

You pant and squirm on the plush surface of a heavenly mattress as the familiar weight of the ex-archon descends upon you. His arms going from a golden orange hue to a deep charcoal, lines of gold thrumming across his skin, glowing softly in periodic pulses up strong muscular arms. Golden horns rise from soft brown hair curled at the tips, two on each side like a crown, while a powerful scaly tail wraps around your calf holding your leg up, spread.

This is Rex Lapis. Morax. Any other number of names he had. This is the Geo Archon.

“Zhongliii!” You whine, his hands caressing your body, claws teasing along your skin, pinching a nipple, fangs grazing your collarbone and a long serpentine tongue licking a hot stripe across your neck.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, already rock hard and burning like a brand, your hips canting for more. For him to finally fill you, to feel his thick overwhelming girth stretch you, breed you… you want to be filled so full it overflows, so that it dribbles down your thighs and ass in thick, slick rivulets of his love.

“Patience my love.”

You whimper and jerk at that, about to cry out for him again when he rolls his hips and sinks in your warm hole. Your breath catches in your throat as your head throws back on the soft feather pillows.

He pushes into you inch by inch, carving a space for himself with a soft rumbling groan. His lips seek yours as his hands slide to your hips and press hard enough to bruise. His kiss devouring, all-consuming with need as he bottoms inside you, hips pressed flush.

Gods you feel so full, stretched and filled every inch and then some, and he doesn’t allow you a moment to pause and adjust either. A beast of a man in the best of ways, he withdraws halfway, only to slam forward in a fluid firm thrust.

“Mng-! Ah!”

“Mine. All mine. S-so warm and thigh- nghh…”

His pace starts slow, his voice alone enough to drive you crazy with how deep, carnal, animalistic it is against your neck. Sharp canines teasing the elegant column of your throat as he moves.

“Oh! so good… Li… f-faster… faster ple-ahhn!” Your voice pitches high as you babble, pleasure coiling on your gut.    

“As- you desire…” Strained words still sounding like the very embodiment of sex, his voice so sinfully deep, so erotic it washes over you like liquid silk, like molten gold, only heightening the sensations of his quickening pace. In and out, in and out, skin slapping on skin. “You’re… you’re so perfect for me-”

You take him so well, your legs spread wide, your back arched, your insides molded to his length, enveloping him in the most mind-blowing of heats. The bed creaking as Zhongli delivers another powerful thrust, hitting a sweet spot deep within you and making you elicit a sharp keening sob of a moan. Your hands scrambling from the sheets to seek purchase at his back, curled up under his arms to scratch viciously trying to hold onto something, anything as he drives into you thrust after thrust after thrust-    

“I’m- I’m gon-ahnn! Z-Zhongli… ooohh!”

Fuck you are close. So, so close…

He nips at the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. “Almost there… little one.” He huffs between strained grunts and you whimper at the pet name. Golden claws sink on the bedsheets, gripping thigh for leverage as he moves faster, frantic, hips like pistons he fucks into you like a wild animal, the bed rocking, shaking with each thrust. “C-close…”

You mewl and moan, unable to form coherent thoughts anymore but just feel the hot burning pleasure, his warm puffs of breath on your skin, your sweating bodies dampening the sheets and you desperately want to feel his warm seed inside you, filled to the brim with his creamy cum.

“Pleasepleaseplease i-in! In-s-ahh!” You come with a sharp cry, vision blurring, muscles clenching, your insides squeezing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

It was enough, the tipping point for the dragon, his thrusts shallowing out until he ruts as deep as he can and shoots his load inside you with a guttural groan. Thick spurts pumping inside you before it pools out around his own cock, leaking from your body until there’s nothing left to give.  

Everything is hot… so hot… the air heavy and musky with the scent of sex…

…

Zhongli slumps softly atop your body after what feels like ana eternity, his cock still comfortably nestled within your slick walls, cushioned by fluttering muscles. You lay beneath him, sweaty and shivering, breathless, chest raising and falling rapidly in small gasps as you struggle to catch your breath but oh, how you took his away…

 Beautiful, truly… your half-lidded eyes glazed over, barely able to open admits your exhaustion, but still able to whimper soft little moans as he trails fluttering reverent kisses along your neck and collarbone. Soft, chaste, loving and tender touches.

“Ahhn… mmm…” He chuckles softly at the endearing sounds you make as he eases out of you, the subtle friction enough to sent fire to your nerves, followed by a strange emptiness that mellows down to buzzing contentment.

He lies to the side and pulls you close towards his chest, his tail finally letting your now sore leg rest, uncoiling from it to curl around you both, you settle there with a sigh, eyes sliding shut. “So good for me.” Zhongli gently brushes some hair away from your face and places a kiss at the crown of your head, resting his chin there. “Rest now, dear.”

“Mn.”

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

You smile as Zhongli places the two steaming teacups on the table before scooting over and welcoming him with the blanket surrounding you. He settles on the couch with you cuddling close and passing the book on your hands to him. Your fingers brush and he sets the book on his lap before taking your hands on his, cradling them close to his face before blowing a warm breath on them. You blush and let out a little airy laugh.

“What is this? Dragon breath to keep me warm?”

He hums against your skin, piercing golden eyes staring up at you. “No, just my love for you.” He kisses your knuckles and fingers.

“You…” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chuckles and kisses your wrist then before leaning in close and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anywhere he can reach.

“Ngah, wait you affectionate big lizard!” You squirm and he laughs fully now.

“Just seeking my adorable fiancée’s warmth” He nuzzles onto your neck, kissing there too and making you yelp. “Gorgeous.”

“A-Am not!”

“So precious when you get all shy and flustered.” He gets your jaw this time when you move, so close to your lips.

“Stop! You menace…” You pout and this time you cup his face, staring for a moment at his handsome features, your thumb brushing close to one of the red markings under his eyes.

This man. This dragon. This god.

Oh, how you love him. He warms up your heart.

“Here, I’ll warm you up proper…” You whisper softly, pulling him close and tilting your head to slot your lips together.

Just as you warm up his.

[slytherinshua]

NIGHTS WITH YOU

genre. fluff. warnings. food (ramen). pairing. soobin x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. requested by @blue-jisungs (my baby) for #25: "are those my clothes" and #34: "where's my goodnight kiss?" a/n. i've been writing just so much sleepy fluff either sleepy morning fluff or sleepy bedtime fluff im not complaining cause its always so soft but yeah :(

Soobin stepped out of the bathroom, still drying his hair with a towel. His eyes immediately scoured around the room for you, and when he didn’t find you anywhere, a frown etched on his face. Since he had been at practice all day, you forced him to take a shower before delivering any hugs or kisses, despite how much he begged for them. It was a reasonable request, of course. He was sweaty and stinky— of course you’d rather kiss a clean Soobin. But your boyfriend hadn’t seen you all day and simply needed to be as close to you as possible for the rest of the night. 

He located you quickly, following the smell of spicy noodles to the kitchen. His eyes softened as he saw your figure, wearing one of his black t-shirts.  He pouted, coming up behind you to hold you in a back hug. 

“Are those my clothes?” He asked softly, a giddy smile growing on his face as soon as you laughed.

“You left your drawer open. They were practically asking for me to take them. Plus, they’re more comfortable than my pyjamas.” You said simply, stirring the sauce packet into the pot of ramen noodles you were preparing. 

Although Soobin’s shirts were much too big for you to wear daily, they made for the perfect oversized sleeping garment. As they were designed to fit your 6 foot man both height wise and broad back wise, they practically swallowed your figure. But you loved it, especially the way the shirts smelled exactly like your boyfriend. Soobin didn’t mind. How could he when you looked so cute in his clothes?

“We already share everything anyway. Including that ramen—?“

“No! You’re not getting any!” You shoved your boyfriend off of your back, defensively shielding the ramen pot from his prying hands. He frowned, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to find a way through, but each reach he took got expertly blocked by your chopsticks.

“That is not one bite. That’s like, 6 at least!” You slouched back onto Soobin’s chest, keeping up your pretend grumpiness after you had finally agreed to give him just one bite. Truthfully, you had prepared the ramen more for him than you in the first place. You just wanted to see him eat well after practice. But it was always fun to tease him. Admitting that you carefully prepared them for your boyfriend would make you look unbelievably whipped. Which you were, but you weren’t about to admit it out in the open.

“Here, open up.” Soobin said, holding the chopsticks up for you, feeding you the bite of ramen carefully. Maybe he was just as equally whipped. You whipped your frown off your face and snuggled closer to your boyfriend, enveloped by his fresh scent and warm skin. 

“I can’t believe Beomgyu got to see you more this week than me. It’s not fair.” You sighed, thinking back to the past couple of days. Even when Soobin didn't have a schedule, he’d busied himself in the company building with Beomgyu, playing games or writing lyrics. 

You had nothing against the younger member, you were as close to him as you were any of Soobin’s friends. But nothing hit you quite as hard as the loneliness you felt when Soobin was away from you. It felt nice to be back in his arms, knowing that there was nothing left for that day that would prevent you from falling asleep and waking up next to him. 

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” Soobin asked once you were back in his arms after doing the dishes. 

“Right here.” You smiled, cupping his cheeks to bring his face down to your lips. As always, Soobin’s lips tasted heavenly. And, just like always, Soobin was the clingier of you two. He chased your lips every time you pulled away, causing you both to giggle. Countless soft pecks were placed around your face until his head hit the pillow and he gathered you up in his arms, close enough to hear his relaxed breath and steady heart beat. The rhythm lulled you to sleep, head resting against his chest and your back blanketed by his arms.

↳ txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @minholing,,

@wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @heavenfilm,,

@sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,,

@nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss

[watcher7-9]

HSR men with Christmas: Headcanons

Note: Merry late Christmas 😓 this is gonna be the Christmas special ><

Featuring: Sunday, Dr.Ratio, Danheng, and Jiaoqiu

Sunday:

-Was indeed a child that believed and celebrated the holidays to the max. Decorations were seen everywhere and took pride in his work as he hung up the lights and tried to fly to put the star at the top of the tree. When he was young he tried to make a trap to catch Santa but fell asleep half way through. Kept on trying to pinch his wings to keep himself awake.

-His face will heat up when he finds you two conveniently under a mistletoe did it on purpose. When you two finally kiss his wings will flutter as he cups your cheeks in his hands, keeping you from pulling away. His wings make a little protective wall so that others won’t see.

-Definitely that one friend that hosts most of the Christmas parties and starts to stress it the first day of December. Has a checklist of everything he has to plan and do for the party. Even if he’s not hosting he’s usually one to bring food over or coming early to help with preparations.

Dr. Ratio:

-He knew at a young age that Santa wasn’t real so he would always argue with the little kids which led to him getting a talking to by the adults. But he does get why the holiday is celebrated and indulges in the traditions.

-Wraps the best Christmas presents and get irritated at other people’s wrapping skills. When the holiday is approaching and after buying gifts he’ll set up a small station on a table. Wrapping paper, tape, and rulers of all sorts. Measuring and cutting the perfect length before folding the corners precisely. If your also there he’ll offer tips or he’ll just do it himself of how much the corners irritate him.

-You had convinced him to go build a snowman with you outside. He even made a plan for you: how big the snowman will be, the decorations but in the end you had made him put all of the planning aside and to freehand it. In the end the snowman did look a little unpatched on the sides, the carrot was a little off…but this time he didn’t mind. Maybe it’s because he built it with you.

Danheng:

-During this time of the year the Express is always bustling. Pom Pom is hanging up the decorations around the train and had asked the members to help out. He was usually on light duty because he could reach the highest and didn’t have the heart to let poor Welt hurt his back. Though he usually looks timid to say the least the holidays does bring joy to him. Everyone’s so happy especially you, how could he not be happy.

-During March’s photo shoots he was always the reindeer. Reindeer ears and a brownish outfit as March set up her camera for the family photo. Told you to hush when you teased him about it, though you could see a red tint on his face if you looked close enough.

-One of the pros during the winter time is that every time you guys are done playing in the snow he’ll have an excuse to cuddle up with you when you guys get back. Saying that your hands are too cold he’ll hold them tightly in his or worrying that your shivering when your not. Cuddling you as his tail wraps around your waist tightly.

Jiaoqiu:

-Loves making new foods to try out every time winter rolls around. Winter time is the best time to eat spicy food. Making youtry out new nutritional dishes he cooks up and revises his works to perfection. Seeing you so happy to eat his food makes him very prideful of his work.

-Always the one to fret about the cold. Telling you to wear warmer layers and that you’re gonna get sick. He isn’t one to enjoy the cold that much and he rather stay inside the comfort of his own home especially after he got blind. When you come back inside he’ll get you bundled up with a warm cup of tea and a thick blanket around you after you took off your soaked clothes. Sometimes you’ll sneak attack his tail with your cold hand which will make him jump.

-Huge board game player. A stack of different games on the side as you two gather around the table. The fire crackling in the background, snacks and drink, and a movie as background noise. The Game of Life, UNO, Jenga. Anything that seems exciting he’ll play with you. But most of the time it’s usually him winning.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mimic III

McFoord x Toddler!Reader

Summary: You're being suspicious

There is a hole underneath your fence, at the very end of the garden.

Also at the end of the garden, is a shed. It doesn't get used much so it's a little run down.

There's no connection between the hole and the fence, not an obvious one anyway. Not one that would make Caitlin investigate them both so obviously.

She's much more concerned finding out the reason for your strange behaviour.

You've been shifty recently, which is especially strange for such a little girl. Your second birthday is coming up very quickly but you've seemed to develop fairly quickly now that you've been hanging around with Sam and Kristie's Chook when Caitlin and Katie are busy.

You've also gotten shockingly independent.

There's no need for your leash when you're in the house and Caitlin's happy to let you run around the garden by yourself as she does the dishes, checking on you through the windows periodically.

You're being a little weird and what's even weirder is Coopurr's food going missing.

Caitlin's sure that she's not overfeeding him because he hasn't put on any weight but his biscuits and his wet food are going down so quickly that someone must be taking them.

That someone, it turns out, is you.

Caitlin catches you doing it one afternoon when you grab the whole box of biscuits and a sachet of wet food before toddling out to the garden.

She sighs, letting you scamper up the far side and duck behind the shed before getting up to follow you.

Caitlin really hopes you haven't been eating them like you were when you were younger.

"Gremlin!" She calls," Don't take-"

A puffed up ball of fur hisses at her from where it's dangling from the scruff of it's neck in your hand.

"What is that?!"

"My Spicy!" You say proudly," Spicy, Spicy, Spicy!"

"Katie!" Caitlin yells," You better come out here!"

You're still holding the kitten by the back of the neck, humming to yourself as Caitlin notices the pile of cat food you're been hoarding.

She crouches in front of you, gently reaching for the kitten before flinching back when it tries to scratch her. "Where...Where did you find it?"

"Stuck under fence," You tell Caitlin," I save Spicy."

Caitlin forces a smile on her face. "That's nice. How long have you been looking after him?"

"One week," You reply," My Spicy is special!"

Caitlin warily shuffles closer, kept at bay by the flashing claws off this feral kitten.

"You're being very good with Spicy but can I have him?"

You frown. "Spicy's hungry."

"I'll feed him."

"Caitlin? What's-"

Katie skids to a stop in front of you both, mouth hanging open and discarded dish towel on her shoulder from where she was using it to dry the dishes.

"Spicy, my kitty!" You exclaim," See?"

Spicy snarls and Katie very gently throws the dish towel at him before taking him from your grip.

"Spicy!" You cry, moving to kick Katie but Caitlin's already got you by the back of your overalls, dangling you above the ground as you whine," My Spicy!"

"Katie's just...taking Spicy for a bath."

"I am?"

"Yes, Katie, you are and then we'll take Spicy to the vet."

Secretly, Caitlin hopes the vet will tell her that she needs to take the kitten to the shelter. She doesn't particularly want it in her house but you seem to have gotten attached, if the way you keep fighting against her hold is any indication.

"Want Spicy! Spicy's mine!"

There's that as well and, when Katie comes downstairs with the kitten suitably pissed off and still hissing, you go straight up to it for cuddles and it relaxes in your arms.

"No vet for Spicy!" You insist," Spicy's good!"

"I'm sure Spicy is..." Katie's arms are full of scratches. "...Tolerable but we still need to check he's not sick."

"Then bring home!"

"I don't know, Gremlin, he might want to be with other cats." Katie's very proud of herself for coming up with that excuse, mentally patting herself on the back even as Caitlin shakes her head in disbelief.

You unwrap her excuse so easily, pointing to where Coopurr is sitting, licking his own bum.

"Have Coopurr," You point out," Coopurr is cat. Spicy is cat."

"Er..."

"We keep Spicy," You declare, nodding and rocking your new kitten," Spicy, new home!"

[tartagliove]

7:30pm

bakugou katsuki x reader ✧ fluff ✧ 0.6k

These pajamas are extra soft against your skin. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, delighted with rubbing the material between your fingers, as you follow the sound of running water to the kitchen.

Bakugou paints a pretty picture, standing in front of the sink and scrubbing at a dirty pan, muscles flexing under his black tank top. You walk up to him and slip your arms around his waist, leaning your head against the broad expanse of his back. His aggressive scrubbing decreases in intensity and you snuggle more comfortably against him.

“Thank you for dinner, Katsuki,” you say. “It was delicious.”

The food he makes is always delicious. When you returned home from work tonight, the air wrapped you with the comforting warmth and mild spiciness of curry. The bowl Bakugou set before you had been piping hot. The carrots, potatoes, and beef melted in your mouth, settling nicely in your stomach as his food refueled you after a long day.

“It’s nothing.” Your thanks warms him, but he shrugs it off because he doesn’t want you to make it a big deal. As he rinses off the pan, Bakugou asks, “You feeling better now?”

A soft smile grows on your face at his question. “Mhm, eating your food helped. I’m not as tired anymore.”

“Good.” 

You shuffle a few steps to the right as Bakugou moves to wipe the bottom of the pan and put it on the stove to dry. A giggle leaves your lips as you walk back to the sink with him, never letting go all the while. He starts on the dishes and you once again relax against his warmth.

If you were looking at Bakugou’s face, you would have seen the softest, calmest expression appear at the sound of your mirth filling the kitchen.

“Ah, wait!” You move to stand beside Bakugou. “It’s supposed to be my turn to do the dishes tonight. I can’t believe you started them while I went to change.”

He snickers as you pout at him. “You snooze, you lose, slowpoke.”

“You suck.” Sticking your tongue out at him, you try to push him to the side with your hip but he doesn’t budge. “Let me clean the rest of these, at least. You cooked tonight, so you should rest.”

“No. Go back to clinging to me like a damn leech.”

You laugh, but then complain, “A leech? At least choose something cuter, like a monkey. Ooh, or a koala!”

Still, you snuggle into Bakugou’s side as he rinses off the plate. He complains halfheartedly about you being in the way, but doesn’t nudge you off him. When he turns off the water and is about to move to dry the plate, you perk up and grab it from him before drying it off yourself. He frowns.

You smile at him sweetly. “Let me dry the dishes, Katsuki, so we can get them done faster. Then I can go back to being your human backpack for the rest of the night.” The last few words make you laugh.

He stares you down, red eyes piercing, before he gives in with a slight nod and turns back to the sink. With running water and the occasional clinking of cutlery forming the melody of the evening, you work in comfortable silence with Bakugou. Soon, the rest of the dishes are clean and tucked away. You get to spend the rest of the evening leaning into Bakugou’s warmth on the couch, dozing off as you watch a baking show together.

requested by @pikatsum for my camping event. reblogs/comments are much appreciated!

[hazbinwhoree]

Hi!!! Could you do Adam with a spouse/partner that just loves to make food to people? Like they the kind of person to know everyones food prefrences and favorite dishes, just so they can spoil this person(This person being Adam). Like "oh you Has a bad day? I made you'r favorite!"

"you have a meeting? I made just enought brownies to everyone there!"

"princess od hell wants to talk about something? Wait, im gonna made her something to welcome her!"

(Also, science Lute is with Adam for most of her time, she gets spoiled a lot too)

Made With Love

(Name)’s love language was cooking. It had been since she learned how to cook. (Name) would feed everyone and anyone, and knew all of her people’s favorite dishes. (Name) made a lot of food.

Good thing Adam loved to eat.

(Name) adored spoiling Adam. She perfected her BBQ ribs recipe just for him. She mastered it so well, that Adam stopped ordering ribs and would only eat hers. Lute was also spoiled in turn. She liked finer cuts of meat, like filet mignon and ribeye.

(Name) treated Adam and Lute to dinner five days a week, and only didn’t make dinner on the weekend because Adam insisted she needed to chill.

Once, Adam and Lute tried making dinner for (Name) on a weekend. They burnt the food and set off the fire alarm.

(Name) always made sure Adam had food packed for his meetings. The ribs he was eating during his meeting with Charlie were hers.

His colleagues loved (Name) too because whenever she knew Adam had a meeting to attend, she made sure to send him with enough baked goods for everyone.

There was a big meeting today, well, not even a meeting, court, with the princess of Hell. “What do you think she would like?” (Name) fussed, bustling around the kitchen. “Who cares?” Adam said. (Name) rolled her eyes. “I want to make her something.” “Why?” “Why does anyone do anything?”

Adam shut up. “Maybe something spicy,” he finally suggested. “You know, since Hell is hot and all.”

(Name) giggled. “Very smart, babe.”

Adam threw an apple at her. She caught it and threw it back twice as hard, hitting him square in the chest. He let out an “oomph.”

“I’m gonna make her BBQ ribs, since I know damn well you teased her with them being holographic during your first meeting.” “Wh- how’d you know about that?” “I know you.”

“You can’t make her ribs!” Adam whined childishly. “Ribs are my thing!”

“Oh you big baby, I’ll make enough for you too.”

In court, (Name) was one of the last to enter. She approached the princess immediately, who was glaring up at Adam and Lute. “Princess! Welcome to Heaven, I made you and your friend some food.” She proudly presented the tray of ribs. “Best not to have court on an empty stomach.”

The friend looked skeptical, but Charlie was thrilled when she touched the plate and it was a solid, real thing. “Thank you so much!” she exclaimed. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Yeah!” (Name) said. “I love to cook and those are my husband’s favorite.”

“Everyone to their seats,” came Sera’s booming voice.

(Name) waved and flew up to take her spot next to Adam, who kissed her. Charlie’s mouth dropped. A sweetheart like that was married to a man like Adam? Adam noticed the look on her face and stuck his tongue out at her behind (Name)’s back.

When the meeting was over and Charlie and Vaggie had been sent back to Hell, Lute was in a foul mood. So you invited her back with you and Adam for dinner, as you usually did. You made her favorite, ribeye, and made Adam the ribs you promised.

You loved to cook, and Adam and Lute loved you for it.